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20s• minors will be blocked [blog directory] ✯✯✯

[hootyhoobuckaroo]

FIC STUFF

➤ MASTERLIST

➤ FIC RECOMMENDATIONS

➤ NICE THINGS PEOPLE SAY ABOUT MY FICS

WRITING STUFF

➤ PROMPTS

PERSONAL TAGS (how I organize my favorite reblogs)

★ Bucky / Sam / Steve / Tony / Nat / Hate Tag for Endgame Steve / Spidey / Bucky and Sam Content / Bucky, Sam and Steve Content ★

Feel free to send an ask or dm if you want to get added to my tag list!

[peteneems]

[philcollinsenjoyer]

about 90% of fanfiction takes place in a utopia where men are thoughtful and unsure of their place in the world

[noah-wyles]

she's the best of us

[bewbin]

dude honestly shout out to my guards i told them to seize this guy and before i could even finish my sentence they soze him. My goats

[rainintheevening]

Okay, we got a new one, boys.

[fleshengine]

Close enough welcome back Chekov's gun.

[comma-souptra]

Prev you can’t bury this in your own tags

[justbreakonme]

I also like the idea of showing something as a problem before it’s shown as a strength. Almost every character trait has two sides, and by showing the “bad” side first, it sets things up to not only make sense, but to also be very satisfying.

[arimari81-70]

How it feels logging onto Tumblr to read fics after joining a new fandom

[iwillmissourtalks]

truly anything can be good if you do enough textual analysis

[iwillmissourtalks]

fandom at its core is about asking the age old question “what if they were doing that shit on purpose” and then they weren’t

[twentytomidnight]

don’t go feeding stray dogs (1/?)

Jason Todd/Reader, 1.3K

a/n: inspired by @stormy-tenderheart’s delightful Jason Todd text posts and @lush-escape with their Jason Todd line cook story!

cw: flirting, usage of ‘sweetheart,’ gn!reader (no description of clothing/features)

part two masterlist ao3 requests

PREVIEW:

…because they always come back around for more. Jason Todd/Reader

You work in a run-down Gotham diner that’s always got a distinct layer of grime and exhaustion laced around it. You work there because you want the paycheck, and because it helps put the meager food on the table. You don’t quit because there's a coworker or two that makes break time bearable when they slide you a leftover plate that you can scarf down. Besides, the customers are always nice enough. It’s just a job, after all. 

You always take the late night, early morning shift hours because even in Gotham with all the creeps and weirdos that come out to play, they don’t ever grace the doorstep of your diner. So you always rock up to a veritable ghost town, you yourself one of the spirits inhabiting the confines of these four walls until you can finally trudge to the bus stop and stare hollowly out the window. 

It’s been a long day, with tired, bleary-eyed customers. Part of you wonders if you’re only looking at a reflection of yourself when you see those glassy expressions staring back up at you as they make their orders, ask for refill on coffee, request a box to-go.

You’re barely scraping by yourself, and your stomach grumbles right on time for your break. You ask for your fifteen and as you slink to the exit in the back, one of the cooks slides you a fresh, heavy delivery bag with the excuse “They got the wrong order, didn’t want it. All yours.” 

You catch the wink and respond in kind with a secretive smile for the small miracles that they do for you. As you tuck it under your arm, the radiant heat bathes your chest as you stalk to the back for your time. You’re eager to see what some fool didn’t want to get—this may not be a Michelin, but they always deliver hot, greasy food the way that hits just right after a long day. 

Your fifteen are always spent in the graces of a dark, dimly lit back alley where you can usually find your coworkers taking a smoke break, thin plumes ghosting up to the sky. It’s a small, dingy haven where a word or two grousing over the customers or the slow night can be exchanged. But a quick glance to your right, out to the open alley, reveals that no one is there. You let the door swing quietly shut behind you, accepting the full weight as you ease it closed. 

As you look to your left, you have to resist the urge to jump, because it turns out someone is there. Not just anyone—you’ve only heard whispers of the urban legend of the imperious figure that crushes bone, rends flesh, takes brutality to an art form. You’ve only seen blurry pictures of that sleek red helmet, that impressive, dangerous form. 

The very same form you are taking close inventory of, as you stand no more than a few feet from the Red Hood, who leans on the wall and stares down at you. 

You find your mind blissfully blank as you ogle those whited-out lenses that are definitely looking your way, taking ken of your form, sliding down the bag. In your adrenaline-fueled mind, you think of one thing. 

You hold out the bag, the folded-over end crumpled tightly in your fist. “Want to share?” 

The encroaching silence that seems to press over your shoulders makes you instantly regret it. Even more so when he turns to you, looming over you at full height that shows ample display of those broad shoulders, the raw power he bears. You swallow thickly and you’re certain that he can see it, see the frightened wonder in your eyes as you watch him. 

When he speaks, his voice is low, husky. You might find it attractive if you weren’t mentally running out of your mind right now, with that sharp lick of adrenaline coursing through you. 

“Don’t have anything to pay you back with, sweetheart.” He replies. Your arm is starting to hurt with the weight of the bag, but you don’t retreat, don’t return it back to yourself. Both of you, it seems, are interested in seeing how this plays out. 

“Anything’s better than eating alone.” You reply simply, and you don’t see a change so much as feel it, layered tightly in the atmosphere that seems to shift around you. Seems to shift as he angles his head down at you, as though to better reckon the sight of the person that is offering to feed him, free of charge, for the night. 

“I got a big appetite,” He says, almost like it’s a challenge. Almost like he’s not talking about just food. 

“Good thing you came to the right place,” You say, because you are talking about the food. Or maybe, you’re not. Not like he’s interested, anyways. 

His hand curls around the bag, the leather of his glove grazing against your skin, and you have to gulp down a shudder at the contact. When you release it, he takes it into the full of his arm, holding the bag you had to heft up with relative ease, uncurling the impression your palm worked into it. 

It’s a quick choice—you can read from the receipt that the dissatisfied customer left stapled behind to the bag that there’s a veritable buffet in there. You can only watch as he snags a burger still wrapped in the paper, then goes for another—both fit easily in the span of his long fingers. 

Something in you would almost be amused if it wasn’t for the fact that you’re willingly feeding one of the more brutal vigilantes that Gotham houses. And for the fact that you don’t know if he’d take kindly to you finding something funny at him going for seconds. Big appetite, indeed. 

He passes the bag back to you, satisfied with his choice—not that you can tell anything that he’s thinking or feeling under that imperious mask. It feels light as air in your arms. 

“Thanks for the food. Guess I owe you one.” He says, and it takes a moment for your mental wiring to catch up and word a response. 

“No worries,” You say, letting a touch of sarcasm bleed through as you tack on, “Anything to help out a man in the force.”   

There’s a rough noise that escapes him, that you realize is a chuckle. He plateaus his shoulders at the movement, a crude show of power that seems to awaken something primal in you. 

And something signals that even though you’ve only touched a fraction of your break, you should go back inside. 

“Um, nice seeing you.” You say, because this is all you can think to say—though you’re certain you’ll stay awake, staring silently at the ceiling for days after this, cringing. “Have a good night, Mr. Red Hood.” 

“You too, sweetheart,” He returns, clearly amused. You have to wet your lips as he says sweetheart, and the thoughts that it inspires. 

This seems an opportune moment to leave, and so you do. Though, of course, not without taking a final backwards glance over your shoulder at the massive figure that seems to descend into the darkness of the alleyway without a second thought. And, of course, with your gift. 

When the door closes behind you, the fluorescent lights washing over you like a baptism, you don’t fight the stunned laugh that escapes you, the incredulous smile on your face. Sometimes Gotham really does give you the oddest moments—you feel as though you’re wide awake and ready to tackle the rest of your shift, no problem. 

“Good break?” Your coworker asks from the other side of the counter as you walk back, sliding the bag their way. You realize that you’re still smiling. 

“Yeah,” You grin, “Something like that.” 

It’s only a one-time thing, after all. Most people have a run-in with the Bat or his gaggle of birds that flock to him. Most people have even been saved by the Red Hood, even though that list is far and few in-between. This was only yours; something nice to talk about one day after you’ve gotten over the high of the experience. 

Something nice, you think as you take that sleepy-eyed bus ride home, To think about tomorrow on your break.

Except for the fact that he’s there again when you open the door the next day. 

Dividers provided by @toxisyddy and @cafekitsune

[hootyhoobuckaroo]

I (no pun intended) devoured this! so good, holy moly :)

[wilmvandrr]

redraw of a dami and dick panel!!!

[dictearchive]

[whooooomp]

need That character absolutely delirious with fear. recoiling from everything. unable to parse what's happening around them, their mind stuck in fight or flight. shaking and hyperventilating. completely unconsolable even as they're wrapped in a crushing hug.

[whooooomp]

galaxy brain addition thank you

[athenxt]

this is me fr

[writersisland]

Fiercly Protective Dialogue

“Do you really think a mere prophecy would stop me from saving you?”

whispering “Are you okay?” in a crowded place

“I don’t need you to coddle me.” “No, you don’t. But I need to protect you, you understand?”

“If only they knew what I would do to keep you safe. Maybe they’d behave then.”

“I’ll follow you to the bitter end. And beyond.”

“You’re gonna get killed protecting me.” “Gladly.”

“Don’t apologize, not to me. Never to me.”

“I haven’t felt unsafe once since meeting you.”

“Rather me than you.”

“I wasn’t kidding when I said I’d kill for you, you know?” “I’m starting to get that.”

“It’s gonna take a lot more than that to stop me from keeping you safe.”

“I will shield your body with mine any day of the week.”

“May I ask for a favor? When I tell you to run… Run. Don't look back.”

“Why are you so determined to keep me alive?” “You know why.” 

“Do you want me to kill them?”

“Your protection is not my duty, but my destiny.”

“One word, and they’re gone.” “Not yet.”

[redstonedust]

love when a character is a scientist and their speciality is science and they do science in a science lab. no specifics no clear goals no clue where their funding comes from. dont even worry about it. science.

[remcadll]

Big fan of Steph getting all dressed up to beat the brakes off her dad in prison

[bettedavisgf]