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honestly it's crazy to me so many writers of x reader stuff even put in any specific descriptions of the reader. like at that point they should just make a self insert fan fiction instead of labeling it x reader i feel like unless x reader is for a specific reader specified in the description it should automatically be written as completely neutral
honestly that’s one of the sadder things being a POC in any fandom spaces is like not being able to find stuff that represents you or not being able to feel as involved as other people. and it translates into fan work too like x reader fics. I’ve seen people say “featureless” and then their banner has a white hand or there’s a very skinny conventionally attractive white girl which tells me this fic is not for me, so I click away.
And then people get mad at very talented black writers on this site for writing for black readers—you are not entitled to tell people what they write. You are not entitled to tell people who have carved a space for themselves that they find representation for themselves.
like, I’m proud that I’m brown, I’m proud that I’m not white?! It took me a lot of time to get over my internalized self-hatred for being a mixed race kid in predominantly white areas. So the least I can do is reclaim some safe space for my readers.
It’s not that tough to make your works inclusive and accommodating/neutral as possible and I love doing that for my readers who have given me time and comments. Sorry it got very tangential but I have a lot of opinions on this and I see it all the time
a/n: the request for this made me laugh so i had to write it :)
cw: Jason is subjected to breasts, but he’s not complaining, reader is chubby/large-breasted, reader has breasts but is referred to in gender-neutral terms
masterlist ao3 requests
PREVIEW:
You don’t think much of it, unaware of how much it nearly costs Jason his life, and his dignity.
Jason Todd/Chubby!Large Breasted!Reader
You’ve worked with the boys and the team for so long, in such dedicated aspect of your life, that you are no longer extension so much as you are integrated whole.
There’s no question of seeking necessity of extra seat be prepared for you: there is always a seat at the table for you. This is why you’re so comfortable in the familiarity of their presence, in the shared community that you all have split knuckles and cracked teeth and mended bones over.
Everyone is a brother, a sister—an annoying younger sibling, a dogged older sibling. And you? You just fit somewhere in the cracks with them, another piece of the puzzle that slots into place with perfect equanimity into the fold.
This is why you don’t question it when you pass by Dick and Jason at the threshold of the living room. Your eyes drink in as Dick points to something on his phone with a musical coda that beckons into your memory. Jason with noble profile, leans over to make better visual stock of the video Dick shows him.
“So, it’ll be premiering at the Stovetop Theater next week,” Dick is near-plaintive in his request to beseech another wayward traveler to attend with him, “It’s a real classic—Peter O’Toole as the main character—”
“Oh my God,” You dart over to close the distance, beckoning the slink of two pairs of eyes.
You’ve already made harbor with them, finding purchase upon the couch’s plush backing, “Are you talking about Lawrence of Arabia?”
You’re so excited to confirm the image on Dick’s phone held in his hand, that you lean over the side of the couch separating you from the brothers.
And this makes you thoroughly unaware of how your body sidles up against the plateau of Jason’s body. How the swell of your breast drags in slow positioning against the nape of Jason’s head, before settling against the slope of his skull, making a swell of shuddering sensation he’s unable to vocalize dart up his body.
His fingers jut against the tender housing of his knuckles, branding them white. A tight breath draws through his nose while you remain the ever-oblivious, pointing to the screen that plays such familiar leitmotif that you’ve played on repeat before.
As you point, this pushes more of your anatomy into ragged nuance against Jason’s head. He stifles a swallow only physically presented through the thick bob of his Adam's apple in his throat.
All the while, Dick watches this play-by-play that occurs in seconds, yet for he and Jason, seems to extend in the duration of slow-plodding centuries. Dick makes near-instantaneous glance to Jason and sees one thing emphasized in the arc of those green eyes.
Don’t say anything. Do not fuck this up for me.
Dick looks up to your face, taking cognizance of your continued ignorance. You lean forward to proffer your pointed figure again in Dick’s direction, pressing the swell of your breast against Jason’s ear. Jason’s eyes close in tandem with a boozy, dimply smile.
“Uh,” Dick remembers that he owes you a response, thought that has fled out the window, “Yeah, it’s gonna be at the theater next week. You wanna—?”
“Oh my God, we should go together,” You exclaim with profound glee, making a stilted jump that pulls flush your breast up and down the meter of Jason’s head. His knuckles pull into further painful definition against the denim of his knees, a subdued noise trapped against the full of his lips that he works to smother.
“I’m down,” Dick says as he works in fitful exemplar of willpower to keep looking at you and nothing else. You seem to realize a thought that has burgeoned to the front of your mind.
“Jason,” You direct yourself down so that your chest rests on the slope of his shoulder, allowing yourself better perception of the perfect blush that has settled on the landscape of his face, “Would you want to go with us?”
“Sure would, honey,” Jason says as he settles thousand-yard stare into the distance.
He permits himself a sidelong glance of your eager, winning smile and allows himself to do the same in return. You practically dazzle with sunshine at this agreement before you turn back to Dick—your body still settled in support upon your momentary human crutch. Not that said crutch seems to mind, if the way his ears turn virulent pink are any indicator.
“Sounds like a plan,” You gush to Dick, “I gotta go find something cute and classically cinema to wear to it.”
You stand, finally relieving Jason of duties he seems to be quite melancholy at the sudden lack of. His eyes turn up in your direction, neck turning in slow swivel to show a longing that he’s yet to articulate to you in the years of your company.
“I’ll see you two around,” You wave goodbye—Dick returns it full force while Jason, still in a daze, gives half-ambulatory wave. And off you go, whistling merry tune at the prospects ahead of you. Neither of them move, nor speak, until they are certain that you have long departed to other inattentive pastures.
“You could just ask,” Dick grins, “And I bet they’d let you cop a feel.”
“I got a plan,” Jason says as he crumples in exhausted fashion against the couch, broad shoulders schooling out. He glows as though he is trying to remain trapped in the amber of such honeyed moment.
“Yeah,” Dick says, pocketing the phone for later usage, “Sure you do.”
“Sure I do.” Jason agrees, a beatific grin taking shelter on his face. Dick thinks that if his brother doesn’t confess by the end of the movie next week, then he’ll have to take some matters into his own hands.
Do you know anyone who writes for Gambit and Black Women, or if they at least keep defining features neutral? As soon as I read something and see pale skin, blonde hair, or blue eyes, it completely throws me off, and I can’t enjoy the work anymore because it clearly feels like it wasn’t made for me.
Honestly I feel you friend, I literally can’t blush and I do not have the features of so many different fic portrayal which is why I have always tried to make mine as inclusive as possible. Hope this list helps:
check out @l0s3rd0wnt0wn and read this fic while you’re at it :)
@i-gotta-go-so-much-bigger does hc’s and would absolutely deliver for you on a Gambit/Black!Reader
@arlemangel7 has some Gambit works and has this lovely Romy/Black!Reader fics here
@motherkiwidear has their requests open and has written a few Gambit/Black!Reader fics, one of which I will include here
This isn’t quite what you were asking for but @weeniesausage has requests open and did a very lovely Gambit/FtM!Black!Reader that I’ll include here
If there are any other writers I can recommend let me know! Hope you enjoy what u read friend :]
Pairing: Cowboy!Roy Harper x fem!reader
Summary: Happy endings weren't in his cards, it appears. A happy life? Even less likely.
CW: maybe OOC, losing hope, sad themes </3
A/N: Sorry chat it's gotta get worse before it gets better :(
Previous Chapter. Roy Harper Masterlist.
Chasing after you on his horse, he’d made his mind up to not let you leave—not without a face-to-face confrontation. Not without ensuring you were being honest, not complacent. Not thinking of him, and his life, and how you’re burdening him, or any other illogical thing that could’ve possibly entered your mind to prompt you into doing this.
Urging Gingersnap to hurry, he barrels straight towards the train station, dismounting with an urgency he didn’t know he possessed. Haphazardly, he ties Gingersnap’s reins to a pole, before running to the nearest platform in search of you.
Seeing you takes whatever wind he’d had left in his lungs away. Standing in front of him, you look haggard, though stiffen at the sight of him too, as though you hadn’t quite anticipated he’d search for you. How could he not? Taking a moment to catch his breath, he sweeps his hair back with one hand, ginger locks clinging to his scalp from the exertion as he finally presses closer to you, ready to speak.
“You’re…leaving?” He rasps, voice hoarse, lashes fluttering as he blinks back tears, staring at you despite the sandstorm brewing by the train station. You gulp, staring back at him, gaze unwavering at the entrance to the train, suitcase in hand and dress starting to crease and billow with the wind.
“I’m going back where I belong, over yonder. Y’knew that from the day we met. I ain’t gonna survive out here, not like you.” You tell him, voice not cracking, looking almost as still as a stone statue. You were still wearing that dress he’d bought you at the market weeks ago, when he’d warned you of the cold starting to pick up. Wool and linen intertwined to make the dress a lovely shade of red, one that felt almost mocking to him now.
But what could he do? He was an outlaw, and you, a woman already spoken for. Fate was never going to be by your side. And what could he do, in a town like this, without Lady Luck? He’d just have to let you go, like every other good thing in his life.
Agonized, he stumbles even closer, trying to make sense of the situation, to find some way to keep you close. But he could not—it wasn’t meant to be. And while he’d always strayed from fate, it seems today he’d met his match.
“Please. Please, I…you can’t…” He starts, looking just as broken up about this as you did, perhaps even more so. The life he so desperately wanted was slipping from his fingers like sand in an hourglass, and he grabs your shoulders, pleading for more time.
When you let out a choked sob, any semblance of dignity in him is crushed, and the urge to sweep you closer tightens in his chest, making him gasp for breath as well. But as the train finally reaches the platform, he realizes his time with you was up.
Sobbing softly, you reach out, cupping his cheek and bringing in for one last kiss. Your suitcase is heavy in your hands, and you pull off the pink ribbon in your hair, the same one you’d had on when you’d first met him as a runaway.
Pressing it into his hands, you manage a faint smile, and sniffle, brows furrowing when he thumbs the tears away from your cheeks. “Please, I…I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Roy. I’m so sorry, I—I gotta go.” You whisper, letting go of him at once and stepping onto the train, leaving him behind.
Of course, he runs after you. He could never give up, not when you’d shown him what happiness could finally look like and then crushed it under your pretty heel. Watching your train leave the station, and the life he’d hoped you’d share with it, it’s as though his entire world crumbled underneath his feet. Collapsing on the wooden floorboards, he gasps for breath, watching as the train fades from view entirely, taking his dreams with it.
What more did he have now? He’d have to go back to the monotonous, colorless life he’d lived before, only now, he knew what he could’ve gotten, but will never truly attain. Your face will forever be burnt into his eyelids, and he’s sure you’ll haunt every drunken dream he’ll ever have.
Please do not copy, steal, or put my works into AI.
Taglist: @cinnamon-girl-writes, @fanggq, @smllvlle, @milkybbun, @pixelbfs, @twentytomidnight, @splodencible, @i-gotta-go-so-much-bigger, @stilestotherescue, @sowhatifimslow, @patientofarkhamasylum, @nightwingblvd, @vianawaits, @bloomcissa
「 tws + notes: gn!reader, situationship but i got silly with it, unedited, guy is trying to make up for his shit but he's also! guy., hella conflicted reader 」
↳ ft. guy gardner
author's note: i switched the third song out three BAJILLION times becuz i didn't want it to be too similar to the other guy gardner req. that and i kept choosing songs that were Not Sweet or Too Cool. anyways. here's bowlcut baby for ya sol ^U^ !!!
You really know how to pick them, huh?
Guy Gardner is the last person you expected to see at your door right now. Especially not with the smirk on his face or the bouquet extended towards you — one which you are quickly able to identify as flowers from the grocery store nearby.
"I thought I told you to lose my number," you say, leaning your hip against the doorframe.
"I did," he replies, attempting to be casual and ignore the way your eyes narrow at him, "…didn't exactly tell me to lose the address though, did ya?"
Guy waves the flowers in front of your face, trying to tempt you into taking them. He brightens when you decide to play along and humor him, smile softening take the bouquet from his hands instead of immediately telling him to piss off. You lean your face towards the flowers, not out of any real appreciation for the fragrance or the gesture, but to steal a moment to yourself, stalling before you decide to say anything particularly stupid.
You've been frustrated with him for a while now. Whatever the two of you were — in this endless on-and-off — it was getting ridiculous. Taking on the burden of being the level-headed one, you've decided that you had enough of the games and that you'd spare yourself (and him) by nipping the situation in the bud. Yet no matter how many times you told him to get lost, Guy always found an excuse to come crawling back to you like a dog missing it's owner. Maybe he didn't see it like that. Maybe you'd let him win you over one too many times.
But to anyone who knew the two of you, it was clear as day — he was wrapped around your finger.
He'd bark if I asked, you think to yourself. The notion amuses you enough to accidentally let a traitorous smile slip.
"See — knew you'd like 'em," Guy insists, looking all too proud of himself and his little gift.
"Shut up. They're… fine, I guess," You huff, gently plucking off a slightly withered pink petal just barely hanging onto one of the carnations.
"…kind of sad though."
The words are followed by a pointed look at him — obviously you're not talking about the flowers. His proud stance deflates slightly, chest no longer puffed out with that arrogance he usually carried.
"Yeah, well, about that—"
"You're sorry?"
He scratches at his head, which has you fighting the instinct to smoothen the stray ginger strands of his bowlcut. While the words "I'm sorry" wasn't his exact line on his mental script, you definitely managed to take intention out of his mouth. His usual bravado isn't working with you and he knows it — you almost feel bad.
The feeling is not helped when he ends up replying with a weak chuckle. "Doesn't mean a thing though, huh? Guess I just missed hearing that voice."
"Guy…"
It might be better to cut this off completely. It might feel better to give him another shot. He shakes his head before you can say anything else.
"I mean it. Can't shake the feeling, knowing some other jerk probably gets t' hear it all."
"And you're… not a jerk?" You snort.
"Ehh… I could pass as onna the better ones—"
You playfully swat at him with your bouquet. He laughs, blocking your attempt at another swing at him, and for a moment, it feels all too good to have him back around. You're gigglimg along without even realizing.
"God, I missed ya, sweetheart."
You try to laugh that one off too. But Guy doesn't. Guy's watching you with an almost dumb grin, the aggravating type that makes your judgment weaken. Suddenly, your uncertainty clouds all your better judgment — you're wedged between wanting to wipe that grin right off and the foolish, burning urge to see more of it. Instead of either, you stand there, the temporary levity fading as you come to terms with the actual situation at hand.
"I don't think someone who missed me would be a no show."
The words tumble out of your mouth before you can think of anything better to say. More distant. Less real. The pain that's been poisoning you is leeching into your words — the response doesn't sound snarky. There's a subtle hurt in them. The one you've been carrying this entire time.
"I'm here now, ain't I? Could make up for the lost time."
You aren't sure whether you're just seeing what you want to see, but for a moment, Guy looks sheepish. Regretful even, as he stands on your doorstep like an idiot, begging to amends after failing to be good for you. The rational part of your brain is screaming at you — but the quickened thump of your heart against your chest begs you to listen to it instead. You really hope you didn't just imagine the look on his face.
"…If I say no?" You ask tentatively, trying to regain your composure.
Safer to tease instead of giving definite answers. The moment of vulnerability is shed, his obnoxious grin returning to his face.
"I go home sulkin' and come back with a boombox on my shoulder."
"Better pick a good song then."
It's an unceremonious conclusion, your door shutting in his face — what? You're not completely stupid. You stand there for a few minutes on the other side, ear pressed against the door until you hear his footsteps fade away.
While you may have not expected him to be a man of his word after being date ditched, Guy holds true to his decision. Hope your neighbors don't mind a disgustingly romantic song being blasted at near deafening decibels later that night.
Guy just can't help it — he always finds his way back to you.
— ♪
Go Away – Weezer
↳ "i'm waitin' right outside your door / sayin' "baby, can we talk?""
You Really Got Me – The Kinks
↳ "see, don't ever set me free / i always wanna be by your side"
Rodrick Rules – Malcolm Todd
↳ "oh, don't tell me that i gotta be nowhere / i'ma hit your spot 'cause you know i'd go there"
“The Green Lantern rings I bought for you at the con are adjustable and very pretty and I’m not even gonna lie I’m gonna try ‘em on so ignore the greasy fingerprints….that was me” (I sent a video to a friend that failed to send)
🙃: What’s a weird fact you know?
The original sequel to Beetlejuice was going to be called “Beetlejuice Goes to Hawaii” and it was going to feature Michael Keaton going to Hawaii and causing all kinds of horrific chaos and (I think?) getting involved with Polynesian demonology?
that’s all I got…….thanks for playing the feud friend
in the bog I descend into to hibernate, with my 65 pound dog lying on me
🙃: What’s a weird fact that you know?
The Phantom of the Opera mask with the full-face mask is not the mask that the phantom actually wears, and it’s because they made the logo before they actually had the OG phantom Michael Crawford wear it—in the two scenes where he needed to remove it it also removed his hair and makeup and microphone so they had to go back to the drawing board and make the iconic half mask. It was too late in scheduling to go back and change it so the masks are different but no less iconic :)
🍪: If you were a cookie, what kind would you be?
this one
yeah. That’s a real cookie from a real cookie company
That's right! Here are the two people that will lead and supervise the project!
Romeo is our Head Mod! They have prior zine experience as both contributor and moderator!💛
Tumblr/Bsky: @corinthianrm0
Instagram: mirumirust1204
Pizza is Co-Head, Art Mod and will be an artist as well! Get ready for some absolutely amazing stuff from this loved artist!💙
Tumblr: @pizzapartyplayhouse
Check out both Romeo and Pizza's profiles in our Info Doc!
Also, Interest Check is still open until August 3rd, gogo fill the form!🌟
