Readers working at the diner about to close up, Jasons waiting outside for her when some drunk creep gropes her and Jason gets mad and beats the guy up. Pretty please 🫣🫣
I beg never stop writing. Ur so good at it. 💕💕
Okay, so a few things. I can not remember if I've given her a job post the series. So I think when you said diner, you meant her job at Jackie's that she had during the series. That is what I went with. I was also trying to remember the general timeline as I was writing. I don't have specific chapters, but this takes place after the penguin kidnapping, but before the brunch, I think. That's where my thought process was at least. That may not make total sense, but I did try my best. I hope it works!
Do I Know You? Masterlist (DIKY)
Kandy's Writing Challenge
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“Thank you,” you call out as the last customer trails out of the cafe, a to-go cup of coffee that you find too much for the late hour. You move about doing the last of your tasks before closing up shop. You return from the back offices after putting away the money, checking your phone for a text that Jason was nearly there. You round the counter, still looking at your phone.
“Oh Jesus,” you screech as you run into a figure in the dim lights of the cafe, “I am so sorry!”
Your phone slips into your back pocket at the sight of the man in front of you. College-age, slightly intoxicated based on his breath. A typical customer for the Cafe during the later hours. He gives you a startling, charismatic smile, “I didn’t mean to startle you, miss. I was hoping for a cup of coffee.”
You readjust your bag on your shoulder. “I’m sorry, but the cafe closed about 10 minutes ago.”
“Oh, the door was open.” He points at the door behind him. You peek around him in hopes of seeing Jason.
With no luck, you only nod, “I understand that, but the kitchen is still closed.”
“Listen, sweetcheeks, that’s hardly a kitchen. I just need a drip coffee to get me through the rest of the night,” he huffs. You tense at the pet name and his tone.
“I get that,” you say placatingly, shifting back, but he follows your step. “There’s a Starbucks just a few blocks from here. They’re open longer than us.”
He scoffs, voice turning bitter the longer he speaks, “If I wanted Starbucks, I’d be at Starbucks, wouldn’t I?”
“Right, right,” you nod, stepping back towards the counter more. He abruptly grabs your arm, jerking you forward. You let out a gasp of pain in surprise.
“You can’t just walk away. I want my coffee. I’ll pay you double for it,” he bites, grip tightening.
Your hand grabs at his, trying to pry at it, “That’s not how it works. I can't- ah!”
His other hand moves up to grip at your jaw, “Yes, you can. You're a barista.”
Your eyes go wide as you stare at him. Your mind blanks. There’s panic, you know there is, but you cant quiet grasp at it. There’s a flash of blood in your memory and you freeze up more because it was happening again. Except it wasn’t at some body-dumping warehouse; it was at your job.
The door to the cafe dings open, and the man is ripped off of you. You stumble backwards to the counter. All your mind can think of is getting away. You round the counter and duck behind it, looking for a weapon, not really thinking about where the man went. You grab one of the glass pitchers for the coffee, tears bubbling in your throat. You hear the door of the cafe ding.
“Sweetheart?” You're still in your hiding spot. “You in here?”
You shift to peek over the counter, “Jason?”
His gaze finds you and slowly rounds the counter and crouches on the floor with you, “You okay?”
You look over the counter, “There was a guy and he-”
“Yeah, I know. He won't come back here,” He says. Your eyes return to his, and then you take him in. Your eyes settle on his hands pressed to his knees, one bloodied.
“Jay,” you set the coffee pitcher down and reach for his hand.
He tugs it out of your reach, standing to pull at the napkin dispenser and wiping it away, “He won’t come back, sweetheart. Okay?”
You stare up at him. You have one of those momentary flashes in your mind; that dumb jar that had all but left your mind briefly makes its return. Red Hood and Jason. You shake the thought entirely.
“Thank you,” you say as you move to stand with him.
“Why are you alone?” he asks as he looks around the cafe. “Thought we agreed you wouldn't work alone?”
You nod, kicking yourself mentally, “We did. Anna had a family emergency. I thought it would be fine, just a couple of hours.”
“You can't do that, not in Gotham. You have to call me,” he reminds you. “I will be here.”
You frown at him, impossibly annoyed with yourself for not doing it and impossibly annoyed at him for still taking care of you without thought weeks after the incident at the warehouse.
“Thank you, Jason,” you repeat.
He shakes his head, gives you a soft smile before reaching for your hand to pull you out from around the counter, “Let's go home, yeah?”
“Yeah,” you feel yourself smile at the easy way he says it, despite how the night's gone. Home. Like he lived there. Like you were something that had been labeled. You accept it anyway. Maybe one day in the future, you would talk about it.
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please do more baby jaybin im in my kness begging to you to make bruce with his two babys, show me big brother dick teaching jason circus tricks, show me jason doing silly child things and bruce being so in love with his kids 😭😭😭😭
bruce finding out that jason is still a crybaby 🥹 jason act tough but if you push him a bit more in a personal arguments he'd start spilling fat tears down his cheeks and now you have an armful of sad boy in your arms. bruce forgot this fact every single time they fight.
happy father's day to bruce who needs to navigate through the many many emotions of his kids 😭 this is what you get for adopting a gaggle of children
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There is a young American man in France. His mother has passed away. He has few friends, and works the thankless job of a bus boy in a prestigious restaurant, but dreams of becoming a chef despite having very little skill.
He returns one night to his humble apartment, which is known to have vermin, and comes across a rat, which he could easily kill or set loose on the street.
But the rat- it is special. It seems to speak to him. Promises him every little thing he desires- talent, fame, and fortune. Recognition and esteem like he has only ever seen from afar; fine company like the wealthy men and women whose scraps he picks at over the sink.
Put me on your head, the rat says. Put me on your head and think of nothing.
It is strange at first, yes. Strange to feel another take control of his life and live it better than he ever could. To see miraculous things created with his own two hands, to feel his feet move in graceful and fantastic ways with a confidence he has never had.
But the rat delivers as he had promised: he receives promotions, notoriety, admiration. He is noticed. Envied. Every day is a waking dream, rubbing elbows with beautiful women and handsome men and influential personalities who lavish him with praise. It is addictive, this lifestyle- never mind that he is only ever truly conscious of it as a passenger of in own brain.
It is when he has reached heights few can ever conceive, with all that the rat had ever promised- a beautiful wife in a beautiful house with all the world in his palm, in possession of all the wealth and success a man could ever want, that the rat says that it is leaving.
Leaving? The rat cannot leave. Everything he is, the rat has provided.
"I have delivered on our bargain", the rat says. "I have brought to you all that you have ever dreamed. What more could you desire? I must live my own life, now."
The man is furious. He is terrified. He destroys the rat, in all of the ways that a rat can be destroyed, until nothing is left of it but a fine smear of marinara sauce.
He returns to the restaurant the next day moving like the shell of something hollowed-out and brittle. He cooks well- his fingers remember the movements, his eyes recognize the patterns, his mouth knows without his asking what orders to speak and what platitudes make patrons smile pleasantly with their straight white teeth.
He retains the talents of the rat. The charm of the rat. All the worldly pleasures the rat had provided him.
Still, it seems, he is little more than a vessel for the talents of the rat.
“People should pass a test before being allowed to have kids.” “Isn’t it scary how white people have this inborn capacity for evil?” “I’ll never pass because males and females have different skull shapes.” “Autistic people have a stronger sense of justice than anyone else.” “I don’t want AMABs in my space because they’re dangerous.” “You shouldn’t have access to hormones if you dress like THAT.” “Anyone who does something that awful isn’t human.” “Some people really shouldn’t be allowed to vote.”
This is eugenics. This is phrenology. THIS IS NAZI SHIT, YOU ARE A LEFTIST BUYING INTO NAZI SHIT. YOU ARE NOT IMMUNE TO NAZI SHIT.
I've seen a lot of people in the comments saying people needing to pass a test to have kids is a good idea, but I don't think they understand what that means. The US government used to take Indigenous children from their parents for reasons as asinine as grandparents living in the home (called "overcrowded environment") or using only their native language at home instead of English (because it "failed to prepare" children for a world where English is the dominant langauge).
Children placed in residental schools were abused, murdered, and sold into arranged marriages with white men. More recently, children "adopted" out into white households are often also subjected to the same, as well as forcibly converted to Christianity.
The most effective way to protect children in the country is to give them rights to ensure their safety, autonomy and dignity. Eugenics and laws to control reproduction will not do that. Crafting legislation with the help of child wellness experts is a better choice.
I should add - the US government STILL disproportionately targets Indigenous families for child welfare checks. ICWA is supposed to protect against this but is unevenly enforced, and there's even talk of overturning it. Protect ICWA and Indigenous children.
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people foolishly dismiss desserts and treats as having no nutritional value when they actually are necessary for refilling your sanity stat. to prove my point please observe the emotional stability of the next person you meet who doesnt let themselves ever eat any form of dessert
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