RenaiRin

I write a lot of Bruce Wayne centric fics, and some slash and what not. Superbat and Lanternbat, assorted others, or just taking Bruce off to the side Old Yeller style.

RenaiRin on ao3

Hi there chum, this one's been answered already in this post.

Like they usually hear soft cooing and sighs from their daughter, who loves to rattle on about "her little Knight" and all the good he's done for her and her people. And they take a peek at him sometimes just to check in, as they aren't capable of speech with humanity in the same way their daughter can. So they mainly get information from her, little updates here or there. And they like hearing about how happy Gotham is with her child!

But sometimes, Gotham seems a little...forlorn. Sad. Not at Bruce, but for him. She sees his yearning for a partner of his own (he already had many children, of which the Grannies are deeply pleased about. Great grand babies! Having children of his own already and Bruce has only lived for a blink of their time, how proactive!)

And the Grannies start snooping a bit more, gazing down at him looking over at that young creature in the red and blue. Longing for him.

Ah, well, their grandson is just a bit shy? How cute! They can certainly help with this. Yes, indeed. All they need weave next is the tools to help their poor grandson out.

They cannot tell him directly what they would like to, but they can get a bit creative. It does, unfortunately turn out --and happens quite often when the Grannies try to have an audience with humanity-- that their methods spook the child quite a bit. Ah, well. These things happen. He'll be fine! Just needs to shake it off, yes? He is very resilient, it's part of what makes Gotham adore her son so very much.

After all, their little 'chat' worked quite well, didn't it?

Wip Ask Game!

This is my cute little DCAU au where, instead of Ace (the meta) dying, she gets taken in by Bruce after they fake her death. It's not immediate on the part of the adoption or anything, but he does go to great lengths to get to know her and give her some semblance of a childhood after the one she had was lost. Ace slowly becomes part of the family in time, and we get more of her time at Cadmus and what little of her backstory there is.

I've had this one on my mind a lot lately, but haven't written much down just yet. Here's a nibble for ya:

"It's…grey?"

"It started growing like that after the surgery." Bruce explained, watching her take stock of the now grey stands of hair on the one side of her head. "From the stress, I assume."

"Huh." Ace surveyed the hairs meticulously, then dropped them and looked his way. "Will it stay that way?"

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. We'll have to see."

She then ran her hand lightly across the bandages covering the side of her head currently without hair, pursing her lips. They had been in somewhat of a hurry to preform the surgery, so they only shaved what was absolutely necessary.

"It will grow back, in time." Bruce chimed into the quiet air.

"They always said that. Before. My hair was always that short because they were shaving it for an experiment. Or surgery."

Bruce felt his nails dig into his knees. Experiments. The same ones that nearly killed her. How many times had she been subjected to Cadmus's whims? Been put under a knife?

Tommy had mentioned something, after the post op imaging to make certain the clip was in place. It had been subtle on the images, but small parts of Ace's brain had been…tampered with. Pieces removed.

Not enough to kill her, but enough that it could have made her more "acceptable" for Cadmus's plans. A meta soldier who didn't question orders. Who didn't feel anything. Only did what they were told. It could also have been another reason her powers grew so rapidly, making up for what was lost. Tommy noted there was what seemed to be regrowth of brain matter. Something impossible that wasn't even achievable by the most advanced medical care even Cadmus had access to.

That meant her powers might have gone so out of control as a way of overcompensating for the damage, repairing it. But Bruce couldn't be sure.

It made Bruce's blood boil. Knowing this, what they'd done to her, to the others. He never managed to find out what exactly happened to the rest of the original Royal Flush Gang members. They had all disappeared after the battle. Chances were, if they were still alive, they were back at Cadmus. But something told Bruce he'd only find leftovers used for further experimentation. Like the Ultimen. Galatea.

It felt like a tight fist was squeezing around his heart.

But Ace wasn't at Cadmus anymore.

Never again.

"Would you like to grow it out long?" Bruce asked after taking a deep breath to calm himself down. The last thing he needed was to cause her alarm in any way. "Your hair?"

Wip Ask Game!

Bruce flexed his hand again as the elevator rose, taking a deep assessment of the tingling burn up his forearm and the brown stain now donning his dress shirt sleeve. The burn on his abdomen had been lessened by the waistcoat he wore, thankfully. He hoped it was just a simple first-degree and that the annoying burning effect would calm down once he'd treated it.

It had been his fault, really. He should've been paying more attention outside his conversation with Lucius on his cell when the intern had rounded the corner in a hurry and slammed right into him, the four fresh hot coffees for the Tech leads meeting crushed between them.

And scalding hot.

The immediate pain washed over him and he'd sucked in a breath, while the intern warbled out, "Oh my god! I-I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to—Mr. Wayne!?!"

He had been more concerned with her face and how horrified she'd looked than any injury he'd gotten. Shaking his burning arm out and holding back the hiss between his teeth, while righting her from their collision with his undamaged hand, he looked her over and asked, "Are you okay? You didn't get burned?"

"No? No I'm fine, but, Sir you're—"

"I'll be okay. Accidents happen." Bruce assured her, ignoring the pain while bending down to help collect the now-empty paper cups. Jerry would have some extra work today cleaning the sugary, caffeinated mess out of the carpet. He'd planned to get the man a gift basket as recompense. "Next time, despite what they say, don't rush. If they get testy about it you can say I gave you permission to take your time."

The intern stared at him with wide eyes, scrabbling to help with the remains of the coffee run. She still seemed unsure about his nonchalance at the matter. "Aren't you hurt? I-I totally understand if this is grounds for termination, or a warning…?"

"I'll be fine. A little coffee never hurt me before." He stood and eyed the nearby sanitizer station and grabbed a few paper towels. Then handed them first to her, incase she got any of the coffee on herself, though he hadn't seen any, then some for himself and the soaked spot on the floor.

The intern blinked at him and helped pat the carpet till it was damp, eyes darting between Bruce and the floor.

"What's your name?" He asked, small smile on his face.

"Anastasia. Anastasia Yurin, I'm an intern in the WayneTech R&D division." She said, speaking small and adjusting her glasses. She looked a little worse for wear, messy hair sticking out of her bun and baby hairs curling around her forehead, dark bags under her eyes. Her suit was a more than a little mussed, but not from their collision. It was only three in the afternoon. What the hell were the Tech leads having her do?

"Anastasia, here." Bruce discarded the soaked paper towels into the trashcan near them and pulled out his wallet, slipping a hundred dollar bill into her hand before she even realized it. Her pupils practically shrunk to pinpricks, nervousness seeping off of her. "For the new coffee's. You work under Robertson, right? His team can get a little touchy in the afternoon without them, as I'm sure you're aware. I'll talk with them about the delay and to stay off the intern's backs. Keep the remainder and get a treat for yourself, okay? Your job is not on the line. I just want you to be safe."

She meekly smiled back at him and her gaze went between the bill in her hand and Bruce's face. Anastasia nodded her head and appeared to calm down more. "Are you sure this is okay? I mean, it was my fault, I ran into you, and…"

"I should have been paying more attention to where I was walking. It's alright, truly."

She finally calmed down completely and he sent her off to the coffee shop on the second floor free of any lingering anxiety. He'd really needed to look into whatever it was that team was doing. Putting the new interns under this kind of insane pressure over a coffee run was asinine.

But first, he'd needed to get cleaned up.

It would be a hassle to go all the way back to the manor just to change and get bandaged, so he'd opted for the penthouse he'd owned nearby instead. There was still work to be done before evening came. As he rode the elevator up to the apartment, he'd already been plotting his remaining work and then subsequent cases he'd needed to get updates for while easing some of the burning from his skin. Though, in a way he was glad for the burn. The exhaustion of the past week was catching up with him. He actually didn't remember if it was the day before, or the day before that when he'd last slept more than an hour.

What he saw when he walked into the penthouse, he had really, really not been expecting.

He ended up blinking multiple times just to make sure this wasn't a sleep-deprived hallucination.

Only three steps inside and he spotted, across the open floor plan, that he was not alone. Not by a long shot.

Sitting at the dining table in a circle was Penguin, Killer Croc, Harley, Ivy, and Kite Man.

It seemed he had interrupted them on poker night, of all things.

"Oh look, a guest." Penguin grunted, putting down his cards to look over at Bruce. "We weren't expecting to see you, Prince."

"Hiya Brucie! Oh wow you look like ya just walked outta the sewers, like Crocky here."

Croc sniffed and gave him a side eye before going back to his cards, turning a poker chip on the table. "Hmm. Doesn't smell of sewer."

"What happened to you?" Ivy looked him up and down from her turned shoulder. She was still holding her cards close.

"I walked into an intern and decided to try a new fashion trend." Bruce said, letting a small hollow smile flash across his face.

He was still stiff standing near the kitchen as he put his good hand against his hip, marking all the exit points besides the one directly behind him. He didn't know if they were here because they knew about the Bat, and wanted to reveal this in some odd cheeky manner, or for some other reason. He certainly didn't think he and Anastasia had bumped into each other because she was being paid to do so by Penguin, but in Gotham one could never be too sure. "May I ask why you are playing poker in my dining room?"

Ivy waved her hand at him and went back to looking at her cards. She looked awfully relaxed, one arm over the back of her chair, tone of voice even. "It's poker night. Penguin's floor has a water leak problem that's being fixed, so the manager let us in here. 'Said you never really drop by and that it 'should be fine'. Seems they were wrong."

He couldn't completely verify if that was true, but he knew that at some of his other properties, some managers had tried doing similar things before, AirBnB style rent-for-a-day experiences. Very intriguing to the masses when it was one of Bruce Wayne's properties. Needless to say those managers hadn't kept their jobs afterwards. The last thing Bruce needed was use of a safe house only to find a frat party inside. He only needed to go through that experience once in his lifetime.

He'd have to have a talk with management about this.

But for now…

"You gonna keep staring at us, Wayne, or are you gonna do what you came here to do?" Croc growled as he looked at his cards.

"That depends. You guys aren't…breaking any laws? Plotting to rob the bank?"

Harley very enthusiastically hopped up in her chair and turned to face him with a bright smile. "Nope."

Bruce stood there and processed this information for a solid thirty seconds. "So, to get this straight—you're just playing a game of cards?"

"Yep." Harley said with a pop of her bubble gum, setting some cards down and tossing a large amount of her chips on to bet.

None of them had been especially villainous in recent months. He knew most were out on parole, Croc had actually taken to the sewers two years back and been relatively quiet, after all he really just wanted to be left well alone. Bruce couldn't imagine they were really plotting much of anything at this moment in time, at least. If they were, this was still a strange way to do it.

So if they were just here for poker…

"Okay then. Carry on." And Bruce made to turn towards his bedroom so he could finally get out of his wet, stained clothes. As long as they weren't causing any trouble, he didn't see why they couldn't stick around and play their game.

"Aren't you gonna, like, call the cops or something? Cry wolf, whatever?" Ivy started, pushing her smaller bet forward with two fingers pressed onto the stack.

"Yeah, you're not gonna call the Bat on us, are you?"

Bruce only moved into the kitchen and set his suit coat onto the counter. "Nope."

Harley looked at him for a second, tilted her head, then asked, "Why not?"

Bruce paused in his walk, turning back to the table. "Are you plotting to kill a bunch of people or hold them hostage?"

"Not currently." Penguin spoke up, revealing his hand that Bruce couldn't see from here, one that made Croc huff and sigh as he put his own hand down.

"None of you are breaking parole?"

"Nah." Kite Man added, finally deigning to join the conversation.

"Plotting to poison people who eat salads?" Bruce eyed Ivy in particular.

She sighed and murmured, "That was one time…No."

"And you're not here to, I don't know, kill me or kidnap me or…well. The usual?"

They all shook their heads in unison.

"Then as far as I'm concerned, as you're not conceiving new ways of blowing up the chemical plant, or trying to make the botanical gardens stand up and walk across the city--you're not my problem." Bruce said and made to walk clear across the remaining sprawling kitchen towards his bedroom. "Just clean up after you're done. I'll be out of your hair just as soon as I change out of the three macchiatos and one latte I walked into."

Harley started giggling back at the table, and he could hear the chairs scuff the floor as she most likely tipped it back where she sat. Bruce only walked into the bedroom and shut the door tight behind him.

He had a shower to take and burns to treat, after all.

Basically, Poker Night is just Bruce having a relatively normal interaction with the rogues. They may or may not know about the Batman thing, shrug. There's probably more substance I could get out of it, based on the little ideas I've jotted down, underneath the plot above and few scenes i've disjointedly written. But otherwise...this is it. For now. Cause it's so short and a crackficy idea, you get all of it on tap for now!

Wip ask Game!

So this one is actually a lil sequel I made for In View of the World, my Bruce-gets-fucked-up-in-a-year-long-timeloop fic where Clark is super strangely absent, and it's driving Bruce slowly insane. I really like this fic. Someone left a bookmark note wishing it had been expanded upon what happens afterwards, and I kinda wanted to explore it more myself. So, Sun is the continuation of that.

Basically, Bruce post-timeloop has some newfound AHHHHHH, and now he and Clark are giving dating a try and...well. We get more Clark pov on things! Plus dating! Yippee!!! And also Bruce dealing with things returning to 'normal'. Clark helps. There's a very exciting kind of smut at the end there I hope people will like.

I have a good amount written, but every time I settle in to write more of it another wip shows up or pushes it farther back on the burner. Christ it's already at 8k words and counting...shit. I do have a really good idea of what to do with it though, it's the getting-it-done part that's been the issue.

Snippet:

The nightmares were one of the worst parts, after.

On the nights Bruce could sleep, he'd end up jerking awake, half out of his mind with cold fear. Recalling the never ending blank corridors of the Watchtower where he'd be looking for someone, anyone—but nobody was there. He'd keep repeating the same path over and over and pray for a change, any change, leap into one zeta and pop out the next just to wind up back in the halls. The only bodies he spotted were ones without faces. The violet ring peered at him beyond the windows but this time, that's all there ever was. No earth or sun or stars to see. Just one massive ring of violet that would consume him whole in its gaze.

On those nights, he didn't often return to sleep. Sometimes he'd wake up screaming Clark's name, and Clark would be there, half asleep in his pajamas, and Bruce felt horrible about it every time. But couldn't bring himself to dismiss the man. Instead he just clutched onto Clark and they never talked about what was seen, or said, or heard. Bruce just forced his heartbeat to match Clark's own and breathe.

Then there were the other nights, the ones where he couldn't sleep.

He laid awake and stared at the ceiling in the dark. Watched the rain trickle down the windows by the cast shadows in the moonlight and just. Waited.

Breathed.

He had moments like these, every now and again when the insomnia he'd had long before the anomaly returned. And he found himself wondering if he had fallen into another loop, where if he tried to sleep, he'd just restart all over again.

Bruce contemplated if he would awaken on the space station, or somewhere else.

But thoughts like this weren't exactly prudent to him 'getting better'. Besides, even if that were the case, there wouldn't be anything he could do to stop it.

So instead, he waited. Forced his nerves to let what will be, will be and let sleep take him eventually.

He hoped sleep would. He'd missed it in a way he hadn't before.

Bruce had actually been sleeping a lot, these days. Enough to flip Alfred's concern from Bruce's never-enough-sleep right into the stark opposite of too-much-sleep. Depression-death-sleep.

He knew it was bad, having to watch your extremely stubborn child flip flop between two extremes within the span of a few weeks. Alfred hadn't known Bruce to willingly sleep-in unless he was bone tired. And in the back of Bruce's skull, he did wonder if his body wasn't trying to make up for what his mind had been deprived of for a year, even if at the time, his body hadn't been tired at all.

The oddities of duality.

Bruce didn't have the energy to laugh about it.

Instead he continued to lay there until, before he knew it, his mind drifted off and sleep came for him, after all.

It shouldn't have been as reassuring as it was, but, he would take what he could get.

Another annoying thing he had to relearn was actually eating again.

For the most part, during his time in the cycles, Bruce didn't have to eat. He did on occasion, just to taste food or enjoy some semblance of normalcy. Pretend for five minutes he hadn't eaten the exact same food rations in hundreds of cycles before, just for them to replenish in every new cycle as if he hadn't touched them at all. Eventually Bruce just gave up on maintaining that routine entirely. What he had really craved what something he couldn't have in his imprisonment anyway, which had been sleep.

But now that sleep was in high supply and demand, food now required him to take more precedence of it within his schedule.

Bruce hadn't been the best at remembering to eat before. But now?

He was even worse at it.

"Sir." Alfred spoke out from near the stairs. His voice echoed along the cave walls, footsteps growing closer. "I thought you were to be eating your meal, not…whatever it is you're currently doing."

Bruce only bothered to look up from what he had been sketching half-heartedly in his notebook once Alfred reached his side. The older gentleman peered down into the contents of the sketch and made a sour kind of face. One Bruce knew wasn't exactly of disapproval of Bruce's 'table manners', per se, more so concern at what the sketch contained.

"May I ask what that is?" Alfred inquired with a raised brow.

"You may not." Bruce said flatly and closed the book.

He looked over and regarded the now cold soup and sandwich Alfred had brought him earlier. When had it been…twenty minutes ago? Forty?

Bruce couldn't recall.

That was another annoyance he was dealing with. Concepts of time.

Being trapped in a mindfuck maze for the equivalent of one year where all you ever had was time and thinking to do, didn't translate well to time management skills in the real world. But at least he was working on that one.

The other issues, Bruce would handle later.

Wip ask game here!

The Soulbond fic was originally a adopt-an-idea prompt from the Superbat server, basically DCEU Bruce nearly drowns to death and Clark revives him via old fashioned CPR with what does the mouth kissy breathy. But whoops, turns out Kryptonian's can soul bond with a person they deeply love and cherish via a kiss. It also allows a small amount of telepathy between the bond.

At first they don't even know what's going on, mainly they just noticed they keep thinking about the other more often and are suddenly very in sync in combat scenarios. Then stuff starts getting creepily weird, as seen in the snippet below:

"How did you find me?" Clark asked, curiously. There was an odd tone to his voice Bruce didn't think sounded alarming, but wasn't quite right either.

Bruce shrugged and continued to discard the charred pieces of the suit. "I knew you would be there."

"But…how did you know that?"

For goodness sake, "Because I—"

Wait.

How did he know Clark was at that warehouse?

Bruce ran his mind over the string of thought, pulling into himself. At first it had been the most likely warehouse in the Slums that Bruce had thought the kidnappers would have taken the hostages, but now that he thought about it, there was two other such suitable locations nearby. It could have been any of the three. Had he gotten lucky?

No. It was too perfect. He had been running on pure adrenaline and instinct, but even instinct wouldn't have taken Bruce to the exact part of the warehouse where Clark and the others had been held in.

The deeper Bruce delved, the more inconsistencies he found.

He thought back to their recent fights. During other battles in the past two months, he'd noticed a similar peculiarity to his current situation. It had been the way they moved together in battle. The precise teamwork that they had never been so subscribed to before. During the fight with Magpie, Bruce hadn't seen any particular tell that Clark was going to move. No shifts in his flight pattern, or a twist of his torso in that direction. Bruce had just…known that's what Clark was doing. Moving into the exact position to catch her once Batman made his next move

But how?

He ran the scene back in his mind again. They hadn't practiced that maneuver before. Not in training, nor any other battle. Bruce wouldn't initiate a move like that on his own without knowing beforehand that his partner understood the maneuver and the sign for it explicitly. To keep themselves and their foes relatively safe. In fact, he hadn't even given the sign. Bruce only did that if he and his partner were in perfect sync for a fight, like when they'd used the maneuver routinely in combat. Specifically, he'd only done such things thus far with Robin.

Now that he thought about it, this wasn't the first time he and Clark had been in such perfect, uncanny sync together.

"Bruce?"

Hearing his name snapped him out of his deep thoughts, and he realized he'd gone silent for far too long. And for some reason, he knew Clark's face was radiating concern before he'd even looked at the man. Before the tone in how he said Bruce's name registered inside of the detective's mind, because something else had settled there first and done it for him.

"I don't know."

Clark raised a brow at him. "You don't?"

And they stumble across the answers back at the Kryptonian Ship. Soulbond, babyyyy. Turns out, it's permanent. You can't break it without death itself. They also weren't together nor had feelings before this (but they will hehehe).

Bruce is feeling guilty that he took something this precious away from Clark (whom he thinks might have lost his original bond with Lois...but surprise surprise they never had one before Clark died), and Clark is feeling bad he accidentally forced Bruce into an extremely intimate bond, with little to no privacy, without knowing or being able to put a stop to it.

They end up working with J'onn to learn to navigate the bond without too much slipping through the cracks...and whoops..are they...in love, your honor??

(Side note, I'm calling it Tamaranian style because in ye old NTT comics, Tamaranian marriage worked in a similar way, but less telepathy and more actually soul bonded for life, forever, permanently. Dunno if it's been retconned, probably has, shrug)

Variance is my chronic pain Bruce AU where the JLA finds out about it. Like, they just straight up didn't know he had chronic pain of any kind until a good chunk of the League gets forced into quarantine on the Watchtower and they end up running out of pain meds. Bruce suffers, the League actually realizes there's been consequences this entire time for like, ya know, that one human member who gets beaten half to death all the time? Yeah he's got spinal hardware and neuralgia and a medical chart ten miles long. Bonding and adjustments to their purview of Bruce is had, and maybe Bruce learns to stop hiding this shit so much from them because they really ought to have known about it sooner, should anything hella fucked gone wrong because of it.

Here's a snippet I really like from it:

Hal finally got shaken out of his train of thought when Diana spoke, picking a medical tablet and navigating through the screen to what looked like a chart. "I've not needed to read your file in recent years. You don't often let anyone other than Ray treat your more serious wounds up here, and you value your privacy."

"True," Bruce smiled briefly before his face fell back to a flat tone, "While I appreciate your courtesy, we never know what new injuries or contraindications someone might have gained since their previous treatment up here. With our line of work, it's more common than you think."

"Very much so. I should not have assumed the same could not apply to you."

J'onn chimed in, "The scanner should be ready."

"Hey, wait a sec," Hal cut in, more so out of habit and morbid curiosity than anything else, "What if one of you guys weren't here? One of the medics?"

"We have a protocol for that, too. All member's files are accessible by any member in emergency cases for treatment, although it is preferably with oversight from a med team or senior member, but I understand that isn't always possible." Bruce explained, almost nonchalantly. A little too unconcerned. Like it wasn't a big deal at all that, if they had brought him into the medbay unconscious and Diana or whomever hadn't been around, and they had thought to preform an MRI on him without consulting his chart first, they'd have injured him more, if not outright killed him.

Oh, wow that was an image Hal didn't want inside of his head. Fuck.

He winced and out of the corner of his eye, saw Diana's jaw tighten a bit. He couldn't say he blamed her any. She probably just had the same thought he had. Surely one of them would have double checked the medical file in the database beforehand in this cooked up scenario?

Right?

Bruce must've sensed the quiet dread radiating in the air, because he cut in with, "I know what you're thinking. Part of the MRI protocol is triple checking for any contraindications per the charts. The machine won't start without an updated chart review and a full body xray. It's part of the safety protocols. You would have found out anyways had it gone that far."

Somehow, after hearing that, Hal thought none of them would have believed it. Regardless of the MRI conundrum now. It could have been something as simple as giving Bruce a medication that he could have been allergic to simply because they assumed he wasn't, and the result would be the same. Even if it was listed in bright bold letters in the database, scrawled multiple times onto record, there would be that sliver of doubt. The double-take at the words on the screen.

There was a barrier in place, Hal had noticed, a circle of knowledge they refused to break through. A very specific facade the League held in regards to Bruce in particular. Something deeply rooted and seemingly unshakable the notion that Bruce was like them, immune to the effects of most collateral damage from being a vigilante, outside of death itself.

It was something Hal found himself picking up on more and more, but not looking too deeply at whenever it showed. As the years grew, moments like these, ones that shook up the illusion, grew too. Sometimes Hal forgot Bruce was a regular human, considering everything Batman and Bruce Wayne could do. That Hal had witnessed with his very eyes. Everything Bruce had survived.

It was at times like this that Hal was struck with the sudden sharp, chilling realization that the Bruce they knew, the one who'd routinely been beaten down night after night and continued to get up again for the next fight, their unflinching tactician who could cross a battlefield in seconds and leave limp bodies behind in his wake, was the same person as the one sitting in front of him now with the multitude of fresh scars and bruises, shrapnel, and fresh bloodied wounds.

The more Hal thought about it, the more he realized it was a miracle Bruce was still breathing at all. Hal remembered the times he saw Bruce take a hit and had the immediate thought of "This is it. This is what kills him."

I had written a good chunk of this a while back, but...what I wrote just ain't it chief. It needs a major rework in a bad way, especially the beginning where I more or less infodumped so much that it made getting to the point of the fic very confusing...I'll get around to it eventually.

RULES: make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous, and tag as many people as you have WIPs. People send an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and you post a snippet or tell them something about it!

I'll take you up on this @joekitsu, dunno if I have that many people to tag....

Ace the Meta and Bruce

Variance

Soul Bond, Tamaranian style

In View of the Sun

Poker night

SickFic

Pollen

Merman Fuck or Die

You wanna know what real bookworm Jason does? Reads during class so much the teachers give up on trying to get him to stop. If the principal comes for his book then he's pulling out a spare copy from his bag to continue where he left off.

No genre is off limits and no content is too vile. He's probably the only kid who reads from the Non-Fiction section of the library who isn't forced to due to class assignments, or who prebakes their Kindles with that shit and nothing else. And while some kids are off asking a fuckin' AI chatbot to do their homework for them so they can facehug Youtube screens for the 1400th day in a row, Jay is over here bouncing between the thickest looking tomes you've ever laid you eyes upon and the tiniest little nothingburger stories shoved into the nooks and crannies of the bottom shelves.

Every opportunity not spent reading is dreaming of the next second he can shove his face into a crisp, old book scented page.

He'll find the most obscure shit inside the school library that doesn't even have a wikipedia page and proceeds to blow off patrol to read it cover to cover over a 18 hr period, minimal food or drink or sleep until the book is done.

Then because nobody else knows said book exists apparently, and he's just inhaled all this story for himself, he's gonna tell Bruce about it over the next six hours in a half vent, half review combo. He can't be the only person cursed with the knowledge of this books existence, after all his classmates are too busy fucking off to Gossipland--or only reading those short, barely 100 pg boy-plays-sport stories to meet the bare minimum requirements of the English class teachers wish that they have something to read during guided reading--to care what this hidden little secret held within.

Then Jason won't touch a regular book for a solid two months as he goes down a hyperfixation rabbit hole spurred on by said book into a six-degrees removed topic, learning to make poisons or whatever.