Cecily’s Haunts

The video reached me a dozen times before I finished my coffee. Friends, followers, strangers, all sending the same two minutes and thirteen seconds: the mayor of New York behind a desk, an American flag on one side and the city’s on the other, warm cinematic lighting, an orchestral score under his voice, the caption reading “Benjamin Netanyahu is a war criminal.” The staging is an Oval Office address. The content is a municipal legal memo about a promise that cannot be kept. By Wednesday morning, it had 55 million views across platforms. Twelve hours. The coverage focused on the rhetoric. Almost no one covered what the video actually announced.

The video opens cold on the accusation. Second zero: “Benjamin Netanyahu is a war criminal, the architect of a horrific genocide against the Palestinian people.” The litany fills the first forty seconds. The sentence that constitutes actual news arrives at the 1:40 mark of a 2:13 video: “It is clear that we do not have the independent legal authority to enforce this warrant.” Anyone who has ever read a social video retention graph knows what that sequencing does. Most viewers are gone long before the final thirty seconds. The video is built so the accusation reaches everyone and the retreat reaches only those who stay to the end.

Zohran Mamdani promised to arrest Benjamin Netanyahu from the earliest days of his candidacy in 2024. He repeated the promise in the final weeks of the race. Days ago, he told the New York Times his attorneys were still reviewing it. On Monday, the president announced that Netanyahu would not be arrested anywhere in the United States. On Tuesday night, the mayor admitted his city’s Law Department had reached the same conclusion. The pledge that helped elect him is dead. The video is its funeral, staged as an offensive.

There is nothing inherently wrong about a politician criticizing Benjamin Netanyahu. The ICC warrant exists; it was issued in 2024. Israel is contesting it. The ICC prosecutor who delivered those arrest warrants, Karim Khan, may lose his job this week over accusations of sexual assault. Be that as it may, Israelis have protested Netanyahu’s government in numbers an American mayor can only envy, week after week, for years. If Tuesday’s video had been criticism, even brutal criticism, it would have been an ordinary iteration of an old argument. My quarrel isn’t with criticism. It’s with political theatrics that trade in truth for exposure.

Here is the trade. What Mamdani promised his voters was an act of government: an arrest, jurisdiction, handcuffs, the full strength of the law applied to a foreign leader. What he delivered instead was language. “War criminal.” “Architect of a horrific genocide.” A casualty figure, 73,000, recited without a word about where it comes from or whom it counts. When a politician cannot produce the act, the language inflates to cover the difference, and the more impossible the deliverable, the more extreme the words. An arrest was off the table, so the accusation had to do the work of handcuffs. “Genocide” is what a broken promise sounds like when it needs to trend.

And it trended. Fifty-five million views in twelve hours, in a city of 8.5 million people. The mayor’s words reached six times as many people as his government ever could. On X alone, the video crossed 15 million by the end of the evening. No achievement of Mamdani’s actual mayoralty, no bus route, no childcare pilot, no housing number, has moved attention within an order of magnitude of this. Every ambitious politician in America absorbed the lesson by sunrise: a broken promise wrapped in maximal accusation against Israel outperforms a kept one. Attention has replaced delivery as the unit of political success. Mamdani’s video is the best demonstration of the exchange we have yet been given.

In my recent article “What Happened to Jeremy,” I documented how state-linked networks from Iran, Russia and Qatar amplify Western content about Israel. These operations rarely invent material. They find authentic domestic content that serves their aims and push it until the algorithm concludes the whole world is speaking. A sitting American mayor accusing Israel’s prime minister of genocide, in a professionally produced video, weeks before that prime minister is expected in New York for the UN General Assembly. That’s the exact material foreign influence operations exist to amplify.

Did they touch this one? I cannot tell you. No one can, because the platforms do not publish origin or coordination data even for political content at this scale. Fifty-five million views, and no public way to know how many arrived organically and how many came from accounts that have never once posted about a pothole in Queens. I am not claiming the surge was foreign. I am telling you that no one in America is currently allowed to check, and that the networks whose fingerprints I have traced elsewhere would consider this video a gift.

There is a fix, and it is boring, which is why it might work. After 2016, public pressure forced the platforms to build political ad libraries. The same should now apply to virality itself: when a piece of political content crosses a defined threshold, the platform publishes an engagement breakdown by country of origin and account age, and accredited researchers get the underlying data. If the surge behind Tuesday’s video was 55 million Americans, the numbers will show it, and Mamdani’s supporters can claim their moral clarity honestly. If it was something else, New Yorkers deserve to know who was shouting over them.

I am writing this on the even of Tisha B’Av, the day the Jewish calendar sets aside for mourning the destruction of both Temples and the catastrophes that gathered around the same date across two thousand years. The rabbis taught that the Second Temple fell to sinat chinam, baseless hatred. They argue that the problem was slander, not mere military weakness. I don’t believe Mamdani consulted a Jewish calendar before posting; the timing is likely coincidence. But the fast lands differently this year. Jews keep a national day of mourning because we have long experience with accusations that travel faster than any correction can, and with what happens in the years after they land. Fifty-five million views in twelve hours is the largest audience such an accusation has ever found this quickly. The day exists because accusations like this one have never, in our history, stayed on the page.

In September, Netanyahu is expected in New York. The video will circulate again, the mayor will be at ribbon cuttings, and the gap between the sentence and the act will still be sitting there, unexamined, because examining it benefits no one with power. Somewhere this week, a candidate for some other office watched those numbers climb and quietly took a note. The note had nothing to do with promoting peace for Palestinians, and everything to do with exploiting Jews to gain power.

summary: a drunk night out brings the clingiest sides of Jason to life.

cw: sfw, fluff, jason todd x reader, sub!jason, gn!reader, jason is drunk asf and soooo whipped for reader.

a/n: my first req.!! brought to you by this lovely person here.

wc: 817

──── 𑣲𝒿 ────

It was far too late and you were far too exhausted to give enough of a damn to look at the clock. Jason had just shuffled into the room, the buckles on his boots jingling with each heavy step. The wood creaked beneath his feet, unevenly, and his steps dragged, scraping the floor. He sits beside you on the bed, staring at the silhouette beneath the covers, fingers running over the cool fabric that rippled under his touch.

“Jason?” You murmur, eyes struggling to open when there’s no answer other than a lazy groan.

His face is absolutely flushed, an extremely shy demeanour written over his movements. He’s slow, much more methodical than usual when his fingers work the bedsheets off of your figure, pressing his face into the soft of your stomach over the top of your shirt. He nudges his nose into the covered skin, heavy and incoherent mumbles on his lips. You freeze, eyes widening as the scent of alcohol assaults your senses.

Naturally, Jason would go out for drinks with Dick every Friday night as a well-deserved wind-down time for both vigilantes — and you’d forgotten this was one of those nights. Your boyfriend, currently preoccupied with burying his face into your stomach, was shitfaced with booze and what smelled like strawberry syrup.

“Missed you,” he slurs out with that signature Crime Alley accent, albeit barely understandable.

“I missed you too, Jay.” The tone came out sour, tiredness on your tongue dragging far longer than you’d wished. He absolutely melts at the sound of your voice regardless, eyes lighting up at the sight of his partner awake and talking.

── .✦

You’d somehow made it to the kitchen with a man twice your body weight clinging to your back, arms around your waist restricting any proper movement below the torso. “You need to drink water,” you tell, earning a soft puff of air to your neck as Jason hides himself away in the smooth skin.

“Need you.”

“Jason.”

He pulls his head back, giving you those puppy dog eyes he knew would allow him a gateway to avoid a scolding. You point a finger at his face, only to be met with an incessant horde of kisses along the length of your neck, sloppy and incalculable. Lips drawn into a thin line, you hold back a laugh as best as you can, the soft skin of Jason’s lips tickling and nipping at the horribly sensitive area.

One thing leads to another between his insistence, and he spins you around, the curve of your back pressed into the counter. “I missed you so much,” he whispers, those half-lidded eyes clinging onto drunken tears and the absolute of a hangover. His fingers carefully thread through the strands at the back of your neck, bottom lip pushed out to a pout you’d almost think is teasing if he weren’t drunk off his rocker.

Your gaze softens, palms finding their way to his cheeks, thumbs tracing the faded freckles over his skin. The scent of alcohol on Jason’s breath makes you double-take before leaning in, earning one of the most tasteful noises you’d ever heard from your boyfriend — a dragged-out whine that compares to that of a needy Labrador.

“Baby,” he folds onto his knees before you, hugging the backs of your knees and resting his chin at the dip of your stomach, “baby, please.”

It’s a pathetic sight to catch Jason in, one you wish you could photograph and keep in a locket for the rest of your life. A heavy gulp makes its way down your throat — he’s staring up like you’re a lifeline for his stability, droplets lining his eyes.

“Just one kiss.”

Your heart sinks, a warmth forming in the depths of your body at the pleading in his voice. “Jay,” his fingers clutch the skin of your calf, begging in silence to be allowed a singular moment of your affection. You hesitate, but eventually find yourself sitting on the floor before him, pecking Jason’s lips. “You need to drink water, sweetheart.”

He chases after your lips, unprepared to leave your mouth alone when he’d just gotten the smallest of tastes. Your index finger presses against Jason’s jaw, pushing his face away gently as you reach for the fridge from your position on the floor — it takes you much longer to find a water bottle than you’d like to admit. Unscrewing the bottle cap, you press the rim of the bottle to his semi-chapped lips, earning a groan from the man in front of you.

“Let’s get you to bed, silly,” you insist, peppering kisses over the left side of his face. He follows along your command, albeit reluctantly, and steps lazily across the floor, feet unsteady and held up miraculously by you. “You’re so strong,” he praises, smiling lopsidedly to himself.

“Go to bed.”

“With you, please?”

Soft love with Jason Todd

Jason Todd... loves to evaluate books with you. The two of you even have a tiny book club where you choose a book to read and by the end of each month you both have a deep discussion about it.

Jason Todd... is extremely affectionate with you and slightly clingy. When he's tired at night and you're doing things, he'll wrap his arms around your waist and bury his head into your shoulder.

Jason Todd... always wants to get burgers with you because he is complete fatass.

Jason Todd... enjoys when you're bold and actually make the first move because it really shows that your love for him is real.

Jason Todd... finds it funny when you tease him about anything and pretends to pout whenever you make a really good remark.

Im tired asf goodnight.

lying to BOXER! JASON TODD about being a virgin… so don’t be surprised when you cum so easy!

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 CONTENT WARNINGS: lying about virginity, overstimulationnnn, teasing! boxer! jason todd, MINORS DNI ノ fem! virgin! reader, gentle sex, dirty talk, technical virginity loss, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, praise kink, tiny bit of a strength kink!

AUTHOR’S NOTE: sorry, I’ve been on a boxer! jason todd high so muchhhhh, I just love him, sorry not sorry! this is inspired by the hot concept of men lying about being virgins and cumming prematurely but make it reader because lowkey? it’s just an excuse for jason to abuse that pussy 🫠 dare i say i have knight/medieval! jason todd in the works rn cause finn bennett as aerion targaryen awoken my soul for knight! characters.

honestly, you weren’t that much of a liar.

you didn’t like to lie— there was something weird about it. something weird about looking someone in the face and lying your ass off. you only lied a couple of times about small things; being sick, not wanting to go on a date, not wanting to hang out… simple things. not things like this.

and to be completely and utterly honest; you didn’t exactly stop lying when it came to getting into bed with jason todd.

you knew who he was— a famous boxer with too many wins to count, but you acted oblivious to his boxing resume when he first approached to you at a small diner. he found you attractive when he was eating with his big brother, dick— yes. his name is dick, doesn’t like going by richard— and dick encouraged him to approach you. so you shared your number with him and began to text him.

things fell into place and a month of talking… he invited you to one of his fights. a big boxing fight, he’s the biggest name on the card. and watching from the third row as jason knocked his opponent out in the third round… you knew damn well what was going to happen later that night.

the problem? you were not quite… experienced at sex.

you have masturbated, you have touched yourself and have used sex toys on yourself. you’ve kissed people in high school and you’ve let them touch you up… but nothing as far as that. just, it hasn’t happened naturally. it wasn’t some weird obligation thing, you weren’t saving yourself for marriage or for anyone special… it just didn’t feel right any time it came down to it, so now? as a hard working adult seeing this boxer? you knew damn well you’d have to face it.

so after celebrating jason’s win at his favorite local burger place— always feeling his rough hand on yours even as you ate, you brought him to your place… and of course, when two hot people who are very attracted to each other are alone… things get hot and steamy.

he got you over the finish line with ease the moment his mouth sucked on your clit, flicking his tongue up and down and using two of his fingers in your tight cunt to cum, eating the cum off his fingers with glee as clothes came off, hair was pulled, and jason was stroking his cock with lube (mixed with a little bit of your own cum cause how could he not?).

“jason… mhm…” you whisper, your legs already spread on the bed as your hands clasped in the bedsheets. you couldn’t lie; you were absolutely nervous.

sure, you’ve played with yourself before— you’ve stuck a dildo in your cunt a couple of times. you know what it feels like to be stretched by a silicone toy that was listed as six inches long and was about five and a half inches… but this was different.

this was a real dick, a real cock attached to a very attractive boxer that you just happened to get the attention of.

jason smiled down at you as his right hand stayed on his seven inch cock, his left hand gently stroking up and down your leg as his body keeps your legs open. “you’re pretty, baby.” he whispers, leaning down and kissing your left knee. “such a cute girl… all spread f’me…”

your face heats up internally at his compliments, it felt good to be flirted with, especially by jason with his stupidly hot voice and his demeanor. “jason, mhm…” you respond back, mentally preparing yourself for how this is gonna feel— it’s just like a dildo, the stretch and the feeling, you could handle it; of course you can!

jason lined his tip up with your folds and leaned down, kissing your lips and whispering against your lips. “if you can’t handle it, tell me sweetheart, ain’t trying to hurt you, promise.”

you nod your head, wrapping both arms around his neck. “of course, jay… now fuck me.” oh the confidence you have.

he smiles at your words and press against your cunt, his tip feeling the warmness of your cunt as you seemingly let him in with no problem. he’s slow to push into you, being oh so gentle with his hips as his left hand digs into the bed, his right hand pressed on top of your abdomen as he’s careful with his ease into you.

and fuck fuck fuck— it feels so good. it feels too good.

you could barely feel anything else besides jason stretching you with his cock— naturally, this felt different than the dildo, the skin of jason’s cock different than the silicone. he was so much better and thicker than the toy, warmer than the toy as well— everything felt overwhelming that you didn’t know if you could handle much more… and the pathetic part was that he was only three inches in, he still had four more inches to go and you already feel like this.

“jason! jason! oh fuckkkkk, jayyyy.” you moan out, fingers digging into the back of his neck, your pussy fluttering ‘round him as your toes curled in the air. “s-so good… so full… oh fuck.”

he smiles above you as he kisses your moaning lips, gently continuing his movements, taking your moans as good enough to keep moving. “good girl… taking me so fuckin’ well, bet this pussy misses being treated so good.”

yeah; my pussy has never been treated any which way, but obviously— you couldn’t fucking say that, so you just moan in response, vibrating against his skin.

you felt so warm inside, you couldn’t stop your pleasure from climbing just by him pushing into you and his lips on your skin, you just couldn’t help it. it felt too fucking good.

not knowing what to do— you couldn’t stop yourself, and with barely three thrusts in… you felt yourself slipping over the same edge that his mouth brought you over. his hips don’t sputter once, his face hidden in your neck as he pressed kisses in your neck— your eyes rolling back as your nails dug into his biceps.

it felt so fucking good, your pussy was fluttering and you felt pleasure push and flow through your veins.

jason mutters a curse as he watches you, star struck by your expression and almost surprised— he’s not mean about his expression either, he’s shocked he was able to make you cum this fast… “oh baby, you already cummed?” he questions, leaning down and pressing a kiss on your lips. “good to know i make you feel this good.”

“ah— ah! oh fuck, jay!” you moan in overstimulation, back arching off the bed and pressing your breasts against his broad chest. “ah— ‘m sorry! ‘m sorry… didn’t me-mean to.”

jason looks at you with soft eyes that even makes you tear up, leaning down and kissing your cheek. “don’t apologize f’me baby, don’t ever apologize for cumming so beautifully.” he encourages, continuing his thrusts even with your orgasm melting through you. “this pussy loves me, huh?”

your fingers digs down into his back as you whine, breathing deep as jason continues to ruin you. “jay— jay, c’can’t take it— oh fuck… oh fuck!”

“you’re taking it great baby, just hold out f’me, hun, you’ll feel good again.” he whispers, kissing your lips.

the kiss is sloppy and barely there on your side, but you try to kiss him again, heat overtaking your entire body as overstimulation slowly subsidies and suddenly feeling that same build up as last time.

you whimper against his lips as your hands both thread through his messy black hair, nails yanking on him as you feel his cock drag against your walls again, his balls slapping against your cunt.

he moans as you squeeze around him, both hands holding onto your thighs. “beautiful girl… betcha you need to cum again, huh?”

nodding your head, you bite into his shoulder, the pain of the overstimulation and the pleasure of your orgasm ruins you before you could confirm anything to him; your eyes rolling back and the scream of his name gives him the confirmation.

you just cummed again and he’s looking at you like a fucking angel on this earth.

“there you go… cum, cum all over my shit, baby.” he encourages. “lemme see this pretty face fucking wrecked for me again.”

maybe lying about your virginity to your boyfriend was the best idea ever, cause it got you fucked like this!

masterlist is here! click here for more!

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: jason todd x gn!reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: jason wants to tell you his secret identity- but can't. what if you leave? or you hate him? he's completely unaware that you're red hood’s n1 fan

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: none, 1.2k words, jason's self deprecating thoughts, fluff-ish, crack, happy ending, 1 sexual innuendo

<𝟑: tysm for requesting! i hope its what you wanted :)

Summary & CW:  Suggestive (MDNI), hand job (?)…. & dirty talk(?), song fic (e85 by don toliver), pushing my biker!jason propaganda, cursing, no use of y/n, Jason POV

Pairing: Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 0.9k

A/N: PLEASE DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME! Another piece out the Kiln! Thank you to @akusuincoffee for requesting! Im so sorry it took me this long I literally listened to this song a million times trying to get inspo for it LMFAO, as always I hope you enjoy my lovelies (only one piece lefttttt)

•───────•°•♡•°•───────•

The only thing he could focus on was the sound of your laugh over the wind, it was something sweet and bright. The cadence was so divine, he couldn’t help himself but smile under the helmet.

Jason finally had a night off that coincided with one of yours. Not wasting the opportunity, you both decided to go on one of your famous night rides. It reminds you of the earlier days, when neither of you had money save for a tank of gas and a greasy burger your stomach would hate you for later.

The second he called you to give you the good news, you did all but cry your phone. He had to pull the phone away from his ear at the sound of your squealing, Bruce raised an eyebrow at him when he heard your voice through Jason’s busted speaker.

Night rides were a lost art in your opinion. There was something so beautiful about having the wind rushing past you, the thrill coating your stomach from the bike, and music blaring in your ears.

Jason could feel every part of your body on his back. Considering the fact that all you wore was that romper of yours, not much was left for the imagination. He felt all your warmth bleeding in through his cotton t-shirt, and he’d never been more grateful for opting for a thinner one. The feeling of your arms against him, legs parallel to his, your front on his back, it was perfect. He could never ask for anything more.

The giggles escaping your lips were sounds of pure joy- he’d drown in the sound if he had the chance. If the bubbling feeling that arose in him at of your laugh was what awaited him for the remainder of eternity, he wanted forever to start tomorrow.

Your chin rests on his left shoulder, helmets bumping occasionally as he weaves through cars on the New Jersey highways. Jason wasn’t one for patience -hell, was famous for lacking it- but he’d sit through every batch of traffic this state cursed him with, so long that you were at his side.

Finally seeing the exit sign, he cuts over to the right lane and for once, the exit is empty. This part of Gotham looks like a ghost town, stranded even. There’s no cars, no bikes, no people hanging out on the corner.

Just you, him, and a red light.

After about thirty seconds, his head turns left, right, then left again before mumbling, “I could just run it.”

“Jason Peter Todd,” you pull back from his shoulder to slap him upside the head, “you are not going to be running a red light. Waiting two more minutes isn’t going to kill you.”

“And how would you know? Maybe I want to try death by car, I’ve done it by bomb,” his voice is so annoyingly matter-of-fact, you’re tempted to fall for the ragebait.  

“Fine. Be my guest and run it,” you huff already pushing off him, “but just so you know that if you do, I’m hoping off the bike and walking my ass home.”

“Babyyyyy” he draws out the vowel, whining almost.

Your arms are crossed over your chest, and he tilts his head back so his helmet kisses yours. You don’t make another noise, letting the honks of the highway behind you both speak for you. Another minute passes and the light doesn’t change from red.

He scoffs and leans forward again and this time, you lean with him. Your arms wrap around his midsection, but only for a moment. He tries -really he does- to not think too hard on how your right hand starts traveling down. e tries

“Doll,” his voice cracks with hesitation.

You merely hum back as your hand rests over his jeans, feeling the erection he’s failing to hide. Heat flushes his cheeks and he’s suddenly grateful for the polarized cover the helmet provides. Shifting slightly in the small seat, your hand squeezes a miniscule amount and he groans.

“Princess,” he’s breathless, “what’re you doing?”

“Nothing baby,” you sound so innocent, as if you weren’t getting him off at a light, “just focus on the road.”

He thinks he’s going to be strangled. His hands start white-knuckling the handlebars of the motorcycle while you palm him through his jeans. The worst part about it all- you talked him through it.

“You’re doing so good for me,”

“Just a little longer,”

“Oh my pretty boy,”

That last one almost has him creaming in his pants. He’s no longer leaning forward on the bike but rested against you. His head thrown back on your shoulder, staring at the stars as heaven reaches him at this exit. His breaths are heavy and he doesn’t think he’s ever been so aroused.

“Hey Hood?” Dick’s voice rings through his helmet, solidifying his veins to ice.

Never in this second life, has he been cockblocked this bad. If Dick ever connects himself to his comm system without asking again, he’ll shoot him for real that time.

“There goes the moment,” you snicker to yourself, moving your hand back up his torso much to Jason’s dismay.

He has to clear his throat before responding with a “Yeah?”

“You’ve been at that intersection for a while,” he sounds concerned, but there’s amusement lingering in it, “you know that light’s been busted since Monday right?”

Loving you was going to be the death of him.

•───────•°•♡•°•───────•