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#about telling u about that cool article they just read
here2bbtstrash · 2 years
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party on you (explicit)
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genre: SMUT SMUT SMUT with an extremely small side of fluff lol
pairing: hoseok x reader
summary: the only thing stronger than your social anxiety is your big dumb crush on hoseok - and you're certainly not expecting it when he tells you the real reason he threw this album release party.
word count: 9.8k
contains: explicit sexual content aka PORN !!!! idol-verse, literally takes place at the JITB album release party, friends to lovers, erotic hand holding, they're both cute and dumb, a studio hookup 👀 dirty talk, thigh riding, cunnilingus, a single pussy slap lol, taint touching (?), HOBI EATS ASS, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, throat fucking, reader gets a facial, and a lil bit of cum eating, it's cute 😌
A/N: so, hi, i went to hobipalooza lmao. this is actually lowkey a songfic ??? charli xcx was one of the earlier acts on hobi's stage and. my god. seeing her live was a religious experience, and when she performed party 4 u i was like hnnnhghg this should be a fic. and now it is !!!! and i hope u enjoy 🥺🥺 i tried some new stuff in here, both soft and freaky lmao so i'm nervy to share!!! as always your support and feedback means the world to meeeee ok ilysomuch bye~
read on AO3 !
~*~
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You collapse back against the cushions of your couch with a soft whine of distress.
The whole thing is really so ridiculous. You told yourself when this started that you could be chill about it. People get crushes every day. It doesn’t have to be a huge fucking deal. You’re a sane, rational adult, perfectly capable of admiring a man quietly from afar while doing your best to be a good friend to him.
And, yes, maybe also obsessing a little too much over what to wear when you hang out, and what to post on Instagram in case he might see it, and dear god, how long his hair is getting. All normal crush things.
But now, as you press your phone to your chest with both hands and sigh forlornly, you wonder if it might actually be possible to yearn yourself to death. To like somebody so much that your heart just fucking explodes. If anyone could be capable of inciting spontaneous combustion, it is absolutely Jung Hoseok.
And he wants you to come to his big fancy party– has specifically sent a day-of reminder text, like you didn’t already receive a formal invitation weeks ago.
You purse your lips, fighting to keep a smile off your face despite being alone in your apartment where no one can perceive you. Hoseok is always so good at keeping in touch, even when he’s in an insanely busy season of his life. You can picture him now, probably bustling around his place in a robe, getting ready while simultaneously sending everyone their own personalized message.
Everyone– when you last chatted about the party, he rattled off enough of the guest list for you to know that easily half the industry will be there tonight. And even Lizzo has gushed about how great of a texter he is. You try to ease yourself off the ledge with the comforting thought that this has to be just one courtesy text of dozens, his pretty painted thumbnails working overtime to send gratuitous emojis out to every idol in the city.
And somehow also to you. Because your big fat crush made you stupid enough to say yes to what is arguably your worst nightmare: A party full of cool famous people, where you will know no one except the guest of honor.
Skipping the party is not an option becomes your internal refrain as the hours tick by. You have to remind yourself of this even more emphatically when you wind up on the floor of your bedroom, having tried on every article of clothing in your closet and having decisively hated it all.
Skipping the party is not an option, you think again, grabbing your phone to check the clock. Your heart sinks when you realize how much time you’ve wasted being an anxious wreck– you had planned to be ready to leave five minutes ago, not laying half-naked on the floor, hair and makeup still undone.
But skipping the party is not an option. A pre-party cry, however, might be on the table.
Pushing yourself up to sit on your heels, you force the tears back while you aimlessly sort through a pile of clothes. You’re barely looking at what’s in front of you, but you pause to do a double-take as your hand passes over a particularly enjoyable texture.
When you manage to extract the item, you realize it’s a dress you’d forgotten about entirely– something a friend made you buy a lifetime ago that you’ve never worn because you’ve always been uncomfortable with how short it is. But it’s smooth baby pink satin, and as different from your usual as it may be, you recall not being mad about the way it stuck to your curves like water.
Fuck it. You’re already late, and if there’s ever a party where you can take a fashion risk, it’s one thrown by Hoseok. You can only imagine what he might have on tonight; it honestly wouldn’t surprise you if he showed up in the same fucking dress.
The thought of seeing him is enough to make your heart leap in your chest, and you do your best to speed through your usual makeup and hair routine despite the way your hands are starting to tremble. By the time you grab your purse and make it out the door, you’re thirty minutes late. That thirty minutes quickly stretches into a full hour before you’re stepping off the elevator onto the 19th floor of HYBE headquarters, feeling like an asshole.
Gorgeous idols and various other famous people stream in around you, dressed in clothes that appear casual but you’re sure cost double your monthly rent payment, looking less than unbothered about showing up late. You do your best to slip in unnoticed and stick to the perimeter of the massive room, feeling like an absolute fraud.
Thankfully it’s only a few steps before you find a table taken up entirely by pre-filled flutes of champagne, and you eagerly grab one, mostly just grateful for something to do with your hands.
It occurs to you how little you know about celebrity culture, because the party doesn’t even seem to have started yet: early 2000s R&B is bumping through the speakers, and it feels like every few minutes the elevator chimes to let another group of people trickle into the space. You find an unoccupied section of wall to lean against as you sip your drink slowly, hoping that if you try hard enough, you might actually manage to become one with the wallpaper.
Tipping your head back for another sip of champagne, you nearly choke at an unexpected voice from over your shoulder.
“You look like you hate parties as much as I do.”
You manage to not inhale your drink, instead giving a polite smile as your eyes drift across the crowded room. You’re too nervous to immediately steal a glance at whoever is speaking to you, though you’re sure it just makes you seem rude. “Hate isn’t exactly it.” You have nothing against parties, or people who enjoy them. “I just… haven’t figured out what I’m supposed to be doing, exactly.”
“I think talking to people is generally expected,” the voice quips. “So, hey, you’re doing great already. Keep it up and they might even think you’re an extrovert.”
You exhale a soft laugh, a slight heat of embarrassment creeping up your neck.
“But Hobi said I didn’t have to meet and greet if I didn't want to. So I’m taking that as full permission to enjoy free alcohol and read webtoons on my phone.”
Your gaze snaps over at the familiar nickname, and your mouth goes dry as you realize you’ve been casually conversing with none other than Kim Seokjin, who is absentmindedly fiddling with the thin green strap of the bag slung over his shoulder.
Fuck. Embarrassing yourself in front of random famous people was exactly what you were trying to avoid when you picked this wall to lean against. You’d figured the other members would all be out mingling in the center of things, not hiding in a corner. Who knew celebrities were just like you?
“I-I’m sorry,” you stammer, immediately dropping your gaze to avoid making eye contact when Jin looks up. He probably assumed you’d sidled up next to him on purpose, like some kind of creepy fan. “I’ll leave you alone, I actually really didn’t mean to–”
You glance up again only to realize Jin is laughing, shoulders shaking slightly.
“Wow, I’m so bad at this. That wasn’t me telling you to fuck off. I was just trying to sympathize.” He gestures lazily towards the stage at the front of the room. “Thankfully it looks like you don’t have to suffer my conversation any longer.”
A Jack in the Box graphic has started to flash, projected onto the screen. After a few seconds, the image stills, and a spotlight clicks on, following Hoseok as he emerges from backstage. You lean forward to set your drink on the closest table so you can join in the applause for him.
Hoseok looks as effortlessly cool as he always does, but even more so tonight, like someone has cranked his charisma up to the max setting. A real fucking popstar, a rockstar, even: baggy clothes, multiple layers of necklaces, chunky black boots, dark hair pushed back with a few strands falling into his eyes. He somehow even manages to make wearing sunglasses indoors look cool– probably because they’re immediately offset by the wide, sweet grin of his mouth as he addresses the crowd. You can hear that he’s nervous by how hard he’s trying to keep his voice even, and it’s enough to make you feel the flutter of butterfly wings in your throat.
As you pick your drink back up for another sip, you can’t help but wonder if Jin can literally see the hearts in your eyes, or a nervous little teardrop floating above your head like an anime character. You do your best to hide your smile behind your glass.
“J-Hope is pretty cool, huh?”
You bite down on your bottom lip, answering Jin’s question with a shy nod.
Hoseok descends the stage as the lights lower, and then the album intro is starting and there’s no more time for conversation. You watch from across the room as he drops down on the large built-in stairs next to Jungkook, who immediately wraps a supportive arm around his waist while Hoseok laughs like he’s embarrassed. You’ve always been in total awe of the way Hoseok can light up and command the energy of a room easily, then squirm away from it at the next second.
Jin gets waved over and gives you a small nod as he departs, and then you’re alone again with the champagne in your hand and the wall against your back and Hoseok’s music thrumming through your nervous system.
The album is nothing like you expected– you didn’t know what to expect, really– and you absolutely love it. You’ve always felt like you have a stupidly limited vocabulary when it comes to talking about music, particularly around Hoseok, but even you can manage to string together the thought that these songs are fucking special.
But then again, so is he.
In what feels like the blink of an eye Hoseok is taking the stage again to giggle through his thanks, bent slightly at the waist in overwhelmed appreciation, and then the pop playlist is switched back on and the lights are dimmed and you suddenly feel your palms start to slick up against your champagne flute.
You can’t help but wonder what the fuck you’re supposed to do now.
The obvious choice would be to finally go talk to Hoseok, but of course, he’s the man of the hour, so every other person in the room seems to have the same idea. You choose to hang back and watch as he weaves through the growing crowd, putting on a bored expression to pose for pictures, laughing excitedly as people shake his hand and speak to him in hushed tones, and flashing thumbs ups and peace signs left, right and center.
It looks exhausting, you think to yourself with a small smile. And this is why you’re not famous.
For the second time tonight someone manages to sneak up on you, and this time it’s accompanied with a gentle call of your name. You nearly drop your drink as you whip around.
When you find yourself face-to-face with Park Jimin, it takes a few seconds for you to remember how to close your mouth. What is going on?
“I thought that was you.”
You double-blink, unable to find any words at all. You have never met this man before in your life. Seen him dozens of times on your TV screen, sure, but certainly never formally introduced.
“I’m Jimin,” he says, and you have to swallow the urge to giggle in his face because, yeah, no shit.
“Hi, Jimin.”
“Hoseok is going to be excited that you’re here.” Jimin scrunches his face up a little, like he knows he shouldn’t be telling you this. “He kept asking me if I thought you would show or not. He really wouldn’t shut up about it.”
You find yourself stammering again, trying to figure out how the hell to respond. Why, out of everyone on the guest list, would Hoseok be concerned about you? And he’s talked to Jimin about you enough for him to know who you are, that he can recognize you on sight alone? Your head starts to spin, despite the fact that you’re only halfway through your glass of champagne.
“Since you don’t like parties,” Jimin says, like it’s common knowledge, as if it’s totally normal for this very busy and famous kpop idol to keep tabs on your socialization preferences.
You nod dumbly. “I, yeah. I’m just not very good at them.”
Jimin nods, pushing up the sleeves of his white Chanel sweater. “You just have to get comfortable with talking to people about boring shit. Did you try the food?”
You shake your head– the very thought is enough to make you feel a little sick. “I get, like, a nervous stomach?” You hate that it comes out like a question when it clearly isn’t.
“Aish, you and Hoseok are so alike,” Jimin rolls his eyes, hands on hips, but you can see he’s smiling a little. “I haven’t been able to get him to eat anything all day. And we ordered so much food, I don’t even know why. Like half the people in this room aren’t on fucking diets.”
“Jimin-ah!”
Both of your heads snap up at the sound of Namjoon’s voice from the other side of the room, distorted slightly by the thudding bass.
“Ahh, they’re doing pictures,” Jimin says with an exaggerated sigh, like it’s just so hard being desirable and photogenic. “Do you want to get a photo?”
You shake your head as emphatically as possible. “No, nope, absolutely not.”
Jimin pauses, squinting at you for a second in a way that makes you think that if you were closer friends, he’d be dragging you across the room regardless of your answer to the question. You watch as he clearly attempts to restrain himself.
“Well, don’t drink too much on an empty stomach, okay? I’ll make you a to-go plate of food before you leave.” He starts to walk backwards away from you, raising his voice a little so you can still hear him. “And please talk to Hoseokie when we’re done! Maybe then he’ll calm the fuck down!”
You can’t hide the smile that blooms across your face, and Jimin wiggles his eyebrows for emphasis before turning around and pressing his way through the crowd to the photo wall.
The members take turns passing Hoseok around, punctuated by the snap of the camera: pinching his cheeks, leaning into him, clinging to his shoulders, wrapping an arm around his neck. You laugh out loud when Taehyung hikes a leg up high on Hoseok’s hip and tips back, a hand draped across his forehead, eyes shut, so fucking dramatic.
Hoseok stares down the camera like a professional, only to immediately dissolve into giggles between shots, tongue poking out between his teeth like he can’t quite handle all the attention. It’s enough to have you nearly fighting for your life.
The members crowd in for a few group shots, posing cutely until Jimin finally waves everyone back off to the dancefloor. He keeps Hoseok behind with one hand gripping his bicep, and your heart drops into your stomach when Jimin leans in to whisper something in Hoseok’s ear.
Oh, fuck.
You try to calm yourself down, reasoning that he could be talking about any number of important things, but then Jimin pulls Hoseok’s sunglasses off his face, turns him unmistakably in your direction, and gives his shoulders a hard push. It’s clear Hoseok doesn’t quite know where he’s going as he stumbles forward and squints at the party lights, so you throw back the last of your champagne for some assistance, set the empty flute on a table, and force yourself to be brave.
You run your palms nervously over the sides of your dress, trying to focus on the feeling of smooth satin as you cross the room to meet him.
“Hobi.” His eyes find yours and you watch as his face, still in party mode— all perfect straight lines and severe grace and supermodel apathy— softens, brightens.
“Oh thank god, you made it,” Hoseok huffs a disbelieving laugh. “Come here.”
He pulls you in for a hug, not the lazy one-armed greetings you’ve seen celebrities give each other all night but a real, solid embrace, both arms crossed firmly over the small of your back. You press your nose into the crook of his neck, the thin fabric of his tank top brushing against your skin. Heat radiates off of him in waves, and he smells so good, like expensive cologne. It’s dizzying.
“Hi,” you murmur, and it’s punctuated with a soft giggle when you realize you’re speaking directly into his collarbone. You move to extract yourself, but his grip tightens.
“Five more seconds,” Hoseok says with another half-laugh, and you gladly allow yourself to melt back into his arms.
He sounds slightly hoarse, you notice, probably from talking all night. You think for easily the millionth time that you have no idea how he does it, but this moment of softness makes you wonder if being the life of the party is a little more difficult than he lets on.
Hoseok hums a little, and the feeling rumbles through your chest, buzzing all the way down to your fingertips like an electric current. When he finally releases you, it’s with a soft sigh, something that almost sounds like reluctance. Your heart backflips at the thought.
The lights flash waves of rainbow color over his face, each one painting his perfect features with a slightly different energy: pink, blue, orange, green. You momentarily forget how to talk, but Hoseok doesn’t miss a beat.
“Are you having fun?”
You nod as decisively as you can. “I’m just awkward, but that’s not your party’s fault.” He giggles, gaze flitting nervously around the room, as you continue. “Seriously, it’s a great party. And I’m not just saying that because you have free booze.”
“Did you want more?” He asks quickly, then seems to think better of it. “Or, well, how much have you had? Do you need water?”
You smile a little despite yourself. “I’m fine, Hobi, thank you. You have better things to do tonight than look after me because I nursed a single glass of champagne. And besides, Jimin already tried to mother hen me earlier.”
A look of serious anguish crosses Hoseok’s face, and he glances back over his shoulder, but Jimin has evaporated into the crowd of beautiful people. “God, I specifically told him to leave you alone.”
You shrug. “It’s not a big deal. He was sweet.”
Hoseok’s gaze lands back on you, and it feels like your chest lights up from the inside out. You almost can’t look directly at him– it’s not unlike staring into the sun. You blink up at him once, twice, more than dazed, and then he laughs again, nose scrunching slightly as if to cringe at himself.
“Agh, I feel awkward. I don’t know what to say.”
You’re smiling, too. “That’s okay,” you say, because it is. You’re perfectly content to just stand here with him, unconcerned with the chaos of the party around you.
“I’m really glad you’re here.”
“Me too.”
“And– well, I guess you’ve never been here before, right? Can I give you a tour? I can take you downstairs and show you my studio.”
Your cheeks start to burn from all the questions, from how fixed his gaze is on you. It’s overwhelming. “Hobi, this is literally your party. You should stay here. I was doing fine holding up the wall over there.”
“Come on, I really want to. Please?” He leans in towards you slightly, glancing around as if to make sure he’s not being overheard. When he speaks into your ear, his voice drops to a lower register for privacy, and you can’t ignore the chills that dot up your spine. “I can’t talk to one more person that isn’t you right now.”
You nod, every nerve ending in your body now hyper-aware of how very close he is to you. “If you’re sure. I’d like that.”
“Thank you,” he says softly, and you breathe a soft giggle at how ridiculous it is that he’s the one thanking you at this moment. Before you even realize what he’s doing, his hand finds your hand, delicate fingers intertwining with yours. The skin of his palm is soft and warm. “Let’s go.” He chases the words with a gentle squeeze.
Hoseok leads you into the elevator and presses the button for a lower floor. You’re a little surprised when he slumps back against the wall with a heavy sigh as the doors close, still holding your hand.
“Oh, I’m tired.” He says quietly, almost like he’s talking to himself rather than to you. “It just hit me now. That was a lot.”
You squeeze his hand back, and his eyes flutter open to look at you. You press yourself up against the wall next to him. “You sound like me after any social event. And here I was thinking all night that you made it look so easy.”
Hoseok smiles. “I’m good at faking it. But I always collapse after stuff like this.” His eyes drift away from you and he stares into the empty space in front of him, his expression darkening slightly. “I just really hope they liked it. It’s so hard to tell what people think, or who’s only bullshitting you when they tell you it’s good. I’d rather they be honest with me.”
“Well, if it means anything, I loved it.” You say softly, your eyes searching his face. “And I’m not a bullshitter.”
Hoseok blinks, then nods once, his eyes not meeting yours. “You’re not. I appreciate that.”
The chime of the elevator seems to snap him somewhat out of his headspace, and he tugs on your joined hands to pull you through the doors as they slide open. “It’s just at the end of the hall.”
There’s something about Hoseok that comforts you all the way to your core, laps gently at the edges of your shyness until it recedes a bit. He just makes you feel like you can say anything without fear of judgment. Conversation comes easier with him, like this.
“How do you feel about it?”
“The album?” He asks.
You shrug. “Everything.”
“I’m very nervous,” Hoseok answers immediately with a bright peal of laughter, squeezing your hand again for emphasis. “I’m working really hard but… it all feels like uncharted territory. It’s so different to do it alone.”
His eyes jump from studio door to studio door as he leads you down the hallway. “I don’t know if people are going to like this side of me or the things I have to say. I don’t know if anyone will still care now that it’s just me. And ugh, I’m so unsure about the music festival. I’ve never done a whole show on my own before. I practice so much every day and I still don’t know if I can do it. Or if it will be any good.”
When he stops you outside of the final door at the end of the hallway, he seems to remember himself. “Wow, look at me. You were probably only being polite and I threw so much at you. This is just what goes around in my head. Every day and every night.”
“You sound stressed,” you say softly.
Hoseok purses his lips for a second. “I guess. I just really want to do well. I don’t want to disappoint anyone. I would– what?”
It isn’t until he asks the question, regarding you with a confused expression, that you realize you’re shaking your head. The smile that has crept across your face is a mixture of disbelief and appreciation.
“I’m sorry,” you’re practically laughing. “Please, keep going.”
“No, no, what is that face?”
You chew on the corner of your lip, trying to figure out the best way to word it. “I just… I don’t want to dismiss your concerns, because I absolutely understand all of them. And I would be shitting a brick, no question. But you…” Hoseok’s eyes widen a little as you pause, drinking him in, the way concern tugs down the corners of his mouth. “You just have no idea. No idea what it’s like to watch you from out here. And I wish you could see yourself the way I do.”
He pauses as if to consider your words. “What do you see?”
You don’t even have to think about the answer. It feels as steady and honest as the beat of your heart behind your ribs. “I see a fucking star. I see somebody who was born to do exactly what he’s doing. And, I mean, I think being nervous is a good thing, and I don’t say this to try and invalidate how you’re feeling at all. But I don’t see any possible future where you don’t succeed, Hoseok. It’s just... not an option. You’re going to get up there and kill it, I know you are. Because it’s you.”
Hoseok’s hand slips out of yours, and you can feel the warmth of his palms as he presses them to your waist to pull you close. Anticipation sparks through you. His eyes search yours intently, like he’s looking for something. “You really feel that way?”
“Completely. There’s no doubt in my mind.” Your gaze drops to his mouth, the way his full lips are parted slightly, and it occurs to you that maybe you’re talking about more than one thing now. “It feels predestined, to me… I don’t know. Inevitable.”
Hoseok makes a soft noise as he continues to close the distance between you. “Inevitable?” You tilt your chin up towards him, every cell in your body humming. “Like this?”
The way he kisses you is so gentle and sweet, you swear your heart leaps into your throat. You allow a second, maybe two, to move your mouth against his and get lost in it, and then you force yourself to break away, your mind reeling.
“I’m sorry,” he says automatically. “I’ve been wanting to do that all night.”
“Hoseok,” you murmur, eyes squeezing shut as you attempt to navigate the discomfort of being vulnerable. “I– you should know that I really, really like you.”
“Really?”
The shock in his voice makes your eyes snap open again, and you can’t help but make a face of utter disbelief. “I thought it was obvious.”
“Looks like I’m not the only one who doesn’t realize how other people see me. You’re actually very hard to read.” Hoseok slips one hand off of your waist to push down on the door handle behind you, then gestures for you to step through. He keeps talking as he follows in after you, letting the door shut behind him. “I second-guess myself all the time with you. Jimin is so fucking tired of hearing about it.”
“Wow,” you say dumbly. “I had no idea.”
“You didn’t even text me back about tonight! I had no idea if you were coming.”
You start to laugh as the realization washes over you: you’d been so busy sighing forlornly and stressing about what to wear, you’d forgotten to actually reply to his messages.
“Okay, this time was actually an accident. But…” You sweep your gaze over his studio, trying to think. “I don’t know, I just always feel like I’m bothering you. Your life is so big and important. Even now: you should be upstairs being the star of your own party. Not down here with me.”
Hoseok shakes his head immediately. “I don’t want to talk to anyone up there the way I want to talk to you. I was such a wreck today when you didn’t answer.”
You can’t believe what he’s saying, even as he takes a step in towards you, his mouth invitingly close to yours again. “Why? I am quite literally the least important person on the guestlist.”
“Because,” Hoseok pauses for a second, then sighs. “I like you, and I was scared that you’d decided not to come, when I…” He’s practically grinning, and the tell of his scrunched up nose makes you realize– he’s embarrassed. “I threw this whole party just to have an excuse to see you.”
Your jaw drops open. “You what?”
“Please don’t make me say it again.”
“Hobi.” You both start to laugh as you stare in disbelief, trying to process the most ridiculous statement you’ve ever heard in your life. “You could have just called me.”
“I tend to overthink these things.”
He’s close enough that you barely have to move to slide your hands up his chest and grip the lapels of his white button-down.
“I think I can help with that,” you murmur, and then you tug him back down into a kiss that makes your head spin.
The sweet nervousness of your first kiss has been replaced with urgency now, Hoseok’s mouth moving over yours like he’s hungry for it. You tug gently on your fistfuls of his shirt to move him towards you, stumbling backwards until you find purchase against the door of the studio.
Hoseok moves skillfully, tongue licking into your mouth while one of his strong thighs shifts to tease your legs apart and press between them. The quick succession of the two is enough to make your breath hitch, and it seems to encourage him more. The rough denim of his jeans grinds into your center, and your already-short dress has ridden up enough that the pressure drags hot sparks right over your core.
Your jaw goes slack as your focus slips, and you tip your head back against the door with a soft whine, circling your hips for more friction. “Fuck, Hoseok.”
His lips drop down to the exposed skin of your neck. The warmth of his mouth has your back arching, your nipples rubbed into stiff peaks under the thin fabric you couldn’t wear a bra with.
“You look so fucking good tonight,” Hoseok groans. “Driving me crazy in this little dress.”
There’s the soft brush of a hand on your thigh, and he teases the hem of your dress up higher and higher as your hips keep moving; his tongue darts out to lick a languid stripe over your collarbone. His other hand slides up from your waist to cup your breast over satin, deftly rolling the bud of your nipple between his long fingers, pinching with just enough pressure to coax a moan out of you.
“I like the sounds you make. Don’t want you to be shy with me.” Hoseok murmurs over your skin before he starts to suck deliberately at your neck, right on your pulse point. You couldn’t stifle the sound his mouth pulls from you even if you wanted to.
With all your attention drawn to grinding your clit against his leg and the warmth of his palm cupping your breast, your grip on the fabric of his shirt has loosened. Moving in a haze of pleasure, your hands fumble at his denim jacket, attempting to push it down his shoulders. Hoseok pulls back slightly when he realizes what you’re doing, though his fingers still lazily squeeze at your nipple.
“Let me just– hang on–” Hoseok untangles himself from you entirely with a sheepish grin, and you take the moment to collect yourself, your chest heaving in shallow breaths. You can feel the way your panties are soaked through as you press your thighs together, desperate for continued friction.
He’s moving quickly as he slips out of his oversized jacket and button down beneath it. You can clearly see the wheels in his head turning as he lays the pieces over the back of his desk chair, then immediately scrunches his face up as if to think better of it.
“Agh, sorry, sorry, one second–” Hoseok shakes out the jacket, then the shirt, folding both in quick yet precise succession before stacking the neat rectangles together and gently setting them on the small couch next to his desk.
Even in the dim studio lighting you can see his face is flushed pink with embarrassment as he returns to press you back against the door.
“I just– I don’t want wrinkles,” he says softly, and you’re very grateful that you no longer have to suppress the urge to take his face in your hands and kiss him.
“I like you so much,” you giggle into his mouth, and it’s punctuated with a squeak when his hands slide down to firmly grab your ass. The fabric of your dress is so thin that it hardly feels like it’s there at all.
Hoseok must have the same thought, because he releases his grip only for as long as it takes to push the skirt of your dress up over your ass; now there’s nothing separating his fingers from your skin when he squeezes you again.
“Like you,” he agrees, his voice husky. “Want to taste you.” Your core aches for his touch, clenches around nothing when he releases his grip and cracks a hand over the soft flesh of your asscheek.
“Please, Hobi.”
You find his mouth with yours again for a needy taste of a kiss, tongues sliding together. Your arms wrap around his shoulders in an attempt to pull him impossibly closer.
In one swift move he presses you flush against the door, and his hands slip to hitch your legs over his waist before moving back to your ass, hoisting your hips up to properly straddle him. You whimper at the grind of his erection through his jeans, right over your rubbed-sensitive center, and at the thought that he could fuck you just like this, up against this door.
Hoseok’s mouth doesn’t leave yours as he turns and carries you the short distance across the room, hands sliding to your hips so he can set you down on the desk. His lips are full and kiss-bitten red when he pulls back to look at you, pupils blown dark with lust.
“Sure this is okay?”
You meet his gaze, reaching up to dust strands of hair out of his eyes. His mouth chases the heel of your hand so he can press those soft lips into the center of your palm, chaste and sweet. 
“It’s so much more than okay,” you murmur.
He’s smiling as he leans forward for another kiss, only pulling back to press his forehead to yours once you’re both breathless. “I have wanted to do this for so fucking long. You have no idea.”
His hands hook under the backs of your thighs to scoot you gently forward until you’re perched at the very edge of his desk, and then he sinks to his knees. Your legs that were slipped around his waist find new purchase thrown over his shoulders and you tense a little when your high heels scrape over his back.
“I can take these off,” you start, but he’s already shaking his head as his palms encourage your thighs apart.
“I like it.”
You’re nearly gasping for breath with anticipation as his long fingers slip under the band of your panties and you lift your hips up so he can pull them down. You manage to extract one leg to drape back over his shoulders, leaving the lacy fabric to dangle off the other as you open up for him.
Hoseok’s thumbs press to either side of your pussy, gently spreading your lips apart to admire how soaked you already are. Anyone else examining you like this would have you squirming away self-consciously, but there’s just something about Hoseok that’s different. You want him to know every part of you fully, intimately.
“God, you are so gorgeous.” His breath is hot over your skin, makes your cunt tighten needily as if to beckon him closer.
You lean back to brace your forearms on the desk behind you and Hoseok’s gaze jumps up to meet yours. He doesn’t drop eye contact as he leans forward to press an open-mouthed kiss to your slit, both of you groaning at the contact.
His mouth moves just as it did against yours, and you let your eyes flutter closed as pleasure sears through you like a hot knife. Hoseok grunts a little, low in his throat when he adds tongue to his kisses, licking softly but deliberately to part your slick folds.
“Hobi,” you whine, rolling your hips up into him as he starts to apply more pressure with his tongue. “Fuck, ah, feels so good.”
Hoseok pulls off of you with a throaty gasp, like maybe he was so focused on eating you out that he didn’t quite remember to keep breathing. When you look down at him, his lips are wet and glossy, spread in a wide smile. “You taste so fucking good.”
You don’t even have time to ask for more before he’s hooking his biceps around your thighs and tugging your hips towards him, pulling you even closer to bury his face between your legs. This time he licks a stripe straight up to your swollen clit, pulling the bud into his mouth to suck on.
“Oh my god,” you gasp, digging your nails into the desk beneath you as sparks shoot through you and your clit twitches in his mouth.
Hoseok hums steadily around you, as if to once again encourage you to be vocal. He starts to nod his head as he sucks, his nose pressed flush against your pubic bone. Your hips fall in time with his rhythm, grinding back down on him.
“Yes, yes, yes,” you whimper. “Shit, Hobi.” Your voice catches on a dazed, disbelieving laugh. “You’re gonna make me come if you keep doing that.”
He doesn’t let up, squeezing his grip on your thighs that much tighter when you start to quiver beneath him. Your arousal coils tight and hot in your core as he works more not-so-shy noises out of you, breathy moans, needy whines.
You cling desperately to the edge of his desk, teetering equally on the edge of your own release. The wet slick wash of his tongue is lush, decadent, lapping at your clit between pulses of suction, and it’s all too fucking much.
“Yes, Hoseok, fuck!”
You cry out, your heels digging into the hard plane of Hoseok’s back as he works an intense, shuddering orgasm out of you. Your cunt throbs over and over as you come, a rush of arousal painting the crux of your thighs.
When you catch your breath it’s in uneven, shaky gasps, and the movement of your hips sharpens into jolts as you become hypersensitive to Hoseok’s mouth. He releases you almost reluctantly, still hovering close, continuing to dart his tongue out to gently lick up your folds.
“I don’t want to stop,” he says with a shy, blossoming laugh, the light catching the shine of his lips and chin when he glances up at you.
You’re dazed, beyond blissed out, unable to believe that any of this is real. You like him so much.
“Can I keep going?”
Just that sentence is enough to make you tighten all over again with anticipation. “I–” you laugh a little too despite yourself. “I want that. But I think my clit needs a second.”
Hoseok’s touch is featherlight as he circles a digit lower, over your entrance, as if to ask permission. “What about here?” Your pussy lips twitch even under so gentle a touch, but you ache for more; you like that it’s overwhelming.
“Yeah, yes. There, please, fuck,” you babble. He’s added a second finger to tease now, and you whimper when they finally press together into your sensitive cunt.
Hoseok is watching his fingers intently, and you can hear the way your pussy squelches as he pumps them slowly, can feel the tremors of your orgasm still shuddering through you, causing slick to drip from your center. You can only imagine what his view must be like, how you must look: dripping, needy, trembling for him, fingers gripping the desk and head lolling back.
“So pretty,” he murmurs, his voice low and soft, and then he dips his head down to lap below your entrance, tasting the juices that have leaked out of you. He pulls back to smack his other hand over your whole cunt, light enough that you barely feel the tap, but just the visual of it makes you squirm beneath him.
“So cute,” he smiles. His fingers rub circles into your front wall, becoming more insistent, and you breathe in shaky waves as you start to grip tightly around him.
“Hoseok,” you breathe, letting your eyes drop closed. Arousal blossoms through you like a heavy weight, your second climax already building, when you feel his other hand cup the join of your ass and thigh.
A soft whimper spills out of you as Hoseok starts to massage below your entrance, thumb working at a new bundle of nerves, like nothing you’ve ever felt. It’s pleasure that makes you hot all over, makes the muscles in your legs shiver and tense when it’s paired with the crook of his fingers still working your pussy.
“Fuck,” you pant, “Hobi, what are– that feels so–” You’re starting to lose a grip on your words, sentences going incoherent as your head spins. It’s hard to think over all the sensation, the way your body is lit up like a live wire, and the sound of your cunt gushing around him as he fucks into your g-spot.
“Has anyone touched you here before?” He asks softly, thumb tapping at the thin bridge of skin between your pussy and your ass. His head dips down for a chaste kiss there, then a second, adding a languid lap of tongue.
“N-no,” you whimper, toes curling in your shoes as he continues to drag his tongue over this delicate, sensitive place. “Keep going.”
Hoseok pulls back, a string of saliva still connecting him to you, and he lets it loose with a swipe of his hand over his mouth. His fingers slip out of you as he pairs a question with a smile. “Turn over for me?”
Your legs would be shaking even if you weren’t in fancy party heels, and you do your best to be graceful as you unsteadily spin, one arm keeping the fabric of your dress hiked up over your hips.
“Brace yourself on the desk,” Hoseok instructs, and you do, leaning forward until your stomach and forearms are flush with the wood, your bare ass hanging off the desk, presented for him. You spread your legs apart again and can feel the way your pussy drools arousal down your thighs. “That’s it,” he coaxes.
His fingers massage firmly into the flesh of your asscheeks, and your back arches up as you groan at the feeling. He spreads you just a little, enough for cool air to tease at your slick center; your hips wiggle towards him on instinct.
“Pretty back here, too,” he murmurs. “Tell me how it feels, okay? Won’t do it if you don’t like it.”
You clench for him in both places, even your fists grip tight in the fabric of your dress. “I’ll like it. Please, baby.”
“Baby,” Hoseok repeats back with a shy exhale. “I like that. I like you.” He leaves a sweet kiss pressed halfway up your thigh.
“Hobi–” you choke out a whine of his name as his breath ghosts over you, hands still firmly keeping you spread. His tongue returns to your perineum again, licking a hot, slow stripe that keeps moving up, up, until you feel the tease of warmth and wetness over your ass. “Oh, fuck.”
You’re so sensitive here, just the lightest drag of his tongue over your rim makes you moan, feet kicking listlessly as pleasure shudders through you.
“It’s good–” you manage to whimper, voice muffled slightly as your forehead drops against the desk, too, your whole body pinned down by his mouth. “–ngh, really good, Hobi.” Your cunt throbs when he does it again, as he falls into a consistent pace of long, steady laps that set off fireworks behind your eyes.
The ache in your core begs for touch, friction, and you oblige needily, tucking a hand under the weight of your hips pressed into the desk, a sweat-slicked palm for your mouth-wet clit.
Hoseok doesn’t miss a thing. It’s only for a second that he pulls off of you, but you whine at the loss of his tongue, sated slightly by the gentle brush of his lips over the small of your back. “Gonna get yourself off while I eat you out?”
You grind a circle down with your hips, hissing at the white-hot pulse against your hand. “Yes, baby, please.”
He doesn’t need any more encouragement to dive back in, fingers gripping harder to spread you and tongue licking deliberately, tracing patterns that work more arousal out of your pussy. You’re unraveling fast from humping against your palm, hips jolting forward to make your clit twitch and backwards to press towards Hoseok’s mouth.
You’re already wound so tight that you’re too desperate for words, reduced instead to little breathless gasps– “ah, ahh”– as you speed up the rub of your hand, your hips. Hoseok’s tongue never falters, firm pressure laved over and over your sensitive, flexing ass.
With a soft hum of effort, you feel him press a little harder, tongue barely dipping in past your tight ring of muscle, and the sweet stretch of it is the final push you need.
You roll your clit just right over your palm a final time and then you’re shaking and moaning as everything starts to pulse. The all-over clench pushes a fresh wave of fluid from your cunt, rolling down the backs of your thighs, fat droplets of arousal that Hoseok chases with sloppy kisses as the waves of your orgasm shudder through you.
It takes a moment before you can say anything, do anything, limbs too heavy and brain too fucked-out dumb. You do your best to slide gracefully off the desk, but your legs shake with aftershocks that betray you, and you stumble.
Hoseok is quick to wrap his arms around you and guide your hips down to the floor next to him. You collapse in a heap of giggles, him tangled over your waist, the skirt of your dress still pushed up, your bare ass on his studio carpet.
“Are you okay?” Hoseok laughs, and you bury your face in the fabric of his tank top as an answer, not convinced your coherency has returned to you yet.
“Too good,” you murmur, words slurring. “Fucked me too good.”
“You’re so hot.” You can tell he’s blushing just by the tone of his voice, and you start to come to a little, slow-blinking back to reality and rolling over to look up at him. His dark eyes shine as he smiles. You don’t want to come all the way down from this dazed, happy place yet, you realize, and you curl a finger into the loop of his jeans, tugging him closer.
“My turn.” Your hands start to fumble to undo his belt buckle. His jeans are oversized, but not enough to obscure the print of his hard cock pressed against his thigh.
“Let me take you home,” he says softly, running a fingertip along your jaw. “This should be– I want you to be comfortable. I want it to feel good.”
“It all feels good,” you say earnestly, sitting up to tug at the button of his jeans, undeterred. “And you can take me home. But you’ve been so good to me, Hobi.” You manage to work his fly open, and you lift your gaze to meet him. “Let me be good to you.”
You resume your work, wriggling Hoseok’s jeans down his thighs until his hands cover yours and he takes over, stripping himself of his shoes as well. He reaches back between his shoulder blades to pull his tank top over his head, and your eyes sweep over his body, taking in his lithe figure and smooth, hard muscles. You trail the tips of your fingers down the defined lines of his chest.
“Fuck,” Hoseok starts to smile self-consciously, one hand drifting over his dick straining against tight black briefs with a slightly darker spot in the center where he’s left a kiss of precum on the fabric. “I don’t have any condoms here.”
You sit up on your knees in front of him, considering this. “Use my mouth.” The high of your orgasm has subsided enough now that you’re not quite shameless anymore, and heat blooms in your face as you continue. “Like, fuck my throat.”
He tries and fails to suppress a groan, and his delicate hands reach to cup either side of your face, thumbs rubbing circles into the hinge of your jaw. “You–” he laughs softly. “You can’t just say things like that.”
“I mean it,” you say simply.
“But you really want to?”
You nod, half play-acting your shyness now, letting your lashes flutter as you blink up at him. “I’ve done it before. I like it.”
“Fuck,” Hoseok breathes. “I want to do everything you like.”
“Please?” You ask sweetly, and Hoseok is already getting to his feet, one hand still cupping your jaw.
“Pretty,” he murmurs, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “So pretty when you beg to suck my cock.” You’re smiling, your fingers slipping under his waistband to slide his briefs down his legs.
“Take your dress off, baby,” Hoseok instructs as he steps back to finish pulling off his underwear. “Don’t wanna ruin it.”
You do as you’re told, staying on your knees to pull it over your head, your heart squeezing again when he takes it from you and treats it as gently as his own clothes. It’s oddly domestic to watch him fold the smooth fabric with shaking hands, naked except for his jewelry, his hard dick leaking against his stomach.
When he turns back to you, you take the opportunity to properly admire him. His cock is as flushed and gorgeous as the rest of him, thick and dripping wet from his tip. You duck down to press a kiss to the sensitive spot under his head, then slide your lips up to gloss over his slit, slicking your mouth with his precum.
You look up at him, hands gripping the backs of his thighs; Hoseok’s eyelids are heavy with lust as he watches you work, tongue toying at the corner of his mouth. He groans a little as you pop just the head into your mouth and swirl your tongue over it, tasting the salt of him.
His hand slides to the back of your head, tangling in the hair at the nape of your neck, and his adam’s apple jerks in his throat as he swallows.
“Tap my foot if you need to stop.” Hoseok’s voice is quiet but firm, and his socked toes wiggle, brushing against your knee pressed into the carpet. “Okay?”
You hum your acknowledgement and maintain eye contact as he holds you still and slides his cock into your mouth. He starts off at a gentle pace, and you hollow your cheeks around him, pressing your tongue flat so it drags over his shaft as he starts to pump in and out of you.
As much as you want him in control, there’s a part of you that can’t help yourself– you lean forward, eyes fluttering closed, wanting to prove to him how much you can take. The head of his cock starts to stretch down your throat and you focus on breathing steady through your nose, your muscles jumping around him in a half-swallow.
“Fuck,” Hoseok groans, his voice dark and rough-edged. You can feel drool starting to leak out of your mouth, and the mess just makes it better. “You take it so well.”
His hips keep rolling, withdrawing his cock into the heat of your mouth only to push it back down the tight clutch of your throat. It gets easier as he starts to move faster, the weight of him pressing bright on your gag reflex in shorter and shorter bursts. It’s just enough to make tears well up in your eyes. They eventually spill over, staining your cheeks until your face is slick and wet, like the sounds of him hitting the back of your throat, all of it obscene and hot.
The hand in your hair tightens as he pulls you all the way down on his shaft until your nose is flush with his abdomen and your throat bulges, filled with him. He holds you there, eyes roaming hungrily over your face.
“You look so sweet with my cock down your throat, baby.”
The hum of agreement you try makes you gag a little, and he quickly releases, pulling out to let you gasp for air. Your tongue lolls out of your mouth as you smile up at him, dazed, and catch your breath.
“Was that too much?” His brows pinch together slightly with concern. You wipe a hand over your nose and shake your head.
“I want more, Hobi,” you purr, moving your face back towards his dick. You lean forward to lazily drag your tongue up his shaft for emphasis. “Want you to come on my face,” you admit as you fix your gaze on him.
You swear you feel his knees almost buckle when you take him in your mouth again.
“You are so fucking sexy,” Hoseok practically growls, hand returning to the nape of your neck. He pushes himself back down your throat and starts to pick up the pace. You want him all and take it easily now, drool slicking your neck and chest when you swallow around his length.
“Oh my god,” he gasps, and you can feel his cock twitch on your tongue as he fucks roughly into your mouth, chasing his orgasm. “Oh my god.”
Hoseok’s grip on your hair goes slack and he pulls out, hand pumping fast over his drool-glossed cock. He tips his head back, exposing the column of his throat with a heady whine when he starts to come. You’re up on your knees and ready for it, nose bumping his fist, face presented for him to paint. Warm spurts of cum hit your cheeks, tongue, lips, and you giggle a little as you try to hold still, as he makes another throaty grunt of effort and release.
“Shit,” he hisses as the movements of his hand slow, as he works out the last of it, stray drips already trailing down your neck, between the valley of your breasts. “Fuuuck.” His breathing is ragged, and you press a wet kiss to the tip of his dick as he recovers.
He’s clearly already focused on the mess he’s made of you, spinning in a dazed semi-circle before reaching to grab a box of tissues off of the desk. His bare knees thud on the carpet as he sinks down next to you.
You’re surprised when he leans in to kiss you, humming softly against your mouth, tongue even darting out to lick at the cum that drips off your lips. You smile into it, teeth gently grazing over his bottom lip.
“Hi,” he huffs a laugh as he leans back. “Was that okay? Not too much?”
You shake your head. “I liked it,” you say again, though your voice comes out a little hoarse. “Wouldn’t have asked for it if I didn’t. I like you. I–” your breath hitches slightly with nerves, and it’s funny to you, that it’s easy to ask him to fuck your throat, but hard to talk about the bigger feelings underneath. It’s more intimate, somehow, to be earnest. “You always worry so much about everyone else. I just want to take care of you.”
“You can.” Hoseok’s voice is gentle and warm. “We both can.” He pulls a tissue loose from the box, hovering close to you. “Let me clean you up.”
You’re too blissed out to stop yourself from giggling. “You have a whole party to get back to.” You nod dumbly at the verity of your own statement as he uses tissues to wipe cum and drool off your face, tear stains and smudged makeup from your cheeks.
“This,” he swipes a thumb down over your bottom lip, chases it with another quick kiss, “was so much better than a fucking party.” He adds the last of the dampened tissues to the small pile he’s made on the floor, tilting your jaw with his hand to inspect his work, to ensure perfection as he does with everything. “But I probably don’t have much longer before people start looking for me.”
“You should go,” you say quietly, trying to ignore the drop in your stomach.
His hand slips into yours for the second time tonight. “Will you come with me? I know it’s not really your thing.”
You falter momentarily– not because you don’t want to, but you can’t shake your own self-consciousness, this sense that you don’t belong here, rubbing elbows with all these famous people. But it’s hard to feel like any of that matters with the way Hoseok is looking at you, the soft turn of his lips in a barely-there smile.
“Are you sure?”
“Very.” He gives your hand an affirming squeeze. “Do I need to remind you that this entire party is literally for you?”
You shake your head, rolling your eyes at his antics despite the laugh that bubbles up in your throat. “I still can’t believe you. What is this, The Great Gatsby?”
His laugh is high and sweet, hand untangling from yours to wrap both arms around your waist, and he pulls you into his chest, bare skin on bare skin, hearts beating together. “Is that a yes?”
“Yes, Hobi,” you relent. “I’ll go back with you. Besides, Jimin promised to feed me.”
You can feel Hoseok’s smile as he presses a kiss to your temple. “Come on, then. I promise it’ll be fun. If we get Jungkook drunk enough he’ll probably start dancing on the stage.”
“Now that I have to see.”
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preciouslandmermaid · 5 months
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like dead-eyed sharks, Gotham watches (battinson x f!reader)
Note: This takes place pre-movie and you can find the rest of this series. (Part 1 here) (part 2 here)
Safety notes/Warnings: The Kinktober prompt was "blood kink/i just wanna see a man all beaten up and bloody" I have never written for that before and honestly...i think this fic got like away from me tbh. so im sorry if this isn't want u wanted lmao
Additional notes: No use of Y/N. established childhood friends with Bruce. confessions. secret identity revealed. canon-violence. cursing/explicit language. explicit consent during sexual content. smut. no physical descriptors are used for the reader. (and yes, dr. crane is absolutely cillian murphy/nolanverse dr. crane sue me)
prompt: blood kink pairing: battison/f!reader | warnings: explicit sexual content/above notes. bonus: on ao3, i split it into two chapters for ease of reading. the first half is plot, the second half is smut. ;) enjoy.
( read on ao3 ) || kinktober list
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You lean on the railing of your small balcony and watch the streaks of red and white lights below. The cool night air kisses your skin and tousles your clothes. Gotham’s air has a burning singe to it too malicious to be reminiscent of a campfire. It’s more akin to a cigarette lit by the gas stove combined with cheap perfume. You toy with the invitation between your fingers. The swooping, gilded text is embossed across the creamy card stock and you rub your fingers over a specific sentence: This invitation a courtesy by Johnathan Crane, M.D.
Arkham hospital is having a charity auction.It’s an opportunity. One you maybe wouldn’t have gotten while working at the paper. But what’s the catch? What purpose would Crane have to invite you?You replay your short interview with the enigmatic, intelligent doctor. The man has secrets but who in Gotham doesn’t? This charity provides an opportunity to snoop around Arkham and talk to Dr. Mercer’s co-workers who refused to meet with you earlier. Below, several cars beep at the same time and it creates a strange, dissonant melody. Youcan’t pass this up.
You wonder if Bruce will front you some cash. It’ll be easier to blend in if you can pretend to try and buy a piece of artwork or maybe a little stone statue to use as a door stopper. You chuckle to yourself at the idea and brush the idea aside. You won’t use Bruce’s money to spend on frivolous artwork and sculptures that you cannot possibly fit inside your one bedroom apartment. That settles it. You have to attend. The soft pitter patter of fresh rainfall tings against the high rise windows, railings, and roofs. From high above, Gotham is shiny chrome and long dark shadows.
You wonder if Vengeance is in those shadows tonight.
You haven’t seen Batman since your failed chemistry experiment. Your lower stomach clenches at the memory and you willfully push the lustful thoughts aside. You and Vengeance have little reason to see each other right now. It’s been nothing but dead ends since Falcone avoided arrest. According to Gordon, the evidence locker was recently flooded due to a pipe burst and the analysis of your blood samples—containing whatever Falcone did to you—were destroyed.
So, you’ve been busy working on re-writing your Arkham article under Bruce’s employ. Your time as a vigilante journalist has dwindled. Yes, there are other stories in Gotham that need your attention, but none are as urgent as reviving the Arkham story. Plus your instincts keep telling you that it’s connected: Falcone. Dr. Mercer’s death. Arkham. The mysterious drugs.
There’s a thread here. You just have to find the right one to pull.
You flick your thumb against the card’s corner. You should tell him. Batman needs to know about this. If you want your plan to snoop around Arkham to succeed—you’re going to need Batman’s gadgets. You bend down, the wind and rainwater tickling the delicate skin at your temples, and click on the multi-colored lights that frame the balcony window. Your own secret call to the Bat.
You return inside, leave the sliding door unlocked and wait.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Bruce gets a call from Alfred while driving down fourth street. His voice crackles warmly over the headphone inside Bruce’s ear, “she’s got her lights on.” Alfred knows to periodically check the security cameras they installed across the street of your apartment and Bruce is grateful for his vigilance.
He pivots his motorcycle and takes a sharp turn through an alleyway as a shortcut. Someone on the sidewalk shouts profanities at him.
The rainwater ricochets off his helmet and spins like a hyped-up Ferris wheel around the tires. He’s seen you a handful of times for coffee dates or short walks in the park. Never lingering. Never doing more than kissing you. No matter how badly he wants to. It’s stupid. He’s fucked you twice as Batman, felt your walls quiver around his fingers and cock, listened to your sweet cries and watched your pretty eyes roll back into your skull. And yet...
It’s Batman who you call for in the middle of the night. He suspects that Bruce—in your mind—is at home, maybe asleep, maybe pacing his study, maybe watching some black-and-white foreign film. He wishes he could invite you over, sleep next to you, show you how he feels about youwith slow kisses buried between your thighs, but he can’t. The night is for him. For Vengeance. Gotham never sleeps so why should he? He needs to be awake and on the prowl. He needs to be ready for anything and that includes answering your silent and iridescent call.
He stows his motorcycle in the usual safe spot within the alleyway and uses his grappling hook to ascend to your floor without entering the building. His heart pounds as it always does when you’re in close proximity. Like his heart is trying to escape his chest and offer itself to you.
He sucks in a breath before sliding open the door. One of your downstairs neighbors is boiling cabbage, there’s a pair of wet socks on your radiator, and a candle on your coffee table flickers with the influx of air from the balcony door. The sight and smells of your apartment are achingly familiar. He prefers it—this tiny, homey space—compared to his large and extravagant penthouse. But then again, he prefers anywhere where you are.
He wishes he could remove his cowl and lay his head in your lap, but he folds his arms across his chest and says, “what did you find?”
“Take a look.” You toss a card onto the coffee table and the laptop illuminates your face in a blue-white glow. “I’m rubbing elbows with the right people it seems.”
“Crane?” He mutters to himself while examining the fancy, expensive card stock. A charity at Arkham. It’s strange that they’re hosting at the hospital instead of a fancy hotel. He makes a mental note to check the guest list.
“Several of Dr. Mercer’s co-workers talked to me before Mercer died. And now they won’t talk to me. That means someone or all of them are dirty and in someone’s pocket.” You explain and your eyes are lit furiously from within, “I hoped I could use Dr. Crane to reach the other employees of Arkham and this is my chance.”
“Do you think Falcone is involved?”
You shrug, “if not him then it’s another one of Gotham’s criminals.”
Bruce considers this information. It’s a decent lead. You aren’t looking at him. Your eyes are glued to the computer screen as your fingers move across the keyboard in quick, precise strokes. He could watch you for hours but those are hours he doesn’t have. Gotham needs him. As much as he wants to linger in your presence and kiss you—those are luxuries he cannot afford despite his generational wealth. He sets the invitation back onto the table.
“What’s your plan?” He asks.
“It’s simple. I go to the charity, talk to anyone that I think is involved, then we meet up during the auction itself.” Your eyes flick up and down, but he gets the distinct sensation that you’re not sizing him up in a flirtatious manner. Your expression, your tone, and body language is cool and professional. It reminds him of the early days working together...before he kissed you and pressed you against the windows of the Wayne penthouse.
“I assume you’ve got a way to enter Arkham without being noticed.” You return your attention to the screen, “we can snoop through their offices.”
“They’re likely to increase security during the event.”
You wave a hand, “that’s why I’m telling you now. It gives us time to prepare.”
He clenches his jaw. You are an unstoppable force when a story is involved. Your safety might not matter to yourself, but it matters to him. He can do this alone. He can visit Arkham while the charity takes place and discover whatever Crane or Dr. Mercer’s associates are up to. You don’t need to put yourself at risk. Even the small risk of arrest makes his heart squeeze painfully inside his chest. He can’t protect Gotham and you at the same time.
He says, “I’ll go alone.”
“And do what?” Your nostrils flare, “punch some confessions out of doctors? No way, Batboy. I’m not letting you try and take this one from me. This is my story.”
“All you need is evidence.” He counters, “I can get that for you.” You stand from the couch and place your hands on your hips. You’re shorter but you glare up at him with the heat and intensity of a car lit by a Molotov cocktail. He holds your gaze and cherishes the burn he feels prickle across his skin.
“I need firsthand accounts.” You say, your voice firm and unyielding, “you could rifle through their paperwork and take pictures of every record available and it would take us months to find what we’re looking for. And who knows! Maybe Arkham will smarten up and wipe everything clean before I have the chance to publish.”
“You think people will talk to you at the auction?”
He watches your chest rise a little with your inhale. The way your eyelashes flutter close. You always closed your eyes before saying ‘yes’ to him. He wonders if you ever notice this little tell of yours—if it ever registers that the boy you scraped knees with and the man standing before you in black armor are the same.
“Yes,” You reply while opening your eyes, “I do.”
“Fine.” He bites out. Arguing with you is akin to arguing with a brick wall. “But, I’m not sending you in there without protection.” He won’t let what happened with you and Falcone happen ever again.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You toy with the little black bracelet on your wrist. A gift from Vengeance. It’s simple and straightforward. All it takes is one little press of a button near your wristbone and it releases an electric shock more painful and debilitating than your average taser. He explained that he wanted you to have something in case anyone got ‘too close’. Honestly, you hope you don’t have to use it.
Arkham’s charity event is being held in the new wing of the hospital. There are currently no patients, but it’s the perfect location for the chairmen and board members to show off the latest technology, the new rooms, and convince Gotham’s rich and powerful to make donations.
You let out a small breath of relief as you take in the freshly painted walls and large windows covered by thin, latticed metal. At least it’s spacious.Some of the other wings within Arkham State Hospital tended to trigger your claustrophobia. The murmurs of conversation float through the circular room above the music of stringed instruments by the door. The windows within the high ceilings look down at you like large black eyes as they reflect Gotham’s dark skies.You think, they should’ve made this a daytime event. It would’ve been more remarkable.
The pamphlet in your left hand boasts about the ‘benefits of natural light while providing safety, comfort and security for our patients’. In other words—Arkham has patients that can’t go outside due to the security risk and this newly built wing is their solution.
The two other exits lead into hallways but those doors are closed and guarded by security. A sign is posted nearby that reads: For Private Tours – Inquire with Director Susan S.
“I was wondering if you received my invite,” a smooth voice says from your right side. You turn to see Dr. Crane wearing a tuxedo, his brown hair slicked away from his angular face and shining beneath the warm florescent light bulbs.
“Did your secretary not pass along my RSVP?”
“She didn’t,” His sharp blue eyes drop to your shoes and then rise to your face, his look appraising and yet distant, “but she’s new and you look gorgeous so I’ll let it go.” Dr. Crane offers you his elbow and you politely take it, sliding your hand into the crook of his arm and allowing him to lead you through the swarm of well-dressed and perfumed bodies.
Youdon’t know how Bruce stomached these events. His parents were socialites and humanitarians who believed in a brighter future for Gotham.Youwonder what they’d say about Arkham's recent addition.
Crane passes you a flute of champagne and you use the opportunity to ask him how he’s settling into Arkham. His lips tug into a smile that feels secretive. He bows his head toward you and his breath ghosts along your cheek and neck.
“Some of my co-workers dislike me,” says Crane, “but I don’t take it personally. Every place has their hazing routines, their cliques, and established loyalties.”
You notice the discreet looks being tossed your way. Bored, inquisitive, jealous, and others are outright scandalized. You suspect that someone’s told Crane who you actually are by now which means he invited you for a reason. Time to find a thread to pull, you think.
You ask, “did you invite me as your plus one to disrupt those routines and loyalties?”
His eyes glimmer, “I did.”
“I’m honored.” You press the rim of your champagne glass to your lips, then lower it, watching Crane’s gaze as they follow your every movement. “Why me, though?”
“I see myself in you,” Crane guides you to the middle of the room where some of the guests are dancing in slow waltzes and whispering business deals to each other. The dark sky of Gotham—light pollution never allows for twinkling stars—peers down at you like the eyes of a shark. You can guess where this is going. The music and conversation provides enough white noise to muffle your conversation as long as you and Crane continue to whisper. You set your champagne glass on a nearby tray.
Crane gently takes your hand and your black bracelet slides on your wrist. “I’ve done my homework after our first meeting.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t do research prior to our first meeting.” You chastise as one of your hands settle on his slim shoulder, “I gave your secretary my real name.”
“A mistake I intend to never repeat.” He leads the dance. It’s a simple box step that doesn’t require much effort nor skill, “thank you for that lesson.”
You smile. “The first one is free.”
His hand slides to your lower back as he nudges you closer, “you really are determined to uncover Arkham’s secrets, aren’t you?” He whispers into the shell of your ear. You glance around the room, ensuring no one is watching—and if they are—well, all they’ll see is Dr. Crane getting close to an attractive woman. He’s good at this. Something in your gut urges you to be careful and play it safe.
“I’m here for the auction, Crane.”
“You’re here for more than that.”
You avoid his keen perception and change tactics.
“You said I remind you of yourself. That’s a bold statement considering we’ve spoken once.” You narrow your eyes over his shoulder at a familiar face. A part-time nurse named Jessica who refused to speak to you after Dr. Mercer’s death. The color of her dress washes out her complexion and the necklace around her throat sparkles like freshly fallen snow. Crane pivots and you lose sight of her.
“I’m a good judge of character,” he replies without missing a step. “In fact, you and Dr. Jacobs...”
Dr. Jacobs. He was on your list as one of Dr. Mercer’s associates, but you never had the chance to interview him. In fact, you planned on following up with Dr. Jacobs after Mercer’s death, but the man wouldn’t return any of your calls. You chalked it up to grief. But now...
Crane continues, “you both have an inner fire that cannot be understated.” He slows his step and tilts his head back to meet your eyes—steady and true. Dr. Crane looks at you as if he’s gazing into a house fire. You swallow.
“They called you ‘quicksilver’ didn’t they? At the Gotham Gazette?” You sense his questions are rhetorical. “I found that fascinating. They named you after a chemical element, a Roman God, because you--” he says your name “—are a force to be reckoned with.”
He leans in, speaking low, “and I pity anyone who underestimates you.”
You comb through his compliments, his lingering looks, and piece together your response. His hand on your lower back threatens to burn through the fabric of your clothing. What will Crane gain by helping you? Does he know that Dr. Jacobs and Dr. Mercer knew each other? And if he’s not helping then he’s...merely pointing out that he sees your ambitious nature...and signaling that he’s the same.
You reply, “maybe I’ll talk to Dr. Jacobs tonight and find out if we’re as similar as you say.”
“I’m afraid he’s not here.” Dr. Crane sighs, “I believe he mentioned a family obligation conflicted with this event.”
Good. His office will be clear to search.
“That’s too bad.”
Dr. Crane smirks lightly, “indeed.” He leads you to the edge of the circle, “I believe I’ve monopolized enough of your time tonight.” He took your co-joined hands and pressed a polite, chaste kiss against your knuckles. Your gaze darts away from him. “I need to speak with a few of my colleagues.”
Finally! The sooner you can snoop the sooner you can leave Arkham.
“Of course,” You step aside and try to not let your eagerness show on your face, “I should go to the ladies room before the bidding begins.”
“I’ll save you a seat.” Dr. Crane says.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Arkham’s security is not without its flaws. He and Alfred decided it would be more useful and less disruptive to hack into the system and program the cameras to play a loop of footage rather than try and disable the system from the outside. Thankfully, you needed access to the doctor’s offices which were far less patrolled and monitored than the area where Arkham housed its full-time patients.
An alert pings on his device. That’s his cue. He cuts through the skylight with a thin, blue laser. Then, using a handle with a glass-safe suction cup, he pulls the glass free and carefully sets it aside. Ideally, he’ll return through this skylight once the job is done.
He stands from his crouched position by the window and tests the tension in his repel line.It feels good, secure. He drops into Arkham State Hospital with a faint ‘zzzziiippp’ sound and lands behind you.
“You made it.” You whisper, relieved.
“Worried I wouldn’t?”
“More worried someone would catch me wandering the halls.” You smile a little and his heart squeezes, “I can only use the ‘I’m drunk’ excuse so many times before it gets suspicious.”
“We’ll be quick.” He checks the time, “Alfred said the camera feed will give us an hour, but we should plan for less.”
You set off toward the offices while holding up the flashlight on your phone, “we need to check out Dr. Jacobs’ office.”
The wood-paneled hallways are dimly lit and the only light source is the exit signs glowing red above doorways. The thin dark green carpet helps to muffle your footsteps. He takes a moment to appreciate you walking in front of him. He loves how efficient you are, how fearless, even when it threatens to give him a heart attack. And your ass looks incredible.
You stop in front of the metal double doors. A key card reader glows a muted yellow on the wall.
“Okay, your turn.”
“Why Dr. Jacobs?” He asks while approaching the key reader. He inserts a featureless key card into the slot. It’s attached to a device in his hand by a wide and thin wire and several numbers rapidly scan across the screen and illuminate his jaw in a greenish glow.
“Crane mentioned him.” Your rub your hands over your upper arms, “he said that Dr. Jacobs and I are similar because we’re ambitious. I don’t know. Crane doesn’t strike me as the type of person to say something without it meaning anything. He’s too smart for that.”
Bruce ignores the twinge of jealousy in his stomach. You aren’t interested in Crane. He knows that. You’re using Crane. But it still feels strange to hear you mention another man with a hint of admiration in your tone. He clenches his jaw. Crane isn’t that smart.
Bruce doesn’t look up from the device. “And you think he’s involved in Mercer’s death?”
“Mercer and Jacobs worked together and I never had the chance to interview him before Mercer died.” You lean in to watch the gadget in his palms, “I figured we would search the most likely suspects instead of digging through everyone’s desk.”
You continue, “we start with Jacobs, then Crane, and lastly Haywood.”
He mentally reflects on your files and notes. He should have known that you wouldn’t remove Crane from your list of suspects. Just because Crane wasn’t at Arkham at the same time as Mercer didn’t mean he was off the hook. You regarded everyone at Arkham with a low-level of suspicion. It didn’t matter if they were a groundskeeper, security, or head of the boardroom. Falcone’s payroll is the greatest mystery and it served to err on the side of caution when dealing with a dangerous criminal.
“Jessica Haywood?”
“Mhm.” The device beeps, the light turns green, and the doors click unlocked. “The jewelry she’s wearing tonight is well above the pay grade of a Per Diem nurse.”
Bruce unhooks the device from the reader and opens the door for you. You slip past him and for a brief second—the air lingers with your scent. His eyelashes flutter. It’s getting harder and harder to be this close. He pushes the thoughts from his mind and follow you into the personal offices of the doctors.
He says, “if Haywood is a part-time nurse, then she won’t have an office.”
“We’ll check HR for pay stubs and the nurse’s station log to see which floors and patients she’s worked with.”
Bruce grunts.
“You’ve thought of everything haven’t you?”
Your smile threatens to topple the walls inside his heart and drag his loyalty Gotham into the ocean.
“Mostly.”
Dr. Jacob’s office smells like cigarettes. Together you meticulously comb through his files, check under seat cushions, and search for false walls. Bruce plugs a USB into the ancient computer desktop. In ten minutes, he’s obtained the contents of Dr. Jacobs hard-drive and sent it to Alfred for decryption.
On the way to Crane’s office, he asks, “are you still going to re-interview Mercer’s patients?”
“Assuming my relationship to Crane allows me access then yes.”
His heart ignites, burning hot inside his chest, and he exhales sharp through his nostrils.What happened tonight between you and him?He clears his throat and says, “relationship?”
You laugh quietly. “Professional relationship, Batman. Like us.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You realize how silly your words are the second they leave your mouth. Batman stops short and pins his steely blue gaze on you. You shouldn’t have compared you and Crane to you and Batman. They are completely different. Your relationship to Batman almost borders on friendship. Or maybe it’s more like...co-workers who never dated, but did hook up and now have underlying sexual tension.
“Okay, not like that.” You lift your hands, “I’m not out fighting crime with Dr. Crane.”
Some of the tension in Batman’s jaw lessens. “We don’t fight crime together.”
“Well, that’s because you haven’t taught me to fight.” You wiggle your bracelet wrist, “and honestly you’ve been overprotective lately.”
“You’re a civilian.” He counters gruffly.
“So are you.” You lean your shoulder against the wall as Batman crouches at Crane’s door to pick the lock. “Unless you’ve recently been hired by the PD?”
Batman looks up at you and all that dark makeup around his light blue eyes highlights their color and depth. Your skin prickles, hot and sharp and painfully—painfully aware of what those eyes look like during the throes of desperate and sweaty sex. You want to kick yourself. You’re loyal to Bruce, you want to be with Bruce, but that doesn’t erase the attraction you feel towards Vengeance. His eyes drop back to the doorknob and he leaves your question unanswered.
Dr. Crane’s office doesn’t smell like anything which is a relief to your nostrils after the toxic and cloying scent of stale cigarettes in Dr. Jacobs. There isn’t a desktop in Crane’s office which leads you to assume that he takes his laptop home with him. You start with the filing cabinet that Crane glanced at during your interview with him. Batman searches his desk. And you work in comfortable silence. The anticipation gnaws at your stomach.
Come on, Crane.You need something tangible so you can start putting pressure on the doctors and nurses who are involved. Yourfirst article proved that the corruption within Arkham travels all the way to the administration. Mercer said they were powerful which means other doctors are involved. They have to be. So what did Jacobs do? Why did Crane mention him?
You step from the filing cabinet and pace the small office with your arms crossed.
“Dr. Mercer was afraid. He didn’t want to keep giving the police drugs and administration told him to stay quiet. His patients spoke highly of him. His co-workers liked him. Mercer dislike how the administration ran things.” You repeat the story to yourself in the hopes that you’ll find the piece you missed.
“Then, he dies two weeks after I present my article and the Gazette fires me. That’s not a coincidence.”
Batman opens one of the filing cabinet drawers. You let him continue his work as you talk yourself through the file details. There were plenty of co-workers of Dr. Mercer that have issues with Arkham but they were typical standard labor complaints—not enough holiday time, staffing issues, or personality clashes with other doctors. Who else could you talk to?
“I can try Jessica. She stopped talking to me after his death, but I know she idolized Dr. Mercer. Maybe I can appeal to her. Find the humanity.” You pause and press your fist against your lips.
There’s no way she could afford that necklace. Either she has a very wealthy partner or she’s accepted a bribe to stay quiet. But why? What does she know? Or are they just afraid of anyone who MIGHT talk?
A low ‘thump’ noise comes from Batman’s corner of the room.
Batman asks, “what’s Dr. Jacobs title?”
“Chief Psychiatrist.”
You hear him move closer and you turn to meet his stormy eyes. “Quicksilver, you need to see this.” The filing cabinet drawer is open, but a hidden inner compartment is unhinged and Batman grips a thick manila folder.
He opens the folder on Crane’s empty desk. Your heart bottoms out into your shoes and you clamp your fingers over your mouth to muffle your gasp.
“Holy shit!” you breathe.
The file spills out with evidence of experimental trials on patients. Experiments aren’t uncommon at Arkham. Sometimes drug companies and Arkham will partner up to test treatments, but it goes through a whole process of licensing and legal clearance. But this--? You steady one palm against the desk and your knees threaten to collapse from under you. The experiments involved sedating the patients with experimental manufactured opioids and then exposing them to high-stress situations—like torture—to see if their bodies and minds could withstand the pressure while on the experimental pain medication.
“Dr. Mercer…” His name glares in black ink like a gallows noose tightening around your neck. He was involved in this?!
You recall his final words to you before his death, “The guilt,” Dr. Mercer said, his expression pained, “I think it might eat me alive, Silver. I can feel it’s teeth in my heart.”
Your fingers tremble as you lift your phone to take photos of the files. The tests, the results, the sign offs of two prominent doctors: Dr. Jacobs and Dr. Mercer. Your eyes scan through the dates. Eventually, Dr. Mercer’s name stopped appearing. The files shift into another direction. The pain medication is no longer the focal point. Instead, the abstract of the experiment is: ‘To discover the effects of hallucinogens on recovery and behavioral control.’
“Wait,” you flip the pages and count the dates, “what happened to the pain medication trials?”
“It looks like they started a new project.” Batman’s hard and armored shoulder brushes against your body and you tremble for an entirely different reason. You bite your lip and refocus your attention.
“Why didn’t Dr. Mercer tell me? He said he was giving drugs to cops not--” You let out a frustrated sigh, “subjecting mentally ill patients to torture and experimental off-market drugs.”
Gotham, even on her worst days, manages to surprise you. Youbelieved Mercer was one of the good ones. He wanted people to get better. He wanted to help. How could this get so twisted?
“Why does Crane have all this?” he grumbles.
“What do you mean? It’s obvious.”
Batman turns his head toward you, his eyes questioning, and you close your eyes.
“Dr. Jacobs has some big skeletons in his closet. There’s no saving his reputation from this. Arkham will have no choice but to fire him to save face and claim they knew nothing about this. And an internal investigation will likely take place after Jacobs is fired.” You gesture to the files on the desk. “That means Crane, the new blood of Arkham, has the perfect opportunity to apply for his position.”
You recall Crane’s secretive smile, his perceptive gaze, and deliberate and careful words. His glances at this cabinet during your first meeting were planned. He curated this moment from the start.
“He doesn’t want to be the one to blow the whistle on Arkham.”
“Because it would impact his chance at the job,” Batman guesses. It’s a fair enough assumption. You’d bet money on it if you were a betting woman.
You reply earnestly, “no one likes the person who reveals the truth.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Batman places his gloved hand over yours and gently squeezes your fingers, “Gotham needs people like you, Silver.”
Your lips shift into a grateful yet embarrassed smile.
“I know.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
ARKHAM’S CORRUPTION BROUGHT TO LIGHT. The bold text slams across the headline with a grainy, colored photo Dr. Jacobs being arrested outside the hospital.
Every news outlet whether newspaper or television is reporting the story you wrote. The story secretly bankrolled by Bruce Wayne. Your childhood friend and sort-of boyfriend (you haven’t discussed labels yet). The article was published with an independent paper outside of Gotham. It spread like wildfire online and took Gotham by storm. The rest of the media vultures were forced to scramble to keep up.
And—it wouldn’t have been possible without Gotham’s caped crusader. Vengeance. The Bat. He cross-engineered the pain medication and it matched the drugs on the streets. Then, in a surprise twist, he revealed to Gordon that the ongoing hallucinogenic trial had components that matched your blood sample from your time with Falcone. Was it a little weird knowing Batman had your blood samples somewhere? Yes. But it led to the greater good so you chose to accept the weirdness.
The complied evidence encouraged Gordon to look into it. He obtained a warrant to search Dr. Jacobs home and office. His hard-drive contained copies of patient medical history and backups of all of his unethical experiments. ‘Sadly, the documents we found at his office were only the tip of the iceberg when it came to Jacobs little pet projects’, you think.
However, the search for his co-conspirators is in process. It’s likely that Dr. Jacobs provided Falcone with the drugs he used on you and the other girls, but you’re doubtful Falcone will face any justice for it. Falcone is too slippery and influential. It’ll take something big to take him down.
Everything was connected just not in the way you imagined.
You click away from the news article.
Arkham’s official statement is “we are saddened to hear that our chief psychiatrist took advantage of our patients and staff. His actions were never sanctioned by our hospital and our thoughts are with the families of the patients at this time.” A rather magnanimous statement considering they’re scrambling for any good PR coverage lately.
You grab your coat from the edge of the couch and check your phone.
The text from Bruce reads: I’m outside.
You haven’t processed everything that’s happened in the span of a week. Gotham Gazette offered you a job with a pay raise and corner office. Dr. Crane mailed you a thank you note for attending the charity auction. The words were typed, concise, and polite. But you see it for what it truly is—Thank you for taking out the competition. Dr. Mercer’s involvement in the experiments is a tender sore on your heart. You never uncovered if Falcone or someone else killed him and now it’s over. You wish you could have put Falcone and his associates behind bars. But you’re forced to settle for shutting down Falcone’s drug connection.
It’s a victory. Victories are rare in Gotham especially for those on the side of justice. You try to remember that.
Arkham will move on. Gotham will move on.
And you have to move on too. There are other stories to be written, truths to bring into the light. You have a date tonight with Bruce and you’re determined to enjoy it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You loop your arm around Bruce’s elbow as you walk down the sidewalk toward his car.
“I appreciate that you came out, you know.” You say with fondness laced through your tone. “I know you prefer staying in.”
He’s a recluse, but he comes out to meet you every time you ask. You’re grateful the paparazzi are too swept up in the Dr. Jacobs story to care about the enigmatic Bruce Wayne. You know how he feels about being in the public eye and you don’t want any unnecessary strain added to this new, budding relationship. Life feels almost normal when you’re like this…There’s no lead to chase, no witnesses to interview, no late night sleuthing through the library archives.
His lips twitch upward. “I don’t mind it.” His clear blue eyes glance sidelong toward you, his sooty eyelashes flutter against his pale cheeks, “as long as it’s with you.”
“Hmm?” You lean closer into his side and let the expensive woolly warmth of his jacket seep into your elbow and arm. “Sounds like you’ve got a soft spot for me, Brucie.” You use the nickname from your youth and Bruce reflexively cringes.
“Maybe,” he teases, “but can you blame me?” He suddenly draws to a stop and cradles your cheek with one hand. You lean into the familiar mounds of his palm, the curve of his fingers. The chilly air of Gotham drifts through your legs and curls around your ankles. Every nerve in your body sings with joy at his closeness. Who knew you’d go from childhood friends, to strangers, to this? The tender display of public affection is enough to send your heart into overdrive and your pulse throbs inside your ears.
He gazes at you, pupils dilated, lips softly parted. You think he might kiss you at any moment. Bruce tends to get this look before kissing you—like he can’t believe it, like he thinks he’s dreaming. Your faces draw imperceptibly closer as if pulled by an invisible string. His breath is warm on your lips. It’s a delightful contrast to the chilled wind that tugs at your coat and sneaks cold kisses behind your ears. Your eyes slip shut.
“Oof!” Bruce exclaims. A blunt pain ricochets into your side. Your eyes spring open. You have barely enough time to throw your hands out and catch yourself as you’re knocked sideways and onto the hard and uneven asphalt. You wince as your skin scrapes against the ground. Bruce is on his hands and knees, his eyes wide, hair falling in dark strands in front of his face. A masked assailant towers above him with a wooden baseball bat. Oh God. Oh God.
“Story should’ve stayed dead, bitch!” Someone shouts before their boot stomps into your lower spine and pins you to the asphalt. Instinct takes over. Fear overrides logic. Your breath comes out in haggard puffs. The dark bracelet from Batman glimmers in your peripheral vision. You just need to get close enough. The boot lifts from your back. Someone grunts. The sound of shoes scuffling on the pavement reverberates in your head. Now is your chance! The boot returns with a swift, hard kick into your rib cage.
The air is forced from your lungs in a pained exhale. Everything feels raw. Your throat constricts. Another kick. The world blurs with tears. Your body instinctively curls like a wounded creature. One arm wraps around your stomach and the other to your head. The bracelet dangles like a cherished heirloom in front of your eyes. Batman showed you how to use it, but you can’t activate it from this position, can you? You need your hands free. The next kick hits your shinbone. The pain is acute and travels up your knee. You squeeze your eyes shut. What about Bruce?! You hate this stupid parking lot. You hate that no one is stopping to help or intervene. You hate that you can’t think and that your body is tense and trembling in preparation of the next blow. You hate the helpless feeling that’s building inside your chest and shaking salty tears from your lashes.
Someone is laughing. A slurred, drunk sound. “This one’s got some fight in him!”
“Whadda you think we should we do with him?”
“Just knock him out!” The one above you yells, “we’re here for her. Not him.”
Three. Three voices. There’s three of them. The next kick hits your shoulder and your forced onto your back. There’s no time to prepare, no time to cry out, as the boot presses into your throat. Fuck! You glance quickly to where Bruce was and see that he’s fighting—you gurgle as your assailant applies pressure to your neck and glares down at you through the holes in his ski-mask. A ski mask? What a cliché. An unexpected, hysterical laugh bubbles out of you. You flail and scratch your nails against his denim covered leg.
“This is what happens to nosy journalists in Gotham,” he sneers from above, “you should have just kept your pretty mouth shut and wrote stories about missing puppies and shit.” Several white dots dance around your vision.
Bruce grunts in pain. Your worry for his safety abruptly overrides your fear and hysteria. You don’t care if these guys are here to kill you or scare you, but you aren’t going to let them keep hurting Bruce. His only crime was being close to you. If he wasn’t here with you...then this never would’ve happened. You aren’t powerless. You aren’t helpless.
You release your hands from the thug’s leg and grab your bracelet. Muscle memory takes over. You presses into the spot near your wristbone and the bracelet hums to life. Two prongs like a spider’s fangs eject from the edge of the bracelet near the back of your hand. You slam the fangs into your assailant’s leg. They easily bite through the fabric of his jeans. The electric shock throws him off-balance and he convulses with a screech of pain. Your lungs rapidly expand as if to greedily swallow the air you were denied. You roll onto your stomach, onto your hands and knees, before pulling yourself upright. The scene comes to you in broken, jagged pieces.
The leader in the ski mask is on the ground sprawled out and twitching. If he’s dead then good riddance even though you’d like to know who sent him. The other two thugs are on the ground and Bruce is standing over them—chest heaving, his dark hair in disarray, his bloodied fists clenched at his sides, his chin smeared with blood from a split lip.
You exhale, “Bruce.” It’s unclear who moves first: you or him. Your arms encircle his middle and he clutches you to his chest like you’re going to fade into smoke.
“You’re okay?” His voice is raw and trembling, he strokes the sides of your face, your arms, your shoulders with desperate and careful motions, his eyes roam every inch of you, “you’re okay?”
You manage to nod. It’s surreal. You’re no stranger to violence in Gotham. You’ve run from drug dealers, used pepper spray on someone trying to steal your car, veered off the road due to a high speed chance, and not to mention your time with Falcone—your investigative journalism is a high risk occupation. But you’ve never been scared like this before. You can’t help but wonder if it’s because Bruce was involved. You feared for his safety. You refused to entertain the thought of losing him.
“Let’s go—let’s go.” He urges, pulling you by the elbow to his car, “c’mon, Silver.”
“I’m sorry,” you say, “I’m so sorry.” It’s your fault. Bruce paid for the story, but you’ll pay the price of exposing Arkham for the rest of your life. “I’m sorry...”
Bruce shakes his head.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You don’t recall the drive to Wayne Penthouse. You sat in the passenger seat with your eyes closed, your hands cupped around your head between your knees, forcing air into your lungs and exhaling slowly until your heart regulated. Bruce is painfully quiet. You don’t register anything until the purring car engine shuts off.
“Bruce,” you begin, lifting your head, “I’m so sorry.” Bruce is staring straight ahead at the concrete wall of his garage, raw knuckles clenched around the steering wheel, his eyes closed. His expression pained and closed-off. Your feel your heart drag across razor blades. He fought for you, bled for you. You’re relieved he could hold his own and grateful that the thugs didn’t bring any weapons besides wooden baseball bats and bare fists. You don’t want to think about what could’ve happened if any of them had a gun.
He rasps, “Don’t.”
You unbuckle and angle yourself toward him. Your bruised skin bristles with pain at the twist of your spine and shift of your hips. You need to explain. You need to help him see. This is an unfortunate part of the life you lead. He once joked that you were a ‘journalist with a death wish’. It’s not true, of course. You have no desire to die. But you have and will continue to suffer for the sake of Gotham’s truth. When you pursue influential people and start airing their dirty laundry, they will use their power, wealth, and any illegal or legal resources to try and scare you away.
Unfortunately for them, you aren’t easily cowed. What was it Falcone said? You’ve got Gotham in your blood. Gotham raised you. She taught you how to read people, and be resourceful, and hungry for truth.
“Bruce—they wanted me. They wanted to punish me for the Arkham article.”
“I know.”
“If you weren’t with me…” You trail off and look at the center dashboard of his expensive designer car. The guilt gnaws at your bones, threatening to break them. Bruce grabs your chin. His grip isn’t painful—it never is—but it is pointed, urgent, and he yanks your face toward his.
His lips press into yours without warning. Your mouth opens for him and a faint taste of copper bites your tongue. You’ve kissed Bruce more than a dozen times. But never like this.
His tongue moves in desperate, messy strokes and each movement sends a hot and powerful spark to your core. He groans loudly into your mouth, cupping the back of your skull, keeping you close, not even allowing you to break away to breath. You inhale raggedly through your nostrils and push your fingers up along his chest. Something fragile and tenuous shatters between you. He’s alive. You’re alive. It was a harrowing experience—but you are here. Together.
“I need you,” He gasps, “please.” He presses his forehead against yours and his sweet blue eyes bleed into yours. Up close, you can see the reddish-purple swell of a bruise forming on his cheekbone. His lips are raw, bloody, the split lip likely re-opened and aggravated from kissing. You close your eyes to collect your thoughts. You know Bruce. You know him like the lines on the sidewalk outside your childhood home. You know him like the curved handle of your favorite coffee mug. You know Bruce isn’t lying when he tells you he needs you and you know he’s not exaggerating either. You’ve wanted him for years. Ached for him. And this moment might not be perfect, it might not be what you imagined, but God—you’re not going to turn him away. Not when you need him just as desperately as he needs you.
“Okay,” You swipe your thumb across his bloodied lip, “yes, Bruce. Yes.”
Bruce’s expression crumples with relief and he presses his lips to yours. The kiss is slower this time. You take a moment to savor it. Your fingers card through his silky, dark hair and he sucks your lower lip into his mouth with an appreciative hum.
His cool and calloused hand pushes along your upper thigh.
“Right here?” You guess.
“Right here.” He adjusts and grabs your hips to pull you over the center console and into his lap. Your ass bumps against the steering wheel. At least it’s private, you smile at the thought. No one is going to come wandering into Wayne’s personal garage. Except for maybe Alfred? But you assume the old man has enough sense to give you and Bruce plenty of space. Bruce’s lips travel down your jaw to your throat and you angle your neck back to allow him more space to explore. His kisses are light and exploratory, slightly roughed by the dryness of his mouth and gentle scrape of his stubble. It feels better than you could’ve imagined.
Bruce exhales, his voice pitched low and gravely, “I’ve wanted you for so long,” his mouth closes over your collarbone. Your heart leaps at his words, at the implication, at the idea that maybe...just maybe...you weren’t the only one yearning and hoping for years on end.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
His body is sore. He forgot how much things can hurt when he’s not in the suit. But nothing is going to tear him away from this moment with you. He’s careful where he touches. He knows that low-life got more than a few kicks onto your perfect body and if he had been alone then he would’ve broken every bone in that man’s body as recompense. His anger threatens to boil to the forefront of his mind, but Bruce wrestles it back. Now isn’t the time.
He tugs your dress off your shoulders and his cock twitches at the sound of your pleased sigh. Your breasts are perfect. Perfect shape. And at this angle? The perfect height for him to bury his face between them and trail kisses across your skin. He’s never had the opportunity to worship you like this. To press his lips and tongue against your skin, taste your sweat, feel your heartbeat against his nose. His lips enclose around one of your nipples and you cry out, your fingers entangling in his hair to pull him closer, and he flicks his tongue against the hardened nub.
“Fuck,” he moans, his hot breath pants against your skin, before he cups the breast in his hand and holds it while his tongue and mouth lavishes across your nipple over and over again. Your hips cant into his, seeking friction and release, and he trembles as your clothed cunt grinds into his hard cock.
“I’ll give you what you want, Quicksilver.” He promises and you whimper in reply to his words, “Shh.” His bloodied knuckles shine in the light as he kneads your other breast beneath his palm. “I’ll take care of you.”
He wants to make this memorable. He wants it to mean something. He’s outside the shadows with you for the first time. He isn’t hiding behind the cowl, behind his loyalty to Gotham. He is raw, and bloodied, and trembling with anticipation. Your fingers fumble with the hem of his long-sleeved dark shirt and yank it upwards in a graceless motion. He winces as he leans back, his arms overhead, and the shirt is tossed to the passenger side.
“Oh, fuck, Bruce!” You blurt and place your hand above his right pectoral. He winces again at the pressure, but gently places his hand on your wrist. His heart swells with pride and appreciation at his bracelet dangling from your wrist. It saved you when he couldn’t.
“It’s okay,” He looks toward the cut. It’s shallow. Superficial. It likely won’t scar. “Hey, hey, look at me.” He guides your chin, meeting your eyes, and his heart capsizes at the concern pouring from your gaze. “I’m okay, Silver. I promise.”
He holds your chin and kisses you before you have the chance to apologize again. It’s not your fault. It’s his. He got complacent after the article was released. He made a grievous error through his lack of vigilance. He should’ve been more careful, should’ve had Alfred checking the footage to see if you were being tailed, should’ve suggested you stay at the penthouse for a few days until the dust settled. People at Arkham and people connected to Jacobs and Falcone are going to try and settle the score.
He won’t let that happen, though. He feels you relax beneath his touch, feels your lips move urgently against his, how your body arches into him and your hardened nipples press into his bare chest. Bruce shivers. God, it feels so good to be skin to skin with you. He is wholly without armor in both the physical and metaphorical sense and it’s terrifying and electrifying.
He wonders if you know how you affect him. His hands cup your backside, squeezing, pressing you closer into him and pressing his agonizingly hard length between your legs. You make a sweet, soft sound and Bruce swallows back his groan. Everything you do is intoxicating to him.
“I’d like to do this again after we’re inside,” he says to the hollow of your throat, “properly.”
“Properly?” your laughter runs like a vein through your voice, “like with candles and roses?”
“Something like that,” he bunches the bottom of your dress until its hiked up in a ruffled heap around your hips and his gaze snags on the bruises on your ribs. “I’ll leave it to your imagination.” He says with a small grin.
“Ohh, a surprise.”
“Mm.”
He pushes his hand between your legs and discovers the dampened fabric of your underwear. Fuck. You’re always so wet for him. Bruce’s eyes roll back into his skull and he hisses through his teeth.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You were worried the sight of Bruce’s injuries would be a deterrent, but it isn’t. His bloodied lip, swollen cheekbone, and the bleeding cut on his chest are proof that he lived. A little scuffed up, but whole and alive and touching you with comfortable ease. You whimper at the first touch of his thumb across your swollen clit. Your body thrums with frustrated desire. He’s already made the tempting promise to continue once you’re inside the penthouse and quite frankly—you want to two things: for Bruce to be inside of you and then to see what he has planned in the comfort and luxury of his home.
“Bruce, please,” Your fingernails dig into his shoulders, “don’t make me wait.”
He buries his face between your breasts, his kisses sloppy, and mumbles, “I want you to come first.”
Always a goddamn gentleman!
He arches his neck, leaning his head back against the headrest of his seat, and gazes up at you with fervent adoration. You open your mouth to quip at him, to tell him the car is cramped and you’re feeling impatient, but then the concentric motion of his fingers tightens, adding pressure, and the effect is dizzying. Your mouth lets out a garbled “please” instead of articulating any of the other thoughts inside of your head. You lean forward to kiss him, feeling his nose press into yours and the coppery taste of his kiss blossoms on your tongue. Your hips thrust and chase the movements of his hand.
Your hands glide across his chest, his arms—which are surprisingly sinewy—and your fingertips catch along ridges and bumps that can only be attributed to scars. But scars from what? Before the thought can form, Bruce’s index and middle fingers plunge into your wet cunt and your spine convulses and your walls clench around his digits. The world goes muted and soft. Gotham narrows into two souls in an expensive, black car within a private garage beneath a penthouse.
You pant into Bruce’s mouth, sweat collecting on your temples, as he strokes and coaxes the fire burning low and hot in your lower belly.
Bruce says, “you’re so beautiful.” His words are quiet, bashful. And your neck prickles at the compliment. It means more coming from him than anyone else in the world. You hide your face in the crook of Bruce’s warm neck and pepper kisses along his jaw and the side of his face. The windows fog. The sound of his fingers moving slick and fast between your legs fills your eardrums. Your thighs shake.
“F-fuck.” You choke out, “close.”
“That’s it,” he whispers, “that’s my perfect girl. It’s okay. I’ve got you.”
The orgasm hits you slow and serene and drawn-out. Your neck arches and your chin rests on Bruce’s forehead as the quakes tremble through your body in throbs of heat and euphoria. Bruce keeps his hand there, poised within as your walls rhythmically squeeze around his fingers, and he doesn’t pull away until your head drops against his shoulder and pant onto his damp, bruised skin.
He kisses your temple. “Are you ready for me?”
“Yes.”
It’s awkward. You lift your hips and your arms tremble as you hold yourself steady. He struggles to unzip his pants. You only get a brief glance of his cock before he positions himself between your legs and motions with his other hand for you to lower yourself. You brace yourself on his shoulders and Bruce looks up, holding your eye-contact, and is unwavering as the tip of his cock slips between your folds.
His teeth bare into a snarl, “Oh, fuck.”
The blue of his eyes are nearly swallowed whole by his pupils. He moans your name like it’s being ripped from his soul. You let out a breathy chuckle, allowing yourself to close your eyes, letting the sensation wash over you as Bruce sinks into you inch by inch. It feels so good you don’t want to move. You rock your hips back and forth instead of thrusting and it creates a deep and wonderful sensation that travels from your head to your toes. He fits perfect. His mouth travels hungrily across your chest and neck and jaw. His tongue licks glistening stripes of sweat from your skin. His hands knead and squeeze your ass. You feel as if Bruce is trying to melt your bodies together, consume you, and you find yourself copying his motions. You kiss him, bloodied lips and all, and drink in his low and deep groans. Your hands, even as they smear with the blood from his cut, travel across the muscled expanse of his pale chest and your fingertips occasionally dig in when he thrusts up into you. You’ve passed the threshold of your earlier desperate frenzy to touch and be touched, to feel alive and safe together.
These movements, these gestures, speak to the deep cavern of tenderness that is shared between you. Your throat tightens. Bruce’s fingertips trail along your spine and he turns his head to whisper your name into your ear.
Time doesn’t move. It melts. It shapes condensation on the windows. It pools at the dip between Bruce’s collarbones. It glistens where your bodies are joined.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Afterwards, you cradle his face between your hands and touch sweaty forehead to sweaty forehead. Your heart is pounding. Your dress is crumpled around your hips and stuck to your skin. Your bruises pulsate with muted pain. Bruce’s dried blood peeks between your fingers. And yet you’ve never felt more at peace.
He says, “stay with me.”
“W-what?”
“Stay with me,” he repeats, unfazed by your confusion, “for a few days. Maybe a week.”
You swallow. Okay, stay calm. He’s not asking you to move in. Your smile breaks across your face and Bruce’s eyes widen at the sight of it. As if bearing witness to your joy is a privilege and not something he’s earned.
“We’re having this conversation now?”
“Silver,” he chuckles dryly and your smile widens. It’s so wonderful to hear Bruce laugh. “Someday, I’d like to ask you a question and get a straight answer.”
“I’m a journalist.” You roll your eyes, “asking follow-up questions is my forte.”
Bruce takes your hand between his and intertwines your fingers, “and you’re the best journalist Gotham has.” He meets your eyes, “so, will you stay?”
You should tell Bruce ‘no’ from time to time. It’ll be good for his pride. Today, however, is not the day.
“Yes, Bruce. I’ll stay.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You wake during the night. Bruce’s bedroom is cozily lit from the bedside table lamp and you reach across his back to shut it off. Your hand freezes in mid-air. They are scars. After you and Bruce left the garage, you meant to ask him about it, but his hands and mouth were...too distracting...and you lost all train of thought. You sit up and analyze the serpentine shape of his spine, the moles totting his skin, the curve of his shoulder blades, the cream colored sheets wrapped around his slim waist.
You resist the temptation to trail your fingers across the scars. You don’t want to wake him.
You hope that those thugs didn’t leave him with any scars. He claimed the one on his chest would heal fine. But, how does he know? He isn’t a doctor. You shift and sit upright. Your instincts flare. A gut reaction hits you like a punch to the throat. There’s blood in the water. There’s bones under the soil. A story. Another thread to pull. You carefully climb out of bed and grab a few pieces of blank paper from Bruce’s desk.
You start with today—it’s fresh in your mind.
The bracelet. Bruce didn’t notice or make comments when you first began wearing it. He didn’t ask any questions after seeing the bracelet electrocute someone into unconsciousness. Okay. A little odd, right? But there’s a few possible answers. Maybe he didn’t see it happen. Maybe he assumed you used a standard taser.
You write ‘why didn’t Batman come for me?’ on the page and stare at the letters. Batboy always has a knack for knowing when you’re in trouble. He didn’t show today. You know you aren’t his first priority. You know he’s got an entire city to look out for. But…
You write ‘Security’ on the page. Alfred told you that the Wayne home has ‘top of the line’ security. How the hell did Batman break-in without tripping any of the alarms? You’re certain that Bruce or Alfred would’ve mentioned something if they were worried about the security of the home.
You write ‘Falcone’. You sketch out the timeline out of instinct. Falcone is well-known around Gotham, but when you and Bruce reconnected, you never explicitly told him you were investigating Falcone. It was better to keep that sort of thing under wraps. It’s safer that way.
After you were released from the hospital, Bruce said something like ‘Falcone can’t hurt you’ right? You rub your hand over your jaw and frown. This is a long shot. You grab your phone and text Gordon the following message: ‘Hey, did you tell Bruce that I was drugged by Falcone?’
You scribble onto the page and let your mind wander. You doodle a little flower. And the memory hits like a freight train. Bruce’s flowers. They said ‘to my perfect girl’. Never in your time together had Bruce used that nickname. Batman, however, did. Your heart leaps inside your throat and your phone buzzes in your hand.
Gordon replies: God, kid. What are you doing awake at this hour? To answer your question, no. When I called Mr. Wayne, I informed him that you were caught in the middle of an active investigation and dosed with an unknown drug. I might have mentioned Falcone while ya’ll were together in the room, but I never directly stated that Falcone harmed or drugged you. Now get some sleep!
You reply a quick thanks and set your phone down. This is crazy. Bruce is Batman? He’s Vengeance? You press your fingertips into your tired eyes and your thoughts circle like sharks. And if he is then why didn’t he tell you? You huff and stare at your quick notes scribbled on various pieces of paper scattered on the carpet.
It isn’t so unusual, is it? He’s grossly wealthy, intelligent, and without a social life which gives him lots of free time. And you recently learned that Bruce can fight! Those scars of his aren’t from kitchen mishaps or car accidents.
“What’re you doing?” Bruce’s groggy voice lifts from the frumpy bed sheets.
Well, it’s now or never. There’s no way you’re going back to sleep with this question hanging like an anvil over your head.
“Are you Batman?”
Bruce sits up.
“Or Vengeance? Whatever you like to go by, I suppose.”
He rubs his hand down the length of his face. His shoulders are stiff. You watch as he swings his legs and clambers off the bed with clumsy grace. His boxer briefs hang low on his hips and as he stands before you in the light of his bedroom you can’t help but notice the scars on his chest.
His eyes scan the disorganized and chaotic papers on the floor. His expression is unreadable. You lay your palms on your knees and wait for his reply. Although you think his silence is answer enough.
“Silver…” He says with a minute shake of his head, “can this wait until morning?”
“No.” You deadpan, “I won’t be able to sleep without knowing.”
Bruce slowly lowers himself to sit across from you on the floor. Suddenly, you are eight years old again and having a sleep-over party at the Wayne’s. His mother is downstairs making popcorn. You both won’t stop arguing over which movie to watch. Your heart clenches. You blink away the memory. Once upon a time, you called Bruce Wayne your best friend.
He sighs.
“Bruce,” you wait until he meets your gaze and you hold it, “I want the truth.”
“I know.” He drags his fingers through his messy dark hair.
“Is that something you can give me?” You swallow the lump in your throat. If he can’t be honest, if he brushes it off or refuses to reply, then you know this relationship—hell, your rekindled friendship—is dead in the water. Even your partnership to Batman will be forced to end. He peers at you through the strands of his hair falling in front of his forehead. You wait. He can agonize over his response all he wants. The truth, as always, is the only thing that matters.
He finally says, “yes.”
“Yes as in you’re Batman? Or yes as in you can tell me the truth?”
“Both.”
You tap two fingers against your papers on the floor, “ha! Knew it.” You scoot closer to Bruce and his eyes widen.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” You gaze up at the high ceiling, your brow furrowed in thought. You slept with Batman—Bruce – twice and he never thought about revealing his secret? Would he have just continued to live a secret double life while dating? Did he seriously expect that you wouldn’t figure it out someday?
“I wanted to keep you safe.”
“After today,” you chuckle, “I think I have more enemies than Batman does.”
Bruce says your name softly, “This is only the beginning for me, Silver.” His hands curl into a fist, “Gotham needs me.”
“Gotham needs me too, you dork. You said so yourself!” You smile. “None of these other freelance journalists have the courage to take down the big fish. We both are driven by our love for this city. We both take risks. If you can continue to do your job and I can continue to do mine then I don’t see any issue.”
He stares at you and his lips part in awe.
“I thought if you knew...” says Bruce quietly, “you’d leave.”
You reach out and wrap your fingers around his curled fist. “Bruce, I – well—I endured several years without you and you know what? Those years sucked.” You smile, a timid and gentle smile, and more vulnerable than you’ve ever given him.
“I’m not going anywhere, Bruce. I don’t want to be anywhere else.”
Bruce leans in and rests his forehead on your bare shoulder.
He murmurs, “I don’t want to be anywhere else either.”
“Then it’s settled. We stay together and fight crime and change Gotham for the better.”
Bruce lifts his head and levels you with a serious look, “you are not fighting.”
You tease, “okay, you say that now, but I’m already work-shopping costume ideas and team names.” You cup the side of his face, “The Silver Bat? Mercury and Vengeance? Batboy and Journalist Gal?” You ramble off your ideas until Bruce’s serious expression melts away and his lips twitch in a begrudging smirk.
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mochiimadness · 2 years
Note
Hi! Can i request a headcannon for rottmnt where the guys find out their s/o is a huge fan of horror & mystery. Like for example buzzfeed unsolved and movies like the conjuring and/or it? Thank you!
Neon Leon
Leo’s a huge horror skeptic
“Psh, ghosts aren’t real! It’s probably just the wind.”
Which means for the most part, he isn’t afraid to watch horror movies or read scary stories
Which is great for you!
He won’t object to watching them
But
He also, well, a huge-
H u g e
Critic
“That isn’t even possible!”
“How did he catch up to them, he was walking!”
It can get to be a bit much
If you’re fine with that, cool!
Critique with him, you two will end up laughing at most of the movies and stories
(Mikey walks by and sees you two laughing at the scariest thing he’s seen and is convinced you two are possessed-)
If you’re not okay with that, just let him know!
He won’t take offense
Realizes his critiquing can take away from the horror atmosphere
He’ll tone it down and instead opt to laugh quietly at some scenes
Is absolutely down to lay down with you and scroll through some buzzfeed unsolved articles
“Maybe I’ll end up on there one day! I’ll be famous, baby! Just make sure they put the best photo of me.”
Leo no
He does get a bit freaked out with horror movies based on real events
Tries to laugh it off
“C’mon, it can’t actually be real.”
He’ll manage to keep up his unphased image at first
But the second the scary scenes come on, he’s clinging to you
Will try to play it off
“I just thought maybe you were scared- ahaha…ha…”
You’re not fooling anyone Leo.
Please give him a hug.
Don Tron
One word
✨Theories✨
He loves to theorize about the paranormal and such
Will share his theories with you
“BUT WHAT IF THERE WAS NO GHOST ALL ALONG??? WHAT IF IT WAS- A DREAM?!”
D o n n i e
He’s so excited to share his theories with you, especially since you listen
You two regularly have a horror movie/reading binge at least once a week
It’s one of y’all’s favorite thing to do
You’ll both curl up with some pillows and blankets
Snacks and drinks within arms reach
The highest quality screens he has
And ofc he has note pads by him
If you also love theorizing, he sets up a space in his lab for you two to record your theories
Y’all probably have a podcast or YouTube channel
And you both wear hoodies with horror puns and references on them.
He still gets scared and will knock over a bowl of popcorn or too-
But don’t worry, Shelldon helps y’all clean it up
Speaking of Shelldon-
He joins y’all every now and then
His fans whirs loudly when he gets scared but he’ll deny it.
Donnie sometimes grabs your hand when he gets really scared
Just hold his hand and tell him it’s alright- you’ll throw hands with any monster
“You can’t hit a ghost-“
“Watch me.”
Mystic Mike
Mikey likes watching horror movies every now and then
But can he handle horror???
N o
It’s okay, he’ll still try to be brave with you
“With my s/o with me, there’s no monster we can’t beat!”
Two seconds later he’s popped into his shell
Just pick him up and put him in your lap
Scratch his shell gently and he’ll pop back out after a moment
Mikey definitely clings to you during movies, and keeps a blanket wrapped around you both.
He does much better with reading horror
Loves to read buzzfeed unsolved with you
“Hey wait a minute- I’ve seen that guy!”
“W h a t?!”
He’s definitely seen one or two ‘missing’ people
Usually they’ve just been mutated
If you want, he’ll introduce you to them!
You two usually curl up on his bed and read horror stories together
He even gets a few scary scrolls and books from the Hidden City library for you two to enjoy
More often than not, they’re mainly illustrated- like a comic book.
Mystic horror books are on a whole different level
Sometimes the books come alive and try to eat y’all
Other times, they sort of work like a mystic 3D hologram-
Using magic to show the events of the story happening around you
You two get so invested that you both shriek when the monster suddenly appears in front of you both
10/10 for practically being in the stories yourself
Big Red
Oh sweet, sweet Raph…
He can’t handle anything horror to save his life
He’ll try to tough out watching a movie or two for you
But he always ends up shrieking and nearly breaking your tv- or his dads projector
(Okay, he has broken his dads projector repeatedly)
He thinks you’re the bravest person ever for enjoying horror
If you want him to watch a movie with you, you’ll usually have to coax him into it
Make the couch super comfy and cozy- with his favorite blankets and pillows
You’ll have to keep a light on- or get fairy lights
He’ll sit with you in his lap, with his arms around you
This way he can hold onto you when he gets scared
(Also so he can hide behind you)
He’ll be so happy if you get him some noise cancelling headphones
The movie will still scare him, but he’ll be able to handle it a bit better.
If you’re reading some buzzfeed unsolved or horror stories,
He’ll gladly sit next to you with a book of his own, or his phone
While he won’t read it with you, he’s more than glad to spend time with you
You both get to enjoy time together while doing what y’all like
He usually falls asleep with his head in your lap while you scroll through buzzfeed unsolved, or watch movies on your phone with your headphones in.
He may feel a bit guilty over not being able to enjoy horror with you
So he gets you a poster of your favorite movie
Or asks Splinter if he knows one of your favorite horror actors so he could get a signature for you
“I uh- know ya really love scary stuff, so I got ya a signature from that one actor you like!”
Sweet boi
He’s trying.
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Thanks for requesting, I hope you liked it!!
This was pretty fun to write ^^
Reblogs appreciated :3
Updated and edited as of July 2023
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chris-continues · 11 months
Note
hello hello! could i ask for reader and knives stimming together? i feel like he'd be unused to acknowledging his own stims and maybe reader can help with that?
thank u!
I WAS LITERALLY THINKING ABT THIS YESTERDAY AAAAAAA
Getting comfortable with one another.
Knives and neurodivergent reader!
@coffinbeananteiku U FEED MY BRAINROT THIS HAS SOME OF WHAT WE TALKED ABT IN KNIVES CHANNEL
I always write my reader as neurodivergent as that is my experience, but I felt like prefacing it once again.
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You continue scrolling down the page you’re reading on, glancing over to Nai once again. You should’ve been studying- really, you should’ve, but while researching you stumbled upon an article on the embalming process in Egyptian times, and you couldn’t just pass up the opportunity to look into it more!
So.. yeah, probably a bit of a rabbit hole. And probably a bit off task. And Nai is probably a bit annoyed as he huffs, “You should work on your essay.”
Shit- you were caught. “Hah, sorry. I got sidetracked reading this.” You wring your hands out with the other, looking down at your keyboard shamefully.
“Reading what?” He peeked over, adjusting his glasses to get a better look before his eyes widened. “Yeah, they used natron. Did you know it takes around 70 days for the body to fully dry out?” His fingers tap against his knee repeatedly, reading over your laptop before staring at the coffee table as he continues,
“And- ahem, they filled concaves of the body with linens due to the dried out state- hundreds of yards of linens, actually. Then of course traditional wrappings, but the ceremonial measures taken-“ he stops himself, knee bouncing slowing once his eyes turn to look at you. “Excuse me, I went on a tangent.” He clears his throat once more, adjusting to go back to work, to your dismay.
“Oh no no, I’m listening! I’m like super interested in this kinda thing, it’s really cool. Tell me more!” You smiled in an attempt to reassure him to continue, hands waving excitedly.
He was nothing short of utterly ecstatic as his knee continued to bounce, passion evident in his eyes, “They had, uh,” he pauses to think back on what he was saying, “Ritualistic ceremonies performed for the burial themselves by religious figures, such as them being the only ones permitted to wrap the final linen around the body.” He turns to check your reaction, and is definitely pleased to see you stimming happily.
“Keep going! I’m like- so excited to learn about this stuff, it’s nice to see you so passionate over it.” His eyes blink, once, twice- before once again speaking.
Nai goes over the whole process and listens intently as you share your knowledge, heavily impressed by your enthusiasm and enjoying yourself.
For once, studying is put aside as you go back and forth, occasionally interrupting excitedly only to assure the other it’s ok, because you don’t need to worry about social cues that don’t measure up to much. Just enjoying yourselves.
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Hi, I'm always very impressed by your world building skills, even in shorter stories! Do you have any advice for aspiring writers on how to build their fantasy world?
So i drafted a response to this in between working just far too much and then my computer crashed and i lost it. Then i was even busier so i never got around to writing it again but i am making some time this weekend, so worldbuilding post - take 2
My main, high level worldbuilding tips are:
Rule of Cool: worldbuild things you think are fun and interesting. not only is that the best way to get ideas you like and are motivated to write about, but other people will also think they're interesting too. have fun with it.
Iceberg theory: know more about the world than ever makes it into the story. people can sense when worldbuilding is shallow, so even if they never see the true depths of the world they can often sense it's there. plus if u know the whole picture, everything the readers do see will seem more coherent
Integration: i heavily integrate the world i'm building into the story i'm telling--so dig into the plot and characters and make sure that the world and the story serve each other well. your world is there to contribute to the story so make sure its fulfilling that purpose
For more specifics about how i personally world build and for some examples from my stories of the above guidelines, see below.
So firstly, i love worldbuilding. i just think its a ton of fun and could easily spend hours just thinking about worlds in my head. (i mean what else is there to do when ur commuting to work, amiright?) i think that does make it easier for me to take the time to do it right and makes the world come through more vividly in my writing. it can get annoying or tedious or be more challenging at times, but since i like it/find world building interesting, i'm more willing to put in the time and effort to whip it into shape and i get less frustrated with that part of the process in general.
i'm also always thinking about world building to some degree in the back of my mind. picking up interesting information, facts, snatches of cool ideas or images or whatever. then i throw all that in like a junk drawer in my brain so when i sit down to more officially write or flesh out a world, i already have spare parts at my finger tips to use or drawn on.
Reading and consuming other art and worlds also makes it easier to make your own, just lik reading is a key part of writing practice. i don't just mean fiction, but just anything about the actual world makes it much easier to make up your own--that can manifest as awe at the fireflies that actually exist or spite that dragons dont. Whether that's random youtube video essays about the history of musicals or drinks or fashion to books and articles and documentaries or just my friend's niche interests (or their regular jobs). i'm always taking worldbuilding notes in the back of my mind.
For a more writing specific example, i read this short guide '50 Ways to Kill a Mermaid' (its locked for AO3 so u hav to sign in to read it) and it was super fun and cool to read that info from a writer who had studied marine biology. then when i was fleshing out Don't Shoot the Messenger a year later, the problem of Satrasi being a sea demon in a fresh water pool and bloating came to my mind because i'd stored that tidbit from the article away for later use.
My personal method for worldbuilding and plot outlining is sort a brainstorming/Q&A i have with myself (i hope this makes sense when i'm done writing this all out lol).
I've mentioned this before but the prompt that inspired Dale was: "You’re pretty sure your boyfriend was replaced by an eldritch being that can barely emulate being human. Weirdly, you enjoy a better relationship with them than your actual boyfriend."
So when that idea grabbed me, i started brainstorming about the world and asking myself questions. Why is the reader with the boyfriend if they don't really like them? What would make someone stay in a relationship like that? Do i want to make this a dark story? And i did not, i wanted it to be fun, so the arranged marriage angle came to mind. And if that's the premise then when is the story? is this our 'past' or another world entirely? diff world means more freedom so i automatically leaned in that direction.
Can the reader tell the 'boyfriend' has been replaced? Are demons a thing people know about? does the reader know that's an option? which is more fun? if the reader is worried about Dale getting caught, that's more room for hijinks so then yes, demons are known, but not common otherwise too many people would notice.
So my plot and worldbuilding are evolving in tandem and informing each other, based on the type of story i want to tell and how the characters i have in mind will react etc.
i run through a lot of ideas and turn them over in my head--trying out diff pieces to see if they fit--and am always willing to drop an idea or save it for another story if i don't think its working for the current one
For iceberg theory, i mentioned above for Dale would be the religions in that world. When i decided to introduce a priest like character (for discovery danger) i knew i needed to focus more on the religions than i previously had noted. the majority of what i came up with isn't int he story, but i think the fact that i know it helps me write when did end up in there, helped make it consistent, and means i can more easily work in allusions to it without having to work so hard those singular times.
For example, i'd decided to call the demon realm "the Depths" early on, which to me already invokes deep water and darkness, so i followed that through to sort height and air and light as being perceived more positively. fire and light are important symbols in this world and they primarily burn their dead--to bury someone below ground would be seen as almost condemning them and someone drowning is also seen as like, not good for their soul because what if it is 'pulled down' rather than 'ascending'. some of this was alluded to in the chapter, but most of it is not. this also helped me come up with the various "by the light" "dawn's ire" and other similar little 'religious' phrases and exclamations different characters use at times.
Meanwhile, in Sacrifice, the people living their are relatively non-religious--thats why they both don't pray to any other deities and it takes 5 years of problems to even bother trying an old god. it's not sacrilege because they're desperate people trying a long shot, not violating or abandoning a different belief. because i wanted the reader's main problem with it all to just be that they didn't think it work.
And why is she a translator? because i wanted to use the idea from that one post that goes around about how ridiculous it is in movies when their translated prophecies rhyme in english. why are they arguing about the translation? because its a dead language so no one really speaks it, that means the people who came up with it were here a century ago or longer. why aren't they here anymore? nomadic so they left and ended up staying away because of a natural disaster elsewhere. why is this town here now? a particular export/resource in this area became valuable enough for people to try to live here. the fact that its a lumber town due to some rare wood native to the area doesn't come up in the story, but i know it and i think that i know that about the town helps it feel more real, makes it easier for me to reach for new details when i need them
and going back to anything can be inspiration, let's talk about the doorlock in the very beginning of Finally Woken. its literally just a magical keypad/number pad but with different colored tiles instead of numbers because i wanted the reader to be able to get in, but i felt it didnt make sense for them to hav a physical key. and i thought it would look cool in Heshi's door and it went well with the fact that he's a glassblower . also, why is Heshi a glassblower? because i frickin' lov blown glass - i just think its so cool and pretty. that helped lead into the sort of artisan economy feel that world has.
Each of these stories has an outline and notes doc at a minimum. the notes doc is where i throw lik pics, inspiration posts, random worldbuilding ideas etc. only much shorter stories or stories that are heavily based in 'modern' world don't hav extensive random notes.
my Dale folder has subfolders for characters and the setting, as well as random worldbuilding files such as "demon summoning/magic" "spiritual belief and org" "fashion - feminine" and so on. Even excluding the plot outline and chapter notes (and not counting pics) i've got like, over 4k of random notes saved. dale is the one i hav the most of that for, but all my fics have some little section with stuff like that jotted down
in the end, i think the best way to sum up all that is with my three original rules of: put stuff u think is cool in your world, known more than you tell to help everything fit together and seem deep, and build your world around your plot and characters because they should all be working together to tell the story you want to tell.
honestly, i could ramble about worldbuilding all day so if anyone has any questions or wants more examples, just let me know ^^
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tuliprry · 2 years
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sunbeam 2
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prompt: ballerina!yn x barista!harry, y/n is a ballerina and harry works at the café in the same building, both have a little crush on each other
warnings: fluff, a bit of angst, mentions of eating disorder, christmas
word count: 2k
part 1 part 3 part 4 part 5 extras
it has been a month since y/n and harry's first date, it's now december 21st, y/n has been practising with pointe shoes which led to a lot of bleeding and bruising, harry has been super inspired, the words flow out of his mouth like a river and he owes it all to y/n, for giving him reasons to write. 
their first week of dating was weird, y/n followed harry on instagram and that's when it hit him he never asked for her age... he knew she was an adult but it never crossed his mind until the moment y/n is long gone on the tube and he's sitting on his sofa reading her instagram bio "21, london based photographer", yeah she was an adult but he was 6 years her senior and he didn't want to make her uncomfortable in any way. "stupid stupid stupid", he thought. when y/n got off the tube her phone was buzzing like crazy, "i swear on GOD that i didn't realise you were so young", "i promise u i'm not a creep i just really thought you were at least 25", y/n's eyes widened to the worried messages from harry, she never mentioned her age because she forgot, when harry mentioned he was 27 she was gonna make a joke about millenials but her mind trailed off when the pasta came to the table. 
"harry i'm so sorry i was on the tube! if i wasn't clear by almost swallowing your face tonight, i'm absolutely more than okay with you being older than me... is it an issue being 21?"
"i just don't want you to think i'm some creep taking advantage of you"
"i genuinely don't think that"
"but seriously who the fuck is born in 2000"
"don't be mean a lot of people were born in 2000"
"mean? i'm not mean"
"yeah you're a millennial, it's worse."
during that entire week harry was always thinking his moves and trying to be even more respectful, his entire dating history was always with people older than him so all of this was relatively new to him, y/n explained a thousands times she was okay but harry still had to wrap his head around it. it was the same week y/n started pointe shoes, she was constantly tired and in pain and the hours she wasn't practicing she was working and then spending hours at the café editing so she could keep harry company. harry admired her, if it was him he would've definitely fallen asleep on the tube and getting off at a stop much further than his.
the second week was just sweet, lovebirds honeymoon phase clingy sweet, harry even got y/n tickets to go to the royal ballet, he understood nothing of it, but the sparkling eyes and smile coming from y/n made it just perfect. that same night harry fell asleep on y/n's sofa, cuddling oli, while watching taskmaster, another thing he swears on, y/n's sofa is amazing to take naps on (oli included). y/n had given harry's name to a magazine she does some shoots for, just in case they needed an article to he written, and still now she prays it's an article that needs photos so they can work together. the times they are apart are so little but those moments only make them crave each other even more.
the third week was hell, y/n fell in class, harry couldn't puzzle out why she was avoiding food or why she didn't want to eat outside the house anymore. truth be told y/n feels deeply conscious about herself whenever she's in the ballet studio, her teacher is cool and against the unachievable goal of the ballerina body but the other ballerinas were starting to ruin y/n's experience.
she didn't want harry to know, the "relationship" was so fresh and she wasn't emotionally ready to sit down and tell him sometimes (most times) being overweight and plus sized was a war with herself. harry did mention it to his sister, his sister just said being there is the best you can do, so he did.
this week was better than before, harry met y/n's friends and slept over one more time, this time in bed with her, he was still finding a way to ask y/n to be his girlfriend, he was sleeping in her bed for fucks sake. he also started talking kindly about food to y/n, showing his tummy multiple times.
"you have boobs bigger than mine harry"
"borrow me a bra then?"
y/n opened up a little more about the sad thoughts that lived in her when it came to food, so he googled about it, and tried to be as comforting and understanding as possible.
they went ice skating for their weekly date, both sucking terribly at it, harry did suck a little more, his knees always finding their way to the ice flooring, harry still thinks about her outfit, matching beige leggings and crewneck with a big white bunny in it, hair half up half down tied with a white lace bow and obviously her leg warmers, his eyes were glued to her, he just thought she was so beautiful and sexy and he craved her, he wanted to keep the decorum but this girl made his head spin. they ended up having sex for the first time that same night, sloppy kisses, harry couldn't keep his hands to himself, y/n was about to warn him about the fat above her hips but he stopped right there, "god it looks great to bite on", his lips travelled her entire body, always praising her, "you're a goddess, i'm in bed with god right now, fuck me", a memorable night indeed.
harry met y/n's two bestest friends the next morning, he assumed they already knew what had happened the night before by the funny exchanged looks between them and y/n, one of them was still studying, doing a masters in ecology and the other one was a visual artist like y/n but a videographer, harry liked them, they were loud and constantly offering him food and drinks. harry kept an eye out for y/n, constantly worried that she could be skipping meals. 
today is saturday, y/n is laying on harry’s sofa with a very purring poppy cuddling her while harry is finishing editing an article that he has to email until 11pm, he's not too worried as he got most of it written on his days off. "y/n do you want to order veggie burgers for lunch, babe?" harry asked without taking his eyes off his desktop computer. "oh yeah! with the sweet potato fries and that veganaise sauce... i'll order!", he smiled to himself, the last few days have been good for y/n mental health wise, she was on a ballet break until the new years, he hasn't stopped thinking about her flying home for christmas and missing her. "harry do you want the black bean burger? or the chickpea one?” y/n asked wrapping her arms around harry from behind, “what are you heaving? actually never mind i know you want the black bean one”,  he brushed his fingers against her hand, “…harry stop it’s creepy how you know me so well it’s been a month!!!” y/n pouts, it’s not really heartfelt, she loves that he knows her so well and genuinely wants to learn more about her as she had never lived anything like this. “i’m a genius and the chickpea one, please-“ before he speaks again y/n interrupts him “extra veganaise i know, you’re not the only one memorising things, old man”, harry’s worry about y/n being younger was still there but smaller, he loved that she felt comfortable enough to tease him about pushing 30.
“old man? i wasn’t an old man when i was fucking you last night”
“HARRY??? NOT IN FRONT OF THE CHILDREN”
“sorry, sorry, i promise i won’t traumatise our children”
“our? so poppy is also mine? good to know”
“i mean, we both love you so i don’t see why not”
y/n’s felt her heart skipping a whole beat before processing what harry had just said, “h, what did you say?”, he turned his chair around and patted his thigh so y/n would sit on top of it. “i love you. you don’t have to say it back, i just do love you, i’m here trying to focus and not think about having to drop you off at the airport tomorrow and be away from u a whole week and not even get to start the year with you. i find myself writing about you, accidentally making your favourite drink when the customer absolutely not asked for him, i just know that i do. i do love you” y/n was speechless, she had thought about those 3 words and how what she feels for harry is stronger and only i love you in her mother language would make sense but she felt it too, not wanting to be away, finding reasons to be together, she was right where he was, emotionally.
“harry.”, y/n whispered, “you don’t have to say it, bunny”, he whispered back, placing his chin on her shoulder, “harry i love you, i love you too”
this is one of the moments harry most writes about
harry’s journal,  23rd december 2021
christmas season love only felt true 
in all of those nights i watched
love actually
colin firth falling in love with someone
he could barely understand
i needed it for myself
you came along and made me feel
right in his shoes
learning portuguese
just so i can tell you i love you
in a way only you would get it
your whispers,
my name,
your three words,
the most beautiful christmas gift 
i could have ever gotten
i miss you
come home to me
♡˚.༄  january 3rd 2022
harry is at the airport with a bouquet of white and blush coloured tulips, he had a busy christmas, he moved oli with him and poppy for the holidays to make sure oli wouldn't feel alone, poppy and oli bonded immediately like sisters, against all feline odds, they now can’t live without each other, much like their parents. his sister and mum flew over to his london house this time around, a chaotic christmas because harry burnt his not so great oat christmas cookies.
harry sees her coming through the arrivals door in a sea of people, his love actually moment, he speeds up to her and kisses her passionately. “god bunny, i missed you”, getting her carry-on and walking with her towards the tube. “how was your flight?” he asks, placing his tote bag better on his shoulder, “exhausting, a baby cried most of the way, poor little guy, if i get grumpy and i’m 21 i can’t imagine a baby, other than that it was okay, i got some work done. how are the girls?”, the girls, meaning poppy and oli and anne and gemma, harry was alone in the middle of women. “they’re okay, kinda fussy, i think they miss you. my mum says i’ve been fussy too”, y/n just giggled.
“harry, can we just get a coffee before we go home?”
“just not a christmas drink, please”
“you’re not the barista for this drink, h”
“yeah but i fear for the poor person that has to make anything christmas related”
“i had a gingerbread latte one time harry, one time”
“and the guy looked terrified!”
part 3?
do tell me if u want me to tag u on a possible part 3!
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Hi Aleks, this is a super random question and idk if its in ur area of expertise but since you're a chemist I was wondering if you have any experience with clinical trials and how the ethics for clinical trials get checked. As a philosophy student (me) you don't get very much information on what jobs u could possibly do in the future and its so hard to find information on jobs in ethics. I've always been interested in the ethics side of science and clinical trials or animal testing and I might want to make it my job but idk if I'd be qualified enough with a bachelor's or masters in philosophy (all the people I see in big positions in ethics either have a PhD or are professors). Also what is it specifically that u do in your job as a chemist? (Sorry if you've already answered that somewhere. I also wanna say congrats with your interviews and that I think u are such a cool person with how smart u are!!! Love hearing everything about chemistry and pegging) 🥺💕💕
hi Cami! this ones gonna be a bit of a long answer
so I don't specifically work in clinical trials but I can tell you a bit about the ethics review. im going with the assumption here that you mean the United States so I'll talk about how it works here.
so in medicine there are several regulatory agencies that make the laws that all the companies and universities have to follow. You already know the FDA (federal drug administration). there is also USP (United States pharmacopeia) and ICH (international council on harmonization). there are others but I'll just focus on these.
so the ICH and the FDA are the two who regulate the clinical trials process. the ICH calls the people which perform ethics review an IRB (institutional review board) (also sometimes called independent ethics committee or IEC). This group reviews the proposed clinical trial risk vs benefits for the patients involved.
there are two types of review boards: local and central. local review boards are for academic institutions. for example, a university hospital conducting a clinical trial would consult their internal review board. a company which is conducting a trial would consult a central review board, one which reviews many companies.
The FDA has laws about the review board and who can be on the review board: at a minimum, there must be at least five people. one of them must be a layman (cannot be a scientist/cannot have a background related to the study). one must be external (cannot be working for the company that is performing the study/or the academic institution). all the members in the board must be competent and able to perform medical and ethical review of the proposed study. throughout the course of the clinical trial, this review board continuously monitors the study and any proposed changed to the study.
pfizer has posted a EXTREMELY well written guide on the ethics committee for clinical trials and Pfizer is currently the best pharmaceutical company in the world so if you are interested in more information about the process of clinical trials you can read their article here it is very thorough https://cdn.pfizer.com/pfizercom/research/research_clinical_trials/ethics_committee_guide.pdf
so back to your question: can a philosophy student work in ethics?
my answer is: maybe? honestly, I couldn't tell you with 100% certainty. I know that the people who run clinical trials who are patient-facing 1000000% are doctors and nurses. you cannot be patient-facing and not have a medical degree. but there are other aspects of the clinical trial process such as organizing the trial, analyzing the data, evaluating the ethics, proposing changes to the study, coordinating with the research and development--those are all parts of the clinical trial process but they do not directly interact with patients. and those jobs vary in what is needed in expertise.
If I’m being honest I don’t think a degree in philosophy would be enough for a position in clinicals since clinical trials are very heavily focused on the ADME/ PD/PK/evaluating outcomes of the drug which requires a science background to understand. but truly I don't really think I'm qualified to give you a straight answer on this. perhaps if anyone's reading and their experience is more aligned with medical reviews/ethics reviews/filing reviews perhaps they would know more about what kind of experience is needed to work in that sector.
in terms of what I do for work specifically, I think I did answer that somewhere on Tumblr but I can't remember LOL.
so here is a diagram of the drug development process from when the drug is "discovered" to when the drug is approved by the FDA:
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you see that long blue horizontal arrow from preclinical up to late phase/launch? that is where my job lies. so I work in the section between the initial research and the product launch. there are MANY teams which work collaboratively in that section, for example:
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here is a link where I am getting these diagrams from: https://www.chromatographyonline.com/view/drug-development-process-nonclinical-development-of-small-molecule-drugs
specifically I'm in the analytical development arm. so when you have a drug you need to be able to say how much of the active product is in there, how many impurities are in there, if there are any chemicals left over from the manufacturing process, if the drug is absorbing water, etc etc. there are many tests that need to be done to this drug at various stages of the lifecycle (manufacturing the active product, manufactoring the blend, pressing the capsule die or pressing tablets, stability long term storage, etc). all of these studies have to be done (and follow guidelines laid out by FDA/USP/ICH/etc) before the drug can be approved. so my day to day work is performing these types of studies so that when the company files for drug approval they have all this data to support the product. hope that makes some sense!
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megashadowdragon · 7 months
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Summer Omake: The Steggy Inquisition
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u/The_w4nd3r3r avatar The_w4nd3r3r • 2 days ago Abrahamics: We’re sure that it’s a test of our faith
God: hey wouldn’t it be interesting if I made a history a few million years before Eden and filled it with a bunch of giant animals? I’m sure the humans will love to ride the one with the plates on its ba… wait never mind, a big rock just hit everything. Welp, that’s what happens when there’s chaos.
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u/SuperSpiritShady avatar SuperSpiritShady • 2 days ago I remember our theology teacher once telling us that what could be a ‘day’ for God could be millions for man.
So ideas like the Big Bang theory and the Theory of Genetic Evolution don’t have to go against God’s teachings.
I don’t mean to cite a war or an argument with atheists or religious people, but I just wanted to share something I thought was cool.
•2 days ago
Yeah the argument goes that in the original Hebrew, “day” used in Genesis is pretty vague. Could be a literal “day”, or just a “period of time” (or something)
On a related note, I saw some other theory that the beasts, dragons and leviathans mentioned in the Old Testament could be the dinosaurs (though I haven't read into the theory enough to see how that takes into account the millions of years difference)
Well, in the Islamic tradition, The Day of Judgment, also called "the hour", will span for thousands of years.
So yeah, that is something cool.
Commentary:
If you think about it, for an avowed zealot, King Hassan seems rather casual about a bunch of beings running around Chaldea professing to be gods.
Though you could say that about a lot of faith-centric Servants.
It’s nice.
Anyway, as you probably know, sprite comics seem to be on their way out on this particular page. So if that hasn’t changed trajectory, there are some ways you can stay updated on any future comics I do FGO or otherwise in the following ways.
Saying it more than once can wear on some, therefore I’ll only say it once: You can follow me directly here on reddit.
Though you could say that about a lot of faith-centric Servants.
Interestingly, David does talk a bit about it in his Interlude, when talking about Phantasmal giants. He says:
"They are like gods, but not. Oh, the term “god” I use here refers to deities of polytheism, not to the great and divine being I serve. A being that is not human, but is human. And furthermore, very powerful."
Basically, they might be "gods" but not "the God", a wordplay that will also be familiar to Muslims. Powerful supernatural entities that may be worshipped as deities by others, but not the one, omnipotent, omniscient God. Pretty sure that's how other monotheist Servants deal with it.
As for King Hassan, bear in mind that he's supposed to be a zealot of the Nizari sect specifically. Nizari Ismailism is a very esoteric school of Islam that argues against literalist interpretations of the Quran. From a theological perspective, First Hassan would argue that it's not his role, but the role of the Imam to decide on such matters. In regards to dinosaurs, current Ismaili doctrine isn't against evolution (as a bonus, the article points out that Catholic doctrine isn't either), so this would be a non-issue.
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faggotmox · 2 years
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Top 5 wrestlers any place and why?
top five RASSLERS || @perchtdont
nick gage (gcw). the why part of this is so long. like...how to explain things here. nicky is my favorite wrestler ever. i say with my whole chest that i do not think there is another (at least american) wrestler that has as strong a connection to their fans as nick gage does. for a lot of us being mdk, being in the gang, means something very real to us. it's a place we belong. when you look a guy in his eyes & tell him how his silly lil stabby glass breaky rasslin & gang saved your life & he genuinely responds back to you "i wouldn't be alive without you guys either" there's something truly special. nick gage has such a a special, genuine connection with his fans & he is truly a wrestler above most. i could talk a lot about this, i could really go into it, but i'll leave it here. nicky just is special. also he explicitly supports the queer community, & makes his gang & shows a safe space for us (like it's not just him at gcw doing this though).
jon moxley (aew, gcw). when i started watching wrestling it was during the kinda closing of the omega/mox feud. i hadn't really find the wrestler i connected with yet, i had a bunch i liked though. can't remember the first mox match but i do remember just very easily finding myself invested in mox. the exploding barbed wire deathmatch is the most significant match to me as a wrestling fan. everything he does is good, even the bad stuff. he doesn't exactly have what i say nick gage has but his genuine self really connects with people. also mox's love of deathmatches/hardcore is what lead me to discover that kind of wrestling which lead me to wanting to be that kind of wrestler. so mox gave me my dream & love for wrestling.
bryan danielson (aew, roh). i know everyone's like of course its cuz u think he's hot. FALSE. well, i do but everyone on my list is hot. i actually kinda hate having bryan on my top five list because it feels generic (sorry bry but you seemed too hyped to be that good) but kenny vs bryan seriously changed my definition of good wrestling. i used to not get technical wrestling (& i really wanted to bc it's nicky's favorite kinda wrestling) but bryan changed that. then i stumbled on bryan vs kenny vs tyler black which just...fucking slaps. bryan became one of my favorites before he was even stalking mox. i also like the man behind the wrestler a lot.
minoru suzuki (everywhere). this is the coolest motherfucker in pro wrestler. not only is he cool as fuck but the dude has just such a fucking understanding of wrestling. not just the moves & the holds & the whatever. no, suzuki gets pro wrestling. like seriously having read some of his shoot interviews & his in character ones, the guy has such a mind for it. the way suzuki brings legitimacy to the sport of pro wrestling is fucking amazing. not only that but suzuki works to use his credibility to legitimize others. effy v suzuki is a good example. it's still a fucking effy match but suzuki brings his vibe to it as well. the dude is who i look to when i want to understand something about pro wrestling that's maybe just not clicking. he also is very humble & just loves what he does. it shows. i just really respect & admire suzuki. ive been so fucking fortunate. i saw him 3 times in 2 days during which he earned his first US title (roh tv championship), & that's like...such a thing for me. like i start to cry thinking about it, it makes me so happy. his chops sound unearthly (like legit not of this earth) in real life.
eddie kingston (aew, chikara, deffy, njpw). i mean...like yall been on my blog. yall know how i feel about eddie. ive spent the last like day running my mouth about eddie which is fitting since all he does is run his mouth which is what i love about him. i could write an essay. but i'll break it down like this. the way he and mox are, the players tribune article, his love & influence from king's road, the genuine way he expresses himself, & his sense of style are why eddie is one of my all time greats.
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It’s Chinese mafia anon!!
Ooh I literally love studying developmental trauma (which includes attachment trauma) so if you have any questions lmk!! I actually want to go into this field. It’s really dark but super fascinating imho
Omg getting a venus fly trap yay!! I don’t want to be pushy and tell you how to take care of them if you don’t want it, but if you have any questions let me know! They are definitely different from traditional houseplants so if you need help with info just lmk:) and there is so much cool stuff about them and other carnivorous plants- it’s a rabbit hole I would gladly spend my life exploring lol and I love getting to share that with people.
Venus flytraps can be a tad more picky that your usual carnivorous plant (just something to keep in mind), but they are definitely the most charismatic by far. If you ever have any questions I would be super happy to answer them:) in case you couldn’t tell from this rambling mess, I adore them with all my heart.
Sending u lots and lots and lots of love!!!!
Omg I wanna know everything about that! Mostly like... if someone has attachment trauma, (as far as I could tell, -not a professional at all, I just read some articles to have some idea of it - Clover seems to have the Avoidant type) how would it directly affect their day to day relationships? Romantic and otherwise?
I have literally zero idea about how to take care of a plant but I like Venus Flytraps, they seem interesting 😂 The internet says it should have like, direct sunlight but my apartment isn't like, under a looot of sunshine, would that be a problem? 😂
You're amaziiiiing, thank you darling! ❤️❤️❤️
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mossyshadows · 2 years
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as someone who has read hill house (you), I wanted to know if you’ve watched the hill house series? :-) and what you thought about it?
hi, i haven’t! horror in film rly isn’t my thing :-( i did read these two articles here and here the other day because i wanted to know what the show was like in comparison (outside of knowledge gleaned via the tumblr dash…) and honestly from what i can tell, hill house the book and the series are very different stories..! and im sure it’s an interesting show in its own way and i get it’s partly a (very effective) marketing thing but also can’t we just have new horror stories instead of retellings that aren’t really retellings, and only vaguely inspired by … make your own show instead of riding off shirley jackson’s brilliance and not even displaying it properly 🙄
anyway all this is just thoughts as i rly don’t plan to watch and confirm any of this 😭 if u like the series, then that’s cool and fun! and if you haven’t read the book would rec, the writing is phenomenal, just don’t go in expecting the series in novel form! though oooh have you watched the hill house film (the haunting 1963)? have heard it’s very good, i need a horror film fan to give me the Insight hehe :-) anyway here’s to reading more shirley jackson though i love her work so much <3 all this rambling all just to say no and don’t plan to lmao sorry
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jackiebrackettt · 2 years
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ok infodump time i can do that. gl with your essay friend :] i just woke up and i am absolutely not proofreading this but here u go
a bit ago i read this really interesting article about how they’re trying to make animatronics at disney have emotional responses to what the park-goers say. i’m pretty sure that would entail a change in facial expressions and telling the AI ‘now replicate what a human being might say in response to this comment — for example, if it’s an insult, act like a sad or offended person’. so yknow, not quite to the point of teaching robots how to actually feel emotions yet. but it begs the question of HOW we define the sentience of robots when it happens, because yes it’s going to happen? how do we identify the consciousness of another creature? we can recognize our own consciousness because we ARE conscious, and from the perspective of our own bodies we just know. we can guess that creatures like elephants are conscious because of their deep emotional responses, and they can recognize themselves in a mirror. okay but … ants can recognize themselves in a mirror, too, but cats can’t. so that might not be a good measure of consciousness. is there even any way to know? some people might say it’s impossible for these robots to start feeling emotions like humans, but if you actually think about emotions in humans — a complex array of this hormone and that hormone caused by varying stimuli — basically we can feel feelings because of the way our brains are coded. actually, humans are basically just really complex robots running on a script written by thousands of years of evolution. if humans themselves can write their own code faster, literally who is to say anything is stopping us from creating manmade sentient life? like what is the fundamental difference between organic life and robots that people cling to when they insist that sentient AI is just a sci-go fantasy?? if people were to start trying to code emotions into robots, eventually it’s going to happen. and disney is literally trying to do that, just so they can make their animatronics more realistic. it’s obviously a super cool advancement in technology, but like, did anybody on the development team actually step back and ask themselves, are we really trying to make sentient AI? and you KNOW disney is not the right company to be pioneering the handling of rights for the first sentient robots, they’re just going to get exploited. so. yeah. near future, AI is going to increase in complexity to the point that they will actually gain sentience, but there’s a good chance that people aren’t even going to know because consciousness isn’t a measurable quantity. so just always be nice to your robots kids and maybe they will just tell you nicely and then you can be friends :]
dude this is like.. SO incredibly interesting to me i’m going to re-read it all the time robot/AI sentience is like... apart from space my number 1 interest. I think what will help is looking into the term sapience - it’s what we are technically due to our ability to question things etc etc (can’t remember exact explanation) whereas most animals would be considered sentient
ANYWAY look as a Data from Star Trek fan ur absolutely correct on the emotions thing (the emotion chip thing was such a cop out my guy has always been feeling emotions just processed differently to everyone else) and I’ve thought about it so much before
this development kind of terrifies me!!! we are not anywhere close to living in a world where artificial intelligence/sapience/consciousness would be handled well!!! hal9000 from the Space Odyssey series is a brilliant look into the dangers of AI morality and emotion if not considered fully conscious beings
anyway considering so many ppl think siri or some shit is like going to start the robot uprising i don’t think we’re ready for a world where AI exists - especially not considering ur absolutely right companies will exploit them (some data episodes also go into this a bit - measure of a man specifically I think?)
anyway I’ve gotten carried away with this ask u just happened to infodump about the same thing I would lmaoo o(-(
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thisisprettybroken · 2 years
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The Future of This Is Pretty Broken
Wait is this textwall asking for money?
Noooo, and as you will soon see I'm doing great tbqh. I just wanted to rip the bandaid off, lose some followers, and explain why this blog is changing formats from a personal gallery to something actually personal. TL;DR: My hyperfixation changed.
Whered u go?
After GAID 2016's gallery show I was halfway through a year of drawing every single day. This practice prestiged my glitch art into furry art wherein I had trouble keeping commissions open as they'd sell out within seconds. A single, somewhat popular pokémon comic did not help with this, so I raised my prices several times in an attempt to get less people to commission me so I could keep comm slots open for longer than literally 10 minutes. At $200 a drawing it just kept selling out. This was good as my partner in art and life ended things, found new roomates, and told me to get out in a week all within 12 hours of my coming out as bi and trans because this made them uncomfortable.
A lot of my furry art... I hope it offended someone. Not in an edgy way, as I aimed to make something explicit but not titillating nor societally reprehensible. My personal furry art was supposed to make a statement about the absurdity, insidious effects, and hyperfocusing tropes of adult-oriented amateur art on the internet. As with glitch art, and all art, furry art is art and I aimed to take it seriously. Oddly, despite the stuff I was outputting on my own, I got ENTIRELY SFW comms and learned that the outward-facing, perverse furry scene we know is hiding a lot of earnest and thoughtful souls behind it.
It was ultimately a phase, and it didn't make "affluent in a big house" money but it did just scrape five figures across the whole of my efforts. That's not lifechanging money spread put over several years but it allowed me to pursue a lifelong love of music for serious. 3 years ago this was, I started transitioning and sought a better way to express myself.
I made 3 albums of what was in my heart with a 4th coming soonish. I wrote a ton of LGBT articles on defining one's identity and self expression.
So anyway I bought Pukicho's Subharmonicon which puts me right about here.
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Love wins or... something. Furries were good to me and I love all your little hats.
So What's Changing? Basically this is a personal blog now. I want to interact with the tumblr community instead of speaking in codes from behind distorted preexisting images because it's the best social media community running. 2015, heck, 2012 is so long ago. I watched this whole community grow up with me from a naive twentysomething wasting time at work to someone making the noise they've always yearned to make albeit still working in between because even furries can't save you from the bourgeoisie.
Yet.
Send asks, send hate, I'm just gonna post whatever from now on and it'll probably have lots of synthesizers in it. I'll still make glitch art now and again I promise as I've backed up all of my old Processing 2+ scripts in a portable install environment and the fact that my posts are STILL circulating tells me that they've brought a lot of joy and I want to bring some of that back with me.
Thanks for reading, and I look forward to actually using this account for interacting instead of lurking. And thank you for 6 years of saying my work is real cool. It makes me feel cool too. ♡
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fencesandfrogs · 2 years
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Hello, hope this isn't a bother, but I've been doing some research into my own Brain Soup and smth I have experienced disassociative/derealization periods for as long as I can recall, which has brought me to looking into osdd(id)+others things lately. A lot of your posts really resonate with me. Would you mind sharing any of the sources you've come across during your own research? I'm not sure where to start and whatever I *can* find isnt really sufficient for what I want to learn more about.
Thanks either way! Hope you're having a decent day <3
i'm gonna link u to my resource masterpost, and include a few links i didn't include in that (bc masterpost was not aimed at survivors), because i would rather you have a solid foundation than run into misinformation. (obviously, i hope you do some amount of verification that i'm not sending you into the arms of said misinfo.)
but i'm also going to give u some advice, which came from prob one of the things i linked but possibly somewhere else:
don't.
it is so so so tempting to dive into research. i know because I Did That. i read thru almost all of the haunted self (i technically skipped over some of the ending bits about treatment because it was too difficult to read), but it's not something i would recommend.
there is of course a minimum amount of research you might have to do to get things under control. stabilization things. did sos (linked in masterpost) is probably therefore your best place to go. look for articles about things like containment. (anything that did sos says is good for cptsd is probably cool to look at.)
i'm not going to tell you you absolutely MUST see a therapist: i won't lie, i think you should, but i understand that might not be possible. even so, researching isn't going to help you. if you have osddid, your brain does not want you to know about it. it will resist the research.
and it can also be a distraction? think of a student who spends forever making pretty notes and no time working through the content.
ALSO AND I SHOULD'VE SAID THIS WAY SOONER: OSDDID IS NOT THE ONLY DISSOCIATIVE DISORDER.
(also obligatory when i say osddid i mean osdd-1 and did, because osdd-2 thru 4 are different.)
dpdr (depersionalization/derealization) is a big one, and a lot of my posts r probably relatable to a cptsd or bpd experience. because structural dissociation is twined.
like y'know. i'm not saying it's not osddid things. i don't know what's going on in ur head. i just want to bring all of this up because y'know. investigate ur experiences. work w a therapist if u can. etc.
best wishes to u nonnie. if u ever want to talk, my dms r open.
<3
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ledenews · 6 months
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Roxanne Bruce: Smiling Because That's What She Wants to Do
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Fun. You know, F. U. N.  If and when the term is looked up in the dictionary, the curious will find “fun” is a noun (enjoyment, amusement, or lighthearted pleasure), an adjective (amusing, entertaining, or enjoyable), and a verb (joke or tease), and if there was a photo? You guessed it. Roxanne Bruce. Especially now that the Fall season has arrived because there’s so many ghosts and goblins to paint at this time of year with, of course, a sip of something called seasonal silliness. And then she enjoys what follows the oranges, browns, and yellows of the annual harvest season because there are, for St. Nick’s sakes, elves and reindeer and Santa Claus to conjure at her Artsy Accents events. Now, in this Q&A format, Roxanne may seem a lady of few words, but that’s only because she’s not used to people inquiring about her incessant smile, that ever-so-present pop in her step, and her gleeful existence. Maybe it’s because they take her giddiness for granted, but it’s not a gimmick in the least.  Ya see, this American veteran is a happy individual. As odd and rare as that may seem, Roxanne is a pleasant person because she’s adopted a productive and positive mindset that apparently is impenetrable. Join in and say it with us out loud: “Good for you, girl.”    Bruce runs two businesses associated with Paint n' Sip events throughout the Upper Ohio Valley. Which holiday seems more popular among the paint-n’-sippers crowd in the area, and what do they paint at that time of year?  Once it’s pumpkin season everyone comes out of the woodwork for classes, it’s great! The weather cools down, school has started and everyone starts getting into fall mode! That energy continues right into Christmas and winter it’s my busy time of year I love it.  How have your years in the military helped – and hurt – your life as a civilian?  The Army helped make my life what it is in so many ways. It started my adult life off with knowing I would have a college education. It helped me learn to be self-sufficient and head into the world away from my family on my own, which was terrifying at first and quickly exciting.  By far the biggest impact it brought me though was meeting my husband of 20 years. That one decision of joining the Army gave me my beautiful family.  What activity do you prefer more – a walk on the beach or a hike in the mountains? Why?  Definitely a hike in the mountains, I am a very active person and run every day. I love to challenge myself and have even started upping my races this year and just did my first half-trail marathon.  What do most people not realize about their local Rotary Club?  Honestly, most people that I meet have no clue what Rotary does at all, and I’m always very happy to tell them about it because it’s such a great organization. I actually just finished up my one-year term as president and I am currently serving on the board.  The Rotary of St. Clairsville focuses on raising money to cure polio on an international level. But even more than that, our local focus is to raise funds throughout the year with our fundraisers and put that money directly back into our community.  Roxanne is an artist herself and she has entered competitions in the areas. So, what are your plans for the Halloween costumes you and your husband plan to wear this year?  You can tell us … we promise, we won’t tell. (Have some fun with it!) We are torn between The Trumps, the Simpons or maybe the Bundys! Read the full article
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slurpinpuffs · 7 months
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hi yall! let me take you on a journey i went on today
it's pretty long, but read more to learn about some rather obscure black musical artists! ^u^
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okay, so i found this song on a random Spotify playlist a long time ago and i *love* it. i love it a lot, all the women on the song have such amazing voices, but my favorite is the girl who sings the "respect the melanin, papi!" part (we'll get to her name later)
so i came back to this song today and was like, "i wanna hear more of them, especially my fav girl!" so i go to Google and look up NxxxxxS
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oh, he was the producer i guess? the song's on his album, but he's not the singer. okay, let's look at the feature then, M.A.N
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uhh, okay, that's not them either. i don't really know who this is honestly? but it's not the 3 women on the song, so i kinda don't care. let's find the music video for more details!
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wow, they're really beautiful... but what have we learned so far?
the song is all English, but they're French!
the song has an artist named Senpu who apparently played bass? why were they not on the Spotify?
the girls are a group called Girls Do It Better(?)
two links!!!
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to IG links, one to @man.bowdown (M.A.N again???), the other to @gdibcrew, which i assume is Girls Do It Better Crew
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oh. neither of these pages exist...
i was able to find another IG page just by searching for gdibcrew, tho!
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okay, so it's a women's collective in Paris. cool! but it's a private account with 0 posts, so it's pretty much dead. but there's a website li--
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ah, that's down too :p
at this point, i tell this story to My Lovely Partner and they find a Vogue article titled Paris Girls Do It Better! Meet the City’s New DJ and Fashion Collective:
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wow, still so beautiful... and there's more than 3! the collective debuted in 2014 apparently.
the article tells us a lot about these girls, their background and influences. check it out if ur interested!
even better, the article links to all of their Instagrams!
unfortunately, all of the links are either broken or lead to the wrong pages (the girls likely changed usernames) except for three:
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Bibi Seck, who's a DJ. not one of the girls in the song, but i'm happy to have found her
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Kyo Jino, the aforementioned male stylist who also wasn't on the song, but does have some really nice fashion on his page
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and Khleopatre, who is a make-up artist, model, and art director with her own makeup line. notably, not a musician or any of the women on Brown Sugar, but i found a cool and artsy interview of her, so check that out if ur interested in her. she's really stunning and super unique
okay, so we learned more about GDIB, but not much about the specific women in the song, the point of this entire journey!
let's just google Girls Do It Better some more and see if we can find anything else
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oh hey, a YouTube channel! only 4 videos, but it'll do.
OH BUT WAIT THAT'S HER
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it's one of the girls from the video!! :O and she's the one from my favorite part of the song, too!!!
it's a freestyle rap called Singeries!! the video calls her Kitsuné Kendra, so i assume she's also Khenndrah from the article earlier
the vid also links to her Instagram, which links to her most recent single, ivresse (French for intoxication), on her new YouTube channel which has a bunch more songs, storytimes, and vlogs n stuff!! :D
she also performs at the Coyote Club with a non-binary artist named Sun Afrika!
okay cool, we found one! but what about the other two? it doesn't seem like all three of them made any other music as a trio sadly, but i found one thing!
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a French interview on a site named Konbini linked to a JOUR/NÉ post on Instagram that tagged the girls. the three rightmost girls are the ones from the Brown Sugar video as far as i can tell, and the girl on the left seems to be another DJ/producer on the collective. according to the Konbini article, Yamiko and Bibi Seck are DJs/ producers, so the left girl may have been one of them, but it doesn't seem like she goes by either name anymore at least.
Unfortunately, @/noramens was a private account, but it was the same private account as the link to the name Lil' Felisha on the Vogue article, meaning that was at least her artist name at the time.
the next tagged account @/syra.mariah was active and open!
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and just like that, we have another Instagram secured! it looks like whatever her name was in the Black Sugar era -- according to the article, Rainbow, Echo, and Lil' Felisha are singers in the GDIB collective, so she probably went by either Rainbow or Echo -- she now goes by SYRA!
her last song was in 2021, but her last video, a music video for her song Believe, was released a year ago, so she's still active! she has a really beautiful voice and style, so i'm super happy to have found her too!! <33
unfortunately, after googling around and searching Spotify, YouTube, and Soundcloud, i wasn't able to find any more info on the third girl on Brown Sugar, Lil' Felisha. based on the fact that he tagged Instagram page is privated with 1 post, and the fact that Lil' Felisha doesn't seem to be an artist on Spotify, i have assume she isn't really making music anymore. a bit of a disappointing end, as i really loved her performance in that song, but i'm honestly happy i was able to find the other two girls
so, in the end, here's who was singing on Brown Sugar:
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(still not super sure who M.A.N is...)
thanks for joining me on this rly long story, sorry for keeping so many unnecessary details, i just wanted you all to experience the journey with me <3 go listen to Kitsuné Kendra's newest song ivresse (i also rly love Singeries on the old channel) and SYRA's newest video for Believe! and also, go listen to the song that started this whole thing, Brown Sugar! i promise, it's a really good listen. peace and love or whatever!!
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