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the-mighty-jellybean · 7 months

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The Hound of Hell's Kitchen

A/N: Hi Guys, so let's do this, brand new book, with a brand new fascination of mine. This is going to be a/b/o dynamic because I'm loving fics like this recently. I've been doing more research on this dynamic and how I can improve from my Stucky one. Including new terms and practices within this AU. Anyway, let's get on with this book.

Series Summary: "We are only as blind as we want to be." Maya Angelou

Y/N Y/L/N was not prepared to be hindered by how the world viewed her position in society, not even the law was going to define, who she was as a person. Strong, brave and true of heart. The very qualities that make her so attractive to the Devil of Hell's Kitchen.

Pairings: Matt Murdock x Reader

Series Warning: Fluff, Eventual Smut, Angst and a little childhood trauma, just to really spice some things up. Strong Language

(18+ Only)

Chapter One: Laws of the Concrete Jungle

Chapter Warnings: Strong Language, Angst, Violence

Word Count: 2.9k

"Start from the beginning, Miss Y/L/N," the man in red spectacles probed, "and we'll take it from there."

-------------A Few Hours earlier----------

"I heard, it's eyes glow like the devil."

"That's bullshit. I've heard when it howls, the ground shakes with the force of a thousand earthquakes."

Y/N quietly snorted to herself as she eaves-dropped on the two blabbering Beta's across from her on the subway. She quickly looked down at her feet, when the two men looked up at her, she reached into her bag to grab the small spray bottle, which contained her industrial sent blocker. Y/N was quick to apply the spray to her wrists, rubbing it in firmly, the blockers own scent was masked by the perfumed fragrance of rose and lavender. The men look away, Y/N rouse was bought, and the men carried on their conspiracy theories, Y/N electing to tune out this time.

The subway groaned under the weight of its cargo, as it pulled itself around the city. Y/N knew how it must have felt, supporting the people of this city, thankless; as it fulfils its purpose society had created it for.

Society.

What a joke that word was to Y/N. Society had done nothing for Y/N since the day she was born. In school, Y/N was taught that Society is what keeps the world ticking, without Society, the world descends in to chaos. Society and natural order was what kept people under control, and in their places.

What was Y/N's role?

Well the one Society had chosen for her, left her vulnerable; left her unable to work; unable to support herself; it had left her without a family; and all in all, she was alone within this society.

The natural order, Y/N was told to follow, left her at the bottom of the pile. An Omega, an unmated Omega at that.

The law stated that Y/N was not allowed to work, she would only be permitted to undertake voluntary work, but that was limited, as employers weren't keen on unmated Omegas holding positions within their establishment. Worried that an Alpha would not take kindly to the idea of having an unmated Omega in their presence, whether that be because of their own superiority complex, or employers would not be keen on settling any industrial tribunals if a Omega were attacked on their time.

Omegas weren't really allowed to even be out on their own. Traveling in a pack of Omegas was the preferred method, if you were yet to be mated, kept everyone safe, and was seen as proper, within this society.

However, Y/N sat alone on the rusted train, the only reason she successfully navigated this concrete jungle, was because of the black market blockers, she'd managed to source in some random back alley. It wasn't illegal to own scent toners, this was a chemical solution, which allows the scents of Omega's to be turned down, so that they might be less alluring to Alphas. Yet it was illegal to completely mask your scent altogether, let alone force your scent to be so severely altered, it made you present as something completely different. It had taken her ages to find the perfect solution to her natural predicament, but coming to New York had opened up many avenues, both for the better and the worse.

The train crunched to a stop, the whole train in unison shifting slightly to the left before snapping back right, then finding their balance once again. The doors shift open, people get off, people get on...but wait;

'What's that smell?'

Y/N thought, she scans the open doors either side of her, settling on the door on her right, she tries to subtly sniff the air, desperate to solidify the smell.

Her scenes land on a young girl, probably no older than 15, she smells of vanilla, but there's a hint of mildew. The familiar smell of female puberty. The breeze from the underground station she had just stepped off of, only helped to push her scent further into the small compartment.

Either she didn't know, or was trying to ignore it, but this girl was right in the middle of her presenting, and it wasn't going to end well for her.

Y/N noticed how the whole carriage had turned to face this innocent girl, the hairs stood up on the back of her neck, when a much older man entered just after the turning Omega. He had that look in his eye, a look that Y/N recognised all to well, a look that had haunted her every day of her life.

It was a wild look, pupils dilated, his lips were pursed in a thin line, low growls were rippling across his chest. They were quiet enough not to alert others in the train, but they were loud enough for Y/N sensitive hearing.

Y/N's fingers curled into fists, her own breathing laboured, when she noticed the way the Alpha male stood over the young girl. It was obvious the young Omega was uncomfortable, the way she picked at the fabric of her pants, bouncing her knee, staring straight ahead at her feet.

It appeared that no one else on the train was bothered by this clear display of Alpha aggression. Once the doors closed and everyone performed their unison dance to the left before popping back up to the right, they carried on with their lives. Y/N could tell some people were forcing themselves to ignore what was going on, mainly the elderly, and the other women within the carriage. Not wanting to draw attention to themselves.

However, Y/N was not intimidated by the obvious mating display, that she was witnessing. As the train continued to rattle along the track, the Alpha only appeared to be more incentivised by the "lack" of interest this little girl was showing.

When the train arrived at the next stop, the girl stands up, attempting to pass the man in front of her, he only side stepped to block her exit. She tries again, this time on the other side, but the man follows, this time he places his hand on her wrist.

That was all Y/N needed to see, she stands immediately, striding over to the Alpha.

"Let her go and get off the train." Y/N demand, standing not so much nose to nose, more chest to nose, with the aggravated Alpha.

"Buzz off Beta, this is none of your business." The man snarls, without taking his eyes, from the panicked young girl. Well at least Y/N knew her blockers were working.

Y/N snatches at the man's arm, gripping it tightly, by now the public are watching once again.

"I said," she sternly whispers, "Let. Go. Of. Her."

"Or what, Beta, what you gonna do about it"

"This."

Squeezing the man's arm firmly, she feels it break under her crushing grip instantly, making the Alpha cry out in pain. He goes to grab hold of the arm, squeezing his own, but Y/N is quick to slap it away, before she grabs the man under his throat. Panicked choking, splutters out of his mouth, spit splashing Y/N's face.

Slowly, Y/N raises the man off his feet, before she launches him through the closing train doors, bending them out of shape, as the Alpha flies through them, landing hard on the platform on the other side.

Y/N is panting with anger, but she swallows thickly, eyes darting left to right, everyone was looking, both in shock and fear. Y/N places her hand on the small of the young Omega's back, and pushes her lightly off the train, guiding her over the whimpering Alpha, who cradles his arm close to his chest, as he gasps for his own breath.

The Omega glances behind her shoulder, eyes wide, but she does go willingly with Y/N, who pushes her out of the subway station, and up onto street level.

"Are you alright?' Y/N asks the girl, once they're a good distance away from the scene that just unfolded.

"Umm yes, I think...um...thank you." the girl fumbled her way through the sentence, she was still wary. "What was that? You enhanced?"

"Something like that, but you don't need to worry anymore." Y/N flashed a brief smile, before reaching back into her rucksack and pulling out the spray, "Here put some of this on, then I advise going to the nearest pharmacy and getting a bottle of toner."

"Thanks...again." The Omega smiled shyly, taking the solution, and spraying it on her neck and wrists.

"Do your pits as well." Y/N advised, the girl's face going a light shade of pink, but she still does it, "Your scent will be strongest in your armpits, until you finish presenting."

The girl nodded, before spraying one last time just on the centre of her chest, and then hands the spray bottle back to Y/N, who quickly puts it in her bag.

"What's your name?" the omega asked.

"Y/N. What's yours?"

"Lucy."

Y/N flashes her smile, and extends her hand, and Lucy takes it, shaking it.

"Nice to meet you Lucy, stay out of trouble." Y/N advised once more, before slinging her rucksack onto her back, and walking away from the stunned girl, who quickly turns as well, heading to the local pharmacy.

---------

"Where have you been?" Jordan asked, wheeling his chair out from behind his desk, when Y/N threw her bag onto the floor.

"Don't ask." Y/N huffed, grabbing the stool next to her work station and seating herself, close to her picking station.

"Well, I'm your boss, I'm meant to ask, when my employee is late." Jordan chuckles. He was a kind Beta man, who ran a t-shirt printing shop towards the edge of hell's kitchen. Business was quiet, but that was better for Y/N. Jordan gave Y/N a job purely because she could lift heavier boxes of t-shirts than he could. He didn't ask questions about that, he was just grateful for the help.

And Y/N was just grateful that Jordan didn't really ask questions at all. Not about how she ended up in New York, or even where she had come from before. All he wanted was for her to turn up on time, pick some vinyl, and press t-shirts....and occasionally lift some deliveries.

She was good at all but the first.

Y/N did feel guilty about lying to Jordan, he was a good friend, but she didn't want to risk getting him into trouble. After all it was illegal to employ an unmated Omega for paid work.

"Sorry, bit of a situation on the subway." Y/N shrugged, head still down as she picked away at the plastic.

"Do I want to know anymore?"

"Nah, just some drunk." Y/N spoke without skipping a beat. That was all Jordan needed, as he turned back to his computer to answer emails.

Y/N was only a few hours into her shift before the peaceful silence that had fallen between the two coworkers was broken, by the sound of the shop bell ringing as someone entered through the front door.

Both of them looked up and were shocked to see two police officer standing at the front desks.

"Officers, how may I help you?' Jordan stood from his desk, making the very short walk to the front of the shop.

"We're looking for Y/N Y/L/N."

Y/N's blood ran cold, it felt as if her heart leapt out of her chest, and splattered onto the desk in front of her. Slowly she stood up, and came into view of the officers.

"How can I help you, officers." Y/N tried to control the shake in her voice, the reason for the visit from law enforcement could literally be a hundred different reasons, and all of which would end in Y/N getting herself a one way ticket to Manhattan Correctional Facility...or worst.

"Do you know anything about an incident on the subway from Sunnyside?" The officer asked, placing his hands on his hips, Y/N noticed how his fingers brushed over the Glock strapped to his belt, before they settled at his waist. The other officer is clearly sniffing the air, he isn't very subtle as he literally dips his head down and up, trying to profile Y/N.

"What another drunk wander onto the tracks?" Y/N tries to distract, she rubs at the gland on her wrist, trying to push the forced scent of confusion around the room.

"Not exactly no," the officer smirked, "We're gonna need you to come with us Miss Y/L/N."

"What for, am I under arrest?" Y/N spoke in disbelief, still trying to scent confused rather than panic.

"Depends, you gonna come quietly?" The officer's hands dropped down from his waist, to sitting on his cuffs and gun.

"I don't think I'll have a choice." Y/N mumbles, looking to Jordan, who sat in complete disbelief, his mouth hanging open, eyebrows knitted together in confusion, his scent was strong, and clear.

"Y/N?" Jordan manages to force out.

"It's okay, Jordy," Y/N held her hand up, and she shuffled over towards the officers, she kicks her rucksack subtly under the desk, the officers none the wiser, "It'll be okay."

The officers escort her out, taking her to their car, before they made their journey back to the precinct.

--------

"Name." the clerk asked, not taking her eyes from the computer screen, as Y/N stood in front of the desk,

"Y/N Y/M/N Y/L/N." Y/N stated clearly, still trying to push the scent of confusion into the air.

Once the clerk had answered all the questions, Y/N was taken to a small interview room, the lights low and hazy, Y/N snuffed at the mirror on one side of the room, controlling the urge to wave.

The officer placed his hand on her shoulder, pushing her roughly into one of the seats. Y/N had to prevent herself from growling, or spiking her anger levels.

"Wait here," the officer spoke gruffly, "you have a lawyer?"

"I wasn't aware I was under arrest?" Y/N asked, looking up at the officer, confusion thick in the air.

"A lawyer will be provided to you if you don't have one." The officer didn't break character.

"No, I don't have a lawyer." Y/N huffed, turning to face the other side of the table which was empty. Slotting her fingers together, she starts to bounce her leg, once the officer left the room.

Y/N tried to listen to the conversations outside the door, however, the precinct was a busy place, banging and clanging, shouting and screaming, it was hard to pick up any specific conversations.

Suddenly something came through all the chatter and the chaos.

A tapping.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Getting louder and louder as it approached the doorway.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Y/N's ears flicked, when the tapping appeared to be outside the door.

Tap. Tap. Click.

The door pushed open, and two men walked into the room. First one, his scent was plain, boring, but with a hint of stale whiskey. Beta. The second man, now his scent was interesting.

Vetiver and sandalwood. It was an Alpha's scent, but it wasn't strong.

'Is he wearing a toner?'

Y/N was so deep in thought, she hadn't even noticed that the second man was completely blind, until she realised the red shades he was wearing, weren't a fashion choice. And the tap, tap, tapping was coming from the cane he had in his hand.

Y/N watched the blind man very closely, as he sat himself directly across from her, the Beta sitting himself next to him.

"And you are?" Y/N questioned, her leg still bouncing, she chewed her lip.

"I'm Franklin Nelson and this is my partner Matthew Murdock, but please call us Foggy and Matt." The Beta chirped, he was happy, a little too happy for Y/N's usual somber appearance.

"Aww you guys make a cute couple." Y/N snarked, the Beta's smile dropped momentarily, before he managed to fix it back on his face. Y/N smelt the tinge of embarrassment, but she smelt amusement from the Alpha.

"Not that kind of partner." Matt smirked.

"We are your legal representation," Foggy explained, "And we want to hear your side of the story."

"Well I'd love to give it to you, but I'm not really sure why I am here." Y/N shrugged, partly telling the truth.

"They haven't informed you?" Matt asked.

"Nope, all I know is two cops show up at my place of work, asking about my morning commute to work, that was all."

"And you can't possibly think what might have happened on your way to work this morning that might explain why you might be sat here right now?" Foggy enquired, Matt tilted his head to the side, and appeared to look as if he'd zoned out.

"Nope." Y/N lied, she could have sworn Matt's lips twitched into a smile, when she spoke, but his face for the majority remained unreadable.

"Well maybe this will explain a few things." Foggy reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, he taps a few things in before turning the screen to face, Y/N, who's brows are furrowed as she watches a news clip begin on the screen.

Slowly Y/N's eyes go wide, as the video is played to her. The shaky footage showed the grainy image of a woman on a subway, lifting a man twice her size off the floor by his neck, before hurtling him through the metal doors of the train.

Although the image was blurry, if you knew it was Y/N it was unmistakable.

"Start from the beginning Miss Y/L/N." The man with the red spectacles probed, "and we'll take it from there."

Chapter Two

A/N: Welp I hope that's an interesting first chapter for you guys. You know I like a slow burner, when it comes to my fics, and this one will be no different. Updates won't be as regular as they use to be because I'm a hell of a lot busier these days, but I promise I won't make you wait too long between each chapter.

Drop me a note if you wish to be added to my Taglist, gonna start a new one for this fic, because I don't know if people form my old one would want to be included in my new content.

#marvel fanfiction #reader insert #matt murdock x reader #matt murderdock #daredevil #daredevil x reader #foggy nelson #a/b/o lifestyle #a/b/o dynamics #fem!reader #reader angst #marvel's defenders #defender a/b/o dynamic #Alpha matt #alpha!mattmurdock #beta!foggy #omega!karen #marvel tv #mcu fanfiction

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mintcirrus · 1 year

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Thinking about choice feminism again

Superficially, there's the women that claim that their botox, their plastic surgery, their 1-hour makeup routine is their choice. They deserve no ire on our behalf. Their predicament reminds me of a passage I read about the practice of Chinese foot binding, how the women would be delighted at the colors of their "golden lotus" shoes, the fanciful embroidery -- some shoes even had secret vials of perfume built into the heel. This, of course, ignoring the fact that these women's feet were purposely broken to keep them tied to a household -- a situation that draws parallels to modern plastic surgery that removes vital fat, muscle, and skin so that women "can finally wear that cute bikini I've always wanted to!" or "keep my husband interested"

The real source of anger should be the beauty industries and plastic surgery institutes that claim that getting a nose job is equivalent to keeping your natal nose, that having your inner labia removed should be just as acceptable a choice as leaving them alone. This marketing is made to be insidious, as if a woman feels ashamed for having a hooked nose in a culture that desires small, pointed noses, she is not comforted -- instead, the shame is placed as her fault alone, because she made the "equivalent choice" to not change her nose, and thus she has to deal with the societal consequences.

These industries, after establishing this false equivalency, make sure to leave their doors open for this type of woman, as if to say "Pay us, and you never have to feel ashamed again. Have you finally made the right choice?"

#anti makeup #radfem #radfems do touch #anti plastic surgery

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kiwisa · 1 year

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floriography ✩ ln04

Lando Norris x Fem! Parisian! Reader

fluff • 2,800 words

IN WHICH... you met lando during his two-week stay in paris. through streets, places, and dates, you rediscovered your city and perhaps fell in love ⏤ all to the scent of flowers.

A delicious smell emanated from the Queen Elizabeth II flower market: a colourful spectrum in the monochrome place that Paris could sometimes be. Every week, you would go there to buy a different bouquet. Your flat wasn't really yours without a touch of life to brighten it up.

Some would see it as an unnecessary expense; you saw it as a necessity. Your flowers always sat in the middle of the living room, reminding you of the fragility of life and – above all – the need to enjoy the moment: a discreet but omnipresent Carpe Diem.

You could spend hours every Tuesday morning at the opening, wandering aimlessly between these stalls which always managed to make you feel light, carefree – a parenthesis of softness and calm, necessary in the intensity of your daily life.

With your wicker basket in your left hand and your steps punctuated by the chirping of the many birds for sale, you would stop at times in front of a particularly pretty bouquet and then go on your way, empty-handed. You only made your choice at the very end, even putting it off until the last minute to enjoy the bucolic setting a little more.

However, a hint of red suddenly caught your attention. You approached and hastened to read the little slate stuck between two plants: amaryllis, “the desire to woo”. Floriography – the language of flowers, for they could speak better than humans – had always intrigued you. In the corner of your head, you filed this information away.

As you read it, you found yourself thinking of Lando, with whom August had passed so quickly. A simple meeting in the heart of the French capital had led to afternoons filled with the smell of love and the melody of a British accent.

September was already upon you and, as you resumed your walk, the names of flowers seemed to be calling you. Some of them even took you back to those sunny summer days, spent in the company of the one who was becoming more and more present in your life.

WISTERIA ! “tenderness” ✩ Paris, rue Saint-Maur

The Atelier des Lumières was casting Monet's impressionist works on its walls, and, in the middle of these thousands of lights, your face had become that of his muse.

Lando had never been in this building and its peculiar industrial façade. The French capital itself was unknown to him, actually. You had been the one to first tell him about it during your first meeting at a café on the rue de la Convention ⏤ just after almost crashing in each other ⏤, telling him how the exhibition on Van Gogh and his Starry Night had transported you.

“There's something magical about wandering through mythical works of art,” you had told him that day, a dreamy smile on your lips. You were probably thinking of how amazing you had felt in the middle of that blue and yellow sky.

It was only later that you told Lando about the new exhibition, this time devoted to Monet, and expressed your desire to see it.

“I tried to go with my friends, but they don't care much about art.”

The night of your conversation, he had rushed to buy two tickets, even though he didn't particularly love the French painter, even though lighting effects sometimes made him nauseous, even though he didn't want to be in the middle of people who might recognize him. The mere prospect of making you smile motivated him.

When he kissed your cheek in front of the museum, smelling your flowery perfume, he found you shy but cheerful. No doubt you remembered this conversation and were touched to see how far his little attentions could go. His joy increased tenfold as you both moved through the exhibition.

More fascinated by the woman in front of him than by the indistinct lilies, Lando kept his gaze fixed on you, smiling when you finally decided to speak: “I've always wanted to visit the British Museum. If I come to London to see you, will you take me there?”

“Of course.”

The subtle promise of seeing each other again.

“Oh, look! Impression, Sunrise!”

He let himself be pulled towards the animation, a smile on his lips.

CAMELLIA ! “admiration” ✩ Paris, rue de la Légion d'Honneur

With his cap screwed on his head, Lando was desperately trying to follow you through the Musée d'Orsay while avoiding the passers-by, who were far too numerous for his taste.

The great upward path, overlooked by numerous sculptures, including the majestic Porte de l'Enfer, was invaded by art lovers. Among them, you and your look of wonder, who almost pulled him by the arm, eager to show him your favourite works.

He refrained from telling you that he knew the exhibition well, having visited it every time he would come to Paris. He didn't want to tarnish the glow in your eyes.

“The room with all the Bouguereau is my favourite. Come on.”

You led him into Room 2. Immediately, Cabanel's Birth of Venus greeted you. Exposed on the right wall of this recess, he let his eyes wander over her perfectly defined contours, her sensual curves accentuated, her languid position.

“She's beautiful,” you said beside him.

He refrained from nodding, walking towards Room 3, where he saw Bouguereau's version, proud as it was, standing in the middle of this watery painting, like an ancient statue.

“I don't know which one I prefer. They're both beautiful,” you said, your pout showing your indecision. “It's interesting to see the same subject can lead to completely different interpretations.”

“I think I prefer Bouguereau's. She appears less as an object of desire and more as a goddess. She has this aura to her.”

“I mean… They still look at her with desire,” you retorted in reference to the other characters on the painting. “I wish people would look at me like that sometimes,” she went on. “With as much admiration as they do,” you pointed to the two nymphs to the right of the Goddess.

You quickly turned your attention to Dante and Virgil, a darker but equally beautiful painting. Lando followed behind, hands in his pockets, looking thoughtful, but not without taking one last look at the painting.

All were in darkness except Venus, illuminated by a light coming from her right and emanating from the shell, which reigned in the centre of the vision. He looked at you, in the centre of the room, illuminated by one of the projectors. He smiled.

Of all the paintings, between academism and impressionism, your portrait was by far the most magnificent.

DAHLIA ! “generosity” ✩ Paris, rue St-Honoré

Lando and you quickly passed the forest green door of the Delamain bookshop, in desperate need for a refuge to escape rain. This unexpected storm had caught both of you by surprise, spoiling their initial plan to stroll through the Parisian streets.

Laughter – because your mascara had run, because Lando's jacket was soaked – echoed for a moment in the room's foyer but faded when your eyes finally took in the scenery. The central stalls jumped out for the visitors’ eyes, welcoming them and already urging them to buy. So numerous were the titles. One wondered how they didn't fall off. The latest Goncourt prize was sitting in the middle of it all, its garish red label attracting all eyes. Buy me, it screamed.

On the wall, when you could see them, mostly hidden by big oak bookcases, a few frames here and there represented the bookshop at different periods of its existence: 1790, 1850, 1970, 2010…

“How about we each choose a book and give it to each other?” Lando's voice drew you out of your state of admiration.

“Oh yes! That's a brilliant idea!”

You didn't see him smile – amused to see your vocabulary change for British English – as you walked by, already turned towards the back of the shop. You immediately began scanning the shelves for the perfect title. The Pleiades shelf on the left almost called to you, but the obvious language barrier between Lando and you came to mind, and, thus, you resigned yourself to looking elsewhere.

Reluctantly, you headed for the “Literature in English” section, disappointed that you could not share with him the beauty of French literature.

Several times you passed each other, exchanging a brief smile before resuming your search. It seemed endless. You spent the afternoon like this: in front of the stacks, reading the summaries of books, putting them down again. Nothing seemed good enough to be given as a present for the Other.

“What do you give to someone who has already read everything?”

“He'll think your classics are rubbish,” you cringed.

Finally, as six o'clock rang, the two of you stood outside the shop, each with a bag in hand, the rain already forgotten. You immediately handed your brown bag to Lando, who hurriedly took out the wrapped work. You both walked to escape from the street’s noise, while he struggled to remove the wrapping paper. The cover of A Room with a View by E. M. Forster was soon in his hands.

“I hope you like it. I chose it because it has a happy ending since you don’t like to be sad when you read,” you referred to one of your many debates.

Lando laughed, as you looked on in panic and immediately regretted your choice. Maybe he didn't like it? Had he already read it?

“Open yours.”

You complied, eyebrows furrowed, and pulled out The Song of Achilles by Madeleine Miller, which you had never read, despite the waves of enthusiasm on social media surrounding it.

“I got it for you because you love novels with bad endings.”

At his explanation, a giggle fell from your mouth. Your thought processes were not so different from each other after all… Smiling, you thanked Lando with a kiss on the jaw, which he returned.

You both returned to the bookstore several times during Lando’s trip, sometimes alone, but each time with a book in hand for the other.

CROCUS ! “joy” ✩ Paris, Jardin des Plantes

With a smile on your faces and your fingers intertwined, Lando and you strolled between the rectangular flowerbeds of the Jardin des Plantes, stopping at times to smell the sweetness of a bud that had or would soon become a flower. Time seemed to stand still in the middle of these flowers and shrubs. One could almost have seen the coquettes, dandies, grand ladies, and boisterous children who had walked these paths centuries before.

In the distance, the streets of the capital had never been so beautiful, an urban reflection of these hundreds of colourful touches: the yellow of the streetlamps, the orange of the cars’ indicators, the red of the shop signs. The Sun, comfortably seated on its highest point, dazzled your cheerful faces as it watched over you, smiling at this budding love.

Joy was such a pure feeling. One could see its aura, powerful and brilliant: a protective halo from the worst vices of the World. It sparkled around the two of you. Those heartbeats in unison, those candid laughs, all these little touches reinforced the beauty of the idyllic picture that was painted before the Sun’s eyes.

“Look!” you exclaimed.

One hand was holding your straw hat so it wouldn't fly off while the other was pointing to a colourful bird perched on a tree branch, its leaves coloured a resplendent green. The smell of freshly cut grass intoxicated passers-by, plunging them into a euphoria that only the end of spring could bring.

The feeling of being invincible was indescribable, reinforced by the Sun's rays, whose reflections chased away the shadows and, with them, the bad memories. All these trees formed an enchanting globe above the garden, pierced by these beams of light. The soft, pale pink flowers lowered and rose with the rhythm of the quiet wind.

This smooth transition between Summer and Autumn, these few precious days, was without a doubt your favourite time of year, synonymous with holidays, sunshine, tranquillity. You saw the joy of existence as well as rebirth with each yellowing leaf.

Happy to be able to enjoy this beautiful weather, small laughs escaped from your lips without realising it, hypnotised by this pastoral picture.

The characteristic sound of a camera caught your attention. Turning your head, your eyes obstructed for a few seconds by strands of hair, your gaze finally landed on the man a few metres away from. You hadn't even noticed that he had moved away, letting go of your hand as he did so.

You suddenly found it cruelly empty.

Lando was smiling at his screen. Curious, you hopped over to him, your white and light pink dress billowing in the wind. When you reached him, you leaned over his shoulder and stood on tiptoe to see what seemed to hypnotize him. With a grimace on your face, you quickly put a hand on the screen to try and hide the picture.

“Delete that! I'm ugly!”

“Don't bullshit me, you're always beautiful.”

You kissed his cheek, leaving it red from your lips.

BEGONIA ! “faith in the future” ✩ Paris, rue de Palestro

“Can you pass me the jam, please?” you asked, your tongue between your lips, concentrating on digging hearts into the dough with the end of a tablespoon.

An arm passed in front of your eyes, nearly turning the heart into a triangle. Lando easily grabbed the jam jar and continued scraping the bottom of the bowl.

“Stop eating the dough, you'll get sick.”

“Are you my mother? I don't think so.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled at his smug look. He shoved a teaspoonful of the mixture into his mouth to taunt you.

You chose not to say anything.

In just two weeks, and dozens of dates in addition to the many texts you exchanged, your relationship had evolved for the better: more spontaneous, less restrained. You were no longer trying to impress each other, although a few ambiguous little remarks continued to be exchanged, and were now fully enjoying this new comfort.

Neither really friends, nor really lovers, Lando reminded himself.

You hadn't even kissed yet, satisfied – for the moment – with the softness of a kiss on the cheek. Things were moving at your own pace: slowly, but surely. Lando could see that this was all new to you, who had confided in him about your lack of experience in relationships.

He was more than happy with this new pace. His previous relationships had all been formed on the fly, sometimes within two weeks, others within a month. If some had lasted a long time, a few years, all had been ruined by the desire to go too fast without consideration for the other. He had sometimes shared his bed with women he had loved deeply, without ever really getting to know them.

He did not want to fall into that pattern again. You were a breath of fresh air, an escape from this involuntary toxicity.

“I hope you're aware that I'm going to be intransigent on taste.”

“What are you, Gordon fucking Ramsay? You're going to eat the biscuits and shut your mouth. This isn't Come Dine With Me.”

“Shit, there goes my plan.”

The two of you laughed as you carefully filled the holes you had formed with raspberry jam. Without a word, Lando began to help you. Concentrating on your task, you did not notice him. It was only when you lifted your head to brush aside a lock of hair, which was in the way, that you realized his actions.

“You suck at this, get out!”

“Ouch!” You hit him with a tea towel. “Fuck, stop acting like my mother. You're hurting me!”

He fled from the kitchen under your attacks and laughter, finding refuge in the living room where he dropped onto the sofa. With a smile on his face, he traced each of the mouldings on the ceiling before straightening up and quietly watching you, who was humming some song in the kitchen.

He thought he recognised the tune, but didn't pay it any more attention than that, busy gazing at Her.

You looked ethereal, like a touch of heaven in the mundane.

Lando pondered over your future afternoons ⏤ in London, perhaps ⏤ and if, yes or no, they would all be this wonderful.

#lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris fanfic #lando norris fluff #lando norris x y/n #lando norris drabble #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #formula 1 rpf #formula one fic #formula 1 fic #formula one fanfiction #formula one #lando norris imagine #lando norris #f1 imagine #f1 rpf

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hostilemuppet · 2 months

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"they're already metaphorically drugs" WHAT even HAPPENS in trolls???? DRUGS????

in trolls 1, pop trolls (then thought to be the only trolls) were kept as livestock for many years (not given an exact amount of time but generally accepted as being AT LEAST several generations) because the perpetually miserable bergens thought eating trolls was the only way to be happy. they built bergentown around the troll tree (where the trolls lived. they are not grown on trees, they are hatched from eggs laid from their hair), and once a year on a holiday called trollstice the royal chef harvested trolls from the tree and cooked them up to serve to the bergens on the one day a year they can be happy. trolls 1 is set on the 20 year anniversary of when king peppy (poppys father) lead his subjects to safety through a secret tunnel, to rebuild their village far away from bergen town. they celebrate the 20 year anniversary, chef finds them again, bergens think theyre going to be happy again. not going to say much more bc YOU SHOULD WATCH TROLLS!!!!!!!! but trolls 1 is less about trolls being drugs and more about the whole deal being an allegory for consumerism as a substitute for personal fulfilment: youre feeling down? the world is miserable and you are powerless to do anything? try our product!

in trolls 3, floyd is captured by two mount rageons, who are completely talentless and unwilling to put the work in to improve their singing. they kidnapped floyd and stuck him in a perfume bottle (trolls are on average 3 inches tall btw) and when they use said perfume bottle, it literally sucks the life out of him and makes them good at singing. it is explicitly referred to as torture. it is less about trolls being drugs and more about the whole deal being an allegory for genuinely talented people getting crushed by the industry and having their hard work stolen by someone who is more marketable, with a prettier face and such.

but "trolls are drugs" is a really funny thing to say

#ask

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cleolinda · 1 year

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Tyrannosaurus Rex (Zoologist, 2018)

(Zoologist Perfumes)

Zoologist Tyrannosaurus Rex is a gargantuan scent that sinks its teeth into the world of delicate fragrances and rips it wide open. Primitive woods and florals seize you and snatch you away to an ancient era. Smoky, charred wood warns of the danger of smouldering fire, setting your senses on edge, while droplets of metallic rose oxide offer a chilling premonition of blood-lust. The mighty Tyrannosaurus Rex is sometimes menacing, sometimes fascinating, but never, ever ordinary.

Perfumer: Antonio Gardoni Top Notes: Bergamot, Black Pepper, Fir, Laurel Leaf, Neroli, Nutmeg Heart Notes: Champaca, Geranium, Jasmine, Osmanthus, Rose, Ylang Ylang Base Notes: Resins, Cade, Cedar, Civet [synthetic], Frankincense, Leather [synthetic], Patchouli, Sandalwood, Vanilla

As is my wont, I read user reviews across various sites first. These reviews described Horrors. The word "barbecue" was used more than once. But once again, I look at this list of notes and I think, all of this sounds fine. Civet musk can be a little hard to handle; I haven't worn or smelled it much. But I actually like the scent of black pepper, that's fine. "Cade" seems to be smoky distilled juniper tar, and the Parfumo listing replaces the word cade with "Canary Islands juniper." Love a juniper, sounds good. Not sure what "resins" we're talking about, but I enjoy some incense, and "resins" are frequently in that ballpark. Let's give it a whirl.

For some reason, I opened the sample without gloves or even a tissue in my hand, which is what I usually do. I get perfume headaches, after all, and if I get one from just opening a vial, we're putting it back. So I wasn't really ready to wear it, but I was curious. Tyrannosaurus Rex got on my fingertips—

(Troubled Birds)

—and there was nothing I could do about it.

T-Rex does not wash off. It doesn't. I went back to the notes to figure out why. And also, to figure out HOW it opens with a huge belch of slaughterhouse.

Like, I knew, I KNEW this was going to happen, I keep saying that I did my research and I knew what was going to happen when I put this or that fragrance on and then somehow I'm still left reeling when that's exactly what happens. The first thing—well, let's skip to the second thing right now. The Fragrantica note listing specifies "kyara incense" rather than "resins," and that's a precious Japanese incense that—ohhhh, it's oud. You have to follow this linguistic chain of kyara to aloeswood to agarwood to oud, but that's what it is.

Raw materials such as agarwood are becoming increasingly rare due to the depletion of the wild resource. [...] The highest regarded wood, ranjyatai, dates back to at least the 10th century and is kyara wood from Laos or Vietnam, and was used by emperors and warlords for its fragrance. It is said to contain so much resin that it can be used many times over. (Wikipedia: Incense in Japan)

If patchouli is the funk of kings, oud is the odor of emperors. It's not going to wash off, and perhaps more to the point, it would be an extravagant waste if you tried. Oud is valued in Indian perfumery, but it's particularly loved in Arabian fragrance—and I'm talking about both ancient traditions and modern industries here. It's been getting more popular in European and American fragrance for maybe the 10+ years or so, softened for the Western market as "the new patchouli." If I'd known that T-Rex was going to lead me here, I would have scoped out some oud fragrances and planned a whole deep-dive post; instead, we'll do that sometime in the future. For now, I'm aware that oud is—"polarizing," that's a good word:

Maybe you've had a whiff of some popular fragrances featuring oud, like Tom Ford Oud Wood, Byredo Our Immortel, or Maison Francis Kurkdjian Oud Satin Mood. They're distinctively different compositions that all share telltale qualities that oud offers. For one, they last a long time. Even after an oud fragrance dries down on the skin, you can still detect a trace of it radiating from one's body heat — musky, earthy, woody, and a bit smoky, like an incense. It's difficult to describe, but once you've smelled oud, you can most likely recognize it anywhere. On its own, it's quite polarizing, but when combined with a fragrance's note composition, it can add depth and complexity to any kind of scent. (Allure)

To be blunt about it: what this article dances around is the fact that a lot of people think that some ouds smell "sweaty" or even "fecal." I've personally seen this over and over in English-language user reviews at Fragrantica, Basenotes, that kind of all-encompassing database site. And I think there could be a cultural lack of appreciation at play there; it’s also true that some things just do not work with some people, biochemically, no matter how open-minded they are. I wanted to fistfight some European aldehydes. It happens. It’s also true that oud genuinely contains indole, a chemical that also makes some jasmine, ylang ylang, and gardenia flowers smell unpleasantly animalic or, yes, like shit. (Notice that jasmine and ylang are also in T-Rex.) I've never had a problem smelling white florals as unpleasant—and I’ve had jasmine and gardenia plants in my yard—just strong as fuck. I’ve also been lucky enough that the "urine" note in Mitsouko doesn't come out on me. Maybe, in trying T-Rex, the chemistry odds will actually be in my favor.

And I have to say, as a disclaimer: "kyara incense" isn't the official wording on the Zoologist website; I don’t know where this information came from. But after smelling the perfume—I'm not very experienced with oud, but I'm going to say, it tracks. Especially if your goal is to make a—let's say, "confrontational" fragrance.

But I don't think indolic notes are really the big news in T-Rex. The first thing I got was the rose: "Droplets of metallic rose oxide offer a chilling premonition of blood-lust." Bear in mind that rust is iron oxide; T-Rex gives off a very similarly rusty, blood-coppery note from that rose oxide, rather like raw beef. And I can tell it's truly the oxide note, because I can smell actual rose kind of trailing behind it.

My first thought was, who the fuck has ever used rose oxide in a perfume before? Well, it turns out that it doesn't smell like an rogue episode of Hannibal broke out when it's used in a rose accord or a fruit context:

Rose Oxide is the perfect aroma chemical for [a] vibrating, elegant and pulsating rose scent. It is used in many fragrances and [has a] highly impactful high cis quality, fresh, radiant and powerful. It is ideal for all kinds of compounds, used as an ingredient in cosmetics, personal care products, fragrances, cleaners, detergents, home care, perfumes etc. [...] It also adds to the flavor of select fruits like lychee and Gewürztraminer [a wine grape.] Rose oxide is a flavor rich component and can be seen in some essential oils like the Bulgarian rose oil and in roses. Rose oxide is one of the important fragrance materials in creating rosy notes for perfumes. (essentialoil.in)

(That link includes a lot of actual chemical notation, if you're interested in that. Note: "Cis" in this context refers to the spatial arrangement of atoms, "all on one side," not in an opposing "transverse" setup. Today I learned!)

Along that line, the supplier Pell Wall describes their rose oxide as "Floral-rose, green-geranium, bright-clean, metallic, wet. Diffusive and powerful." You'll notice that geranium is also in T-Rex; I would imagine, to boost the rose note, but also to underline the green notes of laurel and evergreen that create a dark, earthy wilderness under the raw meat aspect. I'm guessing that the juniper tar (an interesting nod to the tar pits people associate, however incorrectly, with dinosaur bones) adds some volcanic smoke, although it doesn't actually blend with the "meat" for me. Animalic civet and indole notes must be what give some flesh to the blood. And then of course, you also have the leathery skin of the dinosaur, combined with that (synthetic) civet musk. I'm not sure if the black pepper functions as the darkness of the forest, the wearer's sensation of encroaching threat, or, uh, seasoning.

So, on my skin, I’m getting both a dark dinosaur habitat sort of foundation, and then also “bloodlust” lurching through, with perhaps also the indolic effluvia associated with an abattoir, and I am using fancy words to dance around how gnarly this is. I do not like the slaughterhouse accord. Somehow, who could have guessed, I do not like it. I don't get much leather in the drydown, but in my experience, my skin just eats leather notes, I never get them. The "habitat" base is not very Me, but I actually do enjoy it a little? I already had essential oils of half the notes; I’m down with a lot of them in theory. It’s mostly the oud, the black pepper, and the juniper tar that lend such a menacing tone, I think. It's kind of stony and green, but a very dark and trampled green; it reassures me that I could try more oud and be okay, probably.

And of course, The Funk of Kings is in there—a patchouli that may be as harsh and peppery as the one I got at the beginning of Coco Mademoiselle. Between the stay-funkt patchouli and the immortal oud, I never had a chance of washing this off. (In fairness to me, I tried it twice and I did ride out the second wear.) If you're going to try this, buckle up and commit to it. Tyrannosaurus Rex is the Fuck Around and Find Out of perfume, and I'm not sure who actually wears it for the sake of wearing it. Maybe that suits an extinct animal, on some level: it's stored in your fragrance collection to be exhibited now and then, a marvel of creation, but not given life very often on the skin. You know what would happen if you did—you saw the end of Jurassic Park, and this perfume did too.

Perfume discussion masterpost

#uh jurassic park spoilers I guess #perfume #perfume discussion #perfume: zoologist #gifs #note: oud #note: rose #note: indole

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mashriqiyyah · 6 months

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If we want to promote the boycott of is-not-reali products, we need to give substitutes and options for it.

Now, I also remember sisters asking me for my skincare/haircare routines, and I wanted to give a detailed article on that, but now it ain't about the time.

So, here, I'll try to compile these two topics.

Skincare that's effective without using any israeli/american product.

First of all, I don't have a skincare routine. I don't follow any step by step process. But, I do use products that help me keep my skin clean and hydrated.

And the most important advice I'll give to sisters is not to go for "skincare brands" that give pea sized products in bag size money. These industries are mostly scam. Always go for drugstore products. Those that are created for medicinal purposes oriented towards genuinely healing the skin problems. And if you don't have any active skin problems, don't expose your face to various products for achieving "perfect skin". There's nothing like that. Normal skins have occasional pimples, pigmentations, dark spots and uneven texture.

Anyway.

If you're going for drugstore products...

Go for phrama companies like Cipla and Reddy's Laboratories.

I personally use Reddy's Venusia Max moisturizer as my skin gets extremely dry often. If you have dry n normal (combination) skin you can use it. And if you have oily skin, go for squalane based moisturizers from Derma Co.

Next in line, if you want to use any serums, vit C is best for skins and there's a product by Cipla "Rivella Vit C and HA Serum" it's soothing, and effective. Alhamdulillah.

As a face cleanser or what you call as face wash, there are very brilliant new company products from DeConstruct that I love love love because they are so gentle on face and keep your pH balance and moisture intact (great substitute for Dove soap)

Then there's one more important aspect on skincare that's protection from UV...so you'll need a sunscreen. Go for Regaliz Truederma SPF 50. It's efficient. Alhamdulillah. Or Minimalist Suncreen spf 60 + Niacinamide incase you wanna go economically minimalistic. Derma Co Zinc Sunscreen is good too (one that comes in orange coloured pack)

Now, these four things are more than enough to keep your skin good.

Cleanser, Serum, Moisturizer, Sunblock.

Apart from that if you still wanna have some extra products...not from drugstore but excellent Indian brands...then Go for Pilgrim or Minimalist. They have best the ranges in every product.

And then comes Haircare...

Boycott Garnier. Boycott Loreal Paris. Boycott Head n Shoulders.

Go for St. Botanica. The Shampoos are sooooo great. Allahummaabaarik. SLS, Paraben Free, Actually formulated for cleaning dirt from hairs and reduce hair problems. Conditioners too are effective and they actually work as they advertise. If not St. Botanica, mamaearth would be good...but I didn't see it's results as best as St. Botanica.

For lipbalms though, you can go for Mamaearth. The shades are subtle and help keep your lips hydrated and avoid pigmentations. Stop using Ponds, Vaseline, Nivea. .PLEASE!!!! Their lipbalms do nothing but make your lips darker and greasy.

Makeup, I don't use tbh. But few years back, I had gotten a lipstick from MyGlamm and a Foundation of Biotique. They were good. You can go for it.

Bodywashes, Feet scrubs - Bodywise

Hair removal gels/creams - Sirona

Perfumes - Ajmal / Maison De Fouzdar are best. No doubt.

I'm sharing this post not to promote any sort of "self care" in this situation....but as an essential need of substitutes. Infact these substitutes are way better and effective than the Israeli American products we've been wasting our money on.

I have tried to mention most of the things used by women because that's the biggest market for Israeli products.

If you are an Indian, promote Indian brands 'cause we gotta "make in India" ;)

For that we need to use only that which is "made in India"

Go ahead...you can add anything else I might've missed. And yes...If any Mother's seeing this, let us know baby products that are made in India.

- Umm Taimiyyah 🕊️

#health #fashion #beauty #boycott starbucks #boycott mcdonalds #boycott israel #boycott disney #boycott American goods #makeinindia #madeinindia #skincare #haircare #tumblrpost #free gaza #free palestine #stop palestinian genocide #reblog this

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castlesrp · 2 months

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The Whitman Family

Aphrodite: Cosmetics Conglomerate

The Whitman family is founded from humble beginnings that burgeoned into a multinational empire, weaving a saga of ambition, beauty, and the enduring legacy of Whitman Cosmetics. The company's roots trace back to a small perfume shop run by first generation immigrants, eventually evolving into a Midtown Manhattan-based powerhouse resulting in Whitman Cosmetics being known as a a multinational cosmetics company, manufacturer and marketer of makeup, skincare, perfume, and hair care products. First Whitman (76) serves as the CEO of the company, unable to step down as she hasn’t found a “suitable replacement” yet - much to the chagrin of her husband, First Stirling (75), who stepped down as the CFO for Whitman Cosmetics two years ago and just wants to retire in peace.

Their eldest child, First Hawthorne (48) has ventured into the family business as a fragrance chemist for the company, focusing on aromachology and how fragrances can impact mood or feelings. She and her husband First Hawthorne (49) have started their own small family with two children. After their father retired, the role of CFO was handed down to the eldest son, First Whitman (46) who was an extremely able and capable candidate for the role, though many in the company took it as a bit of a slight since he had not worked for Whitman Cosmetics as long as other candidates in the running. Regardless, alongside his wife First Whitman (46) and four daughters, he has managed to perform well in the role while contending with the pressure to find a successor CEO when his mother retires.

The remaining siblings have all ventured around Whitman Cosmetics in one way or another: First Whitman (42) is a professional model and has long been the face of Whitman Cosmetics, but finds himself grappling with the inevitable challenge of aging in an industry fixated on youth. Meanwhile, First Whitman (37) is the Chief Marketing Officer for the company and is trying to usher in a new generation of marketing strategies by collaborating with his younger brother First Whitman (35), a social media influencer and socialite that is always attending the classiest of affairs in New York City.

To aid in gaining the attention of younger generations are the twin daughters, First Whitman (33) and First Whitman (33). Using their family name and their own unique skills in the cosmetic industry, they have leveraged their family name and resources to establish a private boutique in Manhattan where they work as a makeup artist and hairstylist respectively, providing high end clientele with everything they might need in order to look their best. They have recently started to collaborate with First Cheng (39), hoping to combine her talents as a fashion designer to create an entire creative fashion Haus in the heart of New York City and take their family reputations and wealth to new heights.

First Whitman: 76 Years Old, CEO of Whitman Cosmetics, Catherine O'Hara, Available + First Stirling: 75 Years Old, Retired Chief Financial Officer of Whitman Cosmetics, Willem Dafoe, Available

First Hawthorne: 48 Years Old, Fragrance Chemist, Chrissy Metz, Available + First Hawthorne: 49 Years Old, Open Occupation, Michael Shannon, Available ----- First Hawthorne: 23 Years Old, Open Occupation, Felix Mallard, Available ----- First Hawthorne: 21 Years Old, Open Occupation, Joe Locke, Available

First Whitman: 46 Years Old, Chief Financial Officer of Whitman Cosmetics, Henry Cavill, Available + First Whitman: 46 Years Old, Open Occupation, Kristen Bell, Available ----- First Whitman: 25 Years Old, Open Occupation, Natalia Dyer, Available ----- First Whitman: 23 Years Old, Open Occupation, Phoebe Deynover, Available ----- First Whitman: 21 Years Old, Open Occupation, Renee Rapp 1, Available * ----- First Whitman: 21 Years Old, Open Occupation, Renee Rapp 2, Available * * Note: Whitman (21) and Whitman (21) are identical twins

First Whitman: 42 Years Old, Model, Sam Claflin, Available

First Whitman: 37 Years Old, Chief Marketing Officer of Whitman Cosmetics, Robert Pattinson, Available

First Whitman: 35 Years Old, Socialite and Social Media Influencer, Jonathan Bailey, Available

First Whitman: 33 Years Old, Make Up Artist, Margot Robbie, Available * * Note: Whitman (33) and Whitman (33) are fraternal twins

First Whitman: 33 Years Old, Hairstylist, Samara Weaving, Available * * Note: Whitman (33) and Whitman (33) are fraternal twins

#jcink #jcink rp #roleplay #bio rp #skeleton rp #canons

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goofyspokemonworldbuildingcorner · 10 months

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To promote their first live action movie based on one of their most popular doll lines, a toy company based in Unova did product collaborations with famous celebrities involved in the fashion and beauty industries from different regions. While Valerie’s Perfectly Pink clothing line and Elsea doing advertisements for Bubblegum perfume proved to be huge hits, drama boiled on Paldean social media. Iono released a video that she was snubbed by the toy’s marketing team. The company chose Tulip over Iono to represent Paldea with her makeup line.

#yes it’s based on the Barbie movie #pokemon headcanon #pokemon worldbuilding #gym leader valerie #gym leader elesa #gym leader iono #gym leader tulip

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dairy-farmer · 1 year

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I've seen it done exactly once in an ABO fic but it was GRIPPING and I think you'd love it? And this is just my take on the themes/troupes cause "Nice~👍🎉💖"? Vaguely Gothic Horror but Modern Bats! Mixed with a Civilian Tim Au! Where Tim doesn't know Bruce is batman. Oh sure he knows the Brucie Mask is fake as hell, has since he was super tiny, but NOT what he's hiding! What ANY of them are.

And the Bats are urban legends, the wealthy scoff, you don't REALLY believe there is some sort of Bat Creature running around Gotham? (Wayne tech makes the finest video scrambling tech not on the market. It will never BE on the market.) Tim of course knows there IS, but really... since his parents died? He's more concerned with keeping Drake Industries afloat. People don't have a lot of confidence in young teenage CEOs. Or even barely legal CEOs.

He's been swamped. Yet Brucie "I basicly OWN half of Gotham yet everyone thinks I'm a harmless himbo" Wayne has been religiously sending him invites to every event he hosts. As though Tim wouldn't have been eaten ALIVE and had Drake Industries stolen from him, before now. But he can't put it off any more. He's run out of fires to put out, as it were.

People are starting to ask when they'll see him at the next event. If he's, for some unthinkable reason, AVOIDING dear Brucie Wayne. The beloved brainless prince of Gotham. Both PR and HR would strangle him to death with his own insides if he said he was.

So he goes. Puts on his best GNC suit, those touches of jewelry, a bit of scent you can't tell if it's perfume or cologne etc. And he goes to be the little Dragon of Gotham. Tries to avoid getting to close to the looming, masked by only their own faces, CLEARLY hiding something Wayne's.

He fails.

Of course he does. Bruce gets him alone. Knows that Tim knows his Brucie Mask is fake. Knows a LOT more then he should, actually. Has been trying to get a hold of him since his parents accident. To foster him of course. (And in the beginning that really WAS all Bruce wanted to do. But Tim was so, so clever. Kept escaping and proving himself and fighting. Bruce was watching, ready to step in and take over. Them moment never came though. But Bruce has grown so... attached. He WANTS to take care of his boy. This brilliant soft young man, untouched by the vigilante life.)

Tim mentally calls bullshit. There is HUNGER in those eyes. And? Just as Bruce is pulling the "you know... Wayne Industries has been VERY interested in some of your company's current projects, we should sex about it." Purr and loom routine? They get interrupted by the one and only Gotham's Golden Pretty Boy: Dickie Grayson. And oh shit! Same too toothy fake smile, same hunger in the eyes, weird tension between him and Bruce. Tim takes his chance to escape.

But for SOME reason? After that party? He CANT seem to escape! (It's cause they're Bats. Professional Ninja Stalkers.) Showing up everywhere, knowing too much, circling tighter and tighter like sharks he's not entirely sure he even WANTS to fight. No one has ever been this into him. There are enough red flags to bury men alive.

He might be into that.

And they DO watch him everywhere! Both mundane life, work, and getting off when he should be in what is the privacy of his own home. They fantasize about it, about him. There are GIFTS.

Then? Oh dear, one rainy, rainy night... as he needs to fetch something from the old Manor he grew up in... which is RIGHT next to Wayne Manor? For some UNKNOWN reason his car blows a tire as it passes near their gate! Well he can't drive like THAT! And it is so VERY late! Guess he has no choice but to stay the night now.

And if the sneak a bit of pollen into his food? Well they FINALLY have their Tim HOME. Where he belongs! He'd love being part of the family, being loved, taken care off, not ALONE anymore. But they have such a limited amount of time to convince him. To open him up to the idea that being around them feels good. That they'll take care off him. The second the rain stops, he'll flee again back to lonely penthouse and isolated life. They HAVE too!

So they make him feel good. Brain meltingly good. Mouths and fingers and toys and more. They have his phone and work computer, it'll be easy to impersonate him for a while and shoulder some of that work for their boy while they convince him. They have NO idea how he got dosed they lie, but they care so much, love their Tim so much they'll GLADLY help him through it. Won't tell a soul, promise! They got you little bird, they got you~♡

i might have a fic rec for this!!!! it's incomplete but a very good civilian tim and bats/tim fic!!!!!!!!!!!!

its called the rapture, it's a hunger

the idea of the bats alll having this kind of possessiveness over tim and doing their best to integrate into his life like he's not desperately suspicious of them and their ulterior motives is so good!!!! tim may not be robin or a bat but he can still pick up and sense that things aren't fully pure and innocent from these waynes that act VERY suspicious towards him in particular. but tim is trapped because its him against basically a miniature army who all have an obsessive streak 😭

#anonymous #asks #answered asks

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