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vexwerewolf · 1 year

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Tabletop Roleplaying Systems as DHMIS Stills

Promethean: The Created

Shadowrun

Vampire: The Requiem

Hunter: The Vigil

Shadow of the Demon Lord

Monster of the Week

GURPS

Dungeons & Dragons 5E/D&D One

Starfinder

Call of Cthulhu

Eclipse Phase

Delta Green

Mage: The Awakening

Don't Rest Your Head

Cyberpunk RED

Lancer

FATE Core

Literally Any Warhammer 40K TTRPG

Transformers RPG

Pathfinder

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talentforlying · 2 months

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i'm actually so fucking serious re. constantine and self-imposed time loops, like this guy!! this guy cannot look away. he is chronically incapable of knowing something bad is happening or someone is being hurt and turning his back, no matter how bad for his health it'll be to look, no matter how he figures his chances of winning are. his WHOLE THING about magic is 'if not me then who?' and everyone on the outside of magic, on the fringes of his life, has to watch him hurl himself at other people's problems and crawl away bleeding or walk away Wrong, and they have to decide how long they're willing to watch that for.

#( ooc. ) OUT OF CIGS.#thinking of the vast difference between cheryl (refuses to engage w/ his magic life. doesn't see him often enough to see the good he can do #and chas (lets john set the pace. inevitably gets hurt/falls behind. resents him for the collateral but knows the decency at his core.)#and the balancing act that kit tried and failed to be for him (no magic but close enough to see him for him)#because he is incapable of divorcing himself from magic and from the fires that other people set #he's a good man at heart!! it's on his fucking sleeve!! but he won't leave the fucking time loop and it is taking him apart piece by piece #it will always take more than it gives. than He gives it. and people in his life will always have to choose between vigil and ignorance #i'm SO fucking normal about it #( headcanons. ) I'M JUST LIKE THE BASTARDS I'VE HATED ALL ME LIFE.

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queer-as-used-by-tolkien · 2 years

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Storyline Study: Personal Story

Yesterday, I reblogged various threads of a post about what makes "war stories" so special, and now I'm going to derail into GW2.

Please note that this may be colored slightly by the fact that I main human + Vigil story. Feel free to read that into this analysis. (Also, playing as norn I think puts a slightly different spin on the PS, so this doesn't apply to them as much.)

The reason I, personally, am so attached to GW2 is because of the reasons we're fighting. Core/PS was introduced with "the dragons are horrific eldritch abominations, forces of nature we can't HOPE to stop, whose champions' defeats take the sacrifice of whole races." This is literally the synopsis on the back of Edge of Destiny. The price of fighting is huge, on a national level and a personal one, and everyone in the story consistently chooses to pay it anyway. What's interesting is why.

PS opens up with the player, young, untraveled, and naive, fighting in defense of the only home they's ever known - the city they's lived in all their life (or the Dream they haven't set foot outside of yet). They spends the next thirty levels traveling, fighting back the same threat they was faced with at level one, getting to know their racial mentor, and, eventually, learning about dragon minions.

I've talked before in a reblog (but apparently it got deleted, so here's the OP) about how the real reason the player is so famous is because they help people. In all the mundane ways, not just the big, war-related ones; they expresses care and concern for the civilians who suffer, in every map and throughout every map meta. They's done that from day one. They isn't famous because they fought the baddie in the tutorial; they was fighting alongside already well-established heroes, and at best the player is acknowledged only by association. No, the player is famous because they spread their care and kindness throughout the countryside afterward, becoming a hero in connection to their big heroic accomplishment at the tutorial only retroactively. (I mean, it's even in the name: renown hearts. Almost nowhere else in the game does it refer to our fame so blatantly.)

Throughout all eighty levels, the player continues to do this, showing their care and concern for the civilians, showing where their heart lies - with the people of the world who will suffer if someone doesn't step up to fight the dragons.

After the story establishes this solid motivation for the player, through focusing the story on aiding your country and becoming a valued advisor of your nation's top leadership, the player chooses an Order - chooses, in essence, that the way they can serve their country best is by fighting the dragons. That choice was generally understood to be a death sentence, because Elder Dragons were understood to be unstoppable forces of nature. But the player chose it anyway, because defending their country - their world - was important enough to try anyway, to go out fighting despite it being impossible.

I'm Vigil main, and I'm heavily Vigil-biased in all ways, but "some must fight so that all may be free" is a pretty good descriptor of the whole PS. Aside from being Almorra's personal motivation, and the motivation of the whole Vigil, it is also shown to be the motivator of the player, regardless of Order, by their behavior throughout the game.

The player chooses their Order but does not stop lending aid to anyone around who so much as looks like they need it; a passing traveler or merchant without a guard draws the player like a moth to a flame, and they pitches in to any regional or local battle they finds. This shows where their heart is, in the love and care and concern for the common people.

The player could've served their country or the world some other way, but they chose to fight dragons, because they saw dragons as most important. They saw dragons as more important than even their racial mentor did; this is the key that eventually brings Destiny's Edge together; "you have led, by word and by deed."

The player continues this even after being appointed Commander, and the story supports this by introducing the other primary character, Trahearne. Trahearne can be seen as symbolically representing the important qualities of the Commander, almost as a backup in case/when these qualities get edited out by players.

Trahearne also plays the role of a major supporting character, having similar goals and motivations; he has dedicated his life to cleansing Orr, because it used to be full of such life and what has happened to it is a tragedy - something to fix, and something to prevent from happening again. The devastation of Orr can be understood to symbolize the devastation to the people of Tyria if the dragons are allowed to win, and Trahearne's response to it as something that has already happened perfectly encapsulates the way the Commander reacts to it as something that cannot be allowed to happen in the future.

And the great and amazing thing is that everyone else in the story agrees. All the vast armies of unnamed soldiers - they have those same motivations and values. We know that because the Orders wouldn't exist otherwise. Nobody wants to fight such a losing battle unless they're bitter and/or seeking (futile) revenge. And those few are not the ones who are passionately leading the charge.

The leaders are the people like Almorra and Trahearne, who are fighting because the devastation and loss of life is so abhorrent to them, personally. The Pact is such a beautiful thing because everyone is united in a common goal, by a common motivation, because the dragons are honestly just that evil.

But most powerful of all is that we never expected to win. Cleansing Orr was supposed to be impossible. Killing Elder Dragons was assuredly impossible. Even trying to fight the dragons was just a defiant cry into the void, a declaration that we would not go down without a fight. Nobody expected to win, just to die, sure they'd done all they could.

And that refusal to do otherwise, the refusal to do other than hope, even amidst the destruction and lifelessness and horror of Orr, was motivated by our love for our homelands, for our people. And the player showed that by a lifestyle of helping wherever they could - by every renown heart and every event, multiple times per level, for eighty levels.

That's why I love the PS so much, I think. It's about hope in the face of the impossible, fighting on in the face of despair, because the world and life is worth fighting for, not because we ever expected to win.

And that's why actually cleansing Orr and defeating Zhaitan were such huge milestones, why everyone spent so much time marveling that we actually did it - because nobody was doing it in order to actually do it, but rather because they couldn't, in good conscience, do anything else, and it was worth it to give their lives to the cause.

The rest of the game post-Zhaitan does keep this theme of caring about the civilians, of course; but fighting the dragons now is just really difficult, not impossible and hopeless. Now there is a chance of survival, and you're fighting for a better future, and fighting isn't that hard anymore. You're not walking to certain death, you're fighting for a hope, emboldened because you know it really is possible.

After Zhaitan's defeat, there always remain hearts and events alongside the main story, because at heart the Commander is a kind and caring person who fights for the civilians, but the story itself is no longer about that concern, it's no longer about showing why the Commander cares or how dedicated the Commander is to the cause, but rather about the logistics of getting that done. It's about the Commander using their own force of inspiration, and the cause of fighting for home and country, to gather allies, proving it again and again, but in a sort of background way. The main focus of the story has moved on.

The story has moved on to questions such as is it even a good idea to be fighting dragons? The story has been, slowly, ever since S3 at the latest, having us question our decisions, making dragons out to be less and less "eldritch abominations" and more and more "corrupted/tormented by their own magic," with the ability to be spoken to and reasoned with, and even pitied. This idea runs counter to everything I've just talked about.

The ending of S4, where we speak to Kralkatorrik and we find out he's been controlled by his Torment this whole time and he's actually thoroughly miserable - it COMPLETELY destroys the whole point of Almorra's story and the way it related so beautifully to the rest of the game that made it compelling. And this is true of all of Core PS - to find out we were just wrong the whole time, completely ignorant, just misunderstanding the whole nature of the universe? That, by rights, we shouldn't have been trying to kill Zhaitan, but speak to him? It destroys all the moral and emotional credibility of the whole story. (I try to think about that as little as possible.)

Really, Core PS (and maybe up through HoT, perhaps) is a completely different story with a completely different message than S3 and onwards, and maybe that's why I've never really cared about the later parts of GW2 so much.

I've always preferred the PS because it is the most compelling part of the GW2 storyline. It was our first time. We had never won before. We were fighting clearly outlined Evil, personified as unstoppable forces of nature, and we could only win against them by such extreme acts of selfless Good as sacrificing our lives for strangers.

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coreofthebible · 2 years

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Steadfast desire for God

Every believer in the God of the Bible has a challenge to remain earnestly seeking God. In the Proverbs, the Wisdom of God is personified as a woman at the gates of the city, shouting to those who pass by and encouraging those who would seek the favor of God to come to her. Proverbs 8:34-35 – Happy is the man who listens to me, watching daily at my gates, waiting beside my doors. For he who…

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tikkunolamresistance · 5 months

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As a heads up, the Western propaganda machine is going to be much worse. Now that there's confirmation that South Africa are preparing to take Britain and the United States to the International Court of Justice (ICJ) for complicity in the State of Israel’s war crimes and genocide on Gaza- we think that it's important to note that it's almost like clockwork that the propaganda machine will skyrocket with new anti-Palestinian resistance defamation and unfounded allegations levied to further hostility within our already divided communities.

Read more on South Africa's proposal here:

News sourced from Anadolu Ajansı.

It’s a no-brainer that we’ll see a sharp rise in pro-Israel propaganda, and it’s highly likely that there’ll be a crackdown on pro-Palestinian and anti-Zionist rallying. You see, the Capitalist hegemony is almost ridiculously predictable once you figure out how it functions and operates; the historical cycle of committing atrocities and subsequently excusing themselves with absurd lies of brainwashing propaganda. The United States and United Kingdom will certainly not take kindly to South Africa's intention to charge them in this international lawsuit- thus they will need a retaliation that gains more favour for them from the general public.

Expect more confounded accusations of antisemitism and Jew-hatred imposed on celebrities, organisations, journalists, even nations. Expect more fascist laws passed to silence Palestinian resistance support, and more Islamophobic fear-mongering.

Propaganda is not always easy to spot and deconstruct, so be sure to stay vigilant and think critically in context of current events. However the Imperial core are growing weaker, with such incredible numbers, millions of people, showing support to Palestine internationally- we are no longer easily fooled by their usual tactics. In the putrid face of propaganda, the Palestinian resistance persists.

#free palestine #palestine #anti capitalism #anti imperialism #jumblr #jewish thought #tikkun olam #jewish antizionism #jews for palestine #propaganda machine

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i-cant-sing · 1 year

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Jason with baby reader whose very affectionate with him but a total menace with everyone else?

Platonic Yandere Batfam x reader

Yesss obviously 💖💖💖 okay but like imagine something with me:

Reader being the youngest addition to the batfam, could be Bruce's bio kid or not, doesn't really matter. The only reason she even ended up at the Wayne Manor was because perhaps Gordon kinda begged Bruce to take you in because he doesn't want you to end in the horrible foster system of Gotham, just asking Bruce to look after you for a couple of months until Gordon can find a good home and adopt you himself.

Anyways, that doesn't happen because Gordon dies. So what was supposed to be a few months, ended up being an indefinite stay.

Okay usually this would be the point when their yandere tendencies start to show but let's say this time- it don't happen.

Look Bruce and the batfam are like super busy with that crime fighting life, believe it or not, vigilant-y life takes a lot of their time. When their not busy saving Gotham, they're either at home resting and recovering, or at work/school. They simply do not have time for family bonding.

Or so you thought.

You've seen the boys going to the "secret" batcave (u found out soon about their hero identities, cause you're smart like that.) and they spend a lot of time training, so they're definitely bonding. While you don't reveal that you already know about their identities and continue to play the fool, it still kinda... hurts to be surrounded by so many people who are supposed to be "family" yet don't treat you as such. Damian snaps at you anytime you ask if you could join him and the others on anything theire doing- even something as simple as just playing video games.

(And then i found out about Damian and Dick being each others fav siblings) Dick tries to be amicable but even he'd turn down hanging with you in favour of taking Damian out to the carnival, saying something along the lines of "Oh Y/n, its just- I haven't seen Damian in a looong time, and it'd be unfair to him if I brought you along because he's just been lookin forward to this outing for so long. Maybe we can do something next time?" But next time doesn't come around, with Dick always prioritising Damian over you.

You thought that Tim would be easier to spend time with, since he's home a lot more than others, but he's a workaholic to the core, and even of you did swing by with a coffee, just to check up on him, he'd plain out tell you to leave, to bother someone else because he just doesn't have the time. And yet there he was, talking for hours on the phone with Conner.

Jason was nice to you even though you initially thought he'd hate you like he hated Damian and well... his other brothers and Bruce as well. But surprisingly, you got along with him. Probably because he thought of you as this sweet kid who didn't know any better about the world, who just needs to be shielded by Gotham and more importantly- Bruce. Maybe that's why Jason talked to you- you're the only one in the house who's not a hero. Maybe that's what he needed: a healthy relationship with someone normal. And it would've been great if he actually hung around more than an hour. No, he was far too busy with ending criminals, or as he liked to tell you "my job doesn't allow me any holidays. Also, I hate Bruce and would swallow a cactus than stay in his home." But at least he brought you souvenirs from the around the world! His "job" had him travelling the world.

Perhaps the boys are just too busy, or don't like spending time with girls, so you decided to go to Bruce. But he's always busy, either with work or with Gotham, or with one of his sons. He is aware of your presence, he just doesn't exactly know what to do about it. With you not being a vigilante or exhibiting any qualities that he would deem extraordinary or impressive, he doesn't know what to do with you. Sure, he's set you an account where he's given you more than enough money to cover all your expenses and everything else, but that's all he gives. Just financing you until you're independent. He doesn't check in with you, not really interested in your average life, and he won't say it out loud but sometimes, he may have even forgotten about you. A few times, he may have taken you along with him to some galas with his sons, and when you're alone with him, you can sense that he's not... pleased? Content? Happy? Sure, he puts an arm around your shoulder and smiles for the cameras, but you can see the way his eyes wander around the room to find something more interesting, more worthy of his attention. The way he taps his fingers with unease, giving you curt replies and dismissive smiles when you tried to talk about schoo or anything, it all made you realise that you are not a child in his eyes.

You are a burden.

No. No, that couldn't possibly be the case. I mean, he took you in. Bruce wouldn't do that if he didn't care about you, right?

Still, to test that theory, you left the gala, alone and without informing anyone. Surely, he or one of the boys would notice your absence. Surely.

They didn't, even as the gala ended, they all left in their own cars, no one even thought to stop and wonder if you were riding with any of them. Hurt and depressed, you made the stupid decision of walking home in your fancy gown. Of course you'd be pulled in the alleyway and be mugged. The low lives decided that they wanted more than just your money, and when you realised their vile intentions, you began thrashing in their arms to break free, resulting in one of them punching your face repeatedly. Just when you thought all was lost, suddenly those pervs were thrown off you and were shot dead. You looked up and were surprised to find out who was your saviour-

Red Hood.

"Jason?"

"Y/n? I mean, who?" Jason was shocked to see you here, more so when you recognised it was him under the mask.

You rolled your eyes. "You can drop the act, Jay. I've known for a while." You groaned in pain as he helped you up. "Shit, you okay?" He asked, helping you walk towards a nearby bench. "Yeah. I mean I got mugged, but yeah..."

"Wait, what are you even doing out here this late?" You told him about the gala. "Soooo... why didn't you go home with them?"

You shrugged. "Just needed to confirm something."

"Yeah? And what's that?"

You remained silent, not wanting to discuss the topic further. Jason sighed before pulling out his phone. "I'm gonna call, Alfred. Have him send a car so pick you up." You grabbed his hand before he could dial.

"I cant- I don't want to go home." He raised a brow. "Why? What's wrong? Did Bruce do something? I swear to god I'll beat-" you shook your head. "No, Jay- look, I just need a break. If it's not too much to ask, can I spend the night with you? Or you can lend me some money and I'll stay at a hotel or something. Promise I'll go back home tomorrow."

Jason stared at you, trying to figure what's bothering you, but he also didn't want to push you by asking. So he nodded. "Of course, you can stay with me tonight. But only if you promise to make me your delicious chocolate chip cookies tomorrow." You smiled, nodding.

Jason took you to his apartment, cleaned up your wounds, cooked you dinner, cracked some jokes and then tucked you in bed. He actually tucked you in bed. He'd never know, but that simple gesture had you crying until you finally fell asleep.

When you returned home the next day, you weren't really surprised that no one had noticed you didn't return home last night.

No one in that house even knew how you were almost rap-

"Miss Y/n?" Alfred called from the kitchen, eyes wide as he took in your bruised face. "What happened? Are you alright?"

You nodded. "Yeah. I fell on the concrete pavement, someone pushed me accidentally-"

"Alfred?!" Bruce called from the dining room.

"You better go. And Alfred-" He stopped. "-don't mention this to him. I don't want him to worry over nothing."

Alfred nodded, leaving to serve Bruce and the boys breakfast. You don't think he'd tell Bruce and even if he did, you don't think he'd actually worry-

"Y/n?" Bruce was standing at your door, eyes narrowing at your face. "Alfred told me you fell?" He walked upto you, inspecting your face. Wait, did he actually came to check up on-

"How many times did you fell? Face first? Because that's a lot of bruises."

"It was a concrete pavement."

"We don't have concrete pavements in the house."

"I was out leaving from a cafe when I fell. Just wanted to eat some bagels." You continued to lie.

Bruce narrowed his eye at you before sighing. "Look, I don't have time for this. If you're in trouble, just tell me."

"I'm not."

"Then do you really expect me to believe that you fell? Is this a desperate cry for attention?" He pinched the bridge of his nose. "If you really did fall in public, "multiple times" as you claim, did you at least get a cab? I don't want anyone taking pictures of you like this and make headlines tomorrow about one of the Wayne kids being abused. I won't have you tarnish the family name."

What? Did he just- did he really say that?

"No. Its not-" you were interrupted by his phone ringing, and Bruce left you to take the call.

You sat there on your bed, dumbfounded and even more heartbroken than before, mind replaying the words over and over again, trying to make sense, make EXCUSES for him, that perhaps you misunderstood him.

But you didn't.

That day, you had finally given up on the batfam. You refused to make a fool of yourself any longer by hoping that one day they'd accept you. You were and always will be an outsider to them. You won't depend on him any longer, even for your finances.

Years went by and you worked hard on yourself to get admission in a highly prestigious college with a fully funded scholarship, all while you worked to handle your expenses. When you got your admission letter, you didn't even bother telling anyone at home about it. Instead, you went out for lunch with Jason to celebrate (who had been dropping by more regularly ever since that night you were mugged), who was more than overjoyed, ruffling your hair and telling you how proud he was of "the only sibling smart enough to bust him out of jail and retirement homes." Jason truly did want this for you- to be normal and go to college like other normal people.

You moved out of the Wayne Manor quietly and moved into your college dorms in a different city, where you found an even better job on the side. The job that now helped you save up enough money to start paying Bruce back for all the years he had to spend housing, clothing and feeding you.

After a couple of months, you were able to wrote your first cheque to Bruce. And if it weren't for the large sum of money and your name attached to it, Bruce wouldn't have realised that he hadn't talked or even seen you for a while. He didn't allow himself to feel guilty for thinking that he may have forgotten about your existence for quite some time.

Picking up the phone, he called you and asked you about the cheque.

"I'm paying you back." Bruce was a little surprised to hear the monotonous tone.

"For?"

"The money you spent on me all these years?"

"Why? And how are you even paying?"

"I've got a job." What? When did this happen? "Look, I gotta go. I have class." You cut the call, and what class? As far as he remembers, Alfred had said something about attending your high-school graduation earlier this year.

Were you in college?

No, no. If you were attending college, he would know. Surely, you'd tell him. And even if you didn't or he forgot, he would remember paying for your tuition. Or maybe he already was, from the account in your name where he sent monthly payments.

Curious, he called the bank, only to be informed that you haven't used the account in years! They did inform him that you opened a separate account, and since Bruce owned the bank, they let him see the account and what you've using it for.

That's how he found out about your college.

You were just leaving your class to go home when you spotted him leaving the Dean's office. Apparently you were not the only one who spotted him, as your classmates all started talking about the famous Bruce Wayne. As Bruce's eyes met yours, you immediately turned and walked the opposite way until you had left the campus, and you went home.

You weren't surprised to see his car outside your apartment. But you were a little surprised to see him in sitting inside your apartment, sitting on the couch with an unamused expression.

"What do you want?" You asked, dropping your bag.

Bruce raised a brow at you. "What? No, hello?" He sighed. "Why did you leave the campus after seeing me?"

"I don't want to be associated with you."

His gaze turned stern. "Why? Are you embarrassed?"

No, I hate you. "No one will take me seriously if they knew I was related to you. I just want to be-"

"-independent? Is that why you sent me this cheque?" Bruce pulled out the piece of paper and dropped it on your coffee table. "Why are you doing this?"

"I told you, I just wanted to pay you off."

"You don't need to. You're family."

Only on paper. You thought.

You shrugged. "Doesnt matter. I'm paying you back every cent."

Bruce stood up, walking right in front of you and it was just then that he realised how much you'd grown up. You looked nothing like the scared little kid who was always peeking from around corners. You had matured, far too much for your age. He could see the little bags under your eyes, the wrinkles on your forehead, the disdain in your eyes.

"Why are you trying to cut me out of your life?" Before you could argue, he put a hand up. "I saw the documents. You didn't list "Wayne" as a surname on your college documents. You're trying to distance yourself from the Wayne name? Are you in trouble? Have you done something... dishonourable?"

You scoffed. All these years and all he cares about is his public image.

"Dont worry, I haven't done anything to bring down your family name." You spat. "Look, just take the cheque and leave. You'll never hear from me again, either in the media or otherwise."

Bruce glared at you, clearly slighted. "You're being difficult for no reason." You had to bite your tongue to stop yourself from going off on him.

He turned around to leave, not bothering to pick up the cheque.

"How'd you get inside?" You asked when he opened the door. You wanted to know, especially since you took all the right measures Jason taught you to stop anyone from breaking in.

He looked over his shoulder and smiled.

"I bought the building."

You moved to a new place the next day, after you found out that the landlord refused to accept payments from you, since "your father owns the building. You don't need to pay rent." You wish it was easier to change schools though because apparently the everyone now knows you're Bruce Wayne's kid, which everyone figured out when someone called "Y/n WAYNE, please report to the Dean's office", who showed you that he had the college administration fix the little mess up of "forgetting to add Wayne to your name in all the documents" and then told you that he's very grateful to your father for his very generous donation to the college.

Bruce didn't bother you much after that interaction, except for monthly cheques and cash he'd send you, but you're never using cashing them. He also sends you regular invites to galas and social gatherings or even family dinner at home. You don't go to Wayne Manor anymore, not unless absolutely necessary.

Like today, when Bruce called you to come home for a "family portrait" for a magazine or something because the article is covering about all the Wayne kids.

You could already feel your throat closing up as the Manor came into view. You were greeted at the door by Alfred, the man saying he missed your presence at the manor. You just smiled and nodded.

"No luggage?" He inquired, noting that you only brought backpack.

"No. I won't be staying long."

You started making your way towards your room when you passed Damian's room.

"Y/n?" Dick called out, surprised to see you after so long. Or at all? You'd wonder.

"Hey." You said, eyes darting from him to the room where Tim and Damian were, both just as stunned to see you there.

"So, um... how are you?" Dick asked, unsure how to proceed this conversation.

"Great." You replied before turning around and walking to your room, leaving the boys befuddled.

Luckily, the photographer came soon and started with the shoot, and if it weren't for the photographer continuing to tell you to scoot closer to your brothers until Dick just pulled you and you ended up being squished in between them. Had Jason been here, things would be way more comfortable. But since he's been declared dead to the world, he can't be a part of the family portrait.

And later on, its time for dinner and reader is leaving but Bruce calls her back, telling her to at least stay for dinner if not for the night, and you tell him "I can't, exams are coming up." And he replies "really? The schedule your Dean sent me doesn't show any exams coming up." And after some back and forth, you finally sit down at the dinner table, chewing your food silently while the others talked. You were almost finished and this miserable reunion was coming to an end when one of them started to talk about something that triggered you.

It could be anything, from badmouthing Jason to even telling you to get off your high horse and stop thinking that you're better than them just because you've been living on your own and shit.

That's when you just couldn't hold back your anger and went off on them. Everything you'd experienced, all the emotional abuse and neglect you'd been subjected to from them, you told it all.

With tears in your eyes, you left the manor, only to be kidnapped by the Joker. Bruce and his sons didnt say anything to each other that night, except for replaying your words over and over again, simmering in their own guilt silently. Well, that was until-

"She wouldn't know the sacrifices we had to make to keep her blissfully unaware and ignorant of all the crime outside!" Damian yelled. "Just to keep her wrapped up in this bubble, outside of which is a world where she wouldn't ever truly survive if it wasn't for us!"

"Damian-" Dick sighed frustratedly. "-she never asked us to do this all. We chose this life, long before she came along. It's unfair."

"Unfair??? Then how could she claim she didn't feel "protected" when all we've done is slave over making this hellhole safe! How can she say that from the comfort of this home? She's nothing but ungrateful to us and to father! I'm telling you Grayson, if the tables were turned, she wouldn't ever make the sacrifices to save us!" Damian yelled before slamming the door on his way out.

Dick pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes as he asked Tim. "Do you... think we've failed her?"

Tim was staring at the ceiling, keeping his thoughts to himself. He definitely felt guilty, he remembers the way he would dismiss you.

Tim's silence was enough answer for Dick, though the two didn't know what to do next.

Thankfully, Alfred did.

"Miss Y/n forgot her phone here last night. Should I parcel it-"

Tim was already out of his seat, grabbing it. "No, I'll take it to her." Turning around, he saw Dick also standing.

"We'll take it to her. Thanks Alfred."

10 hours later, the two brothers stood outside your apartment. They knocked, but you didn't answer.

"Maybe she's at college?" Dick wondered. "Wanna wait here or go- Tim, wait for me!" His younger brother was already down the stairs when they saw Jason outside.

"What are you two dimwits doing here?" Jason asked, actually surprised to see them there.

"Y/n forgot her phone." Tim said, pulling out your phone. "She's not home. We're going to her college."

Jason's brows furrowed. "Why? She doesn't have classes today. We were supposed to meet for breakfast."

Dick couldn't help but feel slightly jealous of your relationship with Jason. Were you always this close to him? And why Jason, he was home far less than any of them.

Jason moved past them to your apartment, a spare key in his hand. "Maybe she just doesn't want to see you two."

Again, Dick couldn't help the envy that creeped up on him at the sight of Jason using a spare key to let himself in, the feeling only intensifying when he spotted many frames with pictures of you and Jason together.

After checking the whole place, you weren't there. Now, it was time for Jason to start panicking, as he asked them what happened at the manor, and he blew up at them as well for pissing you off like that.

When they had confirmed that you weren't in college or had ever returned to the city yesterday, they all went into panic mode as they informed Bruce about you going missing.

They all rushed back to Gotham, where Bruce had already pulled up CCTV footage of the place where you were last seen, hearts dropping when they saw someone come up from behind and knock you out, before kidnapping you. But no matter how much they searched for you, how many goons they beat up, they couldn't find you.

It is during this time that their yandere tendencies start to develop.

And it wasn't until a week later when they received a hint about your whereabouts, and they finally found you, in a warehouse, chained to the ceiling, a shock collar around your neck, all bruised and beaten because come on, Joker ain't gonna go easy on you.

The torture he subjected you to, it was almost comparable to the one Jason had to suffer. You were unnervingly still, and they couldn't help but wonder whether you were... dead.

That was until the shock collar went off and you screamed as your body jolted, Joker's manically laughing in the shadows.

"She's a tough one, much better than the wannabe Robin! I've been shocking her, waterboarding her, whipping her all week but she refused to tell me your real identities! I was starting to believe her when she said she didn't know, but it's just fun seeing her writhe in pain-!"

They beat Joker up, while one of them takes the collar and chains off you. You'd passed out from pain and exhaustion, and when you woke up, you were back in your room at the manor. While you were unconscious, Jason did end up revealing about how you actually did know about them being vigilantes, further intensifying their guilt and increasing their yandere tendencies, after all they do realise how they've failed to protect you.

So the story from here progresses on to when reader is actually forced by the family to stay in the manor to heal, all while their need to protect you increases the more you refuse their help.

When your injuries have healed and you're ready to leave, but they don't let you. Bruce tries to approach you, gently telling you that you need to be at home with your family, where you're safe. He wants one more chance at righting all his wrongs, he won't shy away- he admits he's made mistakes in the past with you. You back away when he tries to come closer to you.

"You don't get to choose to make up for your mistakes when you feel guilty, not when I had to spend all those years learning to live with your horrible parenting."

Tim spoke up next, telling you to just listen to what he has to say, but you cut him off with a dismissive hand.

"This is how you used to brush me away whenever I came to you, like I was some sort of fly, always too busy, too much of a hassle to even reply to a simple hello. So, why should I give you my time of the day now?"

Dick tries the comforting approach too, surely you don't hate him as much since he wasn't even around that much in the first place to cause you any hurt, promising you that he will do better this time. But you shut him down quickly too.

"I was never a priority for you then. I used to sit on these stairs, waiting for you day and night to finally be able to spend time with you. I know better by now than to trust your false promises."

Damian had a melt down next because you insulted his favourite brother. He went off on you that you never had to suffer through the same trauma as he or any of them did. How it's unfair that you don't give them another chance, how you don't understand that the Wayne's aren't a perfect family because of all the horrible things they've had to and still do go through on a daily basis.

You stared at him for a few moments before replying.

"I was almost r*ped."

The room went deadly silent, Bruce's mouth agape, Damian's eyes widening, while Dick and Tim turned pale.

"The night we went to that gala, you guys all left without me. I was pulled in an alley, mugged and almost r*ped if it weren't for Jason." You chuckled dryly. "What's worse is that none of you even bothered to call me, or even noticed that I hadn't returned home that night. I could've been dead in a ditch and none of you would've noticed for months, if not years." You wiped the tear that escaped your eye. "None of you attended my graduation, none of you noticed I had left for college, not until I sent a cheque to Bruce. I've buried you all in my past, and if it helps you sleep at night, I have forgiven you as well but I will never forget."

You looked at Damian. "And just because you've gone through some shit Damian, doesn't mean I'm undeserving of love and respect. I've experienced traumatising incidents too but the difference between you and me is that I don't use them an excuse to be a fucking dickhead."

You heard a car honk from outside. "Jason's here to drive me home- my home."

But before you could take another step, Tim had injected you with something. You jumped back, holding the puncture wound on your neck.

"W-what did you do?!" You yelled at him, and Tim only shrugged. "What's necessary."

You heard another honk, and this time, you opened your mouth to yell for Jason, only to have a hand slap over your mouth, muffling your screams for help. It was Dick, as he quickly wrapped his arms around you and pulled you to his chest, dragging you away from the door as Bruce ordered Tim to put the whole house on lock down mode (essentially an impenetrable fortress), while Damian went outside to release his anger on Jason, both for failing as a brother to you (not that he'd ever admit it) and for Jason being clearly your favourite.

And from here on, you're being constantly coddled by the batfam (except for Jason since he does actually want to save u from the batfam). Bruce is always the first one to greet you every morning, and if you're still asleep when he comes, he might get away with patting your hair without you flinching away. He'd greet you, tell you he's expecting you to join him downstairs for breakfast. You simply turn your back to him, pulling the covers over your head, not bothering to reply to him, hoping to catch a break in this goddamn house.

You're only able to spare yourself for a few moments before the covers are yanked off you and you're greeted by the cheery voice of Dick. "Good morning, baby bird!" He'd yell before pulling you up and of the bed by your arms, and then to his chest, spinning you around as you try to escape his crushing grip. He's not fazed at all, mostly because he views you as a tiny little feral kitten who just needs a lot of love and snuggles. He drags you down for breakfast, everyone else already seated. You're seated between Dick and Bruce so that you can't run away, and also because Bruce makes it a habit of talking to you on various topics, usually about the book he'd leave on your bed. You would talk to him at first, but after a few weeks, you got bored with the silent treatment.

If its Dick's day with you, he spends most of the time trying to do anything and everything. No activity is off the table. Baking? Hell yes, but he's the only one who laughs after he intentionally throws flour at your face and fails at starting a food fight when you just leave. You wanna play board games? He's pulled out every board game in history and he very obviously let's you win. Movie night? He's build a fort (that he claims you two built together. You didn't, you just stood there while he built it.) And has all the classic films, pulls you close so that he can nuzzle his cheek with yours (again, not fazed by you trying to scratch his face off). Sometimes, he'd even bring you to the gymnasium (because Bruce can afford to build one in his house), where he lowkey forces you to learn about gymnastics, but at least he's a good spotter, cause you never get hurt.

If its Tim's day with you, he makes you spend the whole day just... with him. Look he's sleep deprived, he's lanky, he doesn't have a lot of energy like Dick or Damian, but what he does have is... perseverance. Tim will literally handcuff you to him if it means making sure you stay by his side. If he's getting coffee, youre getting coffee with him (he makes you a cup). If he's sleeping, you're right there, either get comfy and sleep next to him, or stay up and be bored because he's dead asleep. If he's in the batcave reviewing CCTV footage, you're there with him all day and even nights. He just wants to the remorse of dismissing you before to go, almost like he's trying to make up for all the time he wasn't there when you needed him, to now being in your business every second of the day.

If its Damian's turn with you, he's... weird. He doesn't actively make you do anything with him, it's more like having you observe him. He'd have you sit on the side and watch him train for hours on the end, rudely refusing to let you go do something else, or even train with him. He's playing with Titus? You're supposed to be watching him teach Titus tricks. He's going for a walk? No, you're the one who's walking while he's running laps past you. It's like he's trying to impress you to make up for his shitty words and behaviour.

As for Bruce, he likes to spend his time with you on a schedule. Have breakfast with him, then go on a jog around the estate, then accompany him to his home office where he works while you do college work (because obv, he shifted you to online education), and he definitely annoys you by standing over you while you study, not helping you until you ask for it but also not leaving so you feel intimidated under his stare and continue to make mistakes. Then have lunch at noon, followed by him giving you a puzzle or one of those fake crime files to solve, he likes to stimulate your brain and see how it works. This activity takes time so by the time you're done, Alfred has prepared supper. You both have dinner and then you both go to the library to read, because he wants to something less stimulating to the mind as your bedtime nears. Then he tucks you in bed, sits by your side and gives you a lot of positive affirmations (which he picked up from the parenting books in his library), before kissing the top of your head and leaving.

As for Jason, since he still insists on "saving" you, he's not allowed to see you. He can try breaking in all he want, he can't outsmart the Batman.

Or can he?

I had to type this on mobile with henna on my hands.

Yall better be grateful.

#yandere batman #yandere batfamily #yandere batfam #yandere batfam x reader #yandere jason todd x reader #yandere jason todd #yandere damian wayne #yandere tim drake #yandere dick grayson #yandere bruce wayne

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beskarandblasters · 1 month

Text

Indebted

Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x F!Reader

Main Masterlist | Cooper Howard Masterlist

Summary: The Ghoul’s short on bottlecaps for his chems. He suggests an alternative method of payment.

Word count: 1.2k

Warnings: reader refers to him as The Ghoul, reader is able-bodied, established business relationship, finger sucking, fingering, orgasm delay, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, irradiated creampie, ass spanking, sir kink, pet names (sweetheart), praising, no use of y/n

A swift knock on the door interrupts your train of thought. It’s late at night and anyone who’s knocking at your door at this hour is only here to cause trouble. Living in Filly has taught you one thing– stay vigilant.

Cautiously, you approach the door, grabbing a gun on the way and keeping it drawn. With gentle fingers, you pry open the door a crack, ready to shoot. Until you see who it is. It’s none other than The Ghoul.

“You couldn’t stop by earlier?” you say, rolling your eyes and lowering your gun.

“You know I’m not welcome ‘round these parts.”

He pushes past you, shoulder colliding with yours as you close the door. He doesn’t acknowledge your comment. Instead, he reaches into his pocket and drops a measly handful of bottlecaps on your table.

“What will this get me?”

You know what he wants– more chems. He normally has plenty of bottlecaps to trade but what he’s offering tonight isn’t nearly enough.

“Shit,” you snicker.

“I need more,” he says. You’ve never seen The Ghoul plead with you like this before. There’s something so pathetic and sexy about it. There’s been tension between you two ever since he started getting chems from you but nothing’s ever come to fruition.

“Well, it looks like you’re shit out of luck,” you say with a smirk, folding your arms.

He places his hands on the table and looks down at his feet, letting out a sigh and cursing under his breath. Almost as if he can sense you’re getting off on his neediness, he switches his demeanor. He looks at you and says, “I suppose I can offer an alternative method of payment.”

“And what’s that?”

He walks over to you, pressing you against the wall and cocking his head to the side.

“Strip and get on the bed. Maybe I’ll show ya.”

You nod, completely breathless, and slip out from his grasp, walking to your bedroom. He leans in the doorframe, jaw slack as you get undressed. A shiver runs down your spine and goosebumps prick your skin. The tension is finally bubbling to the surface and you couldn’t be happier, no matter how many chems it’s going to cost you.

You lie back on the bed with your legs spread as he gets on the bed, face hovering over yours. He grabs your chin, thumb brushing over your lips.

“Open that pretty mouth, sweetheart.”

You do as you’re told and open your mouth. He takes two fingers and places them inside, closing your mouth with his other hand. You suck his fingers, swirling your tongue around them as he watches.

“Good girl,” he praises, pulling his hand away and bringing it to your cunt. You’re already wet with anticipation. It doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Already so wet for me,” he says, playing with the slick that’s formed at your entrance.

You whimper in response, aching to be touched already.

“Patience,” he tuts, sliding just one finger inside you. You roll your hips into him as he curls his finger, pushing against your g-spot. He moves it so painstakingly slowly, looking to get a rise out of you.

“You want more?”

“Yes,” you breathe.

“Beg.”

“Please, I want more.”

“More of what?”

“I need more of your fingers, please.”

“Mmm, said like such a good girl.”

He adds a second finger, making a come here motion as he smirks down at you. The tension in your core builds up. The floodgates threaten to burst. He can sense you’re about to cum because he casually mentions, “You need permission to cum.”

You whimper, rolling your hips again but trying hard to ward off your orgasm.

“Use your words. Ask like a good girl.”

“Please, can I cum?”

“Please, can I cum what?”

“Please, can I cum, sir?” you whine.

“Do it,” he commands.

You let go and allow yourself to cum, feeling your walls clench and release his fingers. He continues to finger you through your high, pushing against your g-spot over and over. Your back arches and a tingling sensation originating at your core spreads throughout your body. He smirks at you, watching you writhe under his touch, praising you for being such a good girl.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” he says, pulling his fingers from you once you’re done. He brings them to his mouth, tasting your spend.

“So fuckin’ sweet,” he hums.

To your surprise, he gets off the bed, standing before you as you watch him with wild eyes.

“Alright. Get up.”

“Yes, sir,” you squeak, getting up and facing him.

“Someone’s learning,” he says, grabbing your waist and spinning you around so you’re facing the bed. He bends you over and plants a swift slap on your ass.

“Ready for me, sweetheart?”

“Yes, sir,” you repeat.

You hear him pulling his cock out and feel him gather more of your wetness with his hand. He spreads it on his cock before grabbing your hips and thrusting inside you. His cock splits you apart as he buries himself down to the hilt.

A sharp gasp escapes your throat so he leans bends forward and whispers in your ear, “You can take it.”

“I know,” you breathe. “It’s just… big.”

“Mmm, I bet,” he says, standing upright and drawing his hips back. He slams into you in a way that has choked moans forcing their way out of your throat. Your knees buckled underneath you and if it weren’t for The Ghoul gripping you tightly, you’d be collapsing. His cock thrusts in and out of you, hitting the most perfect angles inside you.

“Taking this cock like a fuckin’ angel,” he praises, slapping your ass again.

You’re past sentences at this point, only responding in the form of whines and whimpers.

“Use. Your. Words,” he says, slapping your ass after each word.

“It’s so fucking good,” you moan, feeling your second orgasm come to a head.

“Remember, you need to ask for permission,” he reminds you.

“Please sir, can I cum? I’m so close.”

He sighs but his pace never falters. He continues to drive his hips into you unforgivingly.

“Soak my cock,” he says, slapping your ass one final time.

You cum around his cock with a loud moan, feeling your wetness running down your thighs. Stars dance in your vision and tears well up in your eyes. He curses under his breath before he cums inside you. You’re filled with the warm sensation of his cum painting your cunt. He fucks you through the remainder of your highs before pulling out and letting go of your hips. You collapse onto the bed and catch your breath. He comes around to meet your face and asks, “How many chems did that get me?”

“Hmm two weeks,” you smirk.

“That’s it?”

“Maybe more if you bring me the bottle caps later.”

“Fine. But let me take a four-week supply now.”

“…Fine,” you sigh, rolling onto your back.

“I’m indebted to you, sweetheart,” he says, caressing your cheek before he leaves your room. With that, you hear him rifle through your supply before disappearing into the night.

Fic notifs: @beskarandblastersfics

Dividers: @saradika-graphics

#the ghoul x reader #the ghoul x you #the ghoul smut #the ghoul fanfiction #cooper howard x reader #cooper howard x you #cooper howard fanfiction #fallout fanfiction #fallout #cooper howard #the ghoul

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cheriecelestial · 2 months

Text

Angel Pt.II

pairing*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ Red Hood!Jason Todd X fem!reader

disclaimer*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ fluff. suggestive content. swearing. 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 ™️. not proofread !

a/n*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ So here’s part 2. I’m aware of the poll results, but I had already planned to go against the consensus beforehand (cuz ain’t nobody tells me what to do). So smut in pt.III I promise. pls don’t be mad. Comment, Reblog and Like（╹◡╹）♡

╰ ┈➤ Part I

One of Jason's most cherished aspects of his Red Hood helmet was its ability to allow him to doze off undetected. He was curious how Y/N would react if he fell asleep at her place. He knew many people often tried, and foolishly so, to take off his helmet when he was asleep to try to find his identity. Despite his affection for her, he felt the need to ensure her trustworthiness because he knew he wouldn't be able to bear if she betrayed him. If she were to betray him, he reasoned, it would be better sooner rather than later. Feigning sleep, he waited. For a while she just sat and watched him. And not in a vigilant or cautious way, atleast it didn't that way to him. He hoped she would remain that way, but fate seemed to have other plans for him. He heard her retreat to her room, the smallness of her apartment allowing him to observe almost every movement. Maybe I'll buy her a nicer place, he thought to himself.

As she approached him, she checked once more, hiding something behind her back. She wouldn't try to take off his helmet, would she? A profound sense of dread and apprehension gripped him. She was the last person he wanted to betray him. Soon he found himself questioning his own judgment and the authenticity of the relationship. What did you expect? A sinister voice taunted him.

He felt his brain cloud with a whirlwind of emotions such as shock, disbelief, sadness, hurt, and confusion. When her fingertips grazed his helmet, it felt like a deep, agonizing wound piercing to his core. Initially, there was disbelief—a refusal to acknowledge that someone he loved and trusted could do that. He could feel the pit rage resurface, fierce and consuming, directed at her and perhaps even at himself for allowing himself to be vulnerable enough to be wounded in such a way.

He anticipated her lifting his helmet, only she didn't. She withdrew her hands and let out a tiny giggle. He was struck with the realisation that she didn't try to take his helmet off, rather she placed something atop it. It was out of his field of view so he couldn't quite tell what it was. From the corner of his eye, he noticed her take out her phone and snap a picture. Unfortunately for her, she forgot to switch off the flash. Jason took the opportunity and in the blink of an eye, her grabbed her wrist and flipped her over his shoulder, slamming into the couch. He pushed his forearm against her throat with his other hand pinning her under him.

“What do you think you're doing angel ?” He growled as his thumb trailed from her bottom lip to her cheek in a gesture that was equal parts sultry and sinister. Her eyes widened like saucers as cold sweat started to form on the side of her forehead. Her body might froze momentarily before trembling with fear. He didn't realise just how small she felt against him until he was on top of her. Akin to a quivering rabbit ensnared in a hunter's trap. Truth be told, the analogy wasn't far off.

"I-I'm so sorry I didn't mean to. I swear it was a prank —" She tugged at her restraints with tears forming at the corner of her eyes, her breathing becoming shallower and rapid but Jason didn't budge. She felt all too aware of the situation she was in. His proximity so close that she could feel so exposed under his gaze. It was intimidating yet so intoxicating, the feeling of being enclosed by him, the scent that was so intense and virile was enough to make her head spin. She could hear her heartbeat resonating in her ears and it was clear that he could too. Needless to say, Y/N L/N messed up big time.

"What was ? Hmm?" He leaned in closer to her face until his helmet was mere centimeters away, relishing in the sadistic pleasure of watching her teary eyes as she whimpered and muttered incomprehensible apologies. Seeing her struggle to form words, he picked up her phone to view the picture she had taken. It was him with what seemed like — a fuzzy bear ears headband? He plucked it from his helmet, staring at it incredulously. You have got to be kidding me.

"You're so fucking adorable, you know that ?" He let out an airy chuckle that was felt more than heard as he shakes with a silent laugh. "You're not mad at me ?"Y/N's voice sounded so desperate like a broken whimper. Her pretty eyes still wide and a little teary and red at the ends, a visible look of confusion etched onto it.

He wanted to stroke her cheek again, but he feared he wouldn't be able to stop himself from going further. "I don't know. Should I be?" He chuckled, and while he was mostly teasing, he couldn't help but marvel at her.

Despite his experiences with many women, he had never encountered someone so captivating. Just by the virtue of being pinned under him, she looked just so impossibly inviting. Jason found himself rendered breathless as his mind wandered into the realm of the most salacious thoughts.

"But this warrants punishment. Does it not?" He watched her breath catching in her throat, her cheeks and the tips of her ears flushing with heat.

Y/N swallowed hard," Punishment ?" She nervously peered at the man, a a slight shiver running down her spine as she could almost feel his piercing cold gaze from behind the red helmet. She understood her predicament and knew she shouldn't be enjoying it. It could take an unfavourable turn at any given moment and she wouldn't be able to do anything about it. Suddenly, he released her hands and leaned back. Despite feeling a little disoriented from his sudden absence of his towering self, Y/N sat back up. Jason held up the headband in his hand,"Do you have more of these?"

"A few. Yes" she replied.

"Go get them." he said nonchalantly. Y/N blinked at his request, feeling a hint of disappointment creeping in. As she rose slowly and made her way to the dresser, she scolded herself internally, Jesus get your brain out of the gutter Y/N. Not wanting to keep him waiting, she gathered all the headbands she had and dropped them onto the couch. "You have quite the collection," Jason chuckled, examining a headband. "Mostly from previous Halloweens and costume cafés I used to work at." Y/N explained. Jason's gaze settled on a particularly intriguing headband - white floppy bunny ears with pink bows. He tossed it onto her lap, grinning,“Put this on.”

Y/N complied without question and looked at him expectantly. Jason whipped out his phone and aimed it at her,“ Strike me a cute pose angel." Her eyes widened in a mix of surprise embarrassment," Wait what ?”

"Well you clicked that picture of me so it's pretty fair trade if you ask me." He reasoned, attempting to maintain a neutral tone, though secretly relishing the moment thoroughly. He maintained composure, not wanting to risk scaring her away. He eagerly snapped photos as Y/N reluctantly donned the headband and flashed a small peace sign, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. He could feel his own heart racing in his chest and his face growing warm.

"Please don't show it to anyone. It's embarrassing," She pleaded. Jason acknowledged her request with an absentminded nod, slipping his phone into his pocket. He hadn't quite reached the stage of covertly taking pictures and plastering them on his walls like a stalker, but he reasoned that photos she consented to were fair game. Plus that was more Tim's thing, Jason liked shooting his shot up front or atleast that’s what he told himself. He casually grabbed a pillow from the couch and placed it on his lap so she wouldn't have to see his raging boner.

"Now how about we fire up the console. Video games you said?" Jason suggested holding the dvd in his hand that Y/N had completely forgotten about. She eagerly grabbed the controllers and settled onto the couch, anticipation sparking in her eyes as the previous tension eased. Jason stared at the game dvd and couldn't help but feel a sense of déjà vu. "Do you play video games often ?" Y/N asked him with a smile. "Only when I'm with the boys at the batcave or with Ro – ahem I meant Arsenal. Starfire is temporarily banned because she's burnt too many controllers out of excitement." She laughed at his words, almost imagining the scene.

"Well I'm sure you dominate in physical fights. Let's see how you hold out in a virtual one. I hope you're ready." Y/N challenged, a competitive gleam in her eyes.

"Bring it on angel." Jason replied, his fingers already poised over the buttons. Before they knew, they were completely immersed in the game, their laughter and exchanging banter and competitive jabs filling the room. Whether they were working together to overcome a tough level or engaging in heated competition, their bond only grew stronger with each passing minute.

"Oh come on ! You've won like the fourth time in a row. This thing has to be rigged !" Jason accusingly jabbed his controller at the screen in frustration, eliciting laughter from Y/N at how worked up he got over something insignificant like a video game.

"'ll let you in on a little secret. I'm a bit of a pro. Back in college, gaming was like my side hustle," she whispered with a mischievous grin, leaning in closer. Jason's interest piqued at her revelation. He couldn't deny his curiosity about how she had been these past few years. Despite his thorough investigations, he knew that no amount of research could uncover the personal intricacies of her college life - the moments of joy that lit up her face, the frustrations that weighed heavy on her shoulders, the solitary hours spent, the struggles she endured, and the victories she celebrated. It was a side of her story that remained untold, a mystery he was eager to unravel.

"In college, I used to dress up real cute and go to frat parties and challenge guys to play with me and if they lost they'd have to pay me." Y/N continued. It sounded like a perfect plan on paper. Deceptive disguise, psychologically analysing targets and exploiting their weaknesses against them, strategic thinking and meticulosity. But her explanation wasn't enough to satiate his curiosity. "And what if they won?" The most important part of any good plan was enticing bait. A part of him knew the answer but still wanted confirmation. "Something no college frat boy would reject. I said I'd blow their dick." Y/N grinned causing Jason to visibly freeze in disbelief. "I know how it sounds, but don’t worry l've never lost. Ever," she assured him quickly. After a pause, Jason's voice wavered at the start of the sentence as he spoke up, "How much did they have to pay you if you won?" Y/ N furrowed her eyebrows slightly, trying to recall the details from the past events. Amidst the long hours of studying in med school and her meager earnings from a part-time job, she had resorted to more crafty ways of earning money and gaming happened to be the most lucrative option to make more in less time.

"Well, most college students couldn't afford to pay much, so it was ten dollars per game," she explained. Jason nodded, retrieving his wallet. "You beat me four times, right ?" With determination, he placed four hundred-dollar bills on the coffee table before her, his next words filled with unwavering resolve,"Play your game with me angel.” Y/N's eyes widened at the sight of the money on the table, and she took in a deep breath, contemplating his offer for a moment. What could she possibly have to lose?

“It's okay Red. You tried.” After two more rounds of competition, Jason suffered a devastating loss before finally realizing why he felt a sense of déjà vu— it was the same video game he, Duke, Dick, and Tim had played a couple of months ago. He vividly remembered losing his temper, nearly throwing hands when Tim used underhanded tactics against him and Dick violated every rule of sportsmanship and sacrificing every last modicum of decency over the game and Damian scoffing at their "immaturity" like he always did while Duke tried his best to pacify the conflict. The reason he didn't recognise this before was because him and Y/N were playing in a different mode than this. "How about we switch up the mode?"

"Sure let's do it."Y/N grinned confidently. The two sat side by side, eyes fixed on the glowing neon screens in front of them. Their fingers danced across the controllers, every move was calculated, every strategy meticulously planned as they vied for dominance. The room was filled with the sound of intense concentration and occasional bursts of laughter or frustration. The tension in the room was palpable, as neither of them were willing to concede an inch in this high-stakes competition. With every round, the stakes rose, and the intensity only grows as they pushed each other to their limits in pursuit of victory.

"You have got to be kidding me." Y/N breathed out as the letters "GAME OVER" As the defeat screen flashed before her eyes, she recoiled in shock, her mouth agape in disbelief. Her eyes widened in astonishment, unable to comprehend how her skill that she believed to be unparalleled had fallen short. Her hands, which had been gripping the controller tightly, now hung limply by her sides, fingers trembling with a mixture of disbelief and resignation. Jason's heart raced with exhilaration, his body shaking with the rush of victory. With a triumphant shout, he leaped from his seat, pumping his fists in the air as a grin stretched across his face. "NOW THAT'S WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT !! LET'S FUCKING GO !!!”

Y/N felt a lump form in her throat as she comprehended the implication of her loss. Her cheeks flushed with a faint blush of embarrassment and she averted her gaze while fidgeting nervously in her seat. Her tongue ran over her lips as she avoided meeting Jason's eyes. He noticed this and remembered what the winning condition was. He straightened up and cleared his throat, regaining his composure," You know it was just a silly game, you don't have to do that. I won't force you into doing anything you're not comfortable with." Y/N managed a small relieved smile," Thank you. But you know a bet is a bet. So how about a kiss instead ? Wait you’re over 18, right ?"

"A kiss ? Oh cool. Yeah we could do that and to answer your question I’m legal. I’d show you my ID but that kinda defeats the whole purpose of the secret identity thing." Jason scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. Despite how he composed on the outside, he could almost hear his 10 year old self rejoicing at the prospect of finally being able to kiss his first love. Ever since the warehouse incident, he had buried that naive part of himself, believing it to be dead along with other redeeming qualities, at least according to those around him.

He knew he wandered down dark paths, driven by desires of revenge, bitterness and reckless impulses. But when he looked into her eyes, deep within him, he felt that there was a flicker of hope, a belief that redemption is possible. He knew he wasn't deserving of someone so sweet and pure, but perhaps just this once, he would allow himself this one indulgence.

"So should I like bring out the scarf ?" Y/N asked. Her heart, which was felt unstable and claustrophobically confined inside of her, hammering against her ribcage as if it sought to burst out and soar away. "Don't bother." Jason interjected, producing a small black box from his jacket pocket. "I've been meaning to give you this, but never found the right moment." Y/N opened the box and found a silk blindfold which was black on one side and red on the other, the same shade of red as his helmet. As her fingertips glided over its surface, it felt like touching liquid satin. There's a distinct sensation of coolness and silkiness that enveloped her. It was like touching a cloud or being embraced by a gentle breeze. “What's this for ? Don't trust my scarf enough ?” Y/N joked. Jason shrugged his shoulders and answered casually,“Well yes and no. Your scarf is made of scratchy fabric and you have sensitive skin so I thought —”

“How do you know I have sensitive skin ?” She couldn’t recall sharing that detail, finding it peculiar that he knew. Jason bit his tongue, regretting his slip-up. It was one of those things he remembered about her from years ago. When they were younger, she would often complaint how her work uniform was really scratchy and how she hated it against her sensitive skin and he would always say that when he grew up he would buy her the nicest and softest of clothes. But of course given their current circumstance, he couldn’t tell her that.

Jason pointed to the bottle of lotion sitting on the dinner table. “That. It says for dry and sensitive skin.” Y/N turned in the direction he pointed her astonishment rendering her momentarily speechless, her mouth agape, unable to comprehend how he pieced together such intricate details. Her eyes widened with admiration, reflecting a mixture of awe and reverence for his uncanny ability to observe so keenly, she commented,“ You know everything about you is such a suspension of disbelief kinda thing. Like I’m sure you could tell me the craziest things and I’d go ‘yeah sure that makes sense’. ”Jason chuckled awkwardly, relieved that he had quickly found an explanation for his slip-up and diverted her suspicion,“Well you know being around batman, the detective shit rubs off.”

Y/N raised the blindfold to her eye level and with deliberate movements, she tied it securely around her head, feeling the darkness engulfing her vision. The fabric is incredibly fine, almost weightless against her skin. The smoothness of silk glides effortlessly against the skin, created a feeling of luxury and indulgence effectively making the moment much more sensuous than it was supposed be. With the blindfold tied securely around her eyes, a hush fell over her surroundings, amplifying the sound of her own heartbeat.

A sense of anticipation filled her, as if the world had suddenly become a mystery waiting to be explored solely through touch, sound, and intuition. She couldn’t deny the excitement coursing through her veins, feeling herself surrendering to the unknown, willingly relinquishing the sense of sight for a deeper, more visceral experience. As darkness enveloped her, her other senses heightened, attuned to the subtlest of changes in the environment. Y/N let out a soft gasp when she heard his helmet being set down on the table with a quiet thud.

“You know we don’t have to do this. It’s okay if you want to back out. I —” Jason began tentatively, carefully watching her for any signs of discomfort. She reassured him calmly, “It’s okay. I’m okay.” He slowly cupped her face and leaned closer. She could feel his warm breath on her face. Jason’s lips brushed against hers, uncertain and almost fearful. “Y/N I—” he stilled against her, waiting for her reaction. He knew this was one bridge that once burnt would either leave him at the edge of the abyss or paradise and needless to say, he couldn’t blow this. “Just shut up and kiss me Red. You earned it.”

“Yes ma’am,”Jason let out a breath of disbelief. The world around him seemed to melt away and all that existed was her and the euphoric feeling of her warm and pliant mouth on his. The beast inside him thrashed against the iron bars of his cage of self control, its roars echoing within him — wanting nothing but to sink his teeth into Y/N’s supple and inviting flesh and ravage her. His fingers cupping her face twitched with the need to touch more of her. Before he knew, his hands slid up of its own accord and tangled themselves in the soft locks of her hair.

Jason spent a lifetime honing his self control. Batman had drilled its importance into his system but as of now could feel every last ounce of self control he possessed slip through his fingers like sand. But he forced himself to focus. A part of him felt guilty for feeling the way he felt about her, his need for her — it was desperate, perverse, wrong even because Jason knew that if she realised that who he was she might never look at him the same way again but he couldn’t get himself to let go of something so damnably intoxicating. Y/N was the first one to pull away, her breath came in ragged gasps, her chest heaving as if trying to catch up with her sprinting heart. She could feel him grin against her lips.

“Good game Red.”

“Does anyone else feel like she's finally lost it, or is it just me ?”

"I can hear you, Stephanie," Y/N huffed, rolling her eyes. In retaliation, the blonde high schooler blew a raspberry at her co-worker, causing Y/N to shake her head in resignation. "That's why I said it. Babs back me up," Stephanie retorted.

“Please. We have enough crazies in Gotham as it is, there’s no need for any more.” Barbara Gordon was another one of Y/N best friends along with Cass Cain and was the daughter of the GCPD commissioner and the girlfriend of Dick Grayson. She was a couple years older than Y/N and most of all, the mom friend and pacifist of the group.

"But you know you have been acting strange. You've been touching your lips every five minutes and zoning out like right now —" Cass trailed off, sipping coffee from cup. Not realizing that she was doing that right now, Y/N jerked her hand off as if caught while stealing. The second the words left Cass's mouth, a realization dawned on the trio simultaneously, as if a light bulb had illuminated above their heads.

"What ?" Y/N muttered feeling oddly cornered. Trying her hardest to ignore the elephant in the room, she went back to working. The three friends exchanged glances, silently debating who would broach the subject with Y/N. Eventually, Barbara rolled her eyes and took charge, as neither of the younger girls seemed willing. "Y/N, I'd like to order," Barbara declared, wheeling her wheelchair closer to the counter. Y/N shifted her attention to her, nodding as she grabbed a pen and notepad, ready to take Barbara's order with practiced efficiency.

"I'd like to order tea," Barbara stated.

"Sure. So, would that be Earl Grey?" Y/N asked with a knowing smile.

"Nope."

"Assamese?"

"Not that either."

"Darjeeling ? Jasmine ? Matcha ?" Y/N proposed, offering a variety of tea options in an attempt to pinpoint Barbara's preference, her brows furrowing in confusion as to why she wasn't ordering her usual. “Then ?” She tilted her head in questioning but Barbara just smiled back and winked playfully,“You know, tea, piping hot if you know what I mean.”

“Uggh fine you win. So there's this guy,” The h/c haired woman started slowly and the three women groaned in unison. This was a common yet much disliked drill. The atmosphere shifted and a heavy silence settles over the group. Cass's eyes widened, a look worry flashing across her face. She exchanged a quick glance with Steph, who mirrored her expression. Barbara, ever the voice of reason, remained composed but her concern was evident in the slight furrow of her brow,“ We’ve talked about this.”

Y/N, the one who had made the revelation, shifted uncomfortably under the scrutinizing gazes of her companions. She could feel the weight of their judgment bearing down on her, and it made her regret ever bringing up the topic. “Okay just hear me out —”

There was a moment of hesitation, as if each of them was struggling with how to respond to this. Finally, it was Steph who broke the silence, her voice edged with frustration.

“No there will be no ‘hear me out’s. Look Y/N Imma be honest with you. You’re legit nicer than 99.99% gothamites and in all honesty the only thing I hate about you is your fucking taste in men. Every seven months you come with hear me out on men who are leather wearing alcoholics and are always gaslighting, lying, cheating, abusive bastards or just straight up criminals !” She whispered in a tone passionately incredulous, drawing attention from other cafe patrons. Cass remained silent, but her expression spoke volumes. It was clear that she shared Steph's apprehension about their friend's poor taste in men.

Barbara chose her words carefully. “She’s right, you do have a bit of a problem. We just don’t want you getting hurt over guys like that or worse them hurting you and I don’t mean just emotionally.” she spoke gently, her tone laced with genuine concern.

“It’s not even that bad —” Y/N started. “Well you did date a two bit drug dealer.” Cass muttered quietly. “How was I supposed to know that ? It’s not like he offered me to do cocaine on the first date plus Orphan did save me in the nick of time so no harm done.” Y/N huffed in defense.

“Why don’t you try dating someone who’s actually nice for a change?”

“Sure, like who?” Y/N chuckled sarcastically.

“Maybe someone who’s like Dick?” Steph suggested. Dick Grayson was the epitome of the popular charismatic jock kid at school. It wasn’t hard to understand why he was so liked — with his sanguine personality, witty puns, kind hearted and generous personality he was pretty much the shining paragon of an upstanding citizen and your boy next door. Unfortunately, such traits rarely aligned with Y/N tastes. “I mean he’s very attractive of course but he’s just not my type you know. He’s too —”

“Nice ?” Barbara guessed.

“Yeah, that. But if he has a brother then well—” Y/N trailed off, half-jokingly.

“No!” The three exclaimed in unison, catching her off guard. Their eyes widened as if she said something really offensive.

“Whoa what was that about ?” Y/N asked. The three exchanged glances, and Barbara cleared her throat before speaking up. “Well, Dick does have brothers. Two of them are minors, so that’s an immediate no, and the third one— he’s not a bad guy per se. He would never hurt a woman, especially someone as sweet as you, but—”

“But?” Y/N raised an eyebrow and shook her head, urging her friend to continue.

“He’s got issues. Like a boatload of them,” she finished, carefully articulating each word.

“What sort of issue ? Daddy issues ? Mommy Issues ? Parental Issues ? Parental Issues - Orphan Edition ? Step parent issues ? I’ve dealt with them all before you know.”

“More like all, in that order.” Cass muttered.

“Wow this guy sounds like a party. You should introduce me to him sometime. Him and I would definitely hit it off.” Y/N joked.

“Please don’t come up with any more of those ‘I can fix him’s. You’re a barista not Handy Manny.”

Y/N shrugged nonchalantly, attempting to brush off their concerns. “You know what I usually mean by I can fix him is that I can made him tolerable till I get bored of him and dump him. Sure, I’ve made mistakes but this one is different,”she insisted.

“Different how ?” Barbara raised her brow skeptically.

Y/N’s eyes sparkled with excitement as she regaled her friends about the events of the video game bet, conveniently leaving out the details of Red being a vigilante and that prank incident — they didn’t need to know that. Her friends leaned in, somewhat captivated by her animated storytelling. Gasps of disbelief and amazement erupted from her friends. Their curiosity evident as they leaned in, eager to soak in every detail of the story.

The tension in the air had eased as the group exchanged glances, each grappling with their own thoughts and feelings about the situation. It was clear that this revelation had thrown them all for a loop, leaving them unsure of how to proceed. But one thing was certain – they would stand by their friend, even if they didn't particularly agree with her choices.

“You know only I was of legal age, I’d wife you up so fast it’d set world records. That ways we wouldn’t have to deal with this.” Steph lamented, earning a smack from Y/N. Despite her sassy quips and teasing, Stephanie Brown was never shy to be vocal about her affections for her favourite barista. “Unfortunately for you, I’m not into kids. Also aren’t you dating Tim ?” Y/N asked.

“Well yeah. But he’s not like my boyfriend boyfriend. He’s like my pet ferret than my boyfriend.”

“I was so sure I got promoted to pet guinea pig last Monday.” A voice piped up from Y/N’s side. She let out a small scream, her body tensing up in pure terror. Her heart raced as she spun around, eyes wide with fear, her hands poised to defend herself, only to find Tim Drake with an expression of mock offence on his face and Dick next to him with his head propped on top of his fist, listening intently with a smile on his face.

“How long have you been standing here ?” She exclaimed, putting her hand on her hip, her voice a mixture of surprise and reproach. Dick’s mischievous grin faltered slightly as she held up his hands in a gesture of innocence. "Oh don’t mind me," he said, trying to suppress a giggle. "I’m just here for the girl talk."

“Dick I’ve said this before and I’ll say this again. You aren’t allowed when we’re having the girl talk.” Y/N jabbed her finger in warning at him, her tone tainted with a hint of genuine irritation.

“What ? Why ? Ever since I first watched Mean Girls I’ve always dreamed of being a part of a girl clique. You can’t do this to me.” Wearing a mock expression of sadness and offence, he pouted like a five year old child, crossing his arms.

“Well you can’t sit with us detective.”

“Why not ?”

“Well because this is a girl clique. Duh.” Steph sassed back. Dick raised his eyebrows, feigning disbelief,“Discrimination, plain and simple. I demand equal rights for guy friends in girl cliques !”

Y/N rolled her eyes, fighting back a smile. "Nice try but no. You're always welcome for skin care and movie nights. But girl talk is strictly off-limits. And no don’t look at Babs, she can’t and won’t help you."

Dick’s shoulders slumped dramatically, admitting defeat. "I guess it's just one of life's cruel ironies. But hey, I can still be an honorary member, right ?" He gave her a hopeful grin, knowing fully well that his charm wouldn't be enough to sway her strict rules.

“Just give up man. Winning isn’t in the cards for you. Now, scram. Y/N should please continue.” Tim shooed Dick as if he were a stray dog. “Tim you too.” Cass deadpanned.

“Why ? I’m not like him ! Pretty sure you girls can make exceptions for bi guinea pigs.” He retorted.

“Ferret,” Steph corrected,“ You ate my turkey sandwich last Tuesday so you got demoted to ferret.”

“Only if you’re ready to forfeit your right to a free coffee refills after five paid cups a day.” Y/N chuckled, shaking her head. Tim’s expression twisted into sheer horror, as if she had threatened his very existence. Given his caffeine addiction, it might as well have been a threat on his life.

Tim cleared his throat and began with a disapproving look, "Ahem. Richard, isn't it utterly disgraceful for esteemed gentlemen like us to eavesdrop on ladies like that? Shame on you. What would Alfred and Bruce say ?"

“Who are Alfred and Bruce?” Y/N inquired. Tim immediately regretted his words, closing his eyes briefly. “Oh, just seniors at work,” Dick hastily replied with an awkward laugh. “You two should probably head out,” Barbara interjected with a pointed look. Tim and Dick hurriedly departed without any sign of resistance. As Y/N turned, she noticed Cass had vanished, and Steph had returned to her tasks, leaving her to process the recent events alone. Huh. Weird.

As Y/N’s weary hand reached for the brass doorknob of her house, she felt the exhaustion of the day to loosen its grip on her, replaced by a sense of relief. The metal of the doorknob offered a stark contrast between its own cold surface and the warmth of home she longed for beyond the threshold. With a familiar click, the door swung open and she hung her bag and scarf on the hat stand. The second she stepped through the threshold, a pleasant aroma of spices and the sound of someone humming to a song floated through the air. The scent was homely and comforting. Wait. I live alone then who’s cooking in the kitchen ? Puzzled and scared, she dropped her keys on the table and cautiously made her way towards the kitchen. With every step, the sound of sizzling and the clinking of utensils grew louder. Tiptoeing to the edge of the kitchen wall, she peered around the corner.

“Red ?” Her eyes widened as she stared at the most unlikely scene she could’ve ever imagined in her life. The vigilante Red Hood — Prince of Gotham, Scourge of the Underworld, the Wraith of Gotham, the Renegade Knight — stood in Y/N’s normal sized apron that looked comically small on him, stirring pasta sauce while listening to Taylor Swift. She stood frozen, unable to process the sheer absurdity of the scene in front of her.

“You’re back !” She could almost see him grinning from behind his signature mask. She blinked several times, thinking all of this was some sort of wishful thinking induced daydream. But the smell of simmering marinara and the faint sound of Taylor Swift's voice confirmed otherwise, effectively shattering any semblance of normalcy in the room leaving her to wonder how could this larger-than-life figure, feared by criminals and revered by the city, be standing in her humble kitchen cooking pasta ?

Yet, there he was, a paradoxical blend of hero and something so curiously domestic. As she watched him, a mix of amusement and curiosity washed over her. “What’s going on here ?” Y/N asked, gesturing to the kitchen in general. “Oh this ? Um it sort of happened,” Jason replied casually, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world for a vigilante to be whipping up a meal in someone else's kitchen.

“It just happened ?” Y/N repeated dumbfounded. She leaned against the kitchen counter, still trying to process the scene before her. Looking around, she noticed the counter cluttered with groceries she didn’t recall purchasing. Opening the fridge, she saw that her once-empty fridge was stocked with gourmet items she had only seen on upscale cooking shows. “Well I came to see you but you hadn’t returned from work. I got up to get a glass of water from the fridge and saw that there wasn’t anything in it so I —”he began, attempting to explain the situation.

“So you bought me groceries ? And the pasta ? That also just happened ?” she asked, her interest piqued. "Um yeah. It did," he admitted sheepishly scratching the back of his neck. “It was on a whim don’t think too much of it.” Jason glanced at her, hoping she would find his gesture too strange. His eyes flitted to the clock on the wall before landing back at her,"I figured that it’s already dark outside so it’s not safe to go get stuff. Plus, I make a mean pasta," he quipped, flashing a hint of pride in his voice.

She couldn't argue with that. As she watched him continue to cook, a sense of gratitude washed over her. Despite the reputation he amassed, he was here, in her home, bringing solace that no one had in a very long time. Her world felt harmonious, as if every piece fell into place effortlessly. In that moment, Red Hood wasn't just a feared vigilante—he was a friend, albeit an unusual one, who had somehow found his way into her life and her kitchen and she wouldn’t have it any other way.

“By the way,” Jason began, wiping his hands on the apron and shifting his tone to seriousness as he turned towards her, “I wanted to ask you something. Where did you get that?” He gestured towards the felt clipboard hanging on the opposite wall. Y/N followed his gaze, seeing the map of Gotham he had given her along with the necklace the week they met. It had really helped her avoid dangerous parts of the town after dark. But why was he asking about it when he was the one who gave it to her? “What do you mean? You’re the one who gave me the map,” she said, tilting her head in confusion.

“Not the map. The batarang. I don’t recall leaving any of those here,” he clarified. Y/N’s eyes fell on the sleek metal batarang pinning the map to the clipboard. Her mouth rounded in an ‘o’ when she pieced it together. “The batarang ? Red Robin gave it to me.” she exclaimed. Her words clearly struck a nerve because Jason felt completely silent following her words. “It’s a funny story actually. You know I work at a café. This one night I was closing up and Red Robin came in asking for a coffee refill. I had almost closed up the shop but the poor thing looked like he had been through hell so I refilled his coffee. He tried to pay but he couldn’t find his wallet so he paid with a batarang.” She quickly added, hoping to diffuse any building tension.

Jason wordlessly walked to the clipboard and effortlessly retrieving the batarang before swapping it with his own from his pocket. “Better.” He muttered with satisfaction, addressing no one in particular. “Hey give that back !” Y/N tried to take it from his hand but he held it above her head where she couldn’t reach it. “What do you even need it for ?” He asked sounding somewhat annoyed. “It was an experience souvenir, you can’t take that !” She tried to reason despite knowing there was no point. “Well I’m sure Red Hood cooking dinner was you is beats refilling coffee for some drenched beaten up rat any day.”

Y/N’s eyes fell on the Red Hood’s batarang that was now pining the Map of Gotham to the clipboard instead of Red Robin’s batarang. It was similar in shape and size, resembling a bat's silhouette with pointed wings extending from a central handle. Except his batarang sported his signature red hue with black-rimmed edges. On closer inspection, Y/N noticed it had the words “Property Of Red Hood” scrawled on it in near illegible handwriting with a permanent marker.

“It’s already in your colours. What’s the point of writing your name on it ?” Y/N asked, her curiosity piqued.

“Because there are little shits that like to take my stuff without asking. So it’s a reminder that if they do, I will find them and after than no one else ever will.” He replied vaguely.

“Thugs ?”

“Worse. Siblings.”

“That sounds… tough,” Y/N remarked. She could only imagine what it would be like dealing with having vigilante siblings and the unique dynamics they have with each other. “You have no idea,” Jason replied in a wry tone. “But y’know ohana and all. Can’t get rid of them even if I wanted to.”

“Then what do you hold against the poor kid ?”

“Look it’s not that. Everyone thinks I hate him but I don’t,” Jason countered, pausing before continuing, “Okay maybe a teeny tiny bit but that’s beside the point. It’s just… it’s just I just hate him with you —”Jason caught himself before ending up saying anything that would just come to bite him in the ass. Y/N’s eyes widened a fraction in realization before smiling. “Are you jealous ?”

“What ? No !” He swiftly shook his head, dismissing the suggestion despite the faint blush creeping up his neck,“ I’m not jealous. He’s just trouble and I don’t want him being near my —”He attempted to maintain his composure, but his defensive tone betrayed a hint of insecurity. Y/N titled her head, studying his body language carefully and asked,“Your what ?”

“My – my person.” Jason finished softly, his gaze dropping to the floor, uncertain about his choice of words. His heart racing as he struggled to find the right words to convey his feelings not wanting giving too much away nor did he want to invite misunderstandings by using the term ‘friend.’

Y/N let out a small chuckle,“ What ? So just because I work for you means I can’t interact with any of your sibling ?”

Jason raised his head in alarm,“ That’s not what I meant !” He clarified hurriedly. Oh ?

“Then what did you mean ? Hmm ?” Y/N inched closer to him, a playful smirk dancing on her lips. It had been exactly five days since he had kissed her, kissed her with insatiable hunger as if he intended to swallow her whole. Glancing down, she noticed his hand clenched around the material of his pants so tightly she feared he might tear a hole into them. Slowly, she trailed her hand up his arm, offering her sweetest smile. She felt his muscles tense under her touch, as though he was fighting - resisting. Y/N knew that teasing him might as well be biting off more than she could chew but Y/N 'life is all about taking risks and new experiences' L/N was willing to bet on her luck.

“The pasta is getting cold. You should —,”Jason's throat tightened as Y/N’s hand reached his shoulder, he couldn’t help but shiver slightly — his resolve wavering under her touch. He swallowed hard, trying to regain his composure, but her closeness was making it increasingly difficult to think straight. He watched as she looked right at him and then lowered her gaze to the part of his mask where his lips would be for a split second and then flit back to his eyes with a teasing mirth dancing in her eyes. Fuck. This woman is driving me crazy.

“— e-eat it before it gets cold,” he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. As a part of training, Bruce had taught all the Robins the psychology of seduction so that they could identify it and evade it and as of now, every fibre of his being screamed warnings. Her actions were daring, albeit innocent. But they weren't even half as blatant or polished as the seasoned honeytrappers and seductresses he had encountered, but they still stirred something so primal deep within him, tempting him to abandon caution. The part of his arm her fingertips grazed felt like it was on fire. No scratch that he had experienced what it was to have his skin on fire. This was exponentially worse.

Ever since Y/N re-entered his life, Jason Peter Todd was experiencing what one would call selective erectile dysfunction. Consumed by thoughts of Y/N, he found it impossible to concentrate on anything else. So a few weeks back, he sought to blow off some steam and divert his mind from the thoughts of Y/N overwhelming his system. Jason considered himself fairly easy to satisfy since all his encounters had been transactional, outlets for physical release and nothing more.

However much to his bafflement, his dick refused to react to anything for the past few days and embarrassingly so. There were plenty of flavours to choose from at the iceberg lounge but instead Jason jr. decided to give on the silent treatment instead. It was being a dick, literally. After the whole Lazarus pit shebang, whatever toxic shit he got tossed into as a part of some supervillain’s dastardly schemes, prescription meds he got talked into taking for quote unquote “mental health” — He was no stranger to bodily side effects but this was completely different.

This whole thing reached its height when Jason jr. refused to entertain the advances of a perfectly attractive busty blonde despite the fact that it was dying from sexual frustration and Jason was so ready to get over it. Under normal circumstances, it would be up and ready for action however it decided to stay completely and utterly indifferent — bored even. Effectively forcing Jason into non-consensual celibacy.

The only time it did react in his time at the iceberg lounge was when a model who had conspicuously similar hair colour and face shape to Y/N approached him with flirtation in her eyes. Jason jr. almost got hard, key word almost, when it made the important distinction that she was not Y/N and absolutely didn’t want her lips wandering anywhere his frustrating self. And by selective, he meant that Jason jr. developed a will of his own and turned into one of those overly enthusiastic parents cheering for their kids at school plays, not that Jason had experienced it personally, but that’s besides the point. The point being it would tent up and twitch uncontrollably begging for attention the second he sensed Y/N L/N’s presence in a mile’s distance. At the peak of his condition, Jason couldn’t so much as glance at a surface without his brain conjuring obscene images of how she would look pressed down against it, writhing and moaning his name.

As an avid reader, Jason was something of a hopeless romantic man and he knew that a couple’s first time was an important milestone in their relationship and could most definitely not be done on a whim. He had it all planned out, scented candles, silk sheets and all. It had to be special — touching, sweet, loving and most definitely not some lust-fueled spur of the moment thing his dick was pushing for right now. So there wasn’t much he could do, except sit in abject misery and hope to weather through the storm.

Okay, Jason. You survived being blown up by the joker. This is just another challenge. Focus on something else. Jason motivated himself with his voice of reason sounding suspiciously a lot like Nightwing and took a deep breath.

His eyes wandered till they found their way back to Y/N. She was wearing one of her typical sundresses with pastel floral patterns adorning it with a navy blue cardigan draped around her shoulders and the golden necklace resting on her neck. Her hair was fashioned into a high ponytail with loose strands framing her face.

Based on what he had observed she seemed to have a penchant for sundresses, which Jason believed complemented her overall personality quite well. He often found himself mesmerized by the way the sundresses accentuated Y/N's features, the dress hugging her curves perfectly and the fabric flowing gracefully with each movement. She almost looked like she had walked out of a cottage fairy tail. I bet I could shred it like tissue paper. Wait what ? Where did that come from ? Okay let’s try again. He turned his focus back to her. Most of her makeup had worn off from the day’s work, except for the eyeliner and the faintly sparkling light pink lip gloss on her lips, which seemed to have been touched up a few times. I wonder what she would look like on her knees, with her lips wrapped around my cock and that pretty mascara running down her cheeks.

Jason shot a glare at his pants. "Can you please shut up for just two goddamn seconds ? I'm trying to be respectful here," he muttered under his breath, hoping for a moment of peace. At this rate he contemplated the need for an exorcist to exorcise these insistent demons out of his system. He glanced up to find Y/N watching him. "Did you say something?" she asked but he simply shook his head in denial. Though she appeared skeptical, she chose not to press further. Moving to the cabinet, she requested, “Could you please grab the glasses? They’re in the third cabinet on the left,” while she fetched plates for serving and set them on the table. Jason obliged, retrieving the glasses, and as he placed them on the table, his hand inadvertently brushed against hers. Y/N glanced at him and flashed a gentle smile.

He could swear he felt his dick twitch. What are you some sort of pitiful depraved virgin ? Get your shit together. This is downright embarrassing. He scoffed at himself. Amid his current inner turmoil, he had become hyper aware of Y/N’s every micro movement from tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear to adjusting her ponytail or stooping to retrieve a fallen fork. Jason’s breath caught in his throat as he watched her bend down causing hemline of her dress to lift up, revealing a scene that would surely haunt him on his nights alone. No no no dont even- think of the lord Jason. What would Alfred say ?

Our Father who arth in heaven,

Hallowed be thy Name.

Thy kingdom come.

Thy will be done, On earth as it is in heaven.

“Mmmh this is so good !” Y/N moaned in delight as she took the first bite, her eyes widen in amazement, savoring the flavour dancing on their taste buds. Jason felt his throat dry up. Oh of course, she just had to make that sound. The universe was really against him today, more so than usual. With two dicks talking to him, he just had to figure out which one to listen to.

Give us this day our daily bread.

And forgive us our — wait how did that go again ?

Despite Jason's best efforts to maintain composure, Y/N's every movement seemed to unravel his resolve further. As she savored each bite, he couldn't help but be captivated by the way her lips formed around the fork, her eyes alight with pleasure. With each passing moment, his internal struggle intensified, torn between the desire to avert his gaze and this magnetic force of a woman. Her presence seemed to envelop him, every sound she made echoing in his mind, her every gesture etched into his memory. How could he resist the temptation when she was right there, so effortlessly bewitching ?

Y/N placed her hand on his and he pulled away instinctively, the smile on her face faltered but she didn’t say anything. Jason made a mental note to bash his head into a wall hard later for hurting her feelings but as of now he was in no position of making any sort physical contact with her. “Won’t you be eating ?” she asked, attempting to diffuse the tension. “I don’t eat before patrol,” he replied, his response came out colder than he had intended it to be. “It’s best to patrol on an empty stomach because it’s not exactly pleasant.”

“Oh.” Her brows furrowed slightly at his icy response, but she nodded, accepting his explanation. His words hung in the air, thick with an unspoken tension. Y/N bit her lip, her gaze flickering between him and the plate of pasta. Feeling a pang of guilt, he tried to ease the atmosphere, though his attempt felt feeble. "But maybe I'll grab something later," he added, a touch of forced warmth in his tone.

“This is really good, you know. You should tell me the recipe sometime,” she suggested. "Nah, I can whip it up for you whenever you want," he replied nonchalantly. Y/N blinked in surprise. "No, I couldn't possibly—"

"Yes, you can," he insisted, pointing at her necklace. It had been over two months since she started wearing it, and thankfully, she hadn't needed to use its emergency SOS feature. Her thumb traced the disk-shaped pendant of the necklace. “Whatcha smiling about ?” Jason asked. “No nothing,”she replied, shaking her head. Not believing her, Jason tilted his head and urged her to continue. “Fine. So, in this K-drama I watched a while back, the female lead had a powerful mythical creature protecting her like sort of a guardian angel, and she could summon him whenever she lit a match. It just reminded me of that.”

“What creature ?” He asked with intrigue. Jason had always been more inclined to reading rather than watching in nature so he didn’t really have much experience with k-dramas but seeing how interested she was, he was more than willing to give it a go.

“A goblin.”she answered taking another bite of the pasta. “I’m not sure how I ought to take that —” Y/N’s eyes widened in realisation because she knew that goblins in western media were depicted as short ugly green monsters with horrible attitudes. “Oh no no ! Not like the DND ones. Korean ones ! He was really hot,” she clarified frantically. Jason chuckled,“Well then I guess I’ll humbly accept the compliment.”

"Maybe we could watch the show together next time we hang out you know," she suggested shyly, not wanting to appear too upfront with her invitation. A small smile played onto Jason’s lips, every single romance novel he had ever read had prepared him for this moment. He had often wondered what it would feel like to experience such a situation. Sure, they had watched random shows like ‘The real housewives of Beverly Hills’ and ‘Say Yes to the Dress’ before, but this invitation felt different, more deliberate. She specifically asked for this. This wasn’t just ‘got nothing to do so let’s just turn on the tv’ kinda hangout, this was special. Jason's heart skipped a beat as he considered her invitation. The subtle nervousness in her voice only added to the charm of the moment. It was as if the universe had conspired to create this perfect opportunity for them to connect on a deeper level.

"Yeah, that sounds great," he replied, his voice betraying a touch of eagerness despite his attempt to appear casual. Deep down, he knew that this was a significant step in their relationship. “But it’ll have to wait. I’m leaving Gotham,” he added with a sad sigh, remembering the reason he had come to see her in the first place.

“What? Why?” His sudden announcement caught Y/N off guard. Did something bad happen ? “Sorry angel, it’s confidential,” he replied briskly. It was in her best interest to keep her as uninvolved in his world as possible, knowing the risks involved in pursuing a relationship with a civilian.

As they sat in uneasy silence, Jason couldn't shake the weight of his own discomfort. He knew he had been too harsh with his response, but the walls he had built around himself were hard to break down, even with someone as kind-hearted as Y/N. Despite his efforts to appear unaffected, he couldn't ignore the concern in her eyes.

Y/N’s mind raced with questions, but she could sense Jason’s reluctance to divulge further. She bit her lip, grappling with a mix of concern and frustration.

“Red did something happen ?” she implored, her voice tinged with worry. “Is it something dangerous? Are you in trouble?”

Jason met her gaze, her expression a mixture of worry and sadness. He hesitated, torn between his desire to confide in her and his commitment to keeping her safe. “It’s just a mission. I’m sorry I can’t tell you much,” he admitted, feeling a sense of regret. “But trust me, it’s better this way. I don’t want you getting mixed up in my business.” Of course it made sense. He didn’t owe her an explanation, knowing there were lines she shouldn’t cross was one of them. This was a world of vigilantes and villains and as a civilian she couldn’t possibly fathom the complexities of his profession.

Y/N reached out, gently placing her hand on his arm. “I understand,” she said, her voice soft but resolute.“You’ll be back right ?”

“Wouldn’t have given you that necklace if I wasn’t going around for my angel. It might take a couple months, maybe three or four. I don’t know. But I’ll be back.” He squeezed her hand reassuringly and continued,“ And still if you get into trouble, you can still use that necklace. I called in a favour from nightwing and orphan.”

“So what did you ask them to exactly ? They get an alert and they’re to drop everything they’re doing and come save me ?” Y/N asked jokingly.

“Well yeah. You get hurt while I’m gone and they’ll end up as fish food in the Gotham Harbour. Y’know they're like my insurance policy for you," he added. "But hopefully, you won't need to cash it in. Just stay safe and out of trouble until I get back."

Y/N nodded, a playful glint in her eyes. "I'll do my best. But you know all that aside, cooking a girl dinner and introducing her to your family, and here I thought we were taking it slow.” Jason paused, caught off guard by her comment. Was that how it appeared ? Her playful expression suggested she was merely teasing him, but what if she was genuinely reciprocating flirtation ?

“You’re a really cruel woman you know angel.”Y/N leaned forward on the table and folded her arms infront of her subconsciously pushing her breasts forward, a coy pout forming on her lips ,“Why do you say that ?” She was fully aware of her effect on him, wasn’t she ?

Jason chuckled softly, his gaze meeting hers with a mixture of amusement and admiration,“No need to worry your pretty head with that.” With a quick flick of his finger, he lightly tapped her forehead, a playful retaliation for her teasing. She let out a surprised yelp, rubbing her forehead in mock indignation.

“I should get going before Starfire and Arsenal lose their shit thinking I’ve gone MIA. Again.” He said, rising to his feet and straightening his jacket. Y/N too got up and kept the dishes in the sink. Jason turned to leave from the fire exit but he felt Y/N hold his jacket. “Be careful out there Red.” She smiled softly at him and Jason could feel his heart melt into a puddle. “Can’t promise but I will try.” His words came out with softness he didn’t know he possessed, he squeezed her hand gently before reluctantly letting go. With one last lingering look, he turned and disappeared into the fire exit.

Outside, Jason took a deep breath, the cool night air soothing his nerves. He glanced around, making sure the coast was clear before slipping into the shadows. As he moved through the darkness, he couldn't help but replay their interaction in his mind. Her soft smile, the way she held onto his jacket, and the genuine concern in her voice lingered in his thoughts.

Pushing aside his thoughts, Jason focused on the task at hand. He moved swiftly through the alleyways, his senses alert for any signs of trouble. The city whispered its secrets to him, a constant reminder of the darkness that threatened to consume it. The weight of his responsibilities as Red Hood pressed upon him, reminding him of the dangers lurking in the shadows of Gotham City.

Yet, in that fleeting moment with Y/N, he felt a sense of peace that he hadn't known in a very long time.

A/n: Jason Todd live reaction

Ngl I was in a very silly goofy mood when I wrote this.

Tags : @thisisafish123 @ceramic-raven @millyhelp @blamedbisexual @trunkswithlonghair-blog @jasontoddthings @deans-spinster-witch @12134z03

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psychologeek · 10 months

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12.08.2023 prompt - Love Among the Shelves

Barbara was at the children's section's front desk when he approached.

It was her day shift, but every instinct she developed during her over-a-decade time as a vigilant, screamed inside of her that this man was DANGEROUS.

"Excuse me, sir!" She called him, as she took a quick look at the population.

(fifteen children, ten mothers, and a teen- probably a babysitter, or an older sister).

"How can I help you?" She asked as he stood in front of her, almost 2 ft over her. She quietly unlocked her wheels, and reach for the emergency taser.

"I want to get a library card." He says.

"This is the children section, mr...?"

"Dan. Just Dan. And that not for me, that's for the hellion". He gesture to his left, only seem to notice no one's there.

"ELLIE!"

"Sheesh, Old Mold." A kid show up. "No leed to yell. MY ears are still new and working."

"You can't just disappear without telling anyone!"

"What, am I in prison now? Oh, wait, I'm not the one who's been locked up!"

"You little hazard. What did we say about telling OUTSIDERS private information?"

"Do it for fun and profit?-"

And the man just grab by the back of her hoodie, and pick her up in one hand.

"That's the Hellion. She needs a library card."

The kid move a little, trying to escape, before giving up and just looking at Barbara.

"Hi! I'm Ellie - WOW ARE YOU JAZZ'S CLONE?".

-OR-

After learning that Danielle just travel around the world on her own, Dan's core re-develope his old obsession.

(protect her)

They travel across the world as Dan& Ellie - father and daughter.

Ellie wants to go to Gotham, (They have WEIRD THINGS) and they try getting a life there.

On an attempt to get something like normal (halfa?) life, Dan take Ellie to get her first library card.

Enter Barbara Gordon, a librarian extraordinary by day, and a vigilant named "Oracle" by night.

Somehow, she keep meeting that single dad (ex-prisoner) and his daughter.

(she CAN'T be introduced to Damian. The world may not survive it).

Or: I started thinking Dan/Barbara and now I can't unsee it.

Tag some I think would like this:

@stealingyourbones @im-only-here-for-the-fandom @hdgnj

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mostlysignssomeportents · 2 months

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Humans are not perfectly vigilant

I'm on tour with my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me in BOSTON with Randall "XKCD" Munroe (Apr 11), then PROVIDENCE (Apr 12), and beyond!

Here's a fun AI story: a security researcher noticed that large companies' AI-authored source-code repeatedly referenced a nonexistent library (an AI "hallucination"), so he created a (defanged) malicious library with that name and uploaded it, and thousands of developers automatically downloaded and incorporated it as they compiled the code:

https://www.theregister.com/2024/03/28/ai_bots_hallucinate_software_packages/

These "hallucinations" are a stubbornly persistent feature of large language models, because these models only give the illusion of understanding; in reality, they are just sophisticated forms of autocomplete, drawing on huge databases to make shrewd (but reliably fallible) guesses about which word comes next:

https://dl.acm.org/doi/10.1145/3442188.3445922

Guessing the next word without understanding the meaning of the resulting sentence makes unsupervised LLMs unsuitable for high-stakes tasks. The whole AI bubble is based on convincing investors that one or more of the following is true:

There are low-stakes, high-value tasks that will recoup the massive costs of AI training and operation;

There are high-stakes, high-value tasks that can be made cheaper by adding an AI to a human operator;

Adding more training data to an AI will make it stop hallucinating, so that it can take over high-stakes, high-value tasks without a "human in the loop."

These are dubious propositions. There's a universe of low-stakes, low-value tasks – political disinformation, spam, fraud, academic cheating, nonconsensual porn, dialog for video-game NPCs – but none of them seem likely to generate enough revenue for AI companies to justify the billions spent on models, nor the trillions in valuation attributed to AI companies:

https://locusmag.com/2023/12/commentary-cory-doctorow-what-kind-of-bubble-is-ai/

The proposition that increasing training data will decrease hallucinations is hotly contested among AI practitioners. I confess that I don't know enough about AI to evaluate opposing sides' claims, but even if you stipulate that adding lots of human-generated training data will make the software a better guesser, there's a serious problem. All those low-value, low-stakes applications are flooding the internet with botshit. After all, the one thing AI is unarguably very good at is producing bullshit at scale. As the web becomes an anaerobic lagoon for botshit, the quantum of human-generated "content" in any internet core sample is dwindling to homeopathic levels:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/14/inhuman-centipede/#enshittibottification

This means that adding another order of magnitude more training data to AI won't just add massive computational expense – the data will be many orders of magnitude more expensive to acquire, even without factoring in the additional liability arising from new legal theories about scraping:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/17/how-to-think-about-scraping/

That leaves us with "humans in the loop" – the idea that an AI's business model is selling software to businesses that will pair it with human operators who will closely scrutinize the code's guesses. There's a version of this that sounds plausible – the one in which the human operator is in charge, and the AI acts as an eternally vigilant "sanity check" on the human's activities.

For example, my car has a system that notices when I activate my blinker while there's another car in my blind-spot. I'm pretty consistent about checking my blind spot, but I'm also a fallible human and there've been a couple times where the alert saved me from making a potentially dangerous maneuver. As disciplined as I am, I'm also sometimes forgetful about turning off lights, or waking up in time for work, or remembering someone's phone number (or birthday). I like having an automated system that does the robotically perfect trick of never forgetting something important.

There's a name for this in automation circles: a "centaur." I'm the human head, and I've fused with a powerful robot body that supports me, doing things that humans are innately bad at.

That's the good kind of automation, and we all benefit from it. But it only takes a small twist to turn this good automation into a nightmare. I'm speaking here of the reverse-centaur: automation in which the computer is in charge, bossing a human around so it can get its job done. Think of Amazon warehouse workers, who wear haptic bracelets and are continuously observed by AI cameras as autonomous shelves shuttle in front of them and demand that they pick and pack items at a pace that destroys their bodies and drives them mad:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/04/17/revenge-of-the-chickenized-reverse-centaurs/

Automation centaurs are great: they relieve humans of drudgework and let them focus on the creative and satisfying parts of their jobs. That's how AI-assisted coding is pitched: rather than looking up tricky syntax and other tedious programming tasks, an AI "co-pilot" is billed as freeing up its human "pilot" to focus on the creative puzzle-solving that makes coding so satisfying.

But an hallucinating AI is a terrible co-pilot. It's just good enough to get the job done much of the time, but it also sneakily inserts booby-traps that are statistically guaranteed to look as plausible as the good code (that's what a next-word-guessing program does: guesses the statistically most likely word).

This turns AI-"assisted" coders into reverse centaurs. The AI can churn out code at superhuman speed, and you, the human in the loop, must maintain perfect vigilance and attention as you review that code, spotting the cleverly disguised hooks for malicious code that the AI can't be prevented from inserting into its code. As "Lena" writes, "code review [is] difficult relative to writing new code":

https://twitter.com/qntm/status/1773779967521780169

Why is that? "Passively reading someone else's code just doesn't engage my brain in the same way. It's harder to do properly":

https://twitter.com/qntm/status/1773780355708764665

There's a name for this phenomenon: "automation blindness." Humans are just not equipped for eternal vigilance. We get good at spotting patterns that occur frequently – so good that we miss the anomalies. That's why TSA agents are so good at spotting harmless shampoo bottles on X-rays, even as they miss nearly every gun and bomb that a red team smuggles through their checkpoints:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/23/automation-blindness/#humans-in-the-loop

"Lena"'s thread points out that this is as true for AI-assisted driving as it is for AI-assisted coding: "self-driving cars replace the experience of driving with the experience of being a driving instructor":

https://twitter.com/qntm/status/1773841546753831283

In other words, they turn you into a reverse-centaur. Whereas my blind-spot double-checking robot allows me to make maneuvers at human speed and points out the things I've missed, a "supervised" self-driving car makes maneuvers at a computer's frantic pace, and demands that its human supervisor tirelessly and perfectly assesses each of those maneuvers. No wonder Cruise's murderous "self-driving" taxis replaced each low-waged driver with 1.5 high-waged technical robot supervisors:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/11/robots-stole-my-jerb/#computer-says-no

AI radiology programs are said to be able to spot cancerous masses that human radiologists miss. A centaur-based AI-assisted radiology program would keep the same number of radiologists in the field, but they would get less done: every time they assessed an X-ray, the AI would give them a second opinion. If the human and the AI disagreed, the human would go back and re-assess the X-ray. We'd get better radiology, at a higher price (the price of the AI software, plus the additional hours the radiologist would work).

But back to making the AI bubble pay off: for AI to pay off, the human in the loop has to reduce the costs of the business buying an AI. No one who invests in an AI company believes that their returns will come from business customers to agree to increase their costs. The AI can't do your job, but the AI salesman can convince your boss to fire you and replace you with an AI anyway – that pitch is the most successful form of AI disinformation in the world.

An AI that "hallucinates" bad advice to fliers can't replace human customer service reps, but airlines are firing reps and replacing them with chatbots:

https://www.bbc.com/travel/article/20240222-air-canada-chatbot-misinformation-what-travellers-should-know

An AI that "hallucinates" bad legal advice to New Yorkers can't replace city services, but Mayor Adams still tells New Yorkers to get their legal advice from his chatbots:

https://arstechnica.com/ai/2024/03/nycs-government-chatbot-is-lying-about-city-laws-and-regulations/

The only reason bosses want to buy robots is to fire humans and lower their costs. That's why "AI art" is such a pisser. There are plenty of harmless ways to automate art production with software – everything from a "healing brush" in Photoshop to deepfake tools that let a video-editor alter the eye-lines of all the extras in a scene to shift the focus. A graphic novelist who models a room in The Sims and then moves the camera around to get traceable geometry for different angles is a centaur – they are genuinely offloading some finicky drudgework onto a robot that is perfectly attentive and vigilant.

But the pitch from "AI art" companies is "fire your graphic artists and replace them with botshit." They're pitching a world where the robots get to do all the creative stuff (badly) and humans have to work at robotic pace, with robotic vigilance, in order to catch the mistakes that the robots make at superhuman speed.

Reverse centaurism is brutal. That's not news: Charlie Chaplin documented the problems of reverse centaurs nearly 100 years ago:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Modern_Times_(film)

As ever, the problem with a gadget isn't what it does: it's who it does it for and who it does it to. There are plenty of benefits from being a centaur – lots of ways that automation can help workers. But the only path to AI profitability lies in reverse centaurs, automation that turns the human in the loop into the crumple-zone for a robot:

https://estsjournal.org/index.php/ests/article/view/260

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/01/human-in-the-loop/#monkey-in-the-middle

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

Jorge Royan (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Munich_-_Two_boys_playing_in_a_park_-_7328.jpg

CC BY-SA 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/deed.en

Noah Wulf (modified) https://commons.m.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Thunderbirds_at_Attention_Next_to_Thunderbird_1_-_Aviation_Nation_2019.jpg

CC BY-SA 4.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/deed.en

#pluralistic #ai #supervised ai #humans in the loop #coding assistance #ai art #fully automated luxury communism #labor

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sadokasochism · 1 month

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For me, the most heartbreaking aspect of Ivan is that the poor clueless bastard didn't have the tools to express his affection in any way that didn't involve violence or manipulation, or weren't too inscrutable, quiet, or unseen to be picked up by Till.

I definitely interpret Ivan as autistic for several reasons, a big one being their Segyein teacher's notes about him:

It's just. Classic ND behaviour to me.

Not only does expressing emotion and communicating the way other kids do not come naturally to Ivan, but it's not as if he's been given a great example of coping with this from the Segyein.

Ivan managed to mask in a way that made him popular with other students, and got him in the good graces of their captors. He did everything expected of him to survive and thrive in this environment.

Then he meets Till, inscrutable and very different to the other kids, just like Ivan is. Except, Till doesn't mask. He doesn't change or try to endear himself to their captors, and he doesn't bend to anyone, no matter how much he is hurt and punished for it.

This is a new situation for Ivan, and he's never had anything to compare his feelings to. He also can't figure out how to communicate with Till, every interaction, no matter how well meaning, seems to end in failure.

I bring your attention to the cheer up comic, and how, again, autistic this interaction feels:

There could be many reasons why Ivan chose to say what he did, but to me it feels like ND bluntness not being received well. And that's fair! From Till's perspective Ivan is being a jerk for no good reason.

Instead of responding with glee towards Till laying him out (as we see from Ivan when they're a bit older), Ivan justs seems... really confused. Like he didn't expect that statement to upset Till that much, and he didn't expect Till to respond in the way he did. Everything was fine a second ago, what went wrong?

Then, Ivan uses the phrase he learned from Till in an attempt to self sooth. It might have been the first example of comfort after an injury/hurt he had ever seen, given how he defaults to it. And it was from Till trying to cheer up a flower.

This also shows some of Till's blindspots. He has grown up having to be vigilant, because violence and hurt have been a core part of his upbringing. This leads to anything he doesn't immediately, clearly understand being perceived as a threat or a slight, and so he reacts violently to Ivan's statement.

I'll also draw your attention to this comic where, as far as we know, Ivan is simply stating a true fact in a blunt manner:

In my interpretation, these types of interactions keep adding up, and Ivan is grasping at straws the whole time, trying to be closer to Till and failing every time.

Eventually, the only surefire way to get Till's attention is to piss him off, provoke him, manufacture scenarios to talk to him. I'm not excusing this behaviour, but I understand where Ivan could be coming from, from the perspective of both an emotionally immature/stunted child and/or an ND child.

Despite how much they fight and bicker, at every moment it really mattered, Ivan was there for Till. It was always Ivan coming to free him, to take off his collar or gag, and it was Ivan who led their escape.

Ivan couldn't leave Till behind when he went back for Mizi. Even with the confirmation that Till would choose Mizi over Ivan every time, Ivan couldn't leave him.

The miscommunication goes two ways though. It's insane to think that Till didn't care about Ivan at all. They were close as kids, and I doubt Till ever forgot about the escape he gave up.

We have the graduation messages, where Ivan is able to write something that could be reasonably interpreted as affectionate or fond towards Till.

Meanwhile, Till's message-

If we're being charitable with our interpretations, we can say this was Till's way of saying 'of course I remember you' and attempting to communicate that Ivan HAD left a lasting impact on him.

However, how could any reasonable person be expected to get THAT out of 'you stole my fucking pencil'? Ivan could have taken this one of two ways:

1) Omg he remembers me 🥰

2) he leans into his 'i will never be loved back' bias and thinks that Till really doesn't care about him at all

Who the hell knows what goes through that weird little brain of his. But given how Round 6 went, and what Ivan had to say in the confession comic, he obviously didn't think his impact was significant enough.

Then Alien Stage happens, and in Round 3 Ivan is FINALLY communicating his feelings in a way that is vulnerable and might even have a chance of being understood as love and yearning!

Till is unconscious through it until the very end.

Then in the next round, Mizi goes missing, and Till can't care about anything anymore.

Ivan finds him after the private performance, takes off his gag, and just holds him. Again, Till is unconscious for all of this.

Then, in Round 6, not only is Till distraught from the disappearance of Mizi, but he's given no time to process what the fuck is going on before Ivan is dead at his feet. Till might have finally had a chance to really understand where Ivan was coming from, how he really felt all this time, and Ivan DIES.

And still, Ivan's most transparent act of affection? It's delivered with violence. He's kissing a distraught Till who tries to push him away, and neither of them are happy. He puts his hands around Till's neck, not really hurting him, but it's enough to look convincing for the cameras, and it's enough for Till to go limp and wait for death. Ivan's final loving act is to give Till a soft look with blood pouring out of his mouth, that Till still does not see, and then let go before falling to the ground.

It's just a collection of failures. We see from Ivan that he truly loved Till, made a lot of selfless decisions for his sake, was filled with so much longing and affection, but he just couldn't get it across in a way that doesn't seem fucking deranged from an outsider's perspective. And when he DID manage to communicate his feelings more clearly, it was to a Till that was unconscious, or too distracted/dense/traumatised to see Ivan's actions as ones of love.

There's no guarantee that Till would have reciprocated even if Ivan had managed to communicate his feelings in a healthier way, but there was at least a CHANCE. At least Ivan could have gotten some closure, even if he was rejected.

Instead Ivan died thinking he was completely unloved by the person who he cared about more than anything else, and his last ditch effort to make Till understand was deeply flawed and uncomfortable.

If these kids had grown up any other way, maybe they could have had a chance. Unfortunately, the world they were in didn't equip them to not hurt eachother in their attempts to grow closer.

#alien stage #alien stage ivan #alien stage till #alnst #alnst ivan #alnst till #ivantill #tillivan #alien stage round 6 #if you saw me edit this a bunch of times trying to link the masterdoc post no you didnt

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esthermitchell-author · 8 months

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I know I'm likely to get some backlash over this... But please just hear me out, first.

I don't believe, for even a second, that Crowley needs a protector. He doesn't need Azi to fight his battles for him, or be his guardian, or anything like that. Maybe the angel he once was might have. But, as Crowley has said more than once, that angel isn't him. That angel is dead, gone, buried. He wants no part of whoever they were.

Crowley the demon can fight his own battles just fine. In fact, in becoming a demon, he has -- by odd twist -- BECOME the protector. As Azi states so clearly, nothing makes Crowley happier than getting to rescue his angel -- getting to be the hero appeals to Crowley on a very deep level. I believe it is what fuels his inner goodness, reminds him he's not JUST the outer shell the world sees, either.

What Crowley NEEDS is a HEALER. Crowley is deeply, fundamentally broken. (Please don't throw things at me. I'm not suggesting he needs fixed in any way. That's NOT what I mean by "broken.") He's been stepped on, cast out, mangled and mistreated in so many ways, by so many people, his soul is a fractured mess of PTSD, pain, and a deep-seated fear of trusting anyone, or making himself even the slightest bit vulnerable. He covers these over with a great deal of sarcasm, snark, and general feigned boredom with whatever situation is currently triggering him in horrible ways.

Crowley is like a combination of grizzled old warrior and beaten dog. He's jumping at shadows, at every possible threat or loud noise, even before S2. By S2 he's slid into a state of hyper-vigilance that's the other side of the universe from healthy (I know... I live there. I can recognize the signs at a glance).

What he needs is a healing touch. Gentleness. A loving touch that tells him it's okay to be broken, that he'll heal with time, and he's good enough just the way he is, right now. He needs someone with that softness. He needs love, and belonging, and to know that it's okay to put down the load when it gets heavy -- the world won't fall apart if he takes a moment to breathe and actually enjoy something.

I firmly believe all of that is Aziraphale. Azi's a healer to his core. I know everyone keeps going on about swords and warriors and protectors, and I'm not doubting Azi's capable of standing on his own two feet and of protecting others. But that's not what Crowley needs. He needs Azi's softness. His healing touch. His gentle words and calm voice. He needs Azi to say "You belong right here, with me, just as you are." I think we'll see that, before it's all over. Azi can't help but be soft and gentle with Crowley. He just needs to get out of his own way, and show Crowley everything he's holding back.

#good omens #good omens fandom #aziracrow #azicrow #aziraphale x crowley #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #ineffable spouses #crowley

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coreofthebible · 2 years

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The constant discipline of godly instruction

A believer’s heart cannot be satisfied without continual learning and growing. Yeshua taught in the sermon on the mount that believers need to have an attitude of constantly asking, seeking, and knocking (Matthew 7). There should be an attitude of openness to instruction that is carried within a mindset of vigilant persistence. This was not a new teaching to the Hebrew ear. In the book of…

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#ask seek knock #bible #christ #core of the bible #discipline #jesus #knowledge #matthew 7 #messiah #proverbs 15 #sermon on the mount #understanding #Vigilance #wisdom #yahweh #yeshua

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lunarw0rks · 2 months

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sweet thing | part one

˖⁺‧₊˚ read it on ao3 | masterlist | ask box

price takes a liking to his neighbor. vulnerable, expecting, and in need of his helping hand. it's a good thing he always wanted a family.

john price x pregnant!reader (based on this idea of mine.)

warning(s): MDNI (18+); NOT EDITED, price is touch starved and kinda pathetic, pregnancy, angst/depression, alcoholism, fluff, fem!reader [wc: 1.3k]

Involuntary stress leave, they called it.

But for John, it was just short of decay. Sedentary, bitter—restless. Stuck at home while there's still a fight to be fought, men who need guidance. His men.

Before the stress does him in, he figures boredom will close in on him first, and it would be less merciful than any bullet or blade. Chores are a necessity, and hobbies are nothing more than a temporary soothe to his aches.

Every morning, irony wakes him up cold. Takes its pound of flesh. The world he devoted his adult life to fighting for, has nothing in it for him.

(Stiff fingers, heaving chest, bile in his throat, tremors marring his nervous system.)

It's hours before he can shake the feeling, so he compromises by rising at ungodly hours and fulfilling a rigid routine—still a trained soldier to his core. And by nightfall, he nurses a bottle until he's warm again, ready for the reset at dawn.

As they gaze out the window, his eyes search for purpose. Two fingers parting the blinds. Something, anything, please. But nothing. The sharp sting of cheap booze rushes past his teeth, and he's ready to retreat.

He winces through the taste before he's at attention again. The rumble of an engine cut short right next door. He angles himself to catch a clear view of the person. Instinct yells for him to be vigilant, but the sight in front of him snuffs the bellow.

The flow of a slip dress in the breeze, sticky strands of hair pulled back, glowing skin, a nurturing hand resting on the bump that shows through the fabric.

You look anything but thrilled while you wrangle your bags and fight the wind gusts, and you're well aware of it.

All John sees is bloom. Purpose. Duty.

Before he can gather all his wits, he's closed the front door behind him, his spilled bottle dribbling along the end table. It's not so much your beauty that drives him; he isn't a superficial man and can't afford to be.

A living, breathing person is what quickens his stride. Someone to talk to. Someone to touch and study. As of late, the only people near have been on the other side of the TV screen, fueled by dramatics and in character.

You find yourself stuck in your headspace again, mentally listing all the tasks that await you inside your house. Chores, mostly, some grocery shopping—and loads more of that endless baby planning. Relaxation wasn't an option and you're actively learning to accept that. Although, it's admittedly difficult to feel any other way when you've got another human to consider now.

John clears his throat. "Let me take tha' for you, darling."

He waits until you meet his stare to extend a hand, fingers grazing the flimsy straps of your shopping bags. You freeze, soaking in the sight of him.

"Hm?" Your brows knit together, and it's only then that you catch up with him.

"Your bags."

The man has already taken them before the words finish rolling off his tongue, but he stays in place.

A soft chuckle comes out of you to crack open the sheet of embarrassment. "Sorry, I'm a little out of it today."

Pregnancy brain, you want to blame it on. But deep down you know it's because kindness is a new taste nowadays.

Most are courteous and accommodating, making way for you. Others look at you like dirt on their shoes. Fatigue draining your features doesn't help, and neither does the absence of a wedding band. Early on, you were naive enough to believe society had moved beyond the stigma. Wrong, more wrong, and a fool is all you are nowadays, even if only in your head.

Exhausted, not out of it, he analyses, and his heart aches.

"It's alright." His voice is smooth as nectar, leaving goosebumps on your skin that you'll chalk up to the wind. "Shouldn't be carrying all this by yourself, anyhow."

You fight the urge to scoff and instead lead the way to the front porch.

He's right. You shouldn’t be doing any of this alone.

Turning the key, you step inside and let the words spill. “Yeah, I, uh— I didn’t have anyone to call.”

Price should be more shocked by your words, but he isn’t. He is really, and truly, desensitized to all the misfortune around him. And it’s not any different with you. His eyes—conditioned to spot every minute detail of a person—took milliseconds to notice your left hand.

Feel her out. Find out more.

“That so?” He questions softly but doesn’t give you a chance to respond. You’ve painted the whole picture and more.

His words are full of every sensibility possible. “That’s a shame.” Pity. Empathy. Grief. Outrage. All except condescension; none of this is your fault, he can sense it.

You expect admonition.

Leading a stranger inside is bad enough, and walking the fine line between small talk and oversharing is worse.

But you can’t bring yourself to taste it. Outside of some coworkers and your mother, this is your first taste of organic interaction, and it’s been overwhelmingly amicable so far. Not something you can take lightly; loneliness is prevalent.

You let out a tired sigh, letting the silent gesture speak for itself. What else can you say? He's already got you pegged after spending all but two minutes with you. Makes you wonder how you haven't noticed him sooner, though you remember his driveway is usually vacant and the blinds are always closed.

By now, it's obvious that if he had ill intentions, he would've acted on them by now. The silence isn't thick or stiff—it's refreshing, oddly enough.

When his mouth upturns, the crow's feet around his eyes are made visible. They've witnessed things, awful things, no doubt. But he's also got a world of wisdom in them.

This is the part where you find a farewell, something moderately polite so you don't feel awful for kicking him out. (Not your fault you need to rest your feet. At least you get the sense that he'll understand.)

In search for the words, you place a hand on your stomach, "well, it was kind of you to bring that in, uh—"

"—John." He interjects.

Out of habit, you form a clumsy smile and ache to get the proper words out. "It was very kind of you, John. Thank you."

Without any further direction, he's able to pick up on your hints for him to make his exit. The bar is so low these days, it's almost shocking. Shuffling to follow him to the front door, your hand seizes the knob.

There's a lot left unsaid, despite meeting your handsome neighbor only a short time ago. The voice inside urges you to keep it short. Send him off, get out of his hair. He was just being nice.

"I should thank you again," you blurt, almost abruptly. Price turns on his heels with little surprise, a leer written on his thin lips. "Next time, I'll take another trip to carry the bags."

"No next time, love." A purr and a new nickname.

Too smitten to even notice the ruffle of some paper when he reaches a hand in his pocket. Even stole the pen off your entry table (a.k.a the junk-pile-of-mail-table) and you were none the wiser. Dated, the way he scribbles on the crumbled receipt and hands it to you between his index and middle.

Heat rises up your neck and to your face when you inch closer to retrieve the number, somehow finding it within yourself to not break eye contact. John's gaze stays genuine, despite the puff of his chest and the way he breathes your scent in shamelessly.

Albeit frazzled—you weren't born yesterday; he's attractive and extremely luring and you're single and hormonal. Wouldn't take much for something to happen.

And if not, you know you'll have fond daydreams, at the very least.

"You ever need anything, give me a call. 'M good for more than bag carrying."

#divider by benkeibear #not sure what to think of this #john price #captain price x reader #price mw2 #john price x reader #price x reader #captain john price #price cod #price x you #john price x you #task force 141 #cod

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