WIP excerpt for yesdanger behind the cut; “obligatory sugar baby Kon”.
(( chrono || non-chrono ))
The rest of him just flees the meeting room with as much dignity as it can muster, because it took the last thread of his self-control to get that sentence out without sounding like either an actual lunatic or absolute dweeb. Fortunately, between either looking at or not looking at Kon, literally no one pays any attention whatsoever to him leaving.
Though he does have to take into account that Kon could notice if he veered off to stand in a corner for a few minutes while he collected himself, because that's a thing that Kon could just do if he felt like it. Not that Kon's told Robin that he could do that, of course, because that would be too widely applicable and insanely useful in the field, Tim guesses.
And he could also do it all in a crop top and short-shorts and while texting with confusingly-colored heart emojis, which is something that Tim is apparently just supposed to be normal about.
Jesus. Jeeeeesus.
Jesus.
Tim gets back to the main room and finds Cassie still curled up and hiding under the kitchen table while giving off a distinct impression of not having moved whatsoever. He empathizes, definitely, but also still needs to deflect.
"Sorry to interrupt, but do you have a moment, Wonder Girl?" he asks, leaning down just enough to peer under the table at her.
"No," Cassie groans into her knees without unwrapping her arms from around her head. Tim, again, empathizes. And anyway, there's worse ways to deflect than letting Cassie delay him getting back to the . . . everything that's currently going on in the meeting room.
"If it makes you feel better, I'm pretty sure Superboy's already moved all the furniture he's going to move," he says. "Though if it makes you feel worse, we can just pretend he didn't."
"He's moving furniture dressed like that?!" Cassie screeches as she whips her head up to stare bug-eyed at him. It's difficult to tell if the screeching is more a horrified thing or a mortified thing.
Probably still safe to go with "worse" either way, Tim decides.
"Pretty sure he's finished, like I said," he says. Cassie buries her face back in her knees with a groan.
"I can't," she says despairingly. "I literally physically cannot. I super, super can't. I'd die, Robin. I would absolutely and actually die!"
"Is that hyperbole or a legitimate concern?" Tim asks.
"Don't patronize me, you don't get it, you're a boy!" Cassie hisses shrilly. Tim was in no way patronizing her. Honestly, under the circumstances, it was a sincere question. "Just like, imagine if Cissie had shown up to movie night dressed like that!"
"That seems disrespectful of a teammate," Tim lies. He decides not to point out the flawed approach of making assumptions before drawing conclusions, given he has an actual sense of self-preservation. A slim one, but still.
He also doesn't point out that there currently wouldn't be all that much difference in "dressed like that" if Cissie and Kon just swapped boots, because again: his slim semblance of self-preservation.
Hello hello! I've finally gotten around to posting a masterlist / intro post! I am so proud of me.
Short Version
I'm a whole adult with a whole adult life, my latest obsession is Steddie / Stranger Things though I spent a While in the MCU fandom, and I love wrestling and aerial stuff and machete fencing and fiber arts and pretty things. I use any pronouns most of the time because I would personally like to opt out of the whole gender thing.
My AO3 and my writing tag; all my WIPs on tumblr have WIP-specific tags for ease of following; I also definitely do tag lists, both generally and for specific stories.
I have a Ko-Fi if you want to send me money ever. There are no benefits to doing so ❤️
I write both sfw and nsfw; any nsfw things are tagged "rating: e" and / or "nsft."
My current writing priority is: Try, Try Again.
Masterlists
So. I reached the limit for links, I think, so I now understand why others have separate masterlists lol
Masterlists are below, split by fandom, & each fic within includes status, name, wc, rating, ship, Tumblr link(s), Ao3 link, and fic tag, as applicable. Ongoing fics are also listed below.
🎸 Stranger Things Masterlist 🎸
⚔️ The Witcher Masterlist ⚔️
🌠 Marvel Masterlist 🌠
Ongoing Fics
🎸 Stranger Things 🎸
Rain or Shine | E | fic tag
Taste the Silver | T/M | fic tag
Try, Try Again | E | 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 | AO3 | fic tag
WIP excerpt for yesdanger behind the cut; “obligatory sugar baby Kon”.
(( chrono || non-chrono || AO3 ))
Jesus. Just . . . what does Kon have against doing his laundry before he fucks up his last super-suit? Would that be too much planning ahead? Or even just keeping a spare around, at least?
Tim wonders how many spare suits Kon actually has, come to think. He also wonders how to get him more of them. He's not sure how non-Bat superheroes typically handle their gear—aside from, apparently and horrifyingly, ordering it off no-pun-intended Amazon—but logically Cadmus should be providing Kon with any he needs.
Of course, logically Cadmus should also be paying Kon a living wage, making sure he gets at least a GED-equivalent, employing enough other field agents to support him, and feeding him properly. So yeah, Tim's not gonna be putting all his nest eggs in that particular basket.
Seriously, though, Kon doesn't even need weapons or weapons maintenance or body armor or much in the way of tech at all, and his suit is basically just glorified spandex. Cadmus should have the budget to spare to give him a new one every day. Tim has no idea how he actually ran out, no matter how far behind on laundry he may or may not be.
Does Cadmus not even have laundry services? They should, given how much on-site staff they're allegedly supporting.
"Supporting" into never having an actual out-of-lab life, but Tim really can't afford to think about exactly how many clones Cadmus is probably doing that to right now.
Literally. Literally he can't afford it. He's only got the one trust fund, okay?
. . . he'll revisit the issue when he goes supervillain, Tim decides. He'll have a few more revenue streams by then, and it sounds like something Kon would appreciate. Well—will appreciate, if he maybe does some self-reflection or goes to therapy or whatever.
Should he be finding Kon a therapist? Like, just in case he needs one at some point, given just how the vigilante work tends to go?
. . . given how it's maybe gone for Kon a few times, Tim can't help thinking, and then doesn't think about Kon trying to sell—the product to Tim Drake on their last date.
Tim is absolutely going to be revisiting the Cadmus issue when he goes supervillain, yeah.
"If literally anyone even tries to say what they think 'the guy thing' version of any 'self-assessing' might be, I'm going to put an arrow through every screen in this base and the modem," Cissie threatens, jerking her head towards the decoy modem in the back of the room. Tim decides not to mention either the word "decoy" or anything about where the actual modem is. He doesn't genuinely think Cissie is going to shoot any of the cave's tech, but better safe than sorry.
Anyway, it's admittedly difficult to predict what's going to happen when the team gets together, so yeah. Definitely better safe than sorry, when it comes to not having to write up an incident report for Red Tornado. Tim used to think that adults were exaggerating about how bad teenagers actually were, but then they'd started the team and he'd started regularly hanging out with other teenagers without direct adult supervision and he'd realized that actually, they'd been underselling it.
Wildly underselling it, in fact.
Maybe Tim Drake should be hanging out with the guys at school more often, he guesses.
WIP excerpt for yesdanger behind the cut; “obligatory sugar baby Kon”.
(( chrono || non-chrono ))
“Uh . . . okay?” Kon says, still looking bemused. He sets the scissors on the table and Cassie makes a high-pitched squeaking noise and manages to trip again without actually moving. Tim remains grateful for several things in life, especially the noted lack of telepaths in the base right now and the fact that no one is currently looking at him. Which–obviously Kon is the person to be looking at right now, because obviously, but Jeeeeesus, is Tim lucking out right now. Just–Jesus.
He maybe should go ask Ivy about her fertilizer needs for next spring, yeah. Just check in on whatever she’s got going on there, just in case.
Suzie leans down to poke curiously at the scissors and then envelopes them into her smoke, where they vanish without a trace. Tim just . . . decides not to ask why. Although–
“. . . don’t fly too fast with those either,” he says, vaguely mortified about being this person, but also not actually going to stop being this person. It’s going to be so embarrassing when he’s a supervillain telling people not to run with scissors and that they need to put back their grocery carts, but fine.
“Oh, I don’t think I can drop them without bringing them back, but okay,” Suzie agrees, her hand briefly dissolving into fog and then reforming with the scissors in it, like she’s demonstrating something. “See?”
What Tim sees is that the scissors are visibly frosted over and so cold that they’re still wrapped in fog of their own.
. . . Tim adds another mental note to his “teammate abilities to get more information about” list. Just . . . definitely that’s another thing to put on that particular list.
What the hell, Suzie.
Is there a reason his teammates just don’t tell him they can do these things? Is he doing something wrong, that his teammates aren’t telling him they can do these things?
Tim is going to make a questionnaire and it is going to be very thorough. He’ll fill them out himself if he has to; he’ll just find an excuse to get every member of the team alone at some point and ask them the questions. Follow them around the base or while they’re in the training room or literally stalk them back to their individual homes; whichever, at this point.
Seriously, why are they not telling him these things?
“Alright then,” Cissie says, eyeing the scissors leerily as Bart zips back into the room, doing a very bad job of hiding a pair of safety scissors behind his back. They’re strapped into a sheath, so for the moment Tim just doesn’t argue, and Suzie smiles brightly and vanishes her own scissors back into herself. It is . . . slightly alarming to watch, he has to admit, and a lot more concerning than safety scissors. “. . . so do you just keep stuff in yourself like in general, or . . .?”
“Well just when–oh, that’s right, I forgot!” Suzie exclaims, then shoves a hand into her own chest–Tim carefully does not freak out while Cassie yelps in alarm and Cissie visibly cringes. Kon doesn’t seem to notice anything as weird at all, but at this point Tim has very thoroughly learned that literally every goddamn insane thing that has happened to Young Justice is absolutely and entirely Kon’s fault, so that’s unsurprising.
WIP excerpt for yesdanger behind the cut; “Damian gets a Pocket”.
(( chrono || non-chrono ))
Damian, therefore, does not have any particular difficulty in making his way onto St. Aden's property and to the window of Colin's room, even with Beloved's presence. Colin rarely has roommates, even in the limited space that the orphanage has available, and does not currently possess any. As a result, slipping through the window into the other's bedroom and up to the top bunk to lean over his sleeping form is quite literal child's play.
. . . ugh. Grayson is clearly over-influencing Damian's vernacular, if his mind is running such ridiculous commentary as wordplay. Only Grayson would influence someone so ridiculously.
"Wilkes," Damian says impatiently, because Colin has inexplicably not woken up despite an entire human being entering his personal space.
"GNKFH!" Colin chokes as he jerks awake and immediately falls off the top bunk and out of bed. Damian rolls his eyes, then leans over the side of the bunk and eyes him dryly. Damian will never understand why civilians do not raise their children with survival instincts. It seems very counterintuitive to him, if they are going to bother making the investment in producing heirs to begin with.
Admittedly, Colin has a very different relationship to being anyone's heir than Damian would consider ideal even for a civilian, but at the least St. Aden's staff could be putting in some basic effort.
"Wilkes, please maintain some situational awareness," he says in exasperation. "And ideally some modicum of dignity, if the capacity for it actually exists in your personality."
"Oh my god, Robin," Colin wheezes into the rug. "What the frick, dude?!"
"I am not a 'dude'," Damian replies witheringly. "I do, however, require your time."
". . . like, you 'require' my time, or you 'require' Abuse's time?" Colin asks as he pushes himself up and squints at him, ruffling his hair into . . . really not even a semblance of order, no. "Because either way, waking me up like a creepy creep seems like a pretty stupid start to asking me for help."
"I require your time, not your help," Damian corrects in exasperation. "I am perfectly capable of reaching my goals without assistance."
"Uh-huh," Colin says, then gets to his feet and brushes himself off with a yawn. "So you showed up in my room after midnight 'cuz you just wanna hang out, then? Is that it?"
". . . I may require some minor assistance," Damian allows begrudgingly. "Very minor."
"So like who's dead this time?" Colin asks.
"Ideally, no one undeserving of it," Damian says, then flicks down the hood of his cape and tilts his head to the side. Beloved chirps inquisitively, leaning forward to peer curiously at Colin. "Beloved, this is Abuse. Wilkes, this is my Beloved."
"Uh," Colin says, blinking stupidly at Beloved. "Okay, I definitely did not hear her name right, so could you just . . . ?"
"Beloved," Damian repeats, giving him a dry look. He does not put forth the effort to clarify Beloved's gender; the difference is irrelevant, and the obfuscation is convenient, in the event that Damian Wayne is spotted with a Pocket in whatever time Beloved remains with him for.
WIP excerpt for yesdanger behind the cut; “Damian gets a Pocket”. Full disclosure, like half of the first version of this got eaten by a weird glitch when I first wrote it and it has been absolutely agonizing trying to rewrite it, hahasob. AGONIZING.
(( chrono || non-chrono ))
He purchases a more functional bag, two spare sets of clothing–both at least partially featuring Beloved's preferred shade of red–and a small selection of additional rations for Beloved with the supply set–an easily-wearable backpack with small compartments and a variety of rations based in any cuisine but English–and then exits the shop and returns to Pennyworth and the towncar. He will present Beloved with the improved bag and the supply set at home, when the other has time to peruse its contents uninterrupted and pack or unpack the bags however he may prefer to.
The rations he does offer to him on the drive, though. They should be a less overwhelming offering to peruse, he assumes. Beloved seems surprised and then delighted, as if he somehow was unaware that they were in the shop specifically to make purchases for him, which Damian finds–unpleasant, as a consideration. Beloved packs away the small rations very carefully in his eraser bag and attempts to offer a share of them to Damian in the process, as he attempted to share the samplings of food that Damian had sourced for him during lunch period this afternoon.
Damian observes the thin, hungry look of Beloved, and is again uncertain how to respond to such an offer, and again does not understand such an offer, either.
And, most especially again, finds unpleasant. Beloved should not be concerned with the state of anyone but himself, when his point of origin is in such a position as to require the assistance of Robin desperately enough to manifest a Pocket over it.
When his point of origin’s truest image of himself is ragged and hungry and bruised.
It disquiets Damian, that Beloved could manifest in the manner that he has and still be so concerned with what he perceives as the needs of others.
He accepts one small ration, mostly because it pleases Beloved when he does, and for now tucks it back into the tiny box they came in. He will return it to Beloved at a later time, or simply keep it to hand in case Beloved requires it.
“Love love love,” Beloved chatters up at him, his atypically blue eyes aglow with delight.
Not literally aglow, though Damian only notes that fact because he almost expects them to be.
He thinks, again–and just as irrationally as before–of lightning.
Pennyworth transports them back to the manor without further interruption or incident, and does not inquire invasively after anything. He requests the usual report of Damian’s time at school, which Damian delivers as efficiently as possible, since at least in that he is not required to waste Pennyworth’s time.
The first time Pennyworth had asked him for such a report, Damian had assumed it was meant to be relayed to Father so that Father would not need to come looking for the information himself. Then he learned Father would be requesting the same report at dinner each evening and realized it was in fact a test. Father wishes to be certain that the events of Damian’s reports do not vary, either to be certain of the quality of Damian’s attentiveness and observational abilities and overall recall, or to be certain that Damian has not been duplicitous or subversive while out of Father’s immediate sphere of influence. To be certain that Damian has conducted himself acceptably as a Wayne, and not the version of “acceptably” that he would as an al-Ghul.
Of course Father would require proof and testimony of that.
WIP excerpt for yesdanger behind the cut; “Damian gets a Pocket”.
(( chrono || non-chrono ))
Damian occasionally would prefer that Grayson were more present in Gotham, considering. Sometimes he feels as if only Grayson makes any sense to him at all, and even then, it has been . . . difficult, many times, to make sense of him. Still, Grayson does not respond negatively when Damian informs him that he is tired, and rarely requires him to waste time on unnecessary forms of manners, save for with Pennyworth. Damian assumes this is because Grayson and Pennyworth are both accustomed to Father’s manners and for emotional purposes could not bring themselves to excise the practice when they had believed him to be deceased, and of course now that Father has returned, obviously those manners have returned with him. But many things were–clearer, with Grayson, though it was admittedly difficult to first reach that clarity.
But it has been more time with Father, now, and Damian understands Father far less than he ever has Grayson.
But Grayson did not expect enough from him, Damian reminds himself. Grayson did not think he could meet higher expectations. Father simply knows him to be more capable than that, as his blood son; as a worthy heir. And Father’s standards are naturally the standards that Damian must uphold, of course. Father’s standards are the ones that matter. Grayson is not the one who hospitality Damian is encroaching upon, nor the one with multiple other heirs. Grayson has no heirs at all, in fact.
When Grayson had worn Father’s mantle, Damian had thought, briefly, that perhaps . . .
That thought is irrelevant, because Father was never dead and Grayson no longer wears his mantle. So Damian does not think it, and instead steps forward to meet Father at the base of the stairs.
“How was school today?” Father asks, which is somewhat earlier than he typically requests Damian’s report, but Damian supposes it is convenient for him at the moment. Or perhaps Father will not be attending dinner this evening for some reason, and therefore it is convenient for that reason.
Damian reports on his morning classes as required, and additionally informs Father: “We spent the latter half of lunch period outside on the grounds. The weather was tolerable.”
Damian does not understand why Father desires weather data with his reports, as if he were not nearly always in Gotham himself and therefore perfectly aware of the weather at such times, but it is, inexplicably, a data point that Father desires all the same. Another test, he supposes, to make certain that he has remained observant and clear-minded and has not left the city himself, nor been anywhere he should not have been.
Everything in the League was a test too, but at least those Damian had understood the rules of and purposes behind. Father’s tests are . . . less intuitive, generally.
“Good,” Father says. He does not comment on the use of “we”; does not in fact comment on the presence of Beloved at all. He does not even glance towards the shoulder Beloved was previously sitting on or the collar of Damian’s coat where the other is currently crouched down and concealed. Given it is Father, of course, Damian is perfectly aware that Beloved is no more concealed from his notice than the sketchbook in his closet is, but Father still pays no mind to Beloved’s presence whatsoever. To Beloved’s–existence, even. Which . . .
Damian did not in any way expect that Father would consider Beloved’s presence favorable, of course, but he did not expect him to simply . . . ignore Beloved’s presence. As if Beloved were entirely unimportant to . . . as if it simply did not matter that Beloved has manifested; did not matter that he has . . .
But Beloved is not the first “Beloved” that Damian has known, of course.
WIP excerpt for yesdanger behind the cut; “YJ packs up and gets pupped”.
(( chrono || non-chrono ))
“Well, um–I don’t think I have,” Suzie says, looking embarrassed for a moment. “I don’t, um–remember if I have. So that’s sort of the same thing, don’t you think?”
“Yeah,” Kon says, his mouth mostly pressed against the pillows but his eyes still peering over the top of them at her. He thinks “cute” means she likes it. Like–Suzie’s not the type to call something “cute” and mean it in a shitty or demeaning way or anything. “I mean–it’s the same to you, right? So it’s the same.”
“Right!” Suzie says brightly, looking–relieved, a little. Maybe she thought he was gonna tell her it wasn’t, he thinks, but he doesn’t really know. They don’t, like . . . hang out alone all that often, really. Like–not in the way where they’re talking about anything much, anyway.
Anything really at all, honestly. Like–just while they’re on the topic of shit that people maybe don’t wanna think about, he means.
“I, uh–haven’t really either,” Kon admits a little awkwardly and then immediately regrets admitting. God, that is so fricking embarrassing, especially for an omega. And like–he didn’t know he was gonna be an omega, yeah, but Suzie’s probably just forgotten anyway, and . . .
Well, like . . . he doesn’t actually know that, admittedly. Even Suzie doesn’t know where she actually came from or what her life was like before the DEO. Maybe somebody’d made her like Cadmus had made him, or maybe she’d just been handed over by her family and in a lab since she was born, or she’d just freakin’ condensed into existence all on her own, or just any other reason she might’ve never seen a real nest up close before.
So like–no, he doesn’t actually know, he guesses.
. . . they don’t actually know, he guesses.
“Really?” Suzie asks, ducking down a little so just her eyes show and peering over the edge of the nest at him, her fingers curled lightly against it. She doesn’t ask him why or anything. Just . . . asks him if it’s true, that’s all.
“Uh, yeah,” Kon says, and glances down at her foggy hands and hair and what he can see of the smoky trail that follows her everywhere and how close all those are to his nest without actually being, like–in his nest, and . . . and like . . . “You really, uh–think it’s . . . cute, or whatever?”
“Yes!” Suzie says, immediately perking up again and popping up enough to beam at him. “It’s really cute. Do you, um, need more things for it?”
“Uh . . . Reddie already brought me a lot, so . . .” Kon trails off, resisting the temptation to say “yes” anyway. Just–whatever Suzie maybe went and got–if that’s even what she’s offering to do or whatever–it’d smell like her. And it’d smell more like her than the blanket does, because she’d have just touched it, and maybe even deliberately, like . . . scented it, or . . .
She wouldn’t do that, he tells himself, embarrassed by even thinking shit like that.
“Oh,” Suzie says, and visibly wilts, her smoke and fog settling down heavier around her body as she forces a smile. “Um, good. Good! I’m glad he got you good stuff.”
“. . . he did, yeah,” Kon says, and like, he’s not always all that great at reading people but Suzie is real easy to read, and it seems like she’s, like . . . disappointed, a little. Like maybe she wanted to . . . like . . . “Uh. I kinda put it all in the nest, though, so I don’t really have, uh–any extra blankets to, you know, get under or anything . . .”
He doesn’t actually really feel like doing that, but he’s pretty sure some omegas do that, and if she really, like . . .
