#night at the wayne casino

[thealtoduck]

Being the son of Roulette and meeting Damian Wayne…

Damian Wayne x Male Reader

Warnings: None

Summary: You’re mom is the villainess known as Roulette and she sends you to attend Gotham City High School, where you just so happen to meet the so-called ”Demon’s son”…

(A/n: I know i was supposed to work on other fics but i got distracted…)

——

So how does one go all the way from Las Vegas to Gotham of all places. Well you see having a mom who runs several underground casinos with secret superhero cage fights. Can be a kinda dangerous environment for a person.

So in order to keep you safe she sent you to Gotham to attend school there. She got you a penthouse and signed you up for Gotham City High School.

Once you started attending the school, word got around that you were from an incredibly rich family, with no specifics on where the money actually came from. And since it was Gotham people knew better than to ask.

You befriended several other rich kids enrolled in Gotham City High School… or befriended was a strong word, took advantage off would fit better.

You didn’t make a real friend until Damian…

The two of you wouldn’t meet until you were paired up for an assigntment. As the teacher called out ”Damian Wayne” and ”Y/n Sinclair” as the final paring. You invited him over to your place to work the next day, he accepted and the two of went your seperate ways.

Damian had heard about you around the school, a future heir of an unknown fourtune sounded sketchy to him, so he decided to some digging that night.

Suprisingly he didn’t have to look very hard. After searching for a bit he found a file on the bat-computer for ”Veronica Sinclair” aka ”Roulette”, a woman who owned several illegal casinos all over the U.S, some which even included ”Superhero cage fights” where she kidnapped superheroes and then forced them to fight each other.

Damian grew suspicious of you, Why were you here? Was this a plot of somekind? Were you an agent for your mother? His suspicions followed him to bed and in to the next day.

Damian made sure to pack an extra set of knives along with his textbooks, just in case.

Alfred then drove him to the adress you’d given him. He stopped outside an expensive looking apartment building. Damian said a quick ”Goodbye” to Alfred and went in to the lobby. Nothing too out of the ordinary.

A man in black suit approached him and stated ”Damian Wayne, follow me. Mr Sinclair is waiting for you”. The man guided Damian in to the elevator and pressed the button for the top floor. He was then led in to the hallway where a door waited.

Damian prepared himself for what waited behind, Assasins? Armed guards? Your evil mother? The possibilities were endless.

The man in the black suit unlocked the door and as he entered the inside was beyond anything Damian could’ve imagined…

It was just you… Just you…

You sitting at the dinner table with your study books and notes…

You sitting there looking cute in a Spyro the Dragon t-shirt and loosefitting sweatpants…

Damian didn’t know what he had been expecting but it wasn’t this.

You got up from your seat and went over to him. ”Hey Damian, what’s up?” you greeted cooly. Damian looked around in silence for a second and then answered dryly ”Uhm, I’m alright”. ”Cool, you wanna get to work now or…?”.

”Yeah, let’s get to work” he said awkwardly. The two of you went to the dinner table and Damian started bringing out his notebooks. ”I was just gonna make some coffee, you want some?” you offered.

”So this was his plan” Damian thought to himself. Lure him in to a false sense of security, drug his coffee and then throw him in to one of the illegal cage fights. No way he was falling for it.

”No thanks, i’m fine” Damian answered. ”Checkmate, Sinclair, I know what you’re up to” Damian thought satisfied with his detective skills. ”Okay, I’ll be back in a sec” you said walking towards the kitchen.

Damian took a look around the room, nothing seemed out of place. No loose weapons, secret plans or traces of blood. But then he found something, a giant portrait of your mother, Roulette. The painting was probably hiding some kind of secret vault or hidden elevator to a secret lair.

You came back holding a cup of coffee and a small tray of cookies putting them down on the table. You looked over at Damian seeing him observe the painting of your mother closely. ”Oh yeah, that’s my mom she comissioned a portrait of herself so i wouldn’t ”be lonely” here” you stated coming over to stand next to him.

Damian decided to test the waters of what information he could gather. ”Where is she then if you need a portrait for company?” he asked. ”Probably running one of her cansinos” you said, you weren’t fully aware of what she was doing at the moment and you had other things to worry about at the moment like chemistry and math tests.

The two of you eventually sat down and began your studies. Damian took occasional glances at you while you scribbled something down in your notes. There you sat looking all cute and evil, but Damian wasn’t fooled by your charms and he wasn’t gonna fall for them.

You were probably ready to strike at any moment when he wasn’t 100% alert. He knew your type, all pretty and sexy but as soon as you turn around you get a knife in the back.

Damian played along as if he weren’t on to you, talking pleasantly while you worked on your assigntment together, the leauge of assassins had prepared him well for sirens like you.

Once you finished your work for the day you offered Damian to stay for dinner but he politely declined, he needed to bring his newfound information home before you tried to kill him. He texted Grayson to pick him up.

You followed Damian to the door. ”This was a lot of fun Damian, i hope we can hang out more sometime” you said happily. Damian looked for the right words ”Yeah, me too” he said.

Once he got in to Dick’s car Damian started explaining everything he had found out to his older brother, who listened sceptically. ”I don’t know Damian are you sure he is ”evil” he sounds polite enough for someone raised by Roulette” Dick stated.

”That’s what he wants me to think, Grayson, he’s like a pretty venus flytrap trying to lure you in” Damian said. ”Oh yeah and why do you keep emphasizing that he’s pretty?” Dick asked.

”I DO NOT!” Damian yelled indignantly. ”You’ve called him pretty 7 times during this ride?” Dick noted. Damian ignored him. Thought for a while and then stated ”Grayson, i have a new theory”. ”That you have a crush on him” Dick asked with a smirk.

”Of course not, no! I don’t think he knows about me as Robin yet, which means if i hang around him, i can use him to gain inside information on his mother’s crimes” Damian plotted out loud.

”Are you sure you’re not just looking for a reason to be around him more?” Dick questioned. ”I- No! Don’t say stupid things Grayson…” Damian scolded. He was gonna find out what your pretty and definetely evil self was up to, no matter the cost.

#damian wayne x male reader #damian wayne x male!reader #robin x male reader #robin x male!reader #dc comics x male reader #dc x male reader #x male reader #male reader #x male!reader #batboys x male reader #batfam x male reader #batfamily x male reader

[sasheneskywalker]

brudick fic recs

a bird in the hand by wingdingery The first time Clark meets Robin, he’s completely confused about why Batman (Mr. I am vengeance, I am the night, and I work alone) would choose to have a hyperactive neon-colored ten-year-old as his partner in vigilanteism.

Over the next twenty years, he comes to understand clearly what makes Nightwing so special—though the relationship between Dick Grayson and Bruce Wayne never gets any less complicated over time.

T | No Archive Warnings Apply | Dick Grayson & Clark Kent, Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson/Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent & Bruce Wayne

a painting you could never frame by wingdingery Batman gets hit by a curse that can only be broken by his soulmate. Fortunately, that’s easy enough for Dick to fix.

The only problem is, no one else knows that he’s Bruce’s soulmate—not even Bruce himself.

T | No Archive Warnings Apply | Dick Grayson/Bruce Wayne

when all the walls come down by wormsin This isn't the first time one of them has been dying in the other's arms. But it might be the last. As far as deathbed confessions goes, Dick thinks his is pretty good.

“Once upon a time, there was a kingdom without a King or Queen…”

-

Or: It takes a building falling on their heads for Dick to tell Bruce how he really feels.

E | Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings | Dick Grayson/Bruce Wayne

Hit me with your sweet love, steal me with a kiss by ful_crum After Jason’s death, Dick spends more time back at the manor. There are many opportunities for sparring between Bruce and Dick, but it’s only a matter of time until sparring turns into fighting.

Or, what happens when you fistfight your former mentor that you kind of hate and kind of love?

M | No Archive Warnings Apply | Dick Grayson/Bruce Wayne

Happy Acres by Kyele When a seemingly-rehabilitated Dr. Quinzel opens an upscale retreat for couples in crisis, Batman needs to investigate. An undercover mission as Bruce Wayne and partner should do the trick. Unfortunately, his first choice for the mission is unavailable. As is his second. And his third. And -

“What’s more important?” Dick challenges. “Your considerations - or the lives of the people who may be endangered by a delay in getting the truth about Happy Acres?”

Bruce opens his mouth, and then closes it again. He knows the answer to that. He believes the answer to that. He just - he can’t even form the thought. Logically he knows what Dick is suggesting, but it won’t even compute. He has spent too long preventing his mind from ever considering Dick and romance at the same time.

Dick, who doesn’t have Bruce’s feelings, also doesn’t have Bruce’s difficulties. “That’s what I thought,” he says. Despite his victory, he somehow sounds weary. “So get over yourself, and hand me the damn pocket square. I’m your date tonight, and you’d better start getting used to it.”

E | No Archive Warnings Apply | Dick Grayson/Bruce Wayne

Casino Royale by spaceisgay (ChancellorGriffin) Boravia’s grand casino, once a hotbed of European crime, has reopened with a high-stakes poker tournament Bruce Wayne suspects may be the work of Roulette. In a country where superheroes are banned, the only way to foil a criminal conspiracy is to enter the tournament as himself, and play his way up to the top.

But not just any card-playing billionaire can get his name on the list. The real price of admission is a lot higher than the two million dollar buy-in. You also need a secret to offer up as your stake. A dirty one. The kind a man like Bruce Wayne would pay dearly to keep quiet.

Enter Dick Grayson.

Though he agrees to accompany Bruce to the tournament in the guise of his illicit lover, to help him fake a blackmail-worthy secret besides the one with masks and capes, Dick's not wild about spending so much time with his old friend in flirtatious playboy mode; but somehow it's harder than expected to watch Bruce direct that legendary charisma at other people, and Dick doesn't quite know why. Over the course of four days, what began as a straightforward undercover job devolves into a messy emotional tangle which forces both men to confront truths they’ve kept hidden for years . . . even from themselves.

E | No Archive Warnings Apply | Dick Grayson/Bruce Wayne

You are forever in my mind by orphan_account This started off as a simple idea: Bruce installs a new set of cameras in the manor; cameras he doesn't tell anyone about. One night, he accidentally sees something that fundamentally affects him - and the way he looks at Dick.

E | Underage | Dick Grayson/Bruce Wayne

#dc #dc comics #batman #robin #nightwing #bruce wayne #dick grayson #brudick #fanfic recs #fanfic rec #fic recs #fic rec #fanfic #fanfiction

[elvendria]

Clean (Formerly Love is a Battlefield)

AU Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Part One

Summary:

You return to Hawkins after a few years in the middle of the night during the summer with your 4-year-old sister in tow, thinking the two of you could fly under the radar and settle in at Forest Hills Trailer Park. You thought you could get by without bumping into your old enemy, Eddie Munson, the town freak.

But you weren't always enemies, in fact, there was a time when you two were closer than anything.

Eddie dreams of making it big, you just dream of making it out of here alive.

\\enemies - lovers//

((Warning I'm not from the US, so bare with me when it comes to states and such))

tw: 18+ MINORS DNI or I will be busting kneecaps, E.D, physical abuse, child abuse, runaways, reader is 20 and Joyce's ex-step-niece, Will and Johnathan's cousin, Joyce is Queen, Wayne is King, slow burn, gambling addictions, Eddie is 20, Chrissy is the villan but we stan grace

Word Count: 3.96K

part two part three part four

May 21st 1986

You drive the back roads as much as possible, the 1970s Dodge Challenger illuminated under the moon as you try your best to drive carefully. You didn't want to wake Willow, your 4 years old sister, sleeping in the backseat. It was drizzling rain, pouring down the windshield in sheets, how very fitting.

It had been a whirlwind, a spur-of-the-moment decision. Things had gotten to be... too much, having moved to Vegas from Hawkins a few years ago for your Dad's new telemarketer job. Willow wasn't even born yet, and after she was it didn't take long for it all to go to shit.

Pleasant conversations turned into civil discussions turned into small spats turned into full-blown fisticuffs. You could handle the occasional black eye or bust lip, you were a big girl, but the second you found out that they'd laid a hand on Will you were out of there.

The summer had just begun, and you were taking care of Willow while you were both at home. It was at least 84°F, and so you changed her out of her jammies and into a loose sundress when you noticed it. A large handprint on her arm and an even larger bruise began to form in the center of her back.

"Will, what happened?" You already knew what it was, but you hoped beyond hope that you were wrong. Mom was decent enough to hit in places you could hide unless she was drunk, hence the purpling bruise under your eye. Dad was the one to smack you if you got in his way of something. Dad would slap you and not care where it landed.

"Daddy got mad at me for playing with my dollies while he watched TV. I'm sorry sissy I didn't mean to be bad." She hung her head, to which you tilted it up to look in her eyes, wiping away the tears that threatened to spill.

"Shh Willa it's okay..." You pulled her in for a hug, careful not to hold her too tight. "How about we go on a little trip, you and me? We can go for as long as you want." She was four fucking years old. She was a child. She shouldn't be worrying about getting in trouble for playing with a goddamn toy. "You can bring all your dolls with you! They can come on the trip with us."

It never took much convincing with her. You'd soon learned that she was the kind of kid who just wanted to help others, giving them her lunch and going over to someone who was sitting alone and asking if they wanted to play jump rope with her.

You shook your head no when she asked would your parents be joining the two of you, and her eyes lit up a small bit, which made your heartbreak. Your father was known for flying off the handle, a loss at the casino was enough to put him on the warpath for weeks. If he had bet on the football game and she got in his way of seeing something he considered important, it wouldn't have mattered that she was only a child. She was standing in the way of him and his money, and so she needed to be removed.

You shoved anything and everything you could into 3 duffel bags. Mostly clothes and essentials along with any cash you had saved up for college tuition. It wasn't like you were going anyways, you'd have never left Will here alone plus you missed the deadline on applications. Now you were just a high school graduate with no prospects.

You threw in a lot of snacks for the drive, it was going to be a long ride back to Hawkins and Vee could get hangry at the best of times.

And Hawkins you had landed. After spending the past three nights in different motels, hood up anytime you saw the hint of a security camera at a gas station, you finally arrived to the one place that had always been like a home away from home, to the one person who you could trust like no other. You felt guilty for knocking at this hour, especially when you remembered that it had been almost 2 years since you last spoke with her.

The porch light turned on, door swinging open with a loud creak as you cradled the sleep-drunk 4 year old on your hip, her drool pooling on your shoulder, not that you cared.

"Hi Aunt Joyce..."

Joyce was your aunt in the every way but legally. She had married your Uncle Lonnie, leaving him when she found out that her husband was a lot like his brother. Thankfully, from what you've heard through the grapevine that is your fathers derogatory comments, her sons seem to have been spared those genes.

"Y/N? Is that.. Is that you?" Her voice was bleary, dull and squinted from tiredness, and once again I felt immense amounts of guilt for waking her up at this hour. It had to be at least 3 in the morning, and here you were, a niece who hadn't contacted her in two years (not that you were allowed to) standing in her doorway, soaked to the skin from the rain.

You remember the last words she said to you, the hurried phone call as she told you Will was home safe, no longer missing. You didn't even care that your father had cut the phone call short, quite literally taking a scissors to the cord, you were that happy to hear your cousin was okay.

"Yeah I'm uh..." You'll be honest, you didn't think this far ahead. You knew where you would be living, you'd called ahead to the trailer park owner from a shady motel and told him you'd pay him a deposit tomorrow. Well, today. But you hadn't planned what you'd say to Joyce, how you'd tell her that you skipped town with your sister in an attempt to save her from the abuse back home. "I'm back home. Just us.."

That was all she needed to hear to usher you inside, her arms wrapping you in the first hug that wasn't your sisters in four years.

Telling everything to Joyce was actually a lot easier than you thought, especially when you didn't have to tell her at all. She took a good look at you and noticed the deep bruise under your eye and the small scar on your chin from where your mom had forgotten her own strength, causing you to hit the kitchen counter. It hadn't been there when you left, so it confirmed what Joyce already knew. You didn't have to utter a word for her to understand.

"I'll be moving into Forest Hills in the morning, I'm only asking for two things, and I'll make it up to you as best I can, I promise." Your eyes were pleading with her, not that they needed to be, Joyce would've done anything to help you. She saw you almost like a daughter, wanting on more than one occasion to sweep you away from them and take care of you. She'd never gotten to meet Willow, but already she was in love with the bouncy brunette curls that fell across her face as she slept in your lap, cuddled up to you on the couch like you were the only person in the world.

"I don't have a lot..." She reached into her purse, bulling out a few crumpled bills, only stopping when you put a hand on her arm and looked at her. Everything favor with your parents had to have been paid back with interest. If you needed a ride to school, you had to fill the car with gas and wash it. If you needed to borrow $5 for lunch, you had to pay back $35, all under the guise of 'this is how it is in the real world, no ones going to love you for free'. And yet here was Joyce, a woman who wasn't even technically related to you, who you hadn't spoken to in years, offering over whatever she had with no strings attached.

"I have the money, thank you though. I just..." You blinked back tears, the overwhelming feeling of gratefulness washing over you like a waterfall. You had never been great at accepting help, no clue why. It's not like you were in a transactional relationship with your parents. You stroked Willow's hair. If it weren't for her you wouldn't even be asking, you'd be determined to do this alone. But you needed stability for her, along with a steady cash income. "I need help with a job."

You saw Joyce's eyes light up, holding your hand that had been on her arm. She smiled at you, a soft gentle smile that made you feel at home again. This house had been your home away from... whatever it was you could call where you lived. You used to play board games with Johnathan at the kitchen counter, or lie on your stomach and draw pictures with Will on the floor. It all smelled the same, a thick mustiness in the air combined with a lemon cleaning product.

You stayed and talked with Joyce for a while, she told you she could secure you an interview at the local music store, and if that failed she joked about having someone on the inside at Melvalds. She hugged you goodbye, kissing the top of your head like she used to when you were a kid, standing in the doorway as you drove off, not closing it until your tail lights were out of sight.

It was early morning when you pulled up to your new home. The owner had given you a discount along with a look of pity. Usually you'd be the first to tell a person off for looking at you like that, but hey, if it got you a discount you weren't going to say no.

You parked up outside and instinctively looked across the dirt road, realizing why it felt like such a familiar drive. Right across from your trailer, where you planned on laying low for a while, was 53 Forest Hills Park.

The Munson Residence.

You swore you saw a curtain move back into place when you took Willow from the car, balancing her on your hip as you held your new key, but maybe you were imagining things, because you stood there for five more minutes to see if the door would open, and all it did was remain shut. For some reason that hurt you more than if he was to actually show his face.

Not that you wanted him to.

You brushed it off, looking down at the key before you pushed it in the lock, a little extra force was needed as it was somehow already rusty, even though he told you it was new. Not that you were going to complain. A home is a home after all. All you needed was somewhere for yourself and Ivy to rest your heads and eat food, everything after that was secondary.

You walked into the bedrooms and saw that the beds already had sheets on them, though they looked... questionable. You didn't want to run the risk of Willow or yourself being bitten by something, so you hastily undressed the beds, flipping both mattresses. It was a temporary solution until you could take them out back and beat them senseless with the sweeping brush to be a bit more certain they weren't infested.

Once again, you weren't complaining, anything was better than a motel bed where the springs threatened to burst through and stab your skin. You were really looking forward to a night where you weren't swaddled in blankets and towels to avoid being impaled.

"Here you go monkey, snug as a bug in a rug." You had put one of your hoodies on Willow, the fabric coming down to her ankles, the sleeves well past her fingertips. It looked ridiculous on her, but you didn't pack sheets because why would you think of that? You walk over to a closet in the hallway and find some relatively clean linen, pulling them out and making the beds. You'd plan a trip to a laundromat soon, you needed to wash your clothes from the journey anyways.

You pulled the blanket up to her chin, kissing between her eyebrows gently. As you went to pull away, you felt a tiny hand grab onto you, or at least attempt to. She was too tired to speak, but you knew what she meant, what she wanted you to do.

Crawling onto the bed beside her, one arm bent up behind her head as you stroked her rosy cheeks, you smiled down at her as you felt your eyes droop, growing more and more tired by the second.

"I'm here petal, I'm not leavin'." You mumbled lightly, sleep overcoming you as you lay beside her.

A few days had passed, and Willow seemed to be settling down to the idea of being here for a while. You'd been keeping an eye on the news, and there were no reports about either of you, so even though you'd been gone just over a week, you're parents hadn't reported you two missing.

You were standing in the kitchenette, having just gotten back from your first shift at the record store, a resounding success if you did say so yourself. Willa sat in the manager's office, you were going to need to find someone to look after her. Joyce had to work too, even though she told you numerous times that she could babysit.

She was sitting watching Looney Toons, giggling at something Bugs Bunny did on the TV. You looked over at her as you flipped pancakes, having only grabbed the bare essentials to make a few meals. Your paycheck was due at the end of the week, and you were planning on going grocery shopping then.

The room felt hot from the sun pouring in, the rays of light accentuating every speck of dust in the room. It filtered through the curtains, the room now a soft glow, the dark brown furnishings looking brighter. You were calm, and relaxed, setting down the plate of pancakes in front of Willow when there came a knock on the door.

Of course you were nervous, why wouldn't you be? just because they hadn't called the cops doesn't mean they hadn't figured it out for themselves. They could be standing outside, waiting to drag you both back to Nevada to be their personal punching bags. Hunching down, you stayed low as you walked, or rather crawled over to the window, peering out.

You saw what looked to be a kind but stern man standing outside holding a tupperware box. He looked vaguely familiar, like he was from a distant memory. Something about him felt safe, or at least safe enough to open the door anyways.

Pulling it open, you looked at him as his eyes widened slightly like he was surprised to see you. You stood there trying to piece where you knew him from when it finally clicked with you who was before you.

"Jesus Christ darlin', thought I was havin' a vision when I saw ya'll pull up just t'other day. Said to myself, surely Y/N Y/L/N isn't back here." Wayne's southern drawl made everything sound pleasant and inviting, and you couldn't help the smile that grew on your face. He looked different than when you last saw him, his hair was thinner and his skin was more aged, but no one would ever be able to forget the energy Wayne Munson radiated.

"Oh my god, Wayne! How are you? Come in!" You stepped back, holding the door open for him to come and sit, suddenly realizing something as your words caught in your throat. There was a chance that Wayne wasn't going to be alone, and that his nephew was going to be joining him very soon. "Is he uh... Is he going to join you?"

There was a reason you knew the drive to the trailer park so well, why you stared at the Munson trailer for a solid five minutes, afraid to blink in case you missed him, why you knew Wayne and he knew you, both acting like old friends. It's because you were. Or at least you had been with his nephew.

Eddie Munson, in all his wickedness and cruelty, had been your best and closest friend in the world. He was the first boy you ever loved, the first boy to break your heart too. No guy you met since then has ever been enough to make you forget about him.

Despite how much you wanted to.

"No no, he..." His words faltered, his eyes cast down at his hands as you placed a cup of coffee in them. The trailer wasn't much but at least it had a kettle. "I don't think he knows you're here. Y/N I really think you two should..." But you cut him off before he could finish.

"I'm sorry Wayne, but after everything he said, everything he promised and and what he did, I can't look at him right now." Mentioning him made your chest ache, and made you want to not hate him. You wondered if he'd grown his hair back, if he'd gotten any better at guitar, if he still had that tattered old copy of Lord of The Rings that you'd gotten him for his 9th birthday with your pocket money that you'd hidden away.

You twisted the ring he gave you on your finger, something you always did when you were nervous. It was a thick silver ring, with a chain pattern around the middle of it. You'll never forget what he said to you when he walked up, holding out the ring on a small chain. You were only slightly older than Willow. It also happened to be the very first thing he said to you.

"Hey! Wanna see what I have?!" He came barrelling over to you, his hand clasped around something tight. You were worried if he was going to show you a bug because surely it would be dead by now. He was a small boy with shaggy dark brown hair to match his eyes. You hadn't seen him in your grade before.

"Um.. sure?" You had been making daisy chains on the grass, taking a short break from the swings. You were gonna go back to them though, you were determined to swing so high you could see your house.

"I think it might be too big for you, but I won this at the arcade." He looked shy, nervous even. He'd been admiring the way your pigtails flowed when you soared high, and he remembered he had the ring in his pocket.

"Thank you!" You were at the age where you didn't question anything, and where someone being friendly was only that, a person being friendly. You took the necklace from him, slipping it around your neck and giggling as it swung side to side. The boy looked a little older, maybe a year? You slipped the ring over your finger, giggling as it slipped back off again, danging from the chain.

"My mom talks about growing into stuff all the time, maybe that's what you can do with that!" He looked so excited, so eager and happy and joyful before sitting down on the ground and plucking a long blade of grass, holding it between his thumbs and trying to make that noise you'd seen people do before. He kept muttering about how he almost had it even though he was nowhere near close.

You sat like that for what felt like hours before a young-looking woman called him over, walking and taking his hand. She looked so much like him, a striking resemblance between them both. He began to walk away, before breaking his grip on his mother's hand to run back and tackle you into a hug.

"I'm Eddie, see you soon!"

You told him your name, and if anyone were ever to ask you when you fell in love with Edward Munson, it would be that moment exactly.

"I understand, just... try to go easy on him okay?" He nodded his head, hands clasped around the mug. You both heard scuffles coming from the side and turned to see the mischievous brunette staring at you from over the sofa, the lower half of her face obscured.

"Where are my manners! Wayne... this is my sister Willow." Walking over, you scooped her up in your arms, her giggles warming your heart and Waynes as you sit down again with her on your knee. That was the thing about Willa, everything about her made people want to smile, and her very presence lit up the room.

"Well hello there little lady, how are you this fine afternoon." He grinned over at her, his gruff exterior giving way to that heartwarming smile you remembered from childhood.

The one thing about Willow, the one thing that you knew for certain, was that she had absolutely no filter whatsoever. She sat there for a second, ignoring Wayne's question before looking down from his receding hairline to his face.

"You have a very shiny head."

She said it with full confidence, no hesitation. You felt your face turn bright red with embarrassment. You were about to scold her, tell her that she couldn't just go around commenting on how people were bald, when you heard a loud bellowing laugh from across the table.

Looking at Wayne, he was clutching his sides as a stray tear rolled down his face. He started wheezing, which caused you to laugh, which caused Willow to laugh. Her laugh was like a lilted giggle, bouncing on your leg and hiding behind her hands as her lopsided pigtails danced around her.

"I suppose you're right, my head is rather shiny.." He chuckled further, finishing up his coffee. You sat there and talked for a few minutes, before Wayne stood up, carrying his mug to the sink, ignoring your protests claiming that you would take care of it yourself.

"I best get going, working night security at the plant, they need me over there at 7 on the dot." He reached over, playfully pretending to steal Willows nose. "Now we have to meet again so I can give this back, okay darlin'?" Willa just nodded her head and giggled, hands flying up to cup her face.

The two of you walked out to the front of the trailer, chatting away again, completely oblivious to the figure watching you from 53 Forest Hills Trailer Park. A figure with a heart that was beating a mile a minute, because there you were, after some long, excruciating years of being without you, and you were talking to his uncle like nothing was wrong.

He was still in his daze when he felt her soft hand on his bicep, pulling his focus away for a second.

"Eds, come back to bed, Wayne's left for the evening, wanna have some fun with you." He used to like the way she said his nickname, the nickname you started for him, but now it felt wrong, weird even, and he wasn't sure why.

"Sure Chris, lead the way..." He followed Chrissy into his bedroom. He knew he should be thinking of her, of his girlfriend, the prom queen and former High School Queen, but his mind still thinking of you, his mind filling with questions, but predominantly one.

"What the hell were you doing back here?"

part two part three

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!

#stranger things eddie munson #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things eddie #eddie stranger things #eddie smut #stranger things #eddie munson smut #eddie headcanons #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie the freak munson #eddie x reader #eddie x y/n #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #enemies to lovers

[grave-queen-jakrabitt]

Comic headcannons batfam edition

Every fucking villain in Gotham has an agreement NOBODY FUCKS WITH ALFRED. As a matter of fact he's rather well liked

Harley, ivy and Catwoman invited Alfred to a gossip circle and he takes them shopping. When they ask why he just responds "girls please I work for the richest family in Gotham not wearing an owl mask, I live at their house I don't need to save money at my age"

The supervillains all have a favorite robin (continued below)

Bane respects Jason's violence lust for vengeance

riddler loves swapping brain teasers with tim on the ride to Arkham

Dick Grayson will only refer to Dr freeze as victor. Victor always loves hearing stories from his circus days and dick helps victor figure out how to save his wife

Scarecrow enjoys discussing phobias with Damien (thought over)

Alfred is actually more loaded then the Waynes because he convinced the penguin to bet all of his assets including the iceberg lounge on a game of cards and Alfred won but is content with a 50% of the legitimate casino profit.

Jason todd and killer croc are actually close friends and croc gave batman an offer, say the word and I eat him

Cassandra Cain is extremely protective of Damien because of their similar upbringing and she absolutely hates Thalia al ghul

Alfred knows how to fight in heels and nobody questions it.

If one of the kids comes out as a different gender or sexuality Alfred takes the time to actually learn about it and makes Bruce do the same if they want Bruce to know. If they don't his lips are sealed tighter than nightwings cheeks

Duke, Steph and Harper develop a unique system of Morse code and hydrographics that correspond to them.

Cassandra is a lesbian and got Alfred's help figuring out a way to turn music into a code so she could ask out Harper with a passionate love song.

Colin Rowe is one of Damiens best friends, Bruce had to make him invite Colin over but as soon as Titan seemed him Worthy to rub the belly they were instantly cool.

Colin calls Cassandra aunt Cass and she helps him with homework Harper doesn't understand.

Damien actually made friends with Harley's Hyena's and has vowed to make the jokers life a living hell "father said I can't kill, but the joker has upset the she clown with the nice hyenas, oh and Todd died by his hand so he will pay.

The entire batfam has something called the pit stop protocol. If anything ever happens to batman his normal contingency plans run as normal with one exception, sedate Jason for a night, then the entire batfamily including Alfred and Harley grab crowbars and find the joker, they all know what happens next and they take it to the fucking grave. They never tell J.

Barbara still has days where her back gives her problems so she keeps the wheelchair around

#dc comics #dc headcanon #batfam #headcanon #batman

[maccreadysbaby]

A Hundred Days to Become a Wayne

batfamily + oc insert

tw: vague mentions of abuse

wanna start from chapter one or read more? here’s the table of contents!

jason is in this one for like a hot second being fairly nice yay

part eleven

❝ TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD? ❞

MONDAY — 5:57PM

“YOU CAN ONLY PUT DOWN A CARD FROM YOUR HAND IF IT MATCHES THE COLOR OR NUMBER ON TOP OF THE DECK,” Dick explained carefully, shuffling the cards in his hands like some fancy casino man. Bentley watched in quiet fascination as he skillfully weaved the cards between his fingers.

It was nearing nightfall. Damian and Duke had returned from school hours ago, each one disappearing to different parts of the Manor to work on schoolwork that they had to do at home, which Bentley found strange. He’d slept in a little late, but spent most of his time awake doing tricks with Titus and letting Dick teach him how to play various games they kept around the house. Bruce was working in his office, Alfred was everywhere and nowhere, and Tim was still holed up in his bedroom after getting told he couldn’t go to work with a fever that high. (How high, Bentley wasn’t sure, but Alfred had seemed adamant about it.)

Bruce had left Bentley’s bedroom sometime around six that morning. Bentley felt him pick him up and put him back at the top of the bed ever-so-gently, and felt his hand land on his head and stay there for a few beats. And then his footsteps faded out of the room. He probably had to get ready for work by then, the child assumed.

The whole night before (or morning, he guessed.) had been very strange. Bentley had been doing things around the Wayne’s all along that would set his father off, like crying, or admitting he was tired, but literally reaching out for someone after having a bad dream? His father probably would’ve hit him so hard he went through the floor. Bentley never reached out for his father, even if he was there. Bentley never reached out for anybody. Because it only gained him pain. He didn’t know what had gotten into him the night before to make him act like such a… child.

But Bruce had not only let the kid hold onto his sleeve like some kind of weird leech, but he held him. Literally held him. While he was crying and everything. And then stayed there for, like, an hour and a half and just kept holding him until he was confident enough that he could go back downstairs. Bentley’s father had never done anything like that.

And it made Bentley feel really weird that he ended up liking it so much. Especially with a stranger like Bruce. He was still a stranger, wasn’t he?

He tried not to compare Bruce to his father too much. It made him kind of sad.

But, nightmare or no nightmare, it had been a pretty nice day. Bruce hadn’t said anything about last night, and he was grateful. He’d had a pretty blissful time (attempting) to not think about it. He did notice, however, that Bruce seemed to keep a watchful eye on him when Alfred brought him down for breakfast after the others had left for school. Not the kind of watchful eye his father used to dawn, though, that made him nervous and fidgety. It was different. He couldn’t really place why.

“When you have one card left in your hand, you say uno. It’s Spanish for one,” Dick explained, dealing them each seven cards. “If you can’t put anything down, you draw one from the deck.”

They were sitting in the downstairs den, facing each other on one of the long couches — the same den they’d watched the documentary about cats in. The bright golden sunset was shining through the curtains and illuminating the room nicely. Bentley had the game instructions (aka, a wildly stained and crumbled piece of paper.) sitting in front of him so he could read what each of the special cards did. Alfred (the cat) was sitting behind Bentley, curled against his back and purring. Titus had been in there with them earlier but bee-lined out of the room when he heard Damian arrive home.

He had been having a lot of fun letting Dick teach him classic games, as he called them. His father didn’t own games.

Dick placed the deck face-down and drew the first one off the top, laying it right side up on the couch between them.

Red five.

Bentley scanned the cards in his hand, and after a moment, put down a red two.

“Like that?” He questioned, adjusting the cards in his hand.

“Yep, just like that,” Dick put a red three on top of it, so Bentley put a blue three on top of that.

Bentley had considered putting his father’s plan in motion that morning. When it was just him and Tim upstairs, before he went down for breakfast. 

Hit your targets when they’re at their weakest, his father’s voice had echoed in his head. Hit them when they least expect it from you. 

It would have been an ideal time to go twist some words and shove them into Tim’s head, when he was sick and feverish and vulnerable. Bentley even had a plan for this sort of thing — it was easy to plant doubt in people simply by asking them questions, and who had more questions than the child that just got brought into the house two days ago? It was the perfect excuse to ask him all kinds of things about Bruce and his real parents. (Neglect was the word in Bentley’s father’s file, but he didn’t really know what that word meant.) 

But, for some reason, Bentley felt bad just thinking about it. 

So he didn’t. He’d get his father’s plan done, he would. Just not today. He was only three days in anyhow, he had ninety-seven more.

After a moment of silence, Dick groaned dramatically and drew a card from the deck. “Already backing me into a corner. This is what happens every time I play with Damian.”

After realizing Dick wasn’t going to put a card down, Bentley put a blue skip on top of his three, then a green skip, then a green 2x, which supposedly meant Dick had to draw cards and lose his turn.

“Has he been tutoring you?” He mumbled as he drew a pair of cards. Bentley smiled lightly and put down a green five.

“Uno,”

“I literally have nine cards,”

“Grayson,” Bentley jumped when a third voice echoed from behind them, turning to glance at Damian, whose arms were crossed. He was still in his neatly pressed school uniform, the same one Bentley had seen in his father’s photos. Something about him was different. A little tense, maybe, like Bentley’s father got when he was annoyed. Titus was by his side. “Drake is requesting your presence in a rather dramatic manner.”

Dick creased his brow, rising from the couch. “Okay, cover for me,” He stated, shoving his fan of cards in Damian’s hands as he passed on his way out of the room.

Damian made a tt sound, before heading over to the couch and taking Dick’s seat. Titus jumped up next to him, settling on the cushions. “He’s losing terribly, I see.”

Damian placed a green five on top of the pile, and Bentley huffed. His last card was a yellow nine. 

“Is he okay?” Bentley questioned quietly, drawing a card off of the top of the deck.

“Drake? He will be fine,” Damian stated, laying a green two down. “He often lets his physical condition get the better of him.”

Bentley put down a green four. “Uno.”

Damian laid down a 4x. Bentley drew his four cards and Damian laid down a red two. “I see you’ve become an adequate companion to the animals in my absence.”

Bentley glanced back at the cat. “I like them.”

“They enjoy being around you, as well.”

Both boys glanced up when Bruce whizzed past the door in a black blur, disappearing in the same direction Dick had.

Bentley still didn’t understand why this family flocked to one another when someone was sick.

Bentley put down a red reverse, then a red skip, then a red seven. Damian put down a red five, and Bentley put down a yellow five. “Uno.”

Damian put down a yellow three and Bentley put down his yellow nine, successfully emptying his hand of cards. 

Damian made the tt sound again. “I only lost because of Grayson’s incompetence,” He muttered, gathering up the cards and shuffling them. 

Over the next little while, they played a few more games. Bentley ended up with two wins and Damian with three.

“Boys,”

They both glanced back at the doorway, where Bruce was standing. “Dick and I are taking Tim to the doctor,” He stated flatly, eyeing Damian only a little bit weird, like he knew something Bentley didn’t. “I’m not sure how long we’ll be gone, but Alfred is making dinner.”

“Alright,” Damian replied blankly. Bentley nodded, and Bruce smiled at them, disappearing just as fast as he appeared.

Bentley wondered if Tim was actually sick, or if it was some secret superhero thing he wasn’t supposed to know about.

They were gone for a long time. Damian, Duke, and Bentley ate dinner with Alfred, and they watched something about fish, and then they scattered to go to bed, and Bruce, Dick, and Tim still weren’t back.

And it was storming. Which wasn’t a big deal. Why would it be a big deal? It wasn’t.

It was pitch black outside now, and rain was violently pelting the side of the house, creating an unsettlingly loud layer of white noise. The minutes on his clock seemed to drag on way longer than usual — it had been 10:58pm for at least twenty minutes now.

It wasn’t a big deal is what Bentley kept saying to himself from his spot on his bed. Every time the thunder cracked, he leaped out of his skin. It was his second night in a row clutching the covers of his bed in the dark. 

Why did this have to be happening right now?

So long as you stay scared, you’re weak, Bentley’s father’s voice resurfaced again. Whittakers aren’t weak.

He buried his face in his pillow and stayed like that for a while.

Thunderstorms had never mixed well with him. When he was younger it was screaming and crying, but now, it was just a combination of biting his tongue and trembling because the other things had been trained out of him. (Mostly.)

Maybe if he pretended to be fine, no one would know. No one would swing the door open and call him pathetic and hit him with the first thing they could get in their hand.

That’s what his father always did.

The thunder was just getting louder, to the point where it was rumbling the bed under him. He found himself stifling little sounds of fear at the sharp and sudden crack! that kept slicing through the air. 

He was fine.

But every time the thunder rumbled, and the lightning flashed, he imagined his father ripping his bedroom door open. He ended up putting his head under the covers so he stopped watching his door to wait for his dad. He was at the Manor. 

A particularly loud crack sounded, and he almost leaped off the bed because he could’ve swore he heard the door fly open.

But when the next flash of lightning came, it was closed. He was alone. It was just him in there, and he needed…

To get out. He needed to get out of the bedroom. It was too much like his.

He shakily pushed himself off of the bed, inching toward the door silently. Surely the unending rain and terrible thunder would cover up any creaks he made.

He wasn’t going to bother anybody — not Alfred, or Damian, or Duke. They were all probably sound asleep. Instead, he just needed to find somewhere to go. Somewhere where the storm might not be so loud. On the first floor, maybe?

Fear was just about the only thing propelling him forward as he made his way down the dim hall, heading toward the stairs. Every bit of common sense that would tell him not to traverse a multi-million dollar mansion at night was lost. The lights were on downstairs, but he didn’t hear anyone. So he kept taking it one step at a time. He continued into the empty entryway where the front door was, turning quickly into the first room he saw.

It was a library. Dimly lit by a few precariously placed lamps, it reminded him somewhat of home. The walls were lined floor to ceiling with bookshelves, multicolored spines giving the room a fantasy kind of feel. There was a fireplace at the front of the room that wasn’t on, and furniture spread around the large room into various sitting spaces.

And no windows.

He sighed lightly and walked inside, climbing up on a couch that sat against the wall. He pulled his knees up and rested his head on them. Maybe he could wait out the storm here and go back up without Bruce, or Alfred, or Dick, or anybody noticing. Thunder cracked but it wasn’t as shrill as it had been upstairs.

“I’m pretty sure Bruce didn’t have a redhead last time I was here,”

Bentley yelped in surprise when a voice emanated from the other side of the room. He anxiously traced every piece of furniture until he found the silhouette of who was speaking, holed up in an armchair in the corner, reading a book.

Jason Todd. Bentley knew as soon as he saw the white tuft of hair that stuck out at the front of his head. He was perched in the chair in sweats like he’d been here forever, even though Bentley never even knew he came inside the manor. 

“You must be Bentley,”

He only nodded, his face turning a bit pink from his sudden outburst. Maybe Jason couldn’t see it in the dim room.

“I’m Jason,”

Bentley said nothing. 

“Running from the storm?”

Bentley still didn’t say anything, glancing the opposite way. He was pretty sure that question didn’t actually need to be answered, because he was curled up on a couch and trembling in the middle of the night when he should be asleep. Not really the way he wanted to meet Red Hood.

He heard Jason shift slightly. “Me too.”

Bentley glanced over at him. Surely the Red Hood wasn’t afraid of thunder. He still stayed silent, wrapping his arms around his knees and resting his chin on them. He flinched when the thunder cracked again, and he was hoping Jason didn’t notice, but he could feel his eyes from the other end of the room anyways.

How many Waynes did he need to embarrass himself in front of before he learned his lesson?

He huffed, leaning lightly on the arm of the couch. A few silent moments later and it thundered again, and to Bentley’s horror, he made a weird squeak in the back of his throat.

“Atticus said to Jem one day, "I’d rather you shot at tin cans in the backyard, but I know you’ll go after birds. Shoot all the blue jays you want, if you can hit ‘em, but remember it’s a sin to kill a mockingbird." That was the only time I ever heard Atticus say it was a sin to do something, and I asked Miss Maudie about it. "Your father’s right," she said. "Mockingbirds don’t do one thing except make music for us to enjoy. They don’t eat up people’s gardens, don’t nest in corn cribs, they don’t do one thing but sing their hearts out for us. That’s why it’s a sin to kill a mockingbird.”

Bentley glanced over at Jason strangely. He was still reading his book just like he had been, expression and position unchanged. What was he trying to do?

“‘Miss Maudie, this is an old neighborhood, ain't it?" "Been here longer than the town.’”

The thunder cracked again, but Bentley was able to focus on what Jason was saying instead. So he listened to him read a (kind of weird) book for a while, even though the storm was still raging outside, and slowly but surely faded into a light slumber on the arm of the couch.

—

He jumped when someone picked him up.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m just taking you up to bed,” The child’s anxiety stilled when he recognized Bruce’s voice, and he relaxed into him, wrapping his arms around his neck to keep himself from falling. (Even though he knew Bruce probably wouldn’t have dropped him anyways.) “The storm is over now.”

Bentley meant to say something, but it came out as more of an unintelligible hum against Bruce's shoulder. He thought he heard him say something along the lines of thank you, Jason, but he wasn’t actually sure. He just let himself be carried through the house and up the stairs, and Bruce laid him in his bed and tucked him in, touching his head the same way he did the night before.

Bentley fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

—

dedicated to @sassenashsworld 💛

—

tag list (ask me in the comments, and I’ll add your @!)

@fleur-alise

#batboys #batfamily #batman #bruce wayne #oracle #barbara gordon #dick grayson #nightwing #dc jason todd #jason dc #jason todd #dc red hood #red hood dc #red hood #cassandra cain #orphan #tim drake #red robin #stephanie brown #spoiler #duke thomas #signal #damian wayne #dc robin #robin #oc; bentley whittaker #oc; bentley #oc; john whittaker #mb; a hundred days to become a wayne

[underscorewriting]

Peaceful morning fluff

Jason Todd x Reader

Mentions of sex briefly but none than just fluff tbh

606 Words

Soft snores mixed with quiet music filled the apartment. A sizzling coming from the kitchen and the smell of bacon and eggs, woke her up. A smile creeped onto her face as she wiped the sleep out of her eyes before finally gaining the power to fully get up.

Looking into the mirror opposite the bed she caught a glimpse of herself. Her hair being a mess, her neck being covered in love bites and hickeys and her cheeks still red from the night before. Jason really did make her feel beautiful. With a quiet giggle she took Jasons T-shirt which was still laying on the ground and slipped into it. 

Her legs still feeling a little like jelly as she walked into the kitchen, only to see Jason stand there in some sweatpants. His hair was a mess which he only tried to control a little bit by his nervous habit to run through it with his fingers, his chest still having the little band aid on it from the fight he came home from yesterday. A sigh escaped her lips but not loud enough to concern him if he would've heard it. He risked his life for people so many times, yet he still claims he's not a hero. He saved her back then. 

She ran straight into The Riddler when he was robbing some high class casino. Auroras eyes wandered to the scar on her wrist that were caused by Jason that night. It was very unprofessional, he said it himself so he wanted to make sure she was going to be okay and that it would heal quickly. To this day he didn't tell her why he was so unprofessional and distracted that day. A soft smile played around the corner of her mouth before she looked back up. Her feet carried her towards the stool right in front of the stove.

  The shirt hanging off of her since it was, quite honestly, a tiny bit too big for her. She didn't mind though, she felt beautiful wearing his shirt and each time his eyes would wander over her like his prey, she couldn't hide the blush that would form.

  Jason turned with a slightly warned look but completely relaxed as soon as he saw her carefree smile. "Good Morning, baby..." He whispered as he continued concentrating on the cooking. "Morning, Jay." Her voice was still a little bit husky since she's just woken up. A soft smile appeared on his face before he started to frown. 

"I wanted to bring you the breakfast to bed..." He almost whined. A quiet chuckle escaped the young girl as she shook her head. "Sorry to disappoint, Jay." And again he started to frown. "Don't..." his voice was quiet as Aurora looked at him confused and he sighed not liking to be so corny in the morning. "Don't say that you disappoint me." He finally finished looking into her eyes.

  Aurora needed to swallow and blushed before nodding. A small smirk was playing at the corner of his mouth as he put her food onto a plate before putting it in front of her. "Thank you..." she smiled brightly up at him as he kissed her forehead. "Of course, princess. Now eat up, I tried not to give you too much since we gotta go to Bruces in about an hour and I think that Alfred may have made cookies." Jason said smiling slightly. Due to Aurora he started seeing Dick, Bruce and everyone else at Wayne Manor as his family again.

  She saved him as much as he saved her that night... if not more.

#batfam #batfamily #jason todd #jason todd imagine #jason todd x reader #batman imagine #red hood #red hood x reader #titans imagine

[gotham-crimes]

Batman tracks down the killers and puts them to justice !

Batman yet again saved the day & night, when he captured the people who had attacked and stolen from Wayne industries the other night. Bringing justice to the four guards, who tragically lost their lives.

Luscious fox states "I am very grateful to batman for helping us, while also giving closure to the guards families"

At the moments, we dont really know why the money was stolen or more importantly why the thief's tortured and killed the guards. The GCPD are still trying to find out the mastermind of these plans.

According to people's theories, the thief's wanted to ruin the Wayne industries's reputation. Therefore, the mastermind must be a Wayne hater. What do you think about this theory?

#only in gotham rp #only in gotham #gothamite #batman

[bippot]

Stranger Things - Eddie Munson Masterlist

1) The Need To Graduate ~ Eddie Munson needs some encouragement to want to graduate, and his best friend is more than willing to give it to him. Or, not give it to him. That's a more accurate description.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

2) The Tongue Piercing ~ Eddie gets bored one night and decides to make himself more metal by sticking metal in his face. And, honestly, he has no idea how his girlfriend will react.

3) Chicken ~ All of his attempts to talk to her had failed miserably. All of them. He didn't know what to say, so when Robin brings said girl along with her to the arcade, Eddie finally gets a chance to strike up a conversation.

4) Official ~ So, yeah, Eddie has a little crush. Between working in the garage, school and late nights thinking about a special someone, he doesn't quite think he has the guts to do something about it. But, that's okay. She might have them.

5) Talkative ~ Mike Wheeler had no idea why Y/N was allowed to be in Hellfire. She just took up all the time he could've been using to talk about, you know, what he wanted to. Maybe she was let in because of Eddie's very obvious soft spot for her? Or maybe it's because the other members genuinely like her? Who knows. But one thing is for sure, her not talking to him, drives Eddie insane.

6) Pinky Promise ~ There's a secret that Eddie holds close so people don't bully him more, so when his best friend offers to help him out with it, he can't decline. Only an idiot would do that.

7) Picture Perfect ~ Can Eddie Munson draw? Hell yeah. He even has a favourite thing to sketch. Well, it's more a who rather than an it.

8) Sick Little Baby ~ Poor Eddie didn't show up to school because he has a bit of a cough and Wayne needs his rest, so his best friend and her puppy are willing to come to his aid.

9) The Henderson Connection ~ Who knew that Dustin had a sister? Well, Eddie did know about her. He just had no idea what she was like. But as soon as he met her, there was no going back.

10) The Day of Fools ~ When the hell is Eddie's birthday? Well, the Henderson siblings soon find out and rush to make it the best day they can.

11) Half the Work ~ They get paired together for a biology assessment. That's it. The popular cheerleader would never ruin her reputation and standing with her parents for a DnD nerd. Unless....? Also, why does Jason Carver hate Eddie Munson so much?

12) Baby Fever ~ Eddie is great with kids of all ages but there is something about babies that makes him want one of his own. Yet, his girlfriend may need some convincing.

13) Vegas, Baby ~ Corroded Coffin is successful and probably will continue being successful for a while. Yet, they've been working non stop for so long and are desperately in need of a break. Where do rockstars go? Fucking Vegas, baby! Casino's? Dolphin shows? Spa days? Siegfried and Roy? A chance for Eddie to finally show his singer how much he truly loves her? How could they pass up an opportunity like this?

14) Stuck In The Middle ~ Steve can play the guitar. Corroded Coffin are down a guitarist... it's perfect. Well, except for the fact that both Eddie and Steve like the same girl. So, who will she pick? Or the better question is, will she have to pick at all? (Eddie x Reader x Steve)

15) Best Of Both Worlds ~ (Sequel to Stuck In The Middle) ~ After coming to the conclusion that they could share their crush, Eddie and Steve also get closer as a result. Too close for comfort at times as Steve would find out, but it's okay, all they need to do is kiss and make up. (Eddie x Reader x Steve)

16) Sound Asylum ~ School sucks. Studying sucks. Jason Carver sucks. The record shop named Sound Asylum fucking rules. Sure, it sells all of Eddie's favourite music, but everyone knows that's his excuse to talk to the cashier there, a.k.a. his girlfriend.

#eddie munson & reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie stranger things #eddie munson #eddie my beloved #eddie x you #masterlist #stranger things

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Can u write more slow burn!reader x Bruce pls ?

"I'm sorry, sir," Jessie said, pushing her glasses up, "Y/N is not at home today."

"Could you just-" he started to protest, but when the woman with steel grey hair and sharp hazel eyes regarded him sternly, he relented. Clearly, she'd been given instruction and was not going to be moved. You were not accepting visitors. "Just tell her I came by," he said, shoulders sagging. "Tell her I'd like it if she called me."

"Would you care to leave your number?" she asked. As if she hadn't heard the story. Or learned by now that you probably had it memorized. It stung all the same.

"I uh- no. That's fine. I'm sure she'll have it. Thank you." And when he stepped back, the door shutting quietly but firmly in his face, he winced. How was he supposed to apologize if you wouldn't even look at him? How was he supposed to get back in your good books if you avoided him like he had the plague?

He loped back down the steps and tapped the earpiece in his ear, "Oracle?"

"Yes?" Barbara answered, the clicking of keys pausing briefly before resuming.

"You wouldn't happen to know what events Y/N has on her social calendar would you?"

There was a pause and some muffled conversation. What sounded like a whispered argument only for Dick to be the one that answered.

"Looks like she's going to the Charity casino night tonight, B. Tomorrow she's leaving on a flight to DC."

"DC?"

"Nothing specific but," he broke off and Bruce could hear the shrug, "She might be laying some groundwork to screw over her Ex husband a little more. Blocking him from getting a contract or something."

Bruce grunted. It was the or something he was worried about. You had a knack for finding trouble and in your younger less careful days you'd dallied with your fair share of Senator's sons and foreign ambassadors... Most of them had been more interested in your fortune and connections. But that didn't mean you weren't going to enjoy yourself. "Is Wayne Enterprises in the running for anything?"

"No," Tim answered, "Not currently. But Luthor is going to throw his hat in the ring for one or two-"

"Make sure I have a dossier on anything Y/N is going to be meeting about and one on anyone she might be meeting with- And get me to her hotel at least 30 minutes before she arrives."

"Bruce-"

"She just got back in town," he said opening his car door, "It would attract attention if-"

"Oh. My. God." Dick groaned, "Just call her."

"Seriously," Barbara added.

And without comment, Bruce clicked off the call, frowning as his cheeks darkened. "It's for her own good," he muttered. And as he slid behind the wheel, he wondered how many times he'd have to tell himself that before it felt true.

#Bruce Wayne #Bruce Wayne x reader #slowburn!reader #ask answered #minors dni

[ggh0stggirl]

Various Members of the Batfamily as the Oceans Eleven Crew

b/c me and my sibling dearest had this conversation the car the other day & i feel like it & it was very fun to do

1. Danny Ocean (the mastermind): Bruce Wayne, I mean obviously.

2. Reuben Tishkoff (business kingpin): Lucius Fox. After a lengthy discussion it was decided that Reuben would also be Bruce because he would not need outside funding and would (in this universe) own the casino that gets torpedoed by Terry Benidict, but after further consideration Rueben being Lucius makes a shit ton of sense - the person who would keep Bruce’s businesses afloat while arrested, the person who knows Bruce’s ex and his co-conspirators, and the badass who will call you out to your face.

3. Robert “Rusty” Ryan (right-hand man): Selina Kyle. I originally thought Clark Kent because he is Bruce’s best friend. But, Selina is the kind of ride or die bff to show up in front of the prison you’re being released from (for which you were arrested for theft and grifting) just to ask who you are conning and stealing from next. (I don’t actually know enough about Ghostmaker to say this, but I feel like this could be him too.)

4. Tess Ocean (the ex-wife): Clark Kent. Once again, I originally had Selina as my pick here before my wonderful sibling said: “But wouldn’t Clark be the one to be super upset learning Bruce was a thief and con-artist this whole time?” And she’s not wrong. (I can also see this as either the ship or just friendship. Either winning back the love of his life or his best friend.)

5. Saul Bloom (the old pro): Alfred Pennyworth. I mean come on, brought out of retirement by Bruce and co bullying him into it (but really because he never wanted to retire). The line (from memory so could be wrong): “If you ask me that again, you will not wake the following morning.”

6. Linus Caldwell (the thief): Damian Wayne. Very talented, but still new to the trade. Trying to step out of his parents shadows and prove himself. Doesn’t know how to talk to people while grifting.

7. Basher Tarr (munitions expert): Jason Todd. More in it for the thrills than anything, having a really good time, the crew would be dead if not for his thorough knowledge of his craft.

8. Frank Catton (inside man): Dick Grayson. Perfect amount of sunshine to con his way into working in a casino after having been banned from them in other states and the perfect amount of pure chaos to be the one to make a semi-public dramatic scene and get fake arrested.

9. Livingston Dell (tech-guy): Barbara Gordon. Although she doesn’t have Livingston’s anxiety problems, there is no one better suited to handle the tech portion of a heist. (She wouldn’t have to call for help in the third movie.)

10. The Malloy Brothers - Virgil and Turk (wheelmen/con-men/strike instigaters/jack-of-many-trades): Stephanie Brown and Tim Drake. I just see these two pulling off the bickering relationship the best, being able to get perfectly on each others nerves while always 100% having each other’s backs.

11. The Amazing Yen (the grease man): Cassandra Cain. The communicating in a different language (I love a Cass that uses ASL or has selective mutism, etc.). The only person who really does her part of the plan with zero fuck ups (except for the injury to her hand which was caused by someone else fucking up!) I also just imagine her like five feet tall.

12. Terry Benedict (slick business man/the target): Lex Luther. It fits so well. And Clark gets to sass the hell out of Lex and maybe slap him - although I could be remembering that wrong.

I wrote this up very late at night and need sleep, oh well. I couldn’t figure Duke Thomas into this :( Feel free to add more or add who you would have as each character, I love to see it <3

#batman #batfam #superman #ocean’s eleven #ocean’s 11 #batfamily #bruce wayne #dick grayson #jason todd #damian wayne #cassandra cain #selina kyle #alfred pennyworth #tim drake #stephanie brown #barbara gordon #robin #nightwing #red hood #catwoman #batgirl #black bat #oracle #just for shits and giggles #clark kent #lex luthor #lucius fox #dc #superbat

[darkpurpledawn]

harlivy - late night texting

The night-blooming flowers that scented her room had just begun to open their petals when Ivy’s phone buzzed.

She hadn’t been asleep, exactly–she was still going through her mental checklist of all her plants that needed to be watered or fertilized or repotted tomorrow, though the checklist had gone a bit fuzzy–but the phone startled her back to full alertness.

The bioluminescent mushroom that sat on her bedside table obligingly brightened its glow, allowing her to read Harley’s text without straining her eyes.

hiya red!1 guess where i am

Ivy’s guesses were almost as highly educated as she was herself, but Harley was a fundamentally unguessable quantity. She might have broken into the amusement park on the pier to ride a ferris wheel at night or robbed a casino or stowed away on a Justice League mission to space in the hopes of broadcasting some nonsensical rant to the denizens of earth. 

Or she might have just wanted midnight waffles.

ur too slow here’s a hint

Downloading Image, Please Wait

The picture Harley sent seemed to have been taken millimeters from her left eye, possibly by hitting the screen with her nose. There was a long, precipitous drop just visible beyond her blurry eyelashes.

Harley, is that an elevator shaft?

yes!!!

Ivy tried to see if she could recognize anything in the background. It was hard to tell, but based on the profusion of sensors and something that looked like a smudgy W she worried Harley was in the Wayne Enterprises R&D building downtown.

i wish you wer here so bad babe

partially bc your vines would be really helpful for climbing out of this elevator shaft but!

mostly bc I miss yOU

and also u KnOW how a good heist makes me feel >:)

Ivy became aware she was smiling even though she had already decided to be cross with Harley for likely needing to be rescued at such an inconvenient time.

You need a hand, peanut?

i ALWay s need your hands blossom ;0 wait that one didn’t work ;) ;) ;)

Something nudged Ivy’s hand, and she looked over to see a tendril of moonflowers quirking their petaled heads at her phone.

“Well excuse me, just because you grow over my bed doesn’t give you the unlimited right to read my messages,” Ivy said sternly to the flowers, which retracted a little and had the grace to look sheepish.

Perhaps she was being a little too hard on them. They had, after all, from their vantage twined across her headboard, undoubtedly seen her and Harley contorted together in far more interesting ways and at much higher volume than anything that might pop up on Ivy’s phone.

Ivy felt suddenly warm in the cool night breeze drifting in from Gotham Harbor through her open window.

made it up! post-fight selfie for good luck!

Downloading Image, Please Wait

In the photo Harley was making a peace sign and, somewhat incongruously, covered in blood spatters. She was smiling radiantly, and had unzipped her jacket to a precipitous level.

“Damn it, Harley,” Ivy said. “I have an early meeting at Terracare.”

Wait right there peanut, that looks like too much fun to miss

:D :D yay I KNEW IT

Ivy sighed fondly, then vaulted from her bed, pulled on her gardening boots and set off into the cloudless night.

#harlivy #harlivy fic #pamela isley #harleen quinzel #prompt fics #batblogging

[banannabethchase]

Adam is sick of how much people talk shit. Thus, lollipops. But they don't work on everybody.

~

This is all due to a post I saw on tumblr about how some people pass out lollipops as drunk people leave bars to help keep the noise level down, and my brain went absolutely haywire.

Mini playlist:

Lollipop - Mika

Lollipop (Candyman) - Aqua

Lollipop - Lil Wayne, Static Major

Something in Your Mouth - Nickelback (shut up)

~

Adam is not exactly sure when he came up with it. Maybe one of those nights when Kenny would talk shit about being the belt collector, or when Pac would go off in his Geordie accent that Adam still struggles to understand, or when Jericho started his weird wizard schtick. But one day, at some point in there, Adam thought about how nice it would be to shut these dumbasses up. Just for a little while.

He’s scrolling on twitter when he finds an article about lollipops being used to quiet down rambunctious club goers as they exit to the streets, and he sits up, interested.

The next day, he goes out and buys a one hundred pack of cheap lollipops, and packs them in his carryon for the upcoming Dynamite. On the plane, he pulls one out as he watches a couple episodes of Bob’s Burgers and finds himself shoving probably too many in his pockets. He determines that the best flavor is blue raspberry and the worst is grape after some unnecessarily detailed evaluation that resulted in the flight attendant asking him if he was okay.

The opportunity to try out his theory appears sooner than he expects. Despite every attempt he’s made, he ends up running into the Elite as they swagger through the halls. He does his best to dart around the corner before he’s noticed, not in the mood to get into a fist fight before he’s supposed to have a match, but he’s not quite fast enough.

“Hey, Hangman, got whiskey in that water bottle?” Kenny calls. It’s unnecessarily loud. Adam would have heard him at a near whisper. “Maybe we need to implement a wellness policy for you.”

Adam’s about to retort, about to tell Kenny he was about to strangle him with his own shitty mustache, when he pats his pockets and finds a lollipop. In one motion, he pulls it out of his pocket and rips off the plastic wrapping.

“Oh, they have alcohol in – ” But Kenny’s sentence is cut short, because there is now a grape lollipop in his mouth. And Kenny Omega has finally shut the fuck up.

“Have a nice day,” Adam says, his steps feeling lighter.

He carries the giddy satisfaction through to the Casino Ladder Match, where he wins and shoves the poker chip under his arm. He decides to peacock, just a little bit, back to the locker room. “Oh, hi, guys,” he says, trying to make his smile a little mean as he runs into the Elite in the hallway. “Look what I got.”

Nick rolls his eyes and turns away, but Matt stands up and glares at him. Kenny, Adam notes, is staring at his phone, shoulders hunched, clearly avoiding him.

“You really think you’re equipped to carry that?” Matt asks, pushing at the poker chip. “You can’t even handle a bottle of booze, let alone…”

But Adam tunes out whatever he’s saying, because he has a pocket in this ring gear. He pulls out the lollipop, rips off the plastic while Matt’s going on about, “and you never even had the audacity to thank us!” and shoves the lollipop right into Matt’s mouth. It’s a little rougher than necessary, a little more aggressive, especially with the eye contact. Matt’s eyes widen as he goes silent.

“Nice to see you too, Matt. I’ll see you when I kill your boy at Full Gear.” He nods over to Kenny, who is still ignoring him, and walks off.

~

Adam wins. Kenny went down after two Buckshot Lariats, and Adam has to keep poking his new bruises to make sure this isn’t all a dream. He gets carried backstage by the Dark Order, and, as they chant his name, he feels like he may have found a home with these people.

“It was amazing!” John says. He lowers Adam, but keeps a hand firmly planted on Adam’s ass, which would be weird, but it’s John. “Oh, man, you flattened him. I don’t think I’ve seen a man so dead in my life.”

“I have,” says Anna.

Adam decides to move through that because what the fuck, Anna, and nods. “Yeah, it, uh. It was a pretty badass match.”

“And your gear!” John continues. “If I may say, your ass is popping in those long boys. That must be jelly ‘cause jam don’t jiggle like –”

Adam turns around from where he was digging in his gear and shoves the pineapple lollipop directly into John’s mouth. His eyes widen with glee, but he stops talking, and, honestly, that’s enough positives for Adam.

For a while, people stop spouting bullshit or extreme homoeroticism around him. If they speak, it’s a little enamored, a little impressed, and, in Alex and John’s case, a little horny. But he doesn’t have to use the lollipops, at least for a little while. There’s always a few in his pocket, though, and a dozen in his bags.

~

He takes a GTS, and wishes he’d had the balls to hit Punk in the mouth with the belt when he had the chance. Then, he wishes he could turn a lollipop into a shank and stab him with it. Just a little. Just as revenge.

~

The next time he has to do it is when Jay White won’t shut the fuck up after Forbidden Door.

“All of you stupid, talentless, weak – ”

And, well, Adam has no choice.

Kazuchika Okada literally falls on the floor laughing as Jay, green apple lollipop in his mouth, stops talking and begins to pout.

“How about you chill the fuck out and shut up, you fuckin’ bitch.” Okada reaches up to high five Adam as Adam strides past the rest of them to the locker room. He peeks in on Cole, though, because he never wants to be on the receiving end of a concussion like that.

~

Adam is at the hotel, treating himself to a nice chocolate cake from room service as consolation for the loss of the trios title, when he hits twitter. He wishes he hadn’t. The internet has a million and a half opinions of everything, and there’s gifs everywhere of the things said at the media scrum. He reaches his phone to text Matt, or Kenny, or Nick, but he pauses when he sees just how long it’s been since they’ve spoken. It feels wrong. He texts John and Alex instead. All of Dark Order join him in his hotel room, and they put on a 90s dance playlist and pretend the night went their way.

He watches the media scrum after the fact, days later, and wishes he’d clued Tony in to the lollipop trick. He’s used to hating himself, but listening to somebody else say things about him that he’s had to teach himself not to think sucks.

~

Adam paces himself, works his way back up the singles card, and nobody takes the time to worry about him, not as much, anyway. He makes it all the way to a championship match, coming at Jon Moxley the way he’s wanted to for years now. The fucker’s cocky and infuriating and Adam wants to skip the lollipop altogether and shove his whole fist in his face so hard it breaks his teeth. The match starts out as expected: gruff, violent, and fueled by fury. But things go sideways so suddenly Adam can’t even keep track of it.

When Mox knocks him out, Adam’s world feels fuzzy and filtered through a grey screen. He can’t see right, can’t hear right. But he has enough in him to wish he had a lollipop to shove in that son of a bitch’s mouth.

~

It’s the last day of November when he strides into the stadium hellbent on revenge.

“Hangman!” Alex says, eyes lighting up. “You’re not supposed to be here yet! You should –”

Adam is prepared. He shoves a lollipop in Alex’s mouth before he can hear somebody else’s opinion. He has enough sense not to try out the lollipop strategy on national television, because he is painfully aware of how many eyes are on him, but his fingers brush the pocket holding the lollipops more than once. He and Moxley get thrown out, and then beat the shit out of each other as they’re leaving the building. Not only does he lose his lucky hair tie, he also realizes some of the lollipops in his pockets got crushed in the melee.

~

The fucker goaded him. That’s the truth of it, isn’t it? Adam storms out there to interrupt Moxley because, fucking hell, somebody’s got to shut the man up somehow. He’s even considering the lollipop, because, at this point, he’s not sure what else is going to work.

“You know, Doc Samson over there won’t clear me to wrestle because of my brain,” he begins, “so I guess I’ve got a pretty good excuse if I’m not thinking straight tonight.”

Once again, Adam goes after him, fists swinging and rage flowing through them, but at the very least, Mox has stopped talking.

~

“Adam –”

Adam doesn’t even respond, just shoves a lollipop in Tony fucking Khan’s mouth as he storms past him. He should probably be considering this a little more carefully. Then again, he’s let Jon Moxley goad him into showing up again, because the guy won’t shut up, so. Once again, he’ll blame it on the concussion.

They beat the shit out of each other, and somebody practically throws Adam into a separate locker room when they force him backstage.

“You!” Doc Samson says. “Sit the fuck down – stop going in your pockets.”

Adam freezes.

“Yeah, don’t try that lollipop thing on me. I swear, I’m about to recommend you for Traumatic Brain Injury protocol if you keep this shit up.”

Adam feels himself shrink a little, like he would when he’s get in trouble at school for talking too much. “I was doing this before I got the concussion,” he says, like an excuse.

Samson rolls his eyes. “Oh, sure, that’s way better.”

He gets checked out – again – but, before he gets a chance to leave Austin, he runs into Moxley. Again. This time, though, Eddie Kingston’s there to roll his eyes and grab Mox around the waist. Adam’s smart enough to know when he’s losing a numbers game.

“Where’s the fire, baby?” Mox asks. He’s still hyped up from their segment, Adam can see. He’s doing that annoying thing where his arms are behind his back, and he’s grinning like a cat that caught the canary. He knows Adam’s on edge, knows he’s already ready to go off, and he’s just lighting a cigarette near the powder keg.

“Moxley, leave it alone,” Adam says, trying to keep himself under control. He can’t go at Mox right now, not after what Doc just said. Not if he wants to make sure he gets a chance to knock his brain out of his head in a few weeks.

“Don’t wanna,” Mox says. “Doc says if you keep up your bitchy shit you won’t be able to fight me later. I want to see how riled up I can get you.”

Adam considers the word choice for just a second, just long enough for a flush to reach his cheeks. “I’m not taking your bait,” he splutters, and he leaves without remembering his lollipop strategy.

~

It’s fucking Christmas, and he’s at work, dealing with Jon Moxley and his big fat mouth. He’s finally going to do it this time. He’s done playing around.

Moxley is about to start rambling – about sandwiches, about Adam, about Cincinatti, god fucking knows – but Adam shoves a lollipop in Mox’s mouth. Doesn’t give himself a second to think, just pops it in there like a drive by, and he grins to himself, pleased to have another successful hit under his belt.

“Thanks for the lollipop, Hangman,” Mox calls. And he keeps talking. “Oh, and next time, I like blue raspberry best. Grape sucks.”

Adam glances over his shoulder to confirm. Mox is using the lollipop like a goddamn baton as he keeps going on about how he’s going to kill Adam, blah blah. Eddie’s eyes meet Adam’s and he shrugs.

“What, you think that’d shut him up?” Eddie says. “Come on. You should be smarter than that, Mr. College Degree.”

Adam considers shoving a lollipop into Eddie’s face, too, but he’s out after that situation with Jungle Boy and Christian, so he settles for turning his back on Mox and walking away. He flips them off, just to make a point.

~

He’s finally confirmed it: the lollipops work with everybody but Moxley. It’s startling enough for some, satisfies the hanger in others, and, for one or two, makes them squirm and look at Adam’s lips in interesting ways, but it doesn’t work for Moxley. He tries one more time, after the declaration of their battle for January 4th, when Mox is walking through the hallway. Technically, he’s not talking, but he could always start. Adam thinks it’s as good a chance as he’s going to get.

Mox grins at him. “Hangman, you here to give me –”

Adam pushes the grape lollipop into Mox’s open mouth, sure to shove it a little harder than strictly necessary. To his surprise, Mox sucks it further into his mouth, closing his lips around it. Adam’s not sure why he hasn’t dropped his own grip yet.  Or why he hasn’t broken eye contact. Mox’s eyes crinkle, lips forming into a smile around the stick. He pushes the lollipop to the side. “Was hoping you’d do that.”

“Why don’t you ever shut up?” Adam grumbles. He leans against the wall. “It works on literally everybody but you.” Adam can’t turn away as Mox twirls the lollipop around in his mouth using only his tongue.

Mox grins, shrugging. “I dunno, babe, I guess I got a talent of tongue.”

“Bet there’s better ways you could use it,” Adam says under his breath, eyes darting away. He probably shouldn’t have said anything. But when he lifts his eyes, Mox is staring dead at him.

“Yeah?” He twirls the lollipop again, then pulls it out. His mouth is purple, tongue even more so. “All you gotta do is ask, Cowboy.”

Adam bites his lip before he even realizes he’s doing it, and then Mox is walking toward him in that way of his. It makes Adam feel a little like a fawn in the eyeline of a hungry wolf. All he can do is wait for the inevitable.

Mox presses the lollipop to Adam’s lips, and Adam automatically opens for it, sucking it into his mouth. He doesn’t break eye contact. Grape is still the worst flavor, but there’s a hit of smoke on it, whatever lingers from Mox’s cigarettes, and it’s suddenly so much better than it’s ever been. Mox crowds into Adam’s space, pressing a hand to the wall behind Adam, dropping the other hand to his hip.

Adam pulls the lollipop out and slides it back in between Mox’s lips again, and he can’t look away. “Love that you’ve stopped talking,” he says, voice deeper than it should be. He swallows.

Mox drags his tongue across his lips, takes a glance around then pulls the lollipop out, getting almost too close to Adam. “I got better ideas with what I could do with my tongue.” He slides his tongue across Adam’s lips like they do this all the time, and kisses Adam like it’s the best way to win. And, of course, Adam can’t let him feel any type of victory, so Adam kisses him back harder, tongues pressing against each other. Adam turns them, slamming Mox against the wall, taking control. It’s fast and hard and dirty, and Adam wants more of it. He grabs at Moxley’s arms, letting his fingernails bite into the skin, then pulls back.

“Keep this energy up for the match and we could get the elusive six stars,” Adam says. He can still taste Mox and lollipop on his tongue. He pushes the lollipop back in between Mox’s lips and steps away. “See you next week.”

Adam walks away without glancing back at Mox, but he can feel eyes burning a hole into him. Next week is going to be fun.

~

It starts at the airport, when John walks up to him and immediately smacks him in the ass. Adam had run out of lollipops on the plane, and it takes longer than usual to shut him up.

“Hey there, big man! I recognized you by the curve of that ass. Want to –”

“Ah!” Adam interrupts, and he shoves a green apple in John’s mouth.

He grins, giving a weird little wiggle dance. He pulls the lollipop out. “I was hoping you’d do that.”

“Oh,” Adam says. “Oh, no. Did I accidentally make this a thing for you?”

John nods. “Oh yeah. I like getting things shoved in my mouth.” He winks.

Adam might need to rethink this whole plan.

He definitely needs to, he realizes, as he walks in the door and Hook walks up to him. Hook’s never spoken a word to him. Hook doesn’t speak to anybody. But he’s standing in front of Adam, with an outstretched hand.

“Um.”

“He wants a lollipop,” Jungle Boy says. “Words kind of gotten around that you pass them out. We both like cherry, if you have it.”

Confused, Adam grabs a handful of lollipops from the bag and picks out two cherries, handing them out.

“Thanks,” Hook says, and he pops the lollipop in his mouth and walks off.

“Good luck in your match against Moxley,” Jungle Boy says, and he follows Hook.

It doesn’t stop all day. Jamie Hayter, belt around her waist, asks for three green apple to share with Rebel and Britt. Konosuke Takeshita, a little hesitant, asks for an orange. The two of them manage to construct a decent conversation with the pieces of their two languages, and Adam finally gets the chance to tell him how impressive he is. All of the referees request lollipops as he makes his way to his little corner of the locker room. He’s gotten big enough that he gets a little space, but it’s basically just a bench with curtains. He’s halfway through pulling on his boots when he hears the rustle of the curtain.

“Hey.”

Adam raises his head to see Nick Jackson hesitantly smiling in the opening of the curtains. “Oh. Hi.”

“Wanted to wish you good luck for the match tonight.” Nick’s already in gear, even though he goes on last. “And, uh.” He grins, a little sheepish. “I heard you have a bunch of lollipops still? We were wondering if we could grab some. Try something other than the gum, for once.”

It feels like an olive branch, even though Nick’s not the one who should be extending it. Adam decides to take it. “Sure,” he says. He digs through the newly replenished stock: green apple for Nick, grape for Matt because he has perpetually bad taste, and blue raspberry for Kenny.

Nick takes them. “You – you remember our favorites?”

Adam shrugs. “I guess I do.” He offers a smile. “Actually, could you get a message to Kenny for me? I have a question to ask him.”

Nick nods, sends the text, and gets one back almost immediately. All it says is, “Tell him it’s a go.”

Adam exhales, feeling steady on his feet and ready to go. He and Moxley are up first, and he’s not willing to waste precious time panicking over how to talk to his old friends. “Tell, uh. Tell the other guys I tell them good luck. I really do hope you win.”

Nick nods. “Hope you win, too. Also hope Mox doesn’t kill you.”

“Yeah. Same here, man.”

Nick leaves just as quietly as he showed up, and Adam is left with his thoughts as he finishes up his boots, gets a pump in.

It’s not for long, though, because John and Alex burst in like twin tornadoes. “Adam!” John says, in that weird voice he used to save for Anna’s name. “Adam! Adam we are here for you!”

“Hey, guys,” he laughs. “What’s up?”

“We want to make sure you’re doing okay,” Alex says. “I mean, Moxley seems like he really wants to eat you alive.”

Adam intentionally does not let himself linger on that word choice. “Well, hopefully I can take him out before he does.”

“Yeah,” John says, looking far too eager. “Yeah, fuckin’ destroy him. Do that Deadeye where his head is right up your butt. Make him sniff it.”

“Okay, you’re getting lollipopped,” Adam says, and he shoves an orange one right in John’s mouth. He doesn’t look too angry about it.

~

He and Mox trade blows like there’s actual murder in the plans for the day. Adam kicks out of the Paradigm Shift, but Mox kicks out of the Buckshot, and neither of them seem willing to give. Adam’s not too worried, though. He has something in his back pocket, something a little mean and a little violent, something that harkens back to a past he’s not sure he’s willing to confront. Something that’s only failed twice.

He hooks Moxley for a One Winged Angel. And he hits it.

One. Two. Three.

He lets out a guttural, primal scream as Bryce raises his hand, the frustration and disappointment of the past months tearing its way out of him like a bullet from the gun. After all the failures, the concussion, he’s won.

“God, you’re loud,” Moxley grumbles from the floor, “wish I had something to shove in your mouth.”

Adam looks down at him and grins. “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

Adam’s practically vibrating as he meets up with the interviewers, cutting a promo that he’s about to come for every belt in the business. It’s the best he’s ever done, and he arranges it so there’s no way the camera can see his anticipatory boner in his tights. Adam claps shoulders and accepts hugs as he makes his way through the backstage area, but he’s got his focus locked on one thing.

They’d managed to arrange it so they can collide into each other in Moxley’s dressing room. Adam takes full advantage of the privacy, throwing Moxley to the ground again. He throws his legs over Moxley’s hips, pressing him to the ground.

“Careful, man, you just beat the shit out of me,” Moxley groans. “Christ, it’s like you –”

From this angle, Adam can grab the lollipop he’d stuck in his pocket, unwrap it, and shove it in Mox’s mouth before he can say another word. Mox grins around it. “Was looking forward to this.”

Adam pulls the lollipop from his mouth and dives in, tasting blue raspberry and smoke. He’s determined to conquer Moxley here, get a win in this, just like in the ring. He’s not sure what that exactly entails, but he wants it. He tosses the lollipop away, getting his hands on Mox’s arms. He makes sure to press down, just a little bit, on the bruises he knows are blooming from the hits during the match.

“Jesus, Cowboy, go gentle on me,” Mox says, rolling them over. “What, you want to beat me up again?”

“A little,” Adam says.

“Take off your pants, you fuckin’ dick,” Moxley says.

“You gonna shut up?”

Mox’s grin from where he slides down Adam’s body is devastating. “Well, I know you like me better when I have something in my mouth.”

Adam lets out a little laugh as Moxley makes good on the suggestion, tongue swirling around his cock the same way it had around the lollipop, and Adam might die. It’d be a good way to die, this, after the way the night went. He’s riding the high of a lifetime. Adam resists bucking up into Moxley’s mouth, desperate for this to last a little longer.

Moxley pulls off once Adam starts getting close, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “You wanna fuck me?”

Adam’s intrigued. “You gonna talk through it?”

“Maybe.”

Adam decides to err on the side of getting laid. “Take your pants off.”

Moxley keeps lube and condoms in his gym bag, which is an interesting detail Adam’s not sure he could have predicted, and the two of them move at lightning pace into the shower attached to Moxley’s room. Hands are everywhere, and Adam gets Mox in the right position against the wall.

“How’d you manage your own locker room anyway?” Adam asks, a finger deep into Moxley.

He keens a little, twists his hips. “Don’t,” he replies, “told Eddie and Ortiz to hit catering after the match.”

Adam laughs, working on opening Mox up a little more. “Desperate, are you?”

“More like I can read your horny ass like a book.” He groans a little at the way Adam’s finger moves inside of him. “You think I couldn’t tell you were sporting a semi through –” Adam speeds up his movement, and Mox falls silent, mouth open.

Adam hums, watching Mox’s face. He’s quiet, head tilted back on the tile of the shower. “Shoulda figured out this is how to shut you up a long time ago,” Adam murmurs against Mox’s neck. He slowly adds a second finger, spreading gently.

Mox’s eyes flutter open. “Hmm?”

“You gotta talk to me a little, man,” Adam laughs.

He gets a wordless babble as Mox grinds down.

“Doesn’t count,” Adam says with a laugh against Mox’s neck.

“’M ready,” Mox mumbles. “Come on, god, it’s easier to get you to punch me in the head.”

“That’s because punching you in the head is what I’m contracted to do,” Adam says, biting a little at Mox’s shoulder. But he twists his fingers a little more, drips more lube. “The fucking part I’m gonna need a little more confirmation that you’re on board.”

“So on board,” Mox says. “Just fuck me already, Christ.”

“I generally go by Hangman or Adam, but Christ works for me.” Adam makes sure Mox is relaxed, then rolls on the condom and slicks up his cock, shivering at the touch. He’s been ignoring himself, trying to make Mox feel good, and knowing he’s about to slide home is almost too much for him to handle. “You ready?”

“Oh, my god, the sweet country boy act is even more insufferable now,” Mox whines. “Yes, you fucking idiot, I’m ready.”

Adam rolls his eyes and pushes in, seeing stars at the tight warmth surrounding him.

“There you go, Cowboy,” Mox says in a sigh. “Fucking finally.”

It’s kind of like their matches, Adam muses, with the two of them exchanging the control and the direction every moment. At one point Mox turns on the shower and they get drenched, bodies sliding against each other more freely under the stream of water. Mox is about his size, but at one point Adam manages to get him up against the wall with his legs around Adam’s waist, letting Adam fuck up and in with reckless abandon the way he’d be hoping for. It doesn’t last as long as he’d want, though, because Mox soon pushes him to the shower seat and rides him almost harder than Adam can stand.

Adam can tell he’s close and is glad for the seat as he reaches down to stroke Mox’s cock with the rhythm of his thrusts, and Mox pulses over him seconds later. Adam loses focus, rhythm, control, fucking up into Mox like his life depends on it, and he comes hard, seeing stars.

Moxley slumps against Adam, catching himself by his hands on the tile behind Adam’s head. “I’m impressed, Hangman,” he says, dipping his face into Adam’s neck. “Got some stamina in you.”

“Well, I’d hoped you would have figured that out from our matches, but thanks.” Adam shifts his hips so he can slide out of Moxley. He’s too sensitive to stay, the aftershocks sending tingles up his spine. “You good?”

“Oh, hell yeah,” Mox says, rolling his shoulders. He stands, legs more steady than Adam’s finds his own after getting fucked that hard. Adam refuses to feel impressed. Moxley bounces, like he’s about to go into a match. “You wanna shower?”

“I mean, yeah, but I need a second.”

Moxley grins at him. “You blown up? You need a little rest?”

Adam laughs, letting his head rest against the tile. “Where are those fuckin’ lollipops when I need them…

#This is just stupid and I blame a tumblr post for this fic even existing anyway this is PWP but a little plot to get to the end goal #HangMox #Hangman Adam Page #Jon Moxley #wtf i like wrestling now??? #in which Sara writes #I am TIRED #This fic was way more frustrating than I expected for something with such a stupid concept #Thanks to Sarah for helping me remember that suspension of disbelief is like 80% of fanfiction!!!

[ausetkmt]

How CRDA Failed on Affordable Housing in Atlantic City — ProPublica

For the better part of the past decade, 108 Albion Place, about a block from Atlantic City’s legendary boardwalk, was a refuge for a dozen elderly and low-income residents. The property manager of the three-story house, a patchwork of tan stucco and weathered white vinyl, hosted friends and family for Sunday dinners of baked chicken, hot wings and macaroni and cheese. In the summer, tenants barbecued on the patio, enjoying the cool night air.

But in the spring of 2021, they said, they found a notice posted on their door: Tenants must vacate by June 30. The date was just six weeks away. The owner was selling the building, along with two other neighboring rooming houses. Together, the three properties provided 42 rooms and two apartments to some of Atlantic City’s most vulnerable residents.

The buyer was a state agency known as the Casino Reinvestment Development Authority, an entity established by New Jersey nearly four decades ago to use casino tax revenue to revitalize Atlantic City. And the transactions were all part of a program to reduce the number of rooming houses in the city — an undertaking that officials variously said would reduce blight, improve the city’s housing stock and expand affordable housing.

But since launching the rooming house initiative more than two years ago, CRDA has fallen well short of those goals, while displacing dozens of low-income residents in the process, an investigation by The Press of Atlantic City and ProPublica has found. In fact, in some cases, it has made neighborhood conditions worse.

Today, far from the purchase having reduced blight, the three rooming houses remain empty, boarded up, with no signs of activity, while a fourth that the agency purchased last year was demolished, leaving behind a vacant lot overgrown with weeds. In the case of 108 Albion Place, a developer has another year to start construction under its contract with CRDA, but in the meantime the property has become the kind of eyesore that officials claimed they were trying to transform. Earlier this fall, the patio was littered with empty beer cans and condom wrappers, and a makeshift bed of cardboard and old sofa cushions was tucked in a corner.

At the same time, some of the former residents are still searching for stable housing and questioning why they were rushed from the premises in the first place.

“We all took care of each other,” said Nada Gilbert, who moved into 108 Albion Place in 2015 and managed the building in the months following the death of her husband, Wayne, in April 2021.

“The way they went about everything was just wrong, period,” added Nikki Knight, a nursing aide and mother of two who rented there for five years.

The project is the latest in a string of land deals that prioritized Atlantic City’s tourism industry at the expense of local residents. Gov. Phil Murphy in 2018 had attempted to fix that, commissioning a report that directed CRDA to rebuild neighborhoods by investing in housing assistance, among other community needs. And, in turn, the agency pledged to change. Since then, however, it has spent millions of dollars to remove critical housing and social services from the city’s Tourism District, displacing low-income residents, disrupting outreach efforts and leaving additional blight throughout the city’s neighborhoods, the news organizations found. Among the shuttered properties: an addiction treatment center and a soup kitchen.

Now, in response to our findings, one of the authors of the original legislation establishing CRDA is pointing to the rooming house outcomes and questioning how the agency is using its power. “This kind of activity raises some serious red flags as to how CRDA is operating and should be a wake-up call to legislators in Trenton,” said David Sciarra, who as deputy public advocate helped write the bill creating the reinvestment authority. “They need to do some serious oversight to make sure that CRDA is operating in the best interests of all residents of Atlantic City and not just an investment arm of the casino industry.”

Murphy, who ultimately approves or vetoes CRDA’s spending, declined to comment for this story through a spokesperson, and his office referred all questions to the state agency.

CRDA officials said the agency has limited funds to service a variety of goals, which, under the law, include redevelopment as well as addressing “the pressing social and economic needs” of Atlantic City residents. “You’re trying to hit all of them,” said Lance Landgraf, CRDA’s director of planning and development. “You’re not going to hit every one.” He noted that the agency had spent $4.45 million in recent years to help renovate 153 units of affordable housing, as well as $10.3 million to build student housing at Stockton University’s Atlantic City campus. He defended the rooming house project as critical economic development.

"We needed to get those properties cleaned up and changed into a better, more viable use in the community that would promote development, not restrict it," Landgraf said.

CRDA’s former executive director, Matthew Doherty, who led the agency when the three rooming houses were purchased, agreed.

“The benefits to eliminating the blighted properties and then working with private developers to get them back on the tax rolls as useful properties will reap dividends for generations to come in Atlantic City,” said Doherty, who left the agency in late January. “Trying to enhance neighborhoods, attract private capital and improve the lives of the residents of the city is virtually impossible with rooming houses holding back progress.”

CRDA did not answer questions asking about the current blighted conditions of the properties it had purchased. But when previously criticized by state auditors for the slow return on its investments, the agency said it must be a “‘patient’ investor focused on larger policy goals and objectives.”

Meanwhile, the need for affordable housing in Atlantic City is as dire as ever.

“Where’s the success story?” demands Steve Young, a local housing activist, about the closure of the rooming houses to build a hotel. “Who came up with the concept? We’ve been hoodwinked and bamboozled for so long.”

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

When the New Jersey Legislature created CRDA in 1984, it gave the agency a mission: Use millions of dollars in casino taxes to “address the pressing social and economic needs” of Atlantic City residents. At the time, a quarter of the local population lived in poverty — more than double the state figure — so affordable housing was at the top of the priority list. In fact, in its early years, CRDA was required to dedicate 100% of its funds to the rehabilitation or construction of housing facilities for low- and middle-income families.

And for much of its first decade, the agency did that, adding hundreds of new townhomes and apartments to the city’s housing stock. But the early investment in housing didn’t last, as policymakers sought ways to counter increasing gambling competition from other states. So in 1992 CRDA leaders started to shift priorities, adopting a plan that allowed it to devote tens of millions of dollars to back commercial development: a noncasino hotel to support a new convention center, a new minor-league baseball stadium, roadway repairs.

The following year, the Legislature, concerned about a projected shortage of hotel rooms in Atlantic City, went even further: It amended the law to allow CRDA to allot $100 million for casinos’ hotel projects, effectively permitting the agency to hand casino taxes back to the industry that had paid them. State lawmakers in 1996 added another $75 million to that pot. And CRDA moved quickly, spending nearly as much on hotel expansions in the span of just four years as it had on housing projects since the agency’s launch. Additional money flowed to the industry in 2003, with the creation of a $30 million, three-year Casino Capital Construction Fund, which gaming companies could tap for new hotel rooms, retail or parking facilities or other improvements.

CRDA was established to use tax revenue from casinos like the Borgata to revitalize Atlantic City.

Construction and development in Atlantic City’s Tourism District is governed by CRDA.

Meanwhile, rents had soared and housing conditions worsened as landlords aimed to squeeze out local residents so they could sell their property to casino speculators. With its focus on supporting the gaming industry, CRDA fell well short of the housing goals that the state prescribed two decades earlier; by late 2004, it had funded the construction of just 1,394 housing units — about half of the original goal. The Great Recession drove rental demand even higher as thousands of Atlantic City residents lost their homes to foreclosure. “Legalized gambling has not fully lived up to its promise as a ‘unique tool’ for Atlantic City’s urban redevelopment,” researchers at the Federal Reserve Bank of Philadelphia wrote in a 2009 study. "High rental costs have led to overcrowding, doubling up of households, and an increased rate of homelessness among families."

In 2011, then-Gov. Chris Christie signed legislation that further strengthened CRDA’s relationship with the tourism industry, narrowing the agency’s focus to economic development within a newly created 2.5-square-mile Tourism District. The region included the city’s boardwalk and casinos, as well as the immediate surrounding areas, and the effort was intended to “enhance the cleanliness and safety” of the district. But the district map left out entire city neighborhoods, hindering those areas’ chances to obtain CRDA funding.

The next year, the agency began spending money to remove social services from the heart of the casino-lined Tourism District. CRDA leaders said certain facilities, including an addiction treatment center and a nonprofit’s now-shuttered soup kitchen, gave tourists the wrong impression of the city. “It’s detrimental, I would argue, to the growth and prosperity of the district, for us succeeding in becoming an economic generator for the region,” CRDA’s executive director at the time, John Palmieri, told The Press of Atlantic City.

For its part, the treatment center wanted to move, because it had a long waiting list and needed more space to accommodate more beds. CRDA ultimately directed millions to help the center relocate to Mays Landing, about 20 miles outside Atlantic City. The soup kitchen also agreed to relocate, and CRDA initially pledged $1 million to help it renovate a new headquarters outside the Tourism District. But then the agency reneged on that promise. At first, CRDA said the nonprofit’s contractor, which led the rebuilding of hundreds of New Jersey homes in the aftermath of Superstorm Sandy, wasn’t qualified. Then, the agency said a revised plan with a CRDA-approved contractor was too expensive. Amid the back-and-forth, city inspectors declared the nonprofit’s Tourism District building unsafe, effectively closing the soup kitchen and suspending meal services.

In the end, CRDA did provide the nonprofit with a $300,000 loan to pay off its mortgage on the new facility, but the group has been unable to raise enough money to complete the renovations that would allow it to restore hot meals.

“It just seems that the state really does more to mess with Atlantic City than almost any other place in New Jersey because we got the goose that lays the golden egg here,” said Rev. John Scotland, executive director of Friends of Jean Webster, which operates the soup kitchen that once served 300 meals a day. For the past two years, the nonprofit has been operating in a limited capacity, handing out boxes of groceries in front of its new headquarters.

Between 2012 and 2016, CRDA returned to funding housing, allocating more than $30 million to residential projects. But it made little difference to low- and middle-income residents. Half of the funds supported NoBe, a 250-unit designer high-rise and the city’s first new market-rate housing in decades; rents started at $1,500, nearly 40% higher than the median rent in Atlantic City. To be sure, because the project received federal housing tax credits, 20% of the units featured reduced rents for households earning 50% or less of the area median income. Nearly all the rest of CRDA’s investment went to two housing projects that never materialized. In one case, CRDA dedicated nearly $10 million to purchasing land that was home to more than five dozen residents in Atlantic City’s South Inlet for new housing that never came to fruition. In the other, the agency set aside $1.5 million for a developer to build 57 semidetached homes outside the Tourism District and $3.5 million to subsidize their sales to low-income buyers. But those plans fell apart when the developer realized the site wasn’t large enough to accomodate the project; CRDA had previously helped fund the widening of a road in the area ahead of a new casino opening, reducing the available land.

Today, a fence surrounds those dusty vacant lots. CRDA did not respond to questions about the failed housing deals.

In recent years, a series of critical audits blasted Atlantic City and CRDA leaders for focusing on tourism while the city’s rates of poverty, unemployment, lead exposure and infant mortality soared to among the highest in the state. “Urban challenges cannot be completely walled off,” said a 2018 report commissioned by Murphy. “Legacy cities that recover include social concerns as part of the agenda for change. Atlantic City must do that also.”

CRDA’s investment choices, however, “often had little to do with the core interests of the city,” the report said.

Agency leaders, in turn, “expressed a desire to focus greater attention on the challenges at its doorstep — the wide range of needs of Atlantic City — and exercise greater discipline in its investments intended to drive economic development,” according to the report.

In the winter of 2020, as CRDA pursued its “Vacant Rooming House Conversion Project,” officials said the initiative would “protect Atlantic City residents by providing improved housing conditions and revitalize numerous properties.” They maintained that the sheer number of Atlantic City rooming houses violated city regulations, which limit the collective occupancy of such dwellings to 0.5% of the total population and mandate that no two be within 1,000 feet of each other. And the substandard condition of many of them endangered their residents, who “constitute some of the City’s most vulnerable residents as they tend to be elderly, disabled and economically disadvantaged,” according to the CRDA resolution authorizing the program.

In exchange for giving up their licenses, rooming house owners could receive an interest-bearing loan to demolish the properties or redevelop them into other uses like apartments, single-family homes or mixed-use buildings. To be eligible, the rooming house had to be vacant and located in the Tourism District. “We’re here to help improve the housing stock in Atlantic City,” Doherty, the agency’s executive director at the time, told The Press in February 2020. “This will give us another tool at our disposal to continue to convert these rooming houses into a better form of housing stock.”

Some civic leaders and residents weren’t so sure. Sheila Hull-Freeman, president of the Bungalow Park Civic Association, expressed concern that the rooming houses would be turned into short-term rentals like Airbnbs, which locals say draw overcrowded, noisy parties that impact neighbors. And resident Geoffrey Rosenberger underscored that the properties are homes to people who work minimum wage jobs, according to minutes from the CRDA board meeting.

Nevertheless, the board unanimously approved the program, which also aligned with the priorities of city leaders, who have largely considered rooming houses a blight and a nuisance in recent years, citing violence and drug activity.

But CRDA found no takers for the loan program and soon shifted to purchasing rooming houses itself. The strategy would help the agency “still accomplish our goal of eliminating blight,” Doherty later told a local TV news station.

CRDA, however, ignored two key facts: One, 108 Albion Place and the adjacent rooming houses were not vacant; dozens of people lived there. And two, for many, like Knight and her neighbors, rooming houses had become a critical form of shelter amid the affordable housing crisis. For $800 a month, the single mother rented a one-bedroom apartment on the ground floor of 108 Albion Place. The exterior lacked curb appeal, but inside it was clean, safe and affordable — qualities that had been lacking in her last building, which was a hot spot for police activity. Her unit had a kitchen, a bathroom and a living room, which served as her teenage son Jeremyah’s bedroom.

Jeffrey Matchett lived upstairs. He had lost his Atlantic City home in 2016, unable to afford the mortgage amid rising property taxes. For $600 per month, he rented a room. It had no frills, just a bed, a dresser, a nightstand, a microwave and a refrigerator. He shared a hallway bathroom. Still, Matchett appreciated the location: From a bus stop on the corner he could easily commute to his job at the local water department. In the summer, Matchett would enjoy the ocean breeze; in the winter, he’d head toward the beach to see the storms roll in.

“I loved it. It was always peaceful,” he said.

CRDA’s first rooming house deal came in July 2020, when it approved the purchase of the Memphis Belle Inn, a 15-room rooming house in the heart of the Tourism District, a mile north of Albion Place. Officials had cited the property, which was owned by another landlord, for bedbugs, roaches, mice and dozens of necessary repairs. When later asked why the agency had selected this particular rooming house, Doherty said the acquisition was part of a larger effort to buy “rooming houses that are considered to be the most problematic from a public safety standpoint.”

The purchase piqued the interest of Michael Scanlon Jr., whose father owned 108 Albion Place and the adjacent rooming houses. While he had previously rebuffed CRDA’s efforts to enlist him in the loan program, he now seemed interested in a new deal, according to emails obtained through a public records request. “I hear that CRDA is purchasing empty rooming houses,” he wrote in a Dec. 16, 2020, email to the agency. “I’d like to discuss a possible sale.” At first, Scanlon floated selling two other properties. But before long, he added the rooming house where Knight, Gilbert and Matchett lived, along with the neighboring properties: 105 S. California Ave. and 106 Albion Place. In an interview, Scanlon Jr. told The Press of Atlantic City and ProPublica that once the pandemic started some tenants in his father’s properties stopped paying rent, meaning less revenue for the business. (Matchett and Knight said they always paid their monthly rent on time, while Gilbert, as property manager, did not have a rent payment.)

In mid-May 2021, CRDA officials inspected the rooming houses. Scanlon soon posted the eviction notice at Albion Place, residents said. For some, the timing couldn’t have been worse. Gilbert’s husband had died of COVID-19 complications in April. And Knight had just had a baby, Johari. He was only 10 months old.

“He knew I had a baby,” Knight said of the landlord. “I had, really, no words for him. I still really don’t have no words for him. Honestly.”

Matchett was also in a bind. He looked at the available rental options but couldn’t find anything within his budget. So he tapped his savings and spent $5,000 to buy a 2009 Toyota Camry. For the next month, it would serve as his new home. “I had to do what I had to do,” Matchett said. “I thought about the people that were worse off than me.”

Asked whether CRDA discussed relocation efforts with landlords in the program, Landgraf said no. “That was solely on the owners to deal with that,” he said. “Our direction to them was: ‘We will not buy this with anybody in it.’ That’s as far as I went with it.” In response to questions from the news organizations, Doherty stuck by the approach. “Selling rooming houses to CRDA was a voluntary decision by the property owners,” he said. “I do not believe our purchasing of rooming houses incentivized landlords to evict people.”

Scanlon Sr. did not respond to requests for comment. His son, Scanlon Jr., insisted he and his father did right by the Albion Place residents. Tenants were offered cash in exchange for vacating, he said — Matchett said he accepted $600, the equivalent of one month’s rent — and the opportunity to rent in Scanlon’s other properties. Scanlon Sr. also paid for a few residents to stay in hotels, his son added.

As residents scrambled to find other places to live, CRDA moved to finalize the rooming house deals.

In July 2021, the agency authorized the purchase of 105 S. California Ave. Known as Treana’s Guest House, the 12-unit rooming house backed up against the rear of the Albion Place properties. Several CRDA board members balked at the cost, $375,000, which exceeded the owner’s most recent asking price. Scanlon Sr. had listed the property on the market for $349,000.

Doherty, CRDA’s executive director, however, defended the deal. According to the board meeting minutes, Doherty said that the property had 60 calls in a year for police service and had public safety issues.

He “further stated that it is difficult to quantify what the value is to clean up the Tourism District and the rooming house issue,” according to the minutes.

Then, in September 2021, CRDA turned to 106 and 108 Albion Place. “Both of these are large rooming houses that have fallen into disrepair and have become problematic eyesores in the neighborhood,” Doherty told board members.

As with CRDA’s July approval of a rooming house purchase, some board members expressed doubts. Debra DiLorenzo, a business consultant and former president and CEO of the Chamber of Commerce Southern New Jersey, considered it a poor financial deal. The board was being asked to approve up to $1.2 million for the two properties, an amount that was considerably above market value. Moreover, DiLorenzo worried the agency was setting a bad precedent; the prior year, CRDA had purchased the Memphis Belle rooming house for $250,000 and later agreed to flip it to a developer for just $51,000. At the meeting, she predicted the same would happen with Albion Place. “We are buying high and selling low,” she said.

DiLorenzo then asked Doherty how CRDA picked the properties it wanted to buy.

“Ones that have the most calls for service, ones that are in the most disarray,” he responded. “There are some rooming houses in Atlantic City that are perfectly fine. We are going after the ones that are holding back redevelopment and progress in the Tourism District.”

Landgraf told The Press of Atlantic City and ProPublica that CRDA had based those conclusions on a report generated by the Atlantic City Police Department, but both he and the police department declined to provide it to the news organizations. According to records from the city’s Department of Licenses and Inspections, neither property had a history of code violations. And while police records obtained through a public records request show that police had in fact responded to dozens of calls at 106 Albion Place in the past year, they rarely visited the neighboring property; 108 Albion Place had prompted nine calls in that same time period, including a request for an ambulance to treat Gilbert’s husband, who was dying of COVID-19 complications.

At the CRDA meeting in September 2021, another board member, Edward Gant, a former union official, also pressed Doherty on the agency’s selection process. If CRDA is making decisions based on police calls for service, he said, are the rooming houses actually vacant?

The buildings, Doherty said, “are vacant when we purchase them.”

Gant was still unconvinced. “We definitely need to take a long pause and see where we’re going on this,” he said.

Board member Brett Matik, president of her family’s beverage distribution company, agreed. “We all want blighted properties gone in this city,” she said, “but we want to see that there is a method to helping the community and not helping developers.”

Others, however, backed the program.

“Let’s get these places empty, out and done and demolished,” said Mike Beson, a business owner and board member who lives 75 miles north of Atlantic City, citing concerns about criminal activity. (Beson declined to comment when presented with the news outlets’ findings.)

Board chair Modia Butler also supported the rooming house program. “I firmly believe in the public policy goal and think the agency is doing the right thing,” said Butler, a North Jersey-based lobbyist who previously served as chair of the Newark Housing Authority. (Butler did not respond to a request for comment for this story.)

He suggested that the board move forward with a vote and that members convene a subgroup to address their concerns. The three dissenters voted no. But with 12 votes in favor, the deals moved forward.

The agency would ultimately pay $780,000 for the Albion Place properties, county property records show. That was about $100,000 more than the seller’s most recent asking price and $40,000 more than CRDA’s own appraisal. In an interview, Landgraf said the differential was to compensate the owner for the value of the business. “Now that’s created a spot where there’s three contiguous properties that someone is going to redevelop,” he said.

In response to written questions, Doherty also defended the deal. “I believe it was worth paying a ‘Premium’ for these properties because they were a blighted detriment to the Tourism District and stood in the way to making improvements to this neighborhood and the city,” he said. “If we didn’t pay a premium, they would have simply gone to another rooming house landlord and nothing would have changed.”

But Young, the local housing advocate, said CRDA had other options besides closing the rooming houses down. The agency, he noted, has code enforcement powers in the Tourism District and funds police there. “You control enforcement over everything,” he said. “Why would you let it get to that?”

Likewise, Alan Mallach, a senior fellow at the Center for Community Progress, a Michigan-based nonprofit that advocates for the revitalization of vacant and abandoned properties, said there were ways to preserve affordable housing while addressing the concerns about crime. “If you want to reduce the nuisance,” said Mallach, who was an advisor to the governor’s 2018 report, “Why not buy the rooming houses and resell them to the best available nonprofit operator of rooming houses that you can find so that they would be better maintained?”

CRDA did not respond to questions about the criticisms.

In all, CRDA paid a company tied to Scanlon Sr. a total of $1,155,000 for the three rooming houses, and earlier this year its board unanimously approved selling them to Liberty Hudson, which operates 18 Airbnbs in Atlantic City, including one that was set to host MTV’s “Jersey Shore 2.0” show until the production was paused this summer. The sale price: $150,000.

Ahead of the board’s okay, CRDA leadership noted the group would not seek additional subsidies or financing from the agency beyond the “reduced” price. “We have to hold this developer to the fire,” said board member William Mullen, president of the New Jersey State Building & Construction Trades Council. “Very stringent timelines and make sure this gets done.”

Liberty Hudson partner John Errico said the firm’s sales contract with CRDA stipulates that construction must begin no later than September 2023; workers must make the prevailing wage; the firm should spend more than $1 million on construction, which it expects to easily surpass; and it cannot sell the properties before redevelopment has been completed. Hotel rates, the developer said, are expected to range between $100 and $500 a night, depending on tourist demand. “I understand the optics of it, but I don't really know what other lever there is for a government agency to pull to solve this problem,” Errico said of the sale of the rooming houses. “It’s like choosing from a bunch of really bad options.”

Offering private real estate developers a deal on property is routine for CRDA. For instance, in 2020, it paid $4.1 million to acquire the addiction treatment center and its separate residential facility in Midtown. A year later, the CRDA board approved selling the center and an adjacent vacant lot to Odin US Holdings for one dollar. The firm proposed developing 56 market-rate apartments at the site, but the sale has not yet closed. A company spokesperson said he expects that to happen this month, but he could not give specifics on a timeline.

Harriet Newburger, the lead author of the 2009 Philadelphia Fed study, which found that CRDA had prioritized the city’s gambling industry over residents, agreed. “It just looks like the more things change, the more they stay the same in Atlantic City,” she said. “The neighborhoods shouldn’t be treated second behind the industry.”

By the time CRDA purchased 108 Albion Place, its former residents were scattered across Atlantic City. After sleeping in his car for a month, Matchett found a studio apartment in the city’s Back Maryland neighborhood with the help of a nonprofit. And Gilbert and Knight took Scanlon Sr. up on his offer to relocate to another one of his properties, a Westside rowhome that he had purchased for $12,500 at sheriff’s sale in 2018. More than a mile from the beach and boardwalk, the property borders a power generating station and is a short walk from a homeless shelter. The street is prone to flooding, the water rising high enough to cover the home’s front steps.

The two women and Knight’s teenage son share the three-bedroom home and pay $1,400 a month in rent — an increase for them compared to Albion Place, where monthly utilities were cheaper and Gilbert, as property manager, paid no rent. In recent months, though, they’ve been withholding payment because of the property’s poor condition. Knight said persistent leaks already ruined her mattress, and she’s moved her furniture away from the wall to avoid any more damage. On a visit in mid-August, The Press of Atlantic City and ProPublica observed the ceiling bulging overhead and the bathroom sink precariously attached to the wall. In the hallway, the carpet had been removed from the staircase, leaving behind staples and other metal fasteners. Both women complained about roaches and mosquitoes, which they say have multiplied because of the standing water in Knight’s ceiling.

Scanlon Jr. did not respond to multiple phone calls and emails seeking comment on Gilbert and Knight’s claims. But after the news organizations’ visit to the property, the sink was replaced and new carpeting was installed in the stairwell, Gilbert said. Then, in late August, Scanlon initiated eviction proceedings against the two women for nonpayment of rent. Knight and Gilbert, who are fighting the eviction, maintain that the conditions are still unsafe.

Knight said her other son, Johari, who is now 2 years old, was continually battling colds and getting bug bites, so she sent him to live with a family friend in early 2022. “As long as he has been at her house, he has not been sick,” Knight said. (Last week, after the news organizations sent a final request for comment to Scanlon Sr. and Scanlon Jr., Gilbert said a maintenance worker showed up to inquire about additional repairs. She said the worker mentioned the letter sent by The Press of Atlantic City and ProPublica.)

On a recent Friday afternoon, the two women sat on the porch, with makeshift pillars propping up a sagging roof, as Johari visited for the day. They thought about their old home, how their landlord made them move out and how CRDA bought the property.

#Atlantic City #NJ #Residents treated like non people by CDRA #How CRDA Failed on Affordable Housing in Atlantic City #affordable housing #Black Lives Matter

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MORE BRUDICK FIC RECS

Daddy by MLFuder

Summary: Occasionally, Dick got the courage to ask why Bruce remained single; why Brucie hadn’t picked up Vicki again or Silver. He teased Bruce about joining Lois and Clark, suggesting neither would mind. Bruce, the bastard, simply looked at him calmly and turned the question around on him with a raised eyebrow. Dick had no answer that wasn’t something along the lines of I’ve been in love with you for more than half my life you fucking idiot and so shrugged and left the man alone.

Casino Royale by ChancellorGriffin

Summary: Boravia’s grand casino, once a hotbed of European crime, has reopened with a high-stakes poker tournament Bruce Wayne suspects may be the work of Roulette. In a country where superheroes are banned, the only way to foil a criminal conspiracy is to enter the tournament as himself, and play his way up to the top. But not just any card-playing billionaire can get his name on the list. The real price of admission is a lot higher than the two million dollar buy-in. You also need a secret to offer up as your stake. A dirty one. The kind a man like Bruce Wayne would pay dearly to keep quiet. Enter Dick Grayson. Though he agrees to accompany Bruce to the tournament in the guise of his illicit lover, to help him fake a blackmail-worthy secret besides the one with masks and capes, Dick's not wild about spending so much time with his old friend in flirtatious playboy mode; but somehow it's harder than expected to watch Bruce direct that legendary charisma at other people, and Dick doesn't quite know why. Over the course of four days, what began as a straightforward undercover job devolves into a messy emotional tangle which forces both men to confront truths they’ve kept hidden for years . . . even from themselves.

When You Say Nothing, You Really Mean Everything by victoriousscraf

Summary: Dick stood in the batcave, watching Bruce hunched over the computer. “So,” he said, because since the night before Bruce hadn't said a word to him. “Are we gonna talk about it?”

“Talk about what?” Bruce asked, and his voice was hoarse from screaming.

The Case of the Missing Son by FleetSparrow

Summary: Dick Grayson is a P.I. working in Gotham after a successful clean up of the 'Haven. Unfortunately, Gotham's a bit more corrupt. Still, when Bruce Wayne gives him a case, Dick is determined to solve it, not just for the money, but for Bruce's affections, too. But this case may turn out bigger than he had ever anticipated.

Breathe Gotham by purplefox

Summary: The years change and Dick still loves Gotham and Bruce

Old Dog, New Tricks by McKat

Summary: Dick Grayson somehow ends up in the Batman Beyond world, and he and Bruce come to terms with some things.

Terry is there for moral support, and to help push things along.

Pistols for Two by Antiquity

Summary: Regency AUs inspired by and fused with selected short stories written by Georgette Heyer, as compiled in her book "Pistols for Two".

Gray Areas by Rawrbin

Summary: "There were a lot of gray areas when it came to the law."

Bruce muses on these supposed "gray areas" as he takes on another crime and then celebrates a job well done.

#brudick #brudick fic #fic rec #dickbru #bruce wayne x dick grayson

[thisislizheather]

Trip To Las Vegas

Above Photo: View from the Rio Hotel, Las Vegas

Back in September, I took my third trip to Las Vegas and I’m finally recapping it now, forgive the lateness. The first time I went was when I was 21 and it was beyond depressing, the second time I went I did way more things that I wanted to do (and wrote about that time over here) and this time was even better.

Above Photo: Baby Dog poolside at the Rio, Las Vegas

Also, Baby Dog went to the west coast! If that doesn’t seem insane to you, well, it should. She’s a tiny little dog who was abandoned and now she’s strutting through casinos - a success story for the ages. Nathan was doing shows at the Rio for the week, so we made a trip out of it. Tip: a week in Vegas feels like a month, the ideal time to stay is 3-4 days max. Highlights below!

Above Photo: “I’ve made it.”

I went to The Sahara to have dinner at Bazaar Meat by José Andrés. I got the patatas bravas, the spanish meatballs and the cotton candy fois gras. Everything was delicious and perfect. I. love that man’s food. Later that night I headed to The Palms to get a drink at Ghost Bar on the 55th floor. And yeah, the view is nice but it wasn’t anything too special.

Above Photo: View from atop Ghost Bar, Las Vegas

The next day we went to see David Copperfield (who was wonderful) and then I went to see Nathan’s show at the Cellar, which was great. And then we played some KISS mini-golf inside the Rio, which you definitely should do if you’re anywhere near the Rio.

Above Photo: David Copperfield statue

Above Photo: Nathan, pre-Copperfield

Above Photo: KISS Mini Golf, Las Vegas

I also got to eat at Martha Stewart’s new restaurant The Bedford, which was good but definitely overhyped. Of course my expectations were high because 1) I love her and 2) she’s never opened a restaurant before. The servers are extremely well trained (which is wonderful, I love this detail) they have even been taught to say “cheers” in Polish. The attention to detail on the decor of the individual tables as well as the entire space is perfection, even the temperature was just right. However, there had to be cons. All burgers should have round buns, what reason is there to mess with that simple fact? The smashed potato (which is smashed table-side) is an incredibly stupid idea and almost seems like a joke on the white people who would actually enjoy it. Small side orders of sauces should absolutely never cost $9, that’s ludicrous. The fries were wildly overcooked in overused oil (how does one mess up french fries?) and the prices, sure, they were outrageous but that fact tracks since it’s in Las Vegas. The homemade mustard was really tasty (maybe because you never come across homemade?) and her béarnaise sauce was perfect. The oysters Rockefeller were good, if only a little bit chilly. All in all, it was an experience. One that I’ll happily never have to have again. (The Times has a great piece on it, if you care about all things Martha.)

Above Photo: Oysters Rockefeller at The Bedford

Above Photo: Burger at The Bedford

The real highlight of the trip was going to The Neon Museum, which features signs from old casinos and other famous Las Vegas businesses displayed outdoors. I took the nighttime tour and I promise you - this is the tour to take. Almost all of the signs were lit up in all their glory and it was incredibly to see. I talked about it in way more length on this Instagram highlight reel.

Above Photo: The Neon Museum, Las Vegas

Above Photo: The most beautiful sign at The Neon Museum

Some things I would maybe want to do on my next visit:

Eat at Capriotti’s and get The Bobbie again (it’s a Thanksgiving turkey sandwich that will melt your brain, it’s so good)

Find the art-o-mat (takes $5 bills) at The Cosmopolitan

Brunch at Eggslut

Eat at Giada’s at The Cromwell

Find Wayne Newton’s star on the walk of fame outside The Paris

Get the steak frites at Mon Ami Gabi (or white chocolate bread pudding)

Go to the Shelby Heritage Centre to see old cars (free)

Visit The Golden Nugget again and The Plaza (this is the inspiration behind Biff’s Tanner’s Pleasure Paradise in Back To The Future II)

Visit Red Rock Canyon (this is a MUST)

Visit a pawn shop

Also the view from the plane ride back home was breath-taking. I was glued to the window.

Above Photo: The view from the plane as we left Las Vegas

And a tiny small sidenote? I love that there are still thriving TCBY stands in airports across America. Goddamn, it really is the best frozen yogurt out there.

Such a great trip!

#Las Vegas #Nevada #Las Vegas things to do #must do las vegas #nevada must do list #this is liz heather #Liz Heather #Nathan Macintosh #Rio #Rio Las Vegas #Baby Dog #things to do in vegas #David Copperfield #KISS #kiss mini golf #fun things vegas

[gotham-crimes]

Four guards ruthlessly murdered. 1 million stolen from the Wayne casino.

The legalised casino of the wayne industries was attacked last night which resulted in all guards being severely injured. One of the guards had their toe nails forcefully removed as a sign of torture. Four guards tragically losing their life.

The wayne industries has taken upon itself to pay for the guards treatment while also trying to recover the one million that has been stolen.

The GCPD has not put forward any statements on the matter, they say they are still investigating.

Who could do such an act? Is it for the money or to make the Wayne's look bad?

If you have any information on the matter please contact gotham crimes or GCPD.

#only in gotham rp #only in gotham #gothamite #gotham