#// but..... it's just way harder to sympathize with it

[essektheylyss]

I was thinking about how you'd go about adapting for the Nein show with regard to the alluded-to D-plot following whatever Essek was up to with his Assembly contacts prior to the Nein showing up given that the general sense I get is that the cast does hope to adapt campaign 3 as well, and Ludinus was his main point of contact. If he is not the eventual villain, it isn't tight enough for that format (which is super limited in comparison!) if you don't alter that, since that just ends up feeling like a loose end.

Personally, if I was doing the adapting, I'd probably switch Essek's contact to one of the other collaborators that he listed. Trent seems like the obvious first choice, since it does later tie him to Caleb, but I think you run into trouble there, because it becomes too personal in a way that's harder to reconcile, especially in the time the show allots. It's certainly doable, but I'd personally think it causes more problems than it solves. It would also require threading a needle in terms of his willingness to collaborate with Trent; you could go the A:TLA season 1 route and set him up to be an obviously much worse person, but I think that makes it too clean cut. That's very sensible for a kid's show where you do have an antagonistic teenager who you want the audience to sympathize with, but you can make the dynamic more complex than that in adult media.

Which brings us to the final candidate: Vess Derogna. It took me a minute to think this one through, but this is actually brilliant. You sprinkle her in from the get-go, rather than only vaguely alluding to her through Cree up until Felderwin, and you don't run into nearly as much complication in eventually settling Caleb's distrust of Essek as you would if he had mainly been working with Trent, nor do you risk defanging Essek by juxtaposing him against a blatantly horrific guy. You also ratchet up the horror of Lucien killing her, because she will have been such an uneasily menacing contact for so long, so the audience if not the Nein fully understand how powerful she is and how much influence she has, and he just waltzes in and offs her. That is already pretty powerful in the campaign just by knowing that she's a member of the Assembly, but it hits harder when this person has been an imposition for four seasons straight.

And most importantly, it takes the "What happened to Vess Derogna?" exchange up from funny to fucking hysterical.

[anarcoqueer1994]

He guesses maybe he's not too good at being... good.

It hasn't been particularly nice for Kallus since landing on Yavin 4. Being Fulcrum was easier, sorta. As Fulcrum, sure he was always at risk of being caught and executed on the spot for treason, but he only had to face the rebels, the people he steadily worked to thwart for years, when sharing information to help them.

But now, he was here, and half the base actively hated him, letting him know that whenever they could, while the other half the base had an uncomfortable civility towards him. He doesn't blame them, not at all, especially after everything he has done in the name of the Empire...especially after his own stupidity as Fulcrum got Chopper base destroyed. He led to a battle that lost so many lives.

Some days he questions why he is here. No, he doesn't regret defecting, not after learning the truth about the Empire he was tricked into loving. But maybe he should go...run away like the coward he is. He ran away to the empire to escape his home, and now he wants to run away from the rebellion to escape the daily reminders that no matter how hard he works, he will always be the ex-imp that no one could...or should trust.

Somehow though this isn't the worst part; the worst part was that Zeb didn't hate him when he had more reason than anybody to do so. He doesn't deserve the kind way Zeb talks to him, he doesn't deserve the way Zeb will playfully banter with him, the way he'll spar with him, the way Zeb will seek him out just to spend time together.

And Zeb doesn't deserve the judgemental stares from other rebels. He doesn't deserve the little comments they make about him being an imp sympathizer. He doesn't deserve to be pulled down by Kallus. He deserves to be treated like the most honorable man Kallus has ever met.

The blonde knows he should tell Zeb as much, to tell him to keep his distance. But he can't, he's too selfish. He wants to be part of Zeb's orbit, being drawn by his light. Zeb meant everything to him, and he doesn't think...no, he knows...he can't do this without him.He'll continue to drag him down just so he isn't alone, just so he isn't without Zeb's light.

So like every morning, he brushes his teeth with a couple shots of whiskey, giving him the strength to face the base that hates him, face Zeb, the man that shouldn't love him, all so he can try to become an honorable one, become something Zeb can be proud of. But he knows he is barely holding on; barely keeping it together; it's getting harder every day. He guesses maybe he's not too good at being... good.

[if-loki-was-a-fox]

relistening to part 2, some of how Arthur reacts to John taking control of their left hand kind of reminds me of some of how he reacts in part 41 to John's threatening to hijack his body.

There's just this way he seems to almost have the fight snuffed out of him. He gets quietly unhappy, as opposed to lashing out. I feel like that's not usually his fear/anger reaction to much of anything outside of specifically the scenario of "the entity possessing my eyes could take over my whole body and entirely erase my autonomy and there's nothing I can do about it". But his whole voice and manner of arguing shifts away from throwing punches to just saying "You Have All The Power Here And I Fucking Hate It. Do As You Will, I Physically Can't Stop You, But I Will Hate It The Whole Time If You Do." and then just. kind of giving up beyond that

[campingwithmonsters]

In regards to that video on Twitter, of all places, making rounds about an autistic boy’s violent meltdown about not getting something he wants. Props to the mom for showing she actually has a little bit of knowledge of what to do in this situation! Also, she’s a fucking disgusting human being for actively making a TikTok (let me say that again so you’ll understand. A TIKTOK. You know, the place that has a negative reputation for a reason.) displaying her child’s meltdown to the world! In what fucking universe does a parent see their child having a full blown meltdown and say “oh, looks like my child is having a meltdown again. Let me just pull my phone out and record my autistic kid’s reaction for the world to see!” Like literally fuck you for doing that. What was probably your attempt to “spread awareness” has turned into a threshold for demonizing and public humiliation! Have you not seen the comments people are leaving on this video? How many times it’s been shared and twisted to make you out to be the “victim”? That’s cause that’s all the fucking video did! You posted a video of your autistic son choking you out during a meltdown because you just wanted to remind the world “being an autism mom is soooooo haarrrrdddd” literally for fuck’s sake woman. Be for real. The only one who needs to be put in a zoo is your birdbrained ass for exploiting your child’s reaction to not getting what they want! My apologies that your alien overlords didn’t give you the fucking human decency guide before dropping you on planet earth!

Autism moms who brag about being autism moms are the scum under my shoe. Nefarious sons of bitches I tell you. There’s a special crib in hell for crybaby autism moms who play victim.

[demonsfate]

he was still SO right for this honestly

[whoviandoodler]

petition to stop making fun of people who like those pinterest-esque posts with sad quotes and whatever bcs to you they may be edgy and cringy but to someone out there it might be the first time that they are seeing someone put into words the confusing experience of being Human. same goes with those bad ya books like. yes they are objectively, technically bad and most times just badly mimic something someone else did but someone will see deep ideas explored in them for the first time and marvel. and maybe instead of going lmao dumb kids we should go 'hey if you liked that book you might like [a book that was much better at exploring trope from that angle'. peace on planet earth or whatever

[dollfacefantasy]

hmmm! thoughts on bruce wayne with a horny wife? 🙈 everything he does is so attractive she just can’t help herself

bruce wayne x fem!reader | mdni a/n: this ask is so real i had to write something out for it. also idk if you had a specific version of bruce in mind, but i kind of imagined christian bale in my head while writing. i think it works for most though just maybe not battinson (so if that's who you meant i'm sorry lol)

"again?" bruce chuckled as your arms snuck around his waist.

you nuzzled against his muscular shoulder blades. down below your fingers fumbled with the belt he'd just fastened into place.

"what?" you asked, feigning innocence. "it's not my fault..."

"it's not? then whose fault is it, sweetheart? is it mine?" he teased right back.

"mhm," you hummed. he could feel the shift of your cheek as you nodded. "you're the one who looks so good all the time while doing literally anything."

he looked in the mirror, a small smirk across his lips while buttoning up his dress shirt. it was only around thirty minutes ago that he managed to finally untangle himself from your loving arms after a couple early morning rounds. he should've known it wouldn't have been enough to satisfy you though.

this wasn't exactly shocking behavior on your part. you could never get enough of bruce. no matter how much time he spent with you, how much attention he paid you, how much affection he gave you, you always wanted more. at galas, you'd stay tucked to his side like there was some invisible binding keeping you there. down in the cave, it didn't matter what he was busy with, you'd worm your way into his lap. in either case, your presence always came with wandering hands and pleading eyes, all in service of trying to get some time where he would focus completely on you.

he wrapped his tie underneath the crisp collar of his shirt and twisted it in to place before turning around to face you. his fingers tapped below your chin, guiding you to look up at him.

"so you're blaming me for your inability to keep your hands to yourself? i don't think that's very fair," he said, his voice low. he leaned in and pecked the corner of your mouth.

"but it's the truth," you defended, your arms squeezing him like a pair of hungry vipers. "i try to be good... but then i see you and i can't help it."

he hummed, pretending to sympathize with your plight. "my poor little wife," he murmured while cupping your cheek. "i'll have to try harder to be more unappealing to you."

"or you could just lemme have what i want," you said.

you ran your hands up and down his chest for a moment before slowly starting to drop to your knees. he tried grabbing your arms to keep you upright, but if he was honest with himself, it wasn't even half of his best effort.

your knees hit the soft carpet covering the closet floor. you gave the belt loops on his slacks a slight tug while gazing up at him with those pretty doe eyes of yours. he already felt a throb down south from the sight of that alone, but then you started to drag your soft cheek across the front of his pants. you nosed at the space where his bulge would be, pressed your lips right to the seam in the fabric.

"i don't need to remind you that i have a meeting this morning, do i? one that i'll probably already be late to because of how long you kept me in bed," he sighed. despite the reluctance in his voice, his hand came down to pet your head.

you batted your eyes up at him. "so what? you're the boss. it'll start whenever you want."

"it's rude to keep people waiting..." he said as you rubbed your palm across his forming erection. you'd done this so many times, you didn't need the outline to know exactly where it would be.

"it's rude to keep your wife unsatisfied. to make her wait hours and hours before you eventually come home," you retorted, flicking open the silver button and tugging down the zipper that kept him concealed.

the beginnings of a groan seeped from his lips. you were already pulling him out of his boxers, stroking his length right beside your sweet face. by this point, he had given up on resisting, but you gave him your best puppy dog look anyways.

"please, brucie. just need a little more before you go," you begged, all teasing stripped away from your tone.

he pet your head once more. sticky drops of precum beaded at his tip as you continued twisting your hand over his shaft.

"well like you said, it would be rude to keep my wife wanting..."

and with that, your lips parted into a perfect little o. instead of responding with words, you slid his cock into your mouth. your eyes fluttered shut as you began to bob your head back and forth.

"you're getting so spoiled," he mumbled before letting himself just enjoy the pleasure you provided.

[asleepinawell]

in the same vein, one of the other things that differentiates garrett from your typical chosen one hero is the fact that although he gets embroiled in the plots of the wealthy and powerful, he never becomes part of that world and barely interacts with it. nor does he change the status quo of the wealth disparity in the city. he is just a little guy

the main antagonists of the first two games are both wealthy. constantine, despite being one of the pagans, lives in a giant mansion full of guards and has enough wealth that he doesn't mind garrett looting a bit. karras builds a giant metal palace in the city and uses poor people in his experiments. garrett thwarts both their plans, but it doesn't impact the huge class divide at all. these were just two rich dudes having their weird rich dude tantrums and everything moves on as it always has with them gone. there are plenty more where they came from. most citizens still live in tiny houses with torches while the nobles have electricity and a dozen half empty rooms with no purpose in their giant mansions. garrett has a small apartment in the poorest part of the city and struggles to pay rent

garrett is not out there striking a blow in the class war so much as being forced to bail out everyone from the mess caused by the rich people. the keepers act like this is some sacred duty but like... no the weird rich death cults are more or less just the end result of having a ludicrously rich noble class full of self-important nut jobs with too much time and disposable wealth. no wonder garrett is so disgusted with getting dragged into this shit. once again the poor people are left to try and clean up the mess made by the rich people and resigned to inevitably have to do it over and over

garrett isn't a hero in these terms. he's a janitor

garrett, the main character of the thief trilogy, is such a funny version of the chosen one trope. he's in all the prophecies and central to stopping all the big almost-apocalypses but he never attains notoriety or power. by deadly shadows he'd saved the world twice and no one gives a fuck. almost no one knows. guards try to murder him on the street for being a petty criminal. pedestrians shoulder check him and call him a loser

he's a reclusive loner who never gets a plucky band of comrades. he has no friends. his fences betray him. the only person who ever really works with him or shows him any respect is viktoria (in metal age) who had previously betrayed him and ripped his eye out (builder forbid women do anything)

he complains about being swept up in apocalyptic events non stop and not in a reluctant hero or 'woe is my heavy burden of duty' way, but just kinda bitches and moans about it while doing it anyway. even when he gives in and commits to helping his general vibe is "is this what we're doing now? okay" and his goal seems to be getting it over with so he can get on with his life

in the third game he finds a journal written about the downfall of the previous game's antagonist whom he destroyed (with the help of viktoria who really hard carried that mission with the treepocalypse thing and spare supplies while garrett spent 3 hours sitting on ledges waiting for twenty angry robots to de-aggro), and it attributes the victory to a religious cult's god

the handful of people who know what he did think he's a loser. and he IS a loser (affectionate) who thinks he's so cool and makes snarky quips to himself out loud while attempting to be stealthy. he is only one step removed from the kronk stealth scene in the emperor's new groove

he still can't pay his rent

[faithsmadhouse]

Dear god your max x piastri! Sister smut has me down bad, what do you think about max with a reporter who always riles him up, and after P2 in Saudi Arabia she makes him so mad in interviews he takes her back to his hotel room at the afterparty and makes her pay the price 😼

Pay the price||Max verstappen x Fem!reader

Summary— After a frustrating P2 finish in Saudi Arabia, Max Verstappen is already on edge — and the reporter who’s been riling him up all season finally pushes him too far. When the afterparty fades into flashing lights and adrenaline, Max drags her back to his hotel room to make her pay the price.

Word count

Warnings-Explicit sexual content (18+) Rough sex Dom/sub dynamics (light power imbalance) Degradation (light — calling reader a “fucktoy”) Spanking Breathless/forceful kissing consent is implied but not explicitly discussed Emotional tension / anger sex Minor manhandling (being grabbed, dragged) Possessiveness

A/n — I’m glad you liked it because I’m working on a second part!

The champagne was still drying in his hair when you cornered him.

“Disappointing day, huh, Max?” you asked, voice syrupy sweet, recording device already shoved toward his face.

His jaw tightened. “P2 isn’t bad.”

“But not what you’re used to. Not what you wanted.”

You tilted your head like you were sympathizing. You weren’t.

You knew exactly how to poke him; it was your job, after all and something about him always made you want to poke harder. Maybe it was the way he looked at you like he could set you on fire if he stared long enough.

“Frustrating to be beaten at your own game?” you added, a little too innocent.

Max’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

The PR girl hovering behind him gave a nervous cough, but he ignored her completely. His gaze was locked onto you like he was already imagining all the ways he’d shut you up if he could.

“You love this, don’t you?” he muttered under his breath, low enough the microphone wouldn’t catch it. “Pushing me. Trying to see how far you can go.”

You just smiled sweetly, recording blinking red in your hand.

Max leaned in close, so close you could smell the champagne and sweat still clinging to him.

“Be careful,” he said his voice a threat and a promise. “You might find out.”

—

The afterparty blurred with music and flashing lights, but you knew he’d find you.

You could feel it. The tension, thick in the air, the way your skin prickled whenever you thought about him.

Sure enough, as you sipped from a flute of cheap champagne, a hand closed around your wrist firm, unrelenting.

Max.

“Let’s go,” he said simply.

You didn’t argue.

You barely had time to process it before you were in a private elevator, the hum of it rising along with the pulse between your legs.

“You think you’re so clever,” he growled, backing you against the mirrored wall as soon as the doors slid shut. “Running your mouth, laughing at me.”

You smirked, cocky even now. “Maybe.”

Max’s lips crashed into yours, brutal, demanding. Teeth clashing, breath hot and furious. He tasted like adrenaline and resentment, and you drank it down like you were dying of thirst.

When you gasped against his mouth, he grinned a sharp, wolfish thing and spun you, pressing your front against the mirror.

“You wanted my attention?” he hissed in your ear, grinding his hips against your ass. You could feel him, thick and already hard through the fabric of his jeans.

You arched back into him shamelessly. “Maybe.”

The elevator dinged, and before you could move, Max threw his jacket over your shoulders, hiding you from the curious eyes in the hallway as he dragged you down it, quick and purposeful.

The door to his hotel room slammed shut behind you.

And then chaos.

He shoved you against the wall, kissed you until you couldn’t breathe, hands rough as they yanked at your dress, pulling it up around your hips.

“You wanted to make me lose it?” he rasped. “Congratulations.”

You moaned as his fingers slid into your panties, finding you already wet for him.

“Fuck, you’re desperate,” Max muttered, voice thick with disgusted arousal. “Bet you were dripping during the interview, weren’t you? Getting off on making me angry.”

You couldn’t deny it. Wouldn’t.

“Answer me,” he snarled, slipping two fingers inside you without warning. Your legs buckled.

“Y-Yes,” you gasped. “Fucking love it.”

Max laughed low in his throat a dark, cruel sound.

“Of course you do.”

He pulled his fingers out and shoved them into your mouth. “Taste yourself. Taste how much you want this.”

You sucked greedily, eyes locked on his.

Max’s control snapped.

He ripped your panties down, turned you around, and bent you over the bed. You heard his belt unbuckle, the sound making your whole body clench with anticipation.

“No teasing,” you whined, wriggling your hips.

He didn’t tease.

He drove into you with one brutal thrust, making you scream into the bedsheets.

“That’s it,” he groaned, gripping your hips so hard you knew you’d have bruises. “Take it. Take what you fucking asked for.”

He fucked you like he was punishing you fast, rough, merciless. Every thrust was an accusation.

For the race.

For the interview.

For the way you made him feel.

But you loved it.

You lived for it.

“Look at you,” he panted, voice tight. “So cocky earlier. Now you’re just my little fucktoy.”

You whimpered, pushing back against him, desperate for more, for everything.

“Say it,” he demanded, slapping your ass hard enough to make you cry out. “Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” you sobbed, the words torn from your throat. “Fuck, Max I’m yours.”

He groaned, hips stuttering. You felt him throb inside you, and with one more rough thrust, he came, spilling deep inside you.

You collapsed onto the bed, shaking, wrecked.

Max pulled out slowly, staring down at the mess he made, at the way you were trembling for him.

Then to your shock he leaned down and kissed the back of your neck, soft and lingering.

“You drive me fucking crazy,” he muttered.

You smiled weakly into the sheets. “Good.”

[jks1uv]

𝑙𝑒𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑖𝑛 ; jason todd

summary: a very fucking big small side effect of being baptized in the lazarus pit is retrograde amnesia. however, love is the dimension that transcends everything; even the loss of memories.

pairing: fiancée!reader x fiancé!jason todd.

trope: partial memory loss + both parties learning to falling in love with each other again + boy who thinks he’s unworthy of love x girl who loves him like it’s breathing + she fell first but he fell harder.

genre: fluff + angst + slow-burn & rekindling romance.

warnings‼️: crude language + mentions of his murder + mentions of violence + reader’s 24, jason’s 25 + jason’s a drug / crime lord + reader & jason are yearners.

word count: 9,622.

random disclaimerrr: it can take somewhere between days to years to recover from retrograde amnesia & gain your memories back. for fanfiction purposes, i’ve dramatized the recovery. italics = inner thoughts, bold italics = flashbacks. i love this song, i breathe this song. nobody fw this song like i do. canon states he was 15 when he died but i changed things up. i haven't read a single comic & all the lore ik is from google, tiktok & this app lol. pls lmk on how i can improve! happy reading! ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ ♡ © 2025 @jks1uv

Here you are; face to face with the man whose warmth you were sure could no longer feel in the dark of the cruel, lonely night. You were sure the thread of his love was no longer in the stitches of your heart.

The one man you’ve ever loved that much and hard, is limp and unconscious. It doesn’t need to be said how he’s also very much alive this time around.

He's weighing down on the shoulders of his beloved brother, in the way eldest sons gently cradle their brave-faced youngest brothers in times of need.

Dick looks at you and you see him. For the first time, you truly see who Richard Grayson-Wayne is.

The dutiful, eldest son, yes. But more than that, something he will always be no matter the consequence of life; a brother.

You recognize that bleeding, aching heart of his and understand that it was bleeding and aching with yours too.

He’s still a brother even if he lost his. That title doesn’t just go away, lost in the wind like the smell of freshly cut grass and 2015.

You step aside and Dick wordlessly carries his little brother into your house.

“I... we can't talk here.”

You can't stop staring at the larger body of muscle on your couch. You can't believe he's just lying there, on the couch.

Suddenly, you can't seem to remember the misery that left you incapacitated. You don't taste the grief in the salt of your tears on your tongue.

Those years seem so far away, it's disorienting.

“Y/n?”

You're broken out of your trance and you swiftly move your head towards the older brother.

He sympathizes with you. He takes you by the hand and leads you to your bed. You sit down and he follows suit right next to you.

It's silent for a few moments, he's trying to find the right words to explain what you see.

“We found him, Bruce and I.”

You look at him but he refuses to make eye contact. Instead, he finds feigns interest in the scratches on his knuckles.

“Have you heard of a the new drug and crime-lord in Gotham, recently?”

You nod. You'd about of him; the man in black who hides himself under a red hood. Ironically, that's also his name: the Red Hood.

“…He’s actually Jason.”

And with the way he says it so quietly, so softly; you'd almost think you imagined him saying those two words.

Almost.

But almost is never enough, especially not in this moment. You need more.

“What?” You whisper harshly.

He still refuses to look at you but you won't have that anymore.

“Dick, look at me.”

He reluctantly looks you in the eyes and you can tell he feels awful. He feels that way because this isn’t how life after Jason’s death was supposed to be.

He was indescribably euphoric as any loved one would be, but it all came crashing down just as fast and fleeting the feeling was.

He didn’t want it to be this way but alas, when life gives you lemons.

“I’m really sorry, Y/n.”

He can’t imagine how life was like for you but he knows it wasn’t pleasant.

You look at him with gratitude and squeeze his hand in thanks. He squeezes it back and you lay your head on his shoulder as he explains everything.

Jason grumbles and groans half in pain. The other half in disorientation.

Even though your curtains are closed, they don't block the sunlight from coloring in your once-dark living room.

Dick’s lying on his stomach and snoring away.

Jason carefully gets up and sees the older man not so gracefully splayed out across his air mattress (yes, he's one of those people) on the floor.

Jason's gaze follows the confines of your living room. He scopes out the unfamiliar space and he soon finds himself in front of the fridge.

He's staring at the notes and magnets among other things you have hung up. However, his eyes stop in front of a collage of pictures.

You made a photo strip out of the pictures you took with him at this specific photo booth.

There were 5 photos that consist of the strip, each from 5 different dates.

Jason can't figure out why he feels a strange, magnetic pull towards this woman.

She shouldn't mean anything to him but that doesn't sound right.

It's like deep down, he knows- feels like there's something missing. It’s weird; feeling something’s wrong but not knowing what could possibly give that inclination.

He studies the woman that he's sure is the sun. Jason's sure this woman's smile and joy are willing and radiant. In fact, he's so sure this woman is the quintessence of all he's been missing.

A home.

Jason feels a pit of emptiness open up in his stomach that fills up with dread just as quickly.

Jason couldn't remember much of his life before the Lazarus pit breathed it back into his mangled body. His painful rage and sadness were the only evidence tying him to a life beyond revenge and strife.

When and Dick and Bruce realized who the red hood truly was, they did everything in their power to convince the broken boy to come back with them, even if it was just for a little while.

Back at the Wayne manor, he discovered a few memories of what he presumed was a better life, but he also found some things that he didn't think was possible for a man like him.

On his dresser he found what appeared to be a golden wedding band, a Revlon hairbrush, and a key with Buttercup from The PowerPuff Girls printed on it.

He asked Stephanie Brown if those items belong to her or Cassandra Cain but she dismissed the notion. She told him who those items really belonged to but he couldn’t believe it.

A woman he’s romantically involved with? His fiancé?

Yeah, right.

There wasn’t much evidence to make her claim viable, until he found a couple of words engraved inside what he found to be his golden band.

Always — Y/n

“Y/n.” He whispered your name like it was a secret only for him to know.

He stared at the band for a bit, not believing he found something so delicate and pure. A love so strong, it made him want to get married.

Stephanie got to know her older brother through the retelling of memories. Memories that people seemed so fond of. Through them, she learned what he liked, disliked. How Bruce was going to break his rule, bend his code of ethics for him.

Jason talked to her, cared for her. But he never really opened up about himself and what goes on in his head. At the very least, he was there for his little sister when times were tough and that was enough.

He was immortalized by his grave but seeing him in the flesh— at this moment, made her overwhelmingly emotional.

She hesitantly put a hand on his shoulder and he looked at her.

“It was your idea.”

“…Really?”

His heart warms with an unfamiliar fondness.

Jason never thought of himself to be a romantic but this revelation forces him to look at this ring and himself in a different light.

Now as he stands in front of your fridge, Jason thinks this must be you. The woman in these photos, the woman whose name is engraved on the inside of his wedding band, the woman of his dreams. It must be you.

Jason turns around to wake Dick up and tell him about his epiphanies but here he is. Face to face with you, instead.

Your lips part to sharply exhale and you're about to say something but your mind betrays your tongue. You don't want to say what you want him to hear because of the way he's looking at you.

His eyes are wide in surprise. It's her he thinks.

Jason slowly stalks his way towards you like you’re a doe he doesn't want to scare you away.

There's a tremble in your bones. The kind that vibrates with a desperation to pull him into you and never let go.

You want to hug him, kiss him and stare into his once-blue eyes until you count the different flecks of green in them.

But you can't. You can't touch him yet, you can't talk to him like he's your soon-to-be husband yet. You can't softly sing him to sleep when he needs it yet.

So, you’ll settle on yearning for him. You’ll brave a smile when you're wistful and you'll hold on to the hope of him coming back to you.

You're determined to make him remember you no matter how long it takes.

He's in front of you now, there's an almost dazed look on his face.

His eyes are a a grayish-teal, making you question how much of him has truly changed.

“Hello.” Your voice is a bit shaky and breathy.

Jason half-blinks and tilts his chin to the side a bit. “Hi.” He murmurs.

“Why are you two acting like side characters in a high school romance anime?”

His name ain’t ‘Dick’ for nothing!

You've spent the entire afternoon cleaning the guest bed and bath room to make space for Jason.

In the meantime, Jason is trying to figure out how not to make a fool of himself.

“I dunno… what if she's changed her mind?”

Jason’s getting cold feet but he'd never blame you if you did.

“Dude.” Tim sighs. “You were literally the loss of her life all this time.”

And he’s right, Jason knows that.

He’s just really anxious and his insecurities are bubbling up. It's inevitable when it comes to the matters of the heart.

You're not just any girl— you're his fiancé.

In his heart, you’re an integral part of him but in his mind; you’re a woman who deserves so much better.

You can't possibly want to grow old with him.

“It must mean something if she's spent years of her life tolerating you.”

Always count on Damien Wayne to say the thing(s) nobody else will.

Dick quirks up an eyebrow at his baby brother's opinion but when he looks at Jason, they both know he means well.

Stephanie and Cassandra offer him words of advice and encouragement. Though, he's not sure how helpful they'll be as they don't personally know you but apparently, ‘that's besides the point’.

“Just remember what we said and you’ll be fine!”

Duke hands Jason a small lotus plant as he ‘shouldn't show up empty-handed’ if he wants a chance at a great first— well, second impression.

Jason appreciates the gesture as the lotus sends a message of a new beginning, something he’s longing for.

He secures the plant, puts on his helmet and drives his motorcycle back to your house.

“Okay, you got this. Just be cool.”

He rings the bell and you swing open the door without even looking through the blinds. You just knew it'd be him.

You're a little breathless but you suppose he just does that to you.

The two of you lock eyes for a moment until he clears his throat awkwardly.

“This is for you.” Jason smiles politely and you swoon over the baby pink plant.

“Oh, wow.” You beam. “You really didn't have to.”

He disagrees. “I did.”

Your lips split open with a grin, touched by the gesture. “Thank you, Jason.”

He’s nonchalant when he nods, ignoring how nice it felt to see you smile because of him.

“Um,” You point at his shoes. “Could you place them on the rack next to you?”

“Oh! I-I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.” You say calmly.

You don’t want him to walk on eggshells around you so you won’t mind teaching him how to be familial.

He coughs, still slightly embarrassed at himself (and at how fast his nonchalant streak came to an end).

“This is your room, the bathroom is right over there and, uh, I moved your things in… I hope that's alright?”

You didn't want to overwhelm him but you also wanted him to know that he has a say in things, even though he’s living in a place that used to be a part of him.

He’s touched at your gesture but he feels… disappointed? He’s not quite sure where he wants to be but doesn’t know what the feeling of belonging is like, either.

It’s confusing, but he expresses his gratitude nonetheless.

“Yeah, that’s great. Thank you.”

You nod with pursed lips.

He looks around at the materialistic things that describe him. Posters, collectable figurines, books. He loved his books.

Jason runs his fingers along the spines of the books neatly organized on a shelf.

It's quiet, you almost leave as you deem it intimate; becoming familiar with yourself. Jason is making up for all the time he's lost, not just with you but a part of himself as well.

“I remember when I read Hamlet for the first time.” He says after a while.

You smile knowingly.

“Alfred and I would read and discuss Shakespeare together at our own little private book club.”

Jason picks the book up and randomly flips through the pages, he comes across written annotations on transparent sticky notes.

“What’s this?” He asks, curious.

“Oh,” you walk up to him and he gives the book to you. “These are my annotations from when I read it for the first time.”

You admire the book fondly.

“You’d told me all about the book club so I asked for book recommendations. That way you could talk about your favorite literature with me.”

You're still looking over your notes while Jason stares into your side profile.

He thinks it's endearing; that you care enough about him to indulge in conversation about his hobby.

You also intrigues him.

How could you just so casually think of something so kind and thoughtful? How could you want to spend your time reading and truly understanding every reference, point, plot and quote; just to understand a part of him?

Can someone really care about another person that much?

Jason doesn’t find his answers in his beloved books but something tells him he’ll find out soon enough, in you.

Jason is banned from going out on patrol for the time being.

He was actually supposed to quit altogether when he proposed to you but Joker just had to follow the instinct of his passion: inflicting misery.

Dick insisted that the rest of the members will take care of patrolling as all Jason should focus on is you.

Kinda hard to do that when you're so... well, you.

It’s been a couple of days and he still thinks you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

Your beauty shines through your smile and the way you care for him. He feels it under the long, jagged scar carved atop his chest.

He’s distracted when he's reading in the living room.

There you are; in a large t-shirt that drapes over your frame and the neckline is cut. It hangs over one side of your shoulder and the sight takes his breath away.

You're cooking something you know he likes, just because you know how much it comforts him. But he doesn’t realize this yet.

“Jason?”

He averts his gaze and pretends he wasn’t staring at you since you stepped foot into the kitchen, half an hour ago.

“Hm?” His voice cracks just a bit but he hope you don’t notice it.

You turn around at his hum and walk towards the couch.

“Dinner’ll be ready in a few minutes, would you like to watch something while we eat?”

You and Jason used to watch movies and shows all the time together, courtesy of one of your love languages being quality time.

He bookmarks his page and sets his book down.

“Actually, I wanted to talk.”

You blink and show you’re listening intently.

His fingers rake through his hair nervously. “I was wondering if we could talk about stuff that would help jog my memory.”

“Yeah, of course.” You nod and smile at him.

He smiles back, albeit small but he does.

“Okay.” He claps his hands together and goes to the kitchen to wash his hands.

As you set the table, Jason watches you carefully. He wanted to know everything. Every chore, every part of your routine, every detail. He wanted to help with dinner but was nervous to be near you.

What if he made you uncomfortable? He’d thought about it; his size, his demeanor, the fact that he’s not the man you’ve been around.

Everything’s changed since his… rebirth.

Life’s been hard and Jason doesn’t understand how to cope with the new set of incongruous events.

He sits across from you, a knee bouncing up and down under the table as you sit down.

You look at him expecting to start eating but find he’s not.

“Do you not like it?”

Along with his physique and mental health, you were afraid the liking to his most favorable things had changed, too.

He blinks in confusion. “Oh, no. Not at all.”

He quickly realizes how that sounds.

“Wait, that’s not—” His eyes are wide, head shaking a bit in refusal with his hands up. “I meant, no, as in… I haven’t tried it yet.”

You don’t want to laugh but you think it’s kind of funny watching him trip over his words.

The mannerism brings you back to a kinder time.

“Are you nervous?”

His smile is a bit lopsided when he picks up the fork.

“A little..?”

You can’t tell if it’s a question but you nod, trying to make him feel as welcome as possible.

“It’s alright.” You assure. “This is all very new for you so, please don’t feel as though you have to be polite to make me feel better.”

You offer him an encouraging smile before looking away, afraid you’ll burst into tears.

He stares at you for a moment, a bit stunned at your kind and refreshing candor.

Jason begins eating and has to hold himself back from emitting sounds of surprise and approval.

As he chews, he thinks about the flavor. He believes the taste of the spices blended with the taste to be familiar but is doubtful.

“Have I…”

You look up at the beginning of his line of questioning.

“I feel like I’ve had this before.”

You hum and nod in agreement. “You have.”

You think about quoting him back to himself, hoping that would be a good start.

“You used to say it was one of your-”

“Comfort foods.” He completes.

The relief that fills your being makes your heart speed up in excitement.

There’s a glint of excitement in your eyes. One that could easily be characterized as hope.

Jason feels it, too.

When he takes another bite and lets the flavors melt on his tongue, he lets himself feel the precise taste you so carefully measured with your mind.

Jason wanted to stop by the local farmer’s market so you decide to get some laundry done.

You’re folding your clothes and are deep in thought about him.

There’s potential, you think. A lot of potential to recover lost memories and make new ones along the way.

It’s the matter of whether or not he wants to do them with you that has you stuck.

The hopeful side of you believes he’s stayed this far, surely he feels the same.

The rational part of you doubts it.

You can never find the same person twice, not even in the same person.

You think about the lost look on his face you catch at times. You see it when he thinks he’s hidden it well beyond your gaze. You see it when he’s all alone and has his mind to himself.

You’re afraid to lose him. Again.

Your vision blurs with the unshed tears pooling in your eyes and you look down to blink them away. They plop to the ground and you quietly sniffle, not wanting to break just yet.

There's an ache in your left shoulder blade and an insistent ruckus of doubt swirling in your head.

You can't sleep soundly anymore, not that you ever did since his death.

His death, you think.

It still hasn't hit you, that he's alive. He's here, in the flesh and in your home. You're able to talk to him, see him.

You remember how you'd piece your heart back together the next morning after letting it break the night prior.

You bite your tongue when the emotions overwhelm you, when you feel as though you'll die if you don't speak. So you bury those words deep in your journal, where ink meets paper and stays far away from his eyes.

Your eyes quickly gather more tears than you can keep from shedding and soon, you’re crying silently to yourself. For the umpteenth time.

It hurts. Your heart hurts and your throat hurts. Hurt is the only other feeling you’ve come close to familiarizing yourself with other than hope.

You don’t hear Jason’s motorcycle engine when he’s outside. You don’t hear his heavy footsteps mark their way onto your floor once like how they used to.

He stands outside but doesn’t have the heart to see you. Hearing how wrecked you are was enough.

It hurts him, not being able to remember from the jump but he knows how patient you are. How understanding you are.

He figures the most kindest souls are the ones that hurt the most.

So, he leaves. He spends another hour and a half out and decides to get you your favorite things.

Walking through the aisles, the plastic bags of grapes catch his attention the most.

“She loves these.” He says as he picks up the biggest, juiciest batch.

The assurance in his words gives him a confidence that rivals your doubt.

A short flashback of you munching away on the grapes as you study enters his mind.

You’re sitting by a windowsill and you’re typing away, pausing every few minutes to snack on the round fruit.

He smiles to himself and grabs a bag along with some sliced pineapples and mangoes.

“Cherries… with salt.” He hums to himself.

Yes, you like to eat your washed cherries with some salt sprinkled on top.

Jason chuckles as the memory of you whipping up that treat comes to mind.

He picks up a bag of those round, tangy red rubies and goes to checkout.

He’s practically buzzing with excitement as he can’t wait to see the look on your face when you see how much he’s gaining you back.

He returns with the sight of laundry done and put away, the dishes are washed and your lotus plant watered for the week.

But no sight of you.

Where are you?

Jason debates calling your cell.

Would it be weird?

You’re not his, well, anything. But you used to be.

Your caller ID tempts his thumb but he ultimately clicks off his phone.

You’ll show up sooner or later, wherever you are… right?

You’re a grown woman, you can take care of yourself.

His breath staggers in his throat at the thought of you by yourself.

What if some asshole creeps up on you? What if you run into some kind of problem but your phone’s drained? What if you get lost?

He groans as if the noise will silence those nightmarish scenarios. Jason’s hands pull at his hair and he paces back and forth in thought.

“Fuck it.” He grumbles.

He throws his black leather jacket on, keys and helmet in hand. Tying the laces to his boots, he twists the knob and opens the door.

“Y/n?!”

His eyes look like they’re about to pop out of his skull.

Your eyebrows jump at his sudden shout, clearly not expecting this welcome.

“Umm… expecting someone else?”

He shakes his head vigorously, depicting a relieved expression.

You chuckle at him and step inside. Jason never takes his eyes off of you, he locks the door with muscle memory.

“No, God, no. I was just worried— where were you?”

You feel the butterflies swarm your belly at his concern.

“I had to throw the trash out and it wasn't too far so I didn't take my car.” You point at the small bowl by the door and sure enough, your keys are in there.

He follows the beeline from your finger and can only say one thing.

“Oh.”

Oh? Oh?? You were losing your mind over some simple chore and all you can say is ‘Oh.’?

Jason feels stupid.

How could he not try to look for the one obvious thing you can’t go anywhere without? Just jumping to the worst conclusions without thinking straight.

He chuckles in disbelief, bringing a hand to cover the top half of his face in embarrassment.

“I’m so fucking—”

“Altruistic.”

You knew he was going to berate himself in humiliation and think of himself as stupid or some second thing so you brought it upon yourself to dismiss that notion.

Jason is floored by your ability to see things in a different light, one that makes others orientate their original position.

He never thought about it that way. Not once did it occur to him that he was being thoughtful, caring, considerate. Altruistic.

It's true that he's a vigilante. An anti-hero, if you will. Protecting others and being altruistic are synonymous.

However, to him; it's a foreign concept to be on the receiving end. He thinks it's suffocating to be looked after as if he were a child. Especially when people (his father) do things that they (bruce wayne) deem best for someone (him).

Well, he used to up until a week and a half ago. Until you came along.

“Altruistic.” He repeats, feeling the word roll off his tongue.

“You know, the term used to describe people who go out of their way to do something for someone?”

You're only joking, playing around with him.

He sees it, though. He knows you're trying to lighten the mood because of what you don't know.

Jason just nods, a short chuckle sounding as he responds to your dry wit.

“Right, right. Yeah. I think I've heard of that somewhere.”

You laugh. You laugh and it feels nice. Probably because it's the first time you've truly laughed in some time.

Jason wants to encase some of your laughter in a jar and shake it around when he feels down.

It’s a lovely sound, he notes. Like a satisfying tinkering that makes your mind just slow down for a bit. Relax and take a moment to just breathe.

Your short huffs of air dissipate. “You catch on pretty fast.”

“That I do.”

If only you knew. he thinks. He wants to tell you that it's okay to cry, to let the part of yourself break and piece back. He wants you to know that you don't have to pretend nothing's wrong and that the obvious elephant in the room can be addressed.

Instead, he doesn't do either of those things. Jason doesn't think he's earned the right to reassure you of things like that. He doesn't think it's his place but oh, the irony.

Jason Todd feels like a 16 year old boy again.

Not in the sense of being immature, stupid, and reckless. More to do with the matter of his growing body and the feelings that come with it.

He’s big, huge, even. He knows he takes up more space than he means to occupy so he does what he thinks is the least he can do.

For example, he eats more than the average man so he insists on helping with the groceries by paying for them sometimes.

You argue, and boy do you lock it down; but it’s in vain when he looks at you with those deep eyes and mutters a small, ‘just let me do this for you’.

For me.

You’re weak when he asserts himself against your judgement.

He feels 16 again when you look at him with nothing but unwavering care and respect.

He used to get those looks, he remembered. Once upon a time where he wasn’t undead.

It was from the boy he respects the most; his older brother.

Jason started getting dreams since the first night he slept in your apartment.

Usually, he can’t sleep and when he did; he’d get nightmares. But not this time around.

He dreams of a time in the past, one where he’s not beating on a lowly thug or vice-versa.

It’s oddly bright but not blinding, the daylight fills in color nicely.

You’re sitting on a bed— he believes it to be your old one— and you’re making something out of nothing.

“Whatcha doin’?” You say without breaking eye contact from the scissors cutting a heart shape into the cardboard paper.

Jason registers you’re talking to him but he doesn’t know what to say.

“Is this real?”

You snort and shake your head.

“No, Jace. You’re in a sleep-induced coma and I’m the light that’s come to finally take you away.”

A wide grin has slowly etched itself onto his lips, it lifts his cheeks and creases his eyes.

He sees your excellent timing for witty quips is still there. He also notes the way you carry yourself around his presence. You’re relaxed, calm.

You’re still the same you.

He sits at the edge down of the bed and you look at him with offense.

“Why’re you sitting so far away?” You pout

“But I’m right here.”

You lightly groan and reach out to pull him closer to you, his knees touch your thigh and only then are you satisfied.

“Better.” You express to him.

Jason takes this moment to get a good look at you.

He’s sure you’ve grown into your features now, time and style enhancing your appearance.

Everyone changes physically but he realizes it’s the inside he’s looking for.

“Jay?”

“Hm?”

“Wake up.”

That makes his heart drop out of his ass. He nervously blinks. “What?”

You look at him like you know. Like you know he doesn’t belong here, in the past.

“Wake up.”

You say once again but your lips aren’t moving. Why aren’t your lips moving?

“Hey, Jason. Wake up.”

He sharply gasps when he sits up, soft pants escape his throat and you’re here.

“It’s okay, you’re okay.” You reassure.

Your hands are on his shoulder and you’re sitting on the bed.

There’s a small nightlight plugged in beside the door to the bathroom and it illuminates your figure.

He makes out your face in the dark and once he realizes, he winds down.

“I couldn’t breathe.”

You nod. “I know. I was getting some water when I heard you wheezing.”

You were scared. You were worried and he knows it. He hears it in your wavering voice.

“I’m okay now.”

Jason doesn’t know why he feels the need to comfort you but he does.

Your hands aren’t on his shoulders anymore but he feels the warmth your touch leaves behind.

“I’m fine.” He murmurs again.

You just nod and get up to leave when his hand darts out to wrap around your fingers.

“…I had a dream. Er, nightmare? I dunno… A mix of both, I guess.”

You sit down and he wonders why he’s telling you this but the need to tell you overshadows his want to keep it inside.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what happened?”

You hope asking him won’t trigger anything because the last thing you want is to be nosy.

“We were in your room, I’m pretty sure. You were younger, though. Fifteen.”

You recall the moments Jason would sneak in from your bedroom window in your youth. He was 16 and you, 15.

Good times.

“You were making something… I don’t remember what, exactly.” He squints and moves his hands around, trying to recall the events leading up to the imagery. “I heard your voice telling me to ‘wake up’ but your lips weren’t moving.”

He looks at you, coming to an understanding. “Because you were telling me to wake me up in real time.”

You look at him and can’t help but feel sad.

“I'm sorry” You whisper, not trusting your voice.

Instantly, Jason cups your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing the skin under your eyes tenderly.

“I’m not.” He assures. “If this is what has to happen to me to remember you then I'm fine with it.”

You close your eyes and sigh, your palms full with the bunched up material of your shorts.

He tilts his head closer to you, as if the distance is what's keeping you from truly seeing what's in his eyes.

“Look at me?” He gently asks.

You comply and he almost crumbles with how much you've managed to hide from him.

His eyebrows raise a little and come together in ruth. “Don't hide from me. Don't hide how you really feel.”

Jason doesn't know how he's doing this— touching you and saying all the right things. The words are just spilling out and for once, he can't stop himself.

Maybe because it's almost 3 am and that's when his tongue and spine meet; to relay all emotion without a hiccup. 3 am is when he's unabashed in his feeling, unafraid of his truth.

You stare. Your big, beautiful eyes pick at the spare parts of his woeful soul and you see. You see the windows of his soul tainted with an unimaginable sorrow.

“I can't.” You choke out.

How can you not hide yourself from him? How can you look at him and not want to open up your heart and let him see what's growing inside?

You're grief-stricken, he's melancholic. That isn't going anywhere.

“Y/n.” He implores you to reason with him. To give him a chance at witnessing you.

You feel like you’re drowning. You can’t breathe, your chest hurts and you feel your lungs constrict.

You can’t tell him how you really feel. He already feels guilty as is so how are you supposed to just let him read your mind?

To know how much you long for someone who can’t remember what you mean to them, to see how badly the lack of their presence has affected you.

Jason has no idea what realizing those things does to a person, what impact it’ll have on him.

He’s not ready.

“I… Good night, Jason.” You heave.

He watches you walk away, cutting him deep and leaving him to bleed dry.

The next morning can only be described as awkward. Tense awkwardness, actually.

There’s been no sign of you leaving your room since last night and it’s currently half past 2.

Jason hasn’t slept since you left the room. He was up all night evaluating all the possible outcomes from that point on.

Should he leave?

He knows you won’t ask him to but he wouldn’t abide by the request, anyway. He’s become selfish.

Yes, Jason Todd has grown accustomed to you and this little life of peace but he can’t be blamed. This is what he signed up for when he put a ring on it.

The ring. Your ring.

Now that he’s thinking about it, he’s seen you wearing it 24/7. Your left wedding finger is always donning the engagement ring, not once do you take it off.

Even when washing the dishes.

It is at this moment he has an epiphany. You were so close to letting your walls come down but seeing how afraid he was, painted in a foreign frame; you backed down.

He’s suddenly conscious of how much anguish you’re willing to put up with if it means for him to experience a minimal amount.

You want him to remember you without accepting the consequences of mental strain. You don’t want him to push past his anxiety, to make him face his fear of the unknown; but you’ll face your tears on your own.

A deep anger simmers inside him.

The amount of selflessness you’ve shown is incredibly unfair.

Isn’t marriage a united proposition? Isn’t his duty as your husband to make your problems his, to support you through all things good and bad?

You just backed away without giving him a chance to fully comprehend you.

How could you do that? Why did you do that?

Jason’s made a visceral statement in your life and he must know. He has to remember.

With a newfound confidence, he vows to try harder. He vows to push himself past the brink of frustration to remember you. He vows to do whatever it takes and replace that vacant look in your eyes with all those years of love and care.

He swings the door open and strides towards your bedroom. He knocks, a gentle rhythm of rapping. “Y/n? Are you there?”

He waits about 30 seconds before knocking and calling out your name again.

Nothing. No response.

Jason thinks about trying the knob but the last thing he wants is to scare you away.

Invading your privacy is a hard pass but he has to get through to you. He feels as if he’s running out of time.

In a desperate attempt to get a hold of you, he twists the knob but finds the space empty without you.

He goes to the bowl by the door and finds no sight of your keys but a sticky note, instead. Be back soon it reads.

Jason walks back to your room, standing in the middle of the doorway; unsure.

There’s a magnet inside that’s poking him, coaxing him to come in.

He knows he shouldn’t but would he find clues to a past life?

He tentatively steps inside, his eyes wandering around the interior.

Your color theme is fitting. Very you.

The walls are painted a nice color in coordination to your queen sized bedding. There’s a small bedside table with a couple of drawers with the most unique lamp he’s ever seen— a white lily of the valley flower and the bulb is inside!

It’s so you. He huffs out air through his nose and smiles.

He spots a halfway closed journal with a pen inside, marking a spot atop the desk.

No. I can’t.

But he wants to. He wants to know so bad what you’re really like. Who you are when you’re not performing for anyone else.

Jason wants to read the thoughts you keep buried so deep inside yourself, the secrets your heart closets. The pains your soul harbors.

But he can’t break the only trust he’s so worked so hard to build.

Jason runs his fingers across the spine of the book, feeling the embroidered thread run along.

There’s a poster above the table, one of your favorite movies.

A flash of color and sound hits his senses all at once. It looks like a memory of the movie.

Laughter, soft gasps, theatrical music to invoke foreboding feeling; only to be met with an emotional resolution from the unfortunate scene.

Tears run down your face as the beloved character faces his untime demise.

You couldn’t believe this. After all this time, all that character development, and he just… dies?

Jason doesn’t seem as tore up about it as you are but he feels for the character.

“He doesn’t deserve this.” You sniffle.

Jason nods, his arm around makes you close you in on his side and he rubs your arm up and down in a soothing manner. “I know.”

Jason exhales harshly, like he’d been holding a breath for too long.

He moves around, trying to find more things to jog his memory.

A glass jewelry box filled with pearls, gold, silver and rose gold jewelry catch his attention.

Where have I seen this before?

It’s like déjà vu except he can feel some kind of attachment to the object.

A finger lifts the lid and he finds a gold pole with a miniature ballerina glued onto it, separating the box into four sections.

“Happy birthday, Y/n!”

You’re surprised, of course a “simple dinner” wasn’t so simple. Nothing with Jason is, and that’s the beauty of being with him.

“Open my gift first!” Stephanie exclaimed.

You chuckled at her excitement and tore off the wrapping paper, ignoring everyone’s eyes gauging your reaction.

You softly gasp as the gift becomes visible, the beautiful glass case exceeding your expectations of a perfect jewelry box.

“Thank you, Steph.” You envelop her in a tight embrace, feeling oddly emotional.

“Welcome to the family.” She warmly congratulates.

It wasn’t official, not yet; but to be loved is to be seen. Feeling so loved by people who love Jason is fulfilling.

He watches as the two most important women in his life warm up to one another and he thinks of how blessed he is.

He blinks and is transported back into the present.

It’s working.

A joyous laughter exits his lips, the air filling his once empty lungs with a newfound hope.

A picture frame of you and him lies on your dresser.

He’s carrying you in his arms bridal style while your head is tipped back; an expressive look of joy on your face. He’s looking directly at the camera, donning a proud smirk in front of the apartment.

You two are in color while the rest of the background is in black and white.

There’s a small note at the bottom left, written in cursive. Congrats to our fav couple! with a smiley face next to it.

It’s like salt on the wound, seeing this photo.

He can feel his heart growing hands, scratching at the scar on his chest to be let out. To be freed from this torment of feeling.

The photo depicts everything he used to wished for, everything he had and everything that’s faded right now.

Your diamond ring shines brightly, competing with your smile and his eyes.

His index finger traces an outline of you and him. “I’m coming back to you.” He whispers.

You've been gone for quite some time, a little over 3 hours but you needed the time. You needed the hours to take a long reflection of the current state of things.

You kept thinking he wasn't ready but you realized that it was you. You weren't ready. Aren't ready? You don't know.

How does one find a way to cope with severe loss only for the pain and yearning to be diminished overnight.

Literally, overnight for you.

Events of last night come washing over your brain like a montage of your top 10 most embarrassing moments. It easily takes the place for #1.

You sigh, curling your fingers into your hair and gently tugging on them to punish yourself.

He didn’t deserve that. Just because you’re frightened of the future doesn’t mean he has to be on the receiving end of your cowardice.

You have to talk to him, to make this right.

You come back home at a reasonable time; right before you should start preparing for dinner.

It’s kind of dark, like a gloomy gray shadow blankets your living room.

But you see him. He’s sitting on the sofa waiting for your arrival.

“Jason.” You say his name so softly, he almost doesn’t hear it.

Another side effect from being baptized by the forbidden vat of acid are his attuned senses.

“I was waiting for you.” His voice is louder and clearer compared to yours.

“I know.” You nod.

“We need to talk.” He stands slowly, not wanting to alarm you.

“We do.”

“Then why don’t we?”

The desperation seeps into his throat but he doesn’t care. He can’t help it.

You shuffle your feet, feeling lighter on your steps.

“I’m afraid.”

Your admission is out of fear, anxiety, all things quiet. But it’s brave, sound, and all things hopeful.

Your sober judgement brings him closer to you.

“I can’t lose you again, Jason.”

You’re teetering on the edge of holding back and letting go.

He sees that.

Jason slowly brings his hands up, stopping at the length of your elbow. He’s still hesitant, wanting to touch you but nervous of the contact.

“You won’t.” He’s sure of himself. “I’m right here.”

He takes a hold of your elbows and his thumb subconsciously rubs up and down the skin.

You look into his eyes and all you see is the boy you fell in love with all those years ago.

He’s still in there.

“I’m trying. For you… for us.” He whispers the two-lettered word and it weighs heavy with the connotation.

“I just need you to throw me a bone.”

Despite the plea, he gives you a lopsided smile. One that shows he’s not annoyed or agitated with you.

And it makes you huff through your nose.

“Please?” He tries once more, a cute demeanor taking the place of his more serious tone.

You nod with pursed lips. “Okay.”

“Okay.” He whispers back.

You sit next to him on the sofa, sitting upright and where he can your side profile. Jason leans back in a small manspread.

“Where do you wanna start?” You ask.

Jason sits on this for a moment.

There’s so much he wants to know and at very different points in time. He thinks to tell you about his progress, the fleeting reels of the entire picture he envisioned.

Ultimately, he decides to have a go at the start.

“What was I like? To you, I mean.”

It shouldn’t surprise you that he asked one of the most obvious questions but it does. It surprises you because he hasn’t changed much.

You smile softly to yourself as time turns back. “You’re kind, gentle. Soft-spoken, loyal and so easy to talk to.”

He notices how you speak of him in present tense and not past like how he initially asked.

“You’re still the same.” You point.

He shakes his head. “I don’t think so.”

You tilt your head. “How do you mean?”

“I, uh.” He sighs deeply. “I don’t know how to go back to how things… were.”

It’s not an admission of guilt, so why does it feel like one?

“I don’t either.”

You bounce your knee, a subconscious habit.

Jason picks up on it though. Before he can control himself, it slips out.

“Stop that.”

You stop and meet his gaze.

He looks shocked at himself. “I- I’m sorry. I don’t know why... how—?”

“I do.” You say. “You used to say that when I’d get ahead of myself. In my thoughts.”

“In your thoughts?” He parrots.

You just nod enthusiastically, so happy with this sign of progress. “Yes! You could just tell what was going on with me.”

He nods, crossing one leg over the other.

“I didn’t mean to tell you to stop bouncing your leg.” He clarifies. “It just… it felt natural to say that.”

“It’s completely okay. I mean it.”

You titter and Jason thinks of wind chimes.

“What else?”

He hums in thought. “Our relationship.”

“I was fifteen and you, sixteen.”

Jason’s immediately reminded of his dream.

“Sorry to interrupt but was my dream real? Was that an actual memory?”

Your lips turn up at this attention to detail. “Yes. I was working on a project for my midterm and you came over to keep me company.”

“Woah.” He breathes. “We’ve known each other for that long.”

“Yeah, you asked me out a little after that and we’ve been together ever since.”

Jason thinks of his adoptive father. “Did Bruce know?”

You think of all the times you’d gone over to the mansion and acquainted yourself with its people.

“He said I was ‘probably the only good thing going’ in your life.” You quote his words and can’t help but feel a sadness for him.

You lost your lover, a piece of your heart. But he lost his son.

“Y/n?” Jason calls your name.

Your neutral expression shifts to that of being pulled from daydreaming.

“Yeah.” You blink.

Jason catches the swift switch up and wants to know if you’ll dodge him when he asks.

“Where’d you go just now?”

A lie sits on the tip of your tongue but you realize that you can’t keep him or yourself from the truth anymore. You can’t keep shielding yourselves from the inevitable reality.

“You made me think of Bruce.” You say honestly.

The man who’d gone to the ends of the Earth for vengeance. The man who was about to break his “no kill” rule.

Jason has yet to extend a helping hand in mending their fractured relationship. One person at a time he thinks.

“We got engaged young. I was nineteen.” You twist the ring around your finger.

“Was I romantic enough?”

His eyes are filled with mirth when your cheeks pull back and reveal your teeth.

Your smile is so beautiful. He takes a mental picture of it every time you show a variation.

The creases at the corners, the dimples, and lines all make your smile only that much better.

He wants to make you smile more. He’s so lost in the way your lips move that he forgets the original question.

“You proposed over a candlelit dinner at my favorite restaurant.”

He grows shy at the sentiment, hanging his head down and covering his face with a hand while his body shakes with mirth.

“Wow.” He muses.

You laugh at him, in the mood for some light teasing. “What, you getting shy Todd?”

His head snaps up at the fondness dripping from your tone at his last name. He’d never heard someone say his name like that before.

“No.”

He can deny it all he wants but the faint hue of red creeping up on his face says otherwise.

“You had the band play a song, too.”

You want to see if he can get this. It’s an incredibly important detail, one of which encompasses a very loving memory.

He racks his head around for this. A song. A song? There’s so many, which one could set the atmosphere for a promise of lifelong commitment?

Then, it’s like the whole room changes. An oil spill mirage of the restaurant paints the room.

You’re in a black dress, your hair’s done nice.

He closes his eyes and he can almost feel the air all those years ago.

The familiar melody of the tune rings in his ears and he knows he’s got it for sure.

Jason opens his eyes and is brought back to the present.

“The Flamingos.” He says.

It’s like he can still hear the song playing softly over conversation.

“I only have eyes…”

“For you.” You finish the lyric.

You two giggle, feeling silly and slightly awkward but it’s fulfilling. It’s like how it used to be.

He clicks his tongue, content with the shared experience.

“What about you?” He wonders.

“What about me?”

“Your life.”

Oh. Right.

Your eyelids flutter in a half-blink and suddenly the carpet is the most interesting thing in the world.

“My whole life fell apart. I didn’t know how to get through the day.”

I forgot how is left unsaid.

Jason eyes your mask slipping away.

“I was twenty when you were murdered.”

Murdered, he was murdered. That’s the truth.

The Joker was put away in jail for his crimes against humanity while Jason— your Jason— was lying the cold, hard ground. Barely breathing yet still alive

“I, uhh… quit college for a year. Couldn’t do it.” You pitifully chuckle at yourself.

You sharply inhale when your emotions come bubbling up to the surface again. “I eventually went back and finished my degree. Graduated cum laude at twenty-four.”

His eyes crease as his pride and joy defied the odds for her life. “I’m proud of you.”

“Thank you.” You shyly grin.

He drums his fingers along his knees.

It occurs to you that despite your life’s lost momentum, the momentum on Jason’s life picked up faster than it ever had.

“And you?”

He doesn’t expect to be interviewed. “What about me?”

“What were you doing for the past four and a half years?”

Sweat forms under his palms and he subconsciously rubs them along his pajama pant clad thighs. Jason feels his face turn warm, he prays the redness doesn’t bloom along his cheeks.

“…I’d rather not talk about that.”

You give him a knowing look. “Jason.”

He winces, an eye closing while he sucks in air from his teeth. “Why do you sound like an upset mother?”

An incredulous laugh bubbles in your throat. “I'm not upset, just don't want you pulling a me."

He relents. “Okay, okay, alright. Fine, you win.”

He deeply sighs, rubbing his eyes and you turn your body to fully face him. You're legs are crossed and you sit up straight.

“You know Talia al Ghul.”

You nod, Damien’s mother isn’t exactly a popular subject but he is.

“She resurrected me using the pit and brought me back to train under the League of Assassins and the All-Caste.”

He was training for all those years?

“Training… for what?”

A grim expression overtakes his features. “I wanted to kill Bruce because I thought he left me to die.”

Pity is the last thing he wants but you can’t help but feel bad for him. He was tortured for so long, in the worst ways possible only to be mislead like that in the end.

“And now?” You hope he’s changed his mind.

“I’ve changed my mind.”

You unknowingly smile. “Okay. Yeah, that’s good.”

“I spent the last six months focusing solely on being a vigilante.”

“A vigilante.” You repeat.

Yes, you know there's more than what he's letting on but you want to hear his story from him. Isn't that what people who care for the other do?

“Yeah, I took care of the bad guys and started a little side hustle of my own.” He says it like it's no big deal

“I wouldn't call being a drug slash crime lord a ‘little’ side hustle.”

Jason's face blanks, he pales as you reveal the overall tone behind his cryptic message.

“You know.”

“Dick told me after he showed up with you.”

His eyes seemed to look right through you.

For the first time, you couldn't tell what was going on with him. You could no longer discern the distinction between his feelings and thoughts.

“Don't be mad. Please.” Your bargain comes rushing out.

“I'm not mad,” He voices in a hushed manner. “...’m just thinking.”

“Tell me.” You hesitantly put a hand on his. "I want to know what you're thinking."

A deep breath is sucked into his lungs. “I'm thinking about how much I want you.”

You dart back and forth between his eyes. He watches as your irises move between his slightly changed ones but contunues.

“I'm thinking about how someone like you can be with someone like me.”

He shifts his body slightly in your direction, wanting to close this space.

“I’m thinking about how despite everything, I've changed in more ways than one and you've still remained the same.”

“That's not true.” You shake your slightly.

“But it is, Y/n. My senses are heightened, my body isn't the same. I-I’m constantly feeling like I’m missing something and yet you're still here.”

Why wouldn't you be?

“Why, Y/n? Why haven't you given up on me?”

The answer to his questions are simple because it's the same answer. Yet, you're finding it difficult to say it it this moment.

“Why did you stop me from shutting you out?” You ask instead.

He stares at you, contemplating blurting out the thoughts and feelings that have plagued him since epiphany.

“Because I...”

You lean into him. “Because you?”

Jason looks away and shuts his eyes, trying to contain his brain running on a hundred thoughts per second.

“I… care about you, okay? And I’m not the same man I was before but I care.”

Your hands slide on top of his and the coldness of his knuckles diminish as your warmth spreads. “That’s all I wanted to hear.”

Tears fill your eyes and he melts. His eyebrows furrow and forms a wrinkle.

“I hate it when you cry.” He says as his palm encompasses the back of your neck and he pushes you into his shoulder.

You hold his arms as you sniffle lightly into his bicep as his other hand rubs your back up and down.

“I know you’re different but he still lives inside you. I can see it.”

Jason thinks about that. Is it possible?

If you didn’t change so much then could it be that there’s a chance for him to connect to that version of himself?

It was never about going back. It was never about denying his existence now and stick who he was onto his back.

It’s always been about adapting to change. Learning to let go what doesn’t serve you and accepting that with time, you must change, too.

Jason may recover the lost pieces of who he used to be but he still has to learn who he is.

“We can make new memories.” Your watery voice croaks.

You sit back and look at him, really take your time to absorb this moment. Him. Us.

“It doesn’t matter how long it takes for everything to come back. We can still make the best of what we have now.”

He stares at you and knows you’re on the same plane as him. You always were.

He cups your face and tilts your head towards him, pressing a kiss to your head. You close your eyes at his touch.

“We will.”

[ethereal555]

JEALOUSY, JEALOUSY.

angst x jobe bellingham.

You’ve never seen Jobe act this way before. We had just finished our dinner at Hakkasan which started off lovely; you'd both missed each other to bits. It started when Jobe expressed his confusion about the amount our waiter spoke to me, the way in which he spoke and looked at me and definetly didnt like the fact I was slighly enthusiatic in return when the mans questions regarding my profession. And no matter how many times i'd tell Jobe, that 'it's common decency' it fell upon deaf ears every time.

In situations such as these which occured often, he'd be a baby about it and whine about how all the men we come across were always infactuated with me and how it wasn't fair because I am his and his only. Or he'd tell me to be more blunt and harsh in my rejections. At least he was communicating with me..

But this time, it was an intense silence on the way back home, a silence that left your mind unsettled.

-

You both made your way back to his black Audi. Your gaze frequently shifting from the side profile and then to the floor as you internally prepared yourself to rectify this issue before it got out of hand.

Your gaze landed on Jobe again only to see his sharp jawline prominent due to the extent of which he was tensing it. Tensed hard enough to break glass. You also noticed his walking pace quickening by the second, another telling sign of the volcanic eruption brewing within him.

“J, you’re going too fast can you hold my hand please?” you whined. You knew he wasn’t in the mood for that and definitely had other things on his mind but he did it anyway reaching his long arm back and in doing so not sparing me a glance. Your rolled your eyes, hard.

You latched onto his hand making your way back to the car at a decent speed this time. Thank God.

Everytime you both were at a social event, there would always be an odd circunstance that occurs leaving one of you jealous, disheartened or upset. Jobe was the usual culprit; you had told your man for what felt like the uptenneth times that you were an attractive girl, men were bound to stop and stare and wink and do whatever they desired and the same applied to him. But you also told him, there would never be any reciprocation from your side; which you expected him to trust. Simply saying thank you to compliments would suffice. Just common decency that you'd been taught growing up- it wasn't going to change. It baffled you as you'd never given him any slack throughout your 3 year relationship about any of the thousands of fangirls that were overbearring and desperate around him. You trusted him, and you were secure.

This time, you think it hit harder for him because it was supposed to be an especially romantic date; as you both had been apart for 5 months in different countries for work purposes - so you did sympathize slightly.

You halt in your tracks, consequently making Jobe's walking stop. He looks back at you, unimpressed. You smile at him sweetly, leaning up to kiss his mouth. 'Please don't be mad at me. Baby, I've missed you so much and I want us spend quality time tonight. I really enjoyed dinner and I want to enjoy.. you later.' you whine as you pepper wet kisses over his jawline and neck. Hoping he'd leave this atttitude in the resturant and not bring it home with us.

You see his adam's apple move up and down, he beckons with his head 'Get in the car, Tee', pushing at your waist.

You both get to the car, and to your surprise he doesn’t open the door for you, like he usually does. He goes straight to the drivers seat and sits.

You scoff entering from your side of the car, slamming it shut once you were in.

“Listen Jobe. Bellingham. Don’t let your jealousy get you fucked up. I don’t give a toss if you're pissed , especially because of how stupid it is. You’re still my man. So act right.” You scold mushing his head with your index and middle finger.

He moves his head away from your hands.

“Stop - don’t touch meh or ya walking home, crazy girl”

“Get the lad in 'er to rush over and open the door for ya, and 'em lads you like to entertain. Desperate” He said gesturing towards the waiter who was now serving some guests who were seated outside.

You look at him dumbfounded. Mouth wide open.

'I could.. Jobe.. i could spit on your right now, how dare you..?'.

'Try it' he dares, an inferno arising in his chest.

“Y-You're really upset because I was being a decent human being. You’re a child you know that right? and you're fucking childish and immature and direspectful as fuck” you spat.

“That’s great actually - fucking brilliant - because I’d rather be a child than be a fucking flirt that hasn’t a self aware bone in their body” he humours, driving out of the parking lot.

It felt like your heart dropped.

“A flirt? When did I flirt?” I questioned hysterically. I understand Jobe was jealous , and had those tendencies, but to say I was entertaining another man was absurd and not in my character.

You start to shake your feet, attempting to distract yourself from this recongizable feeling. The heat you felt rising from your chest racing toward your throat, your cheeks burning and your eyes stinging. No, you thought, I'm not giving him the satisfaction.

'Stop the car', you cry. Struggling to get your phone our of your back, that was placed by your feet and underneath the dashboard.

Your voice betraying you.

'N-now, Jobe, I can't anymore' you shake your head continously.

'Ya can't do what?", his face softeneing for this first time as he briefly turns to look at you. He pulls into a side road and removes his seatbelt turning to face you. Rubbing his hands over his face as if I was the one stressing him out.

You chuckle bitterly 'that's the only thing you've listened to, this whole ride', your vision and your thoughts become blurry so you carefully remove the accumulated tears from your eyes as you try and call an uber, not wanting to pull any of your clusters out.

Jobe cradles your face when his left hand, you react as if his hand was a bowl of scorthching hot oil.

'If ya must ya can call the uber later, just look at me'.

You knew he hated to see you cry, that was his kryptonite, no matter how bad the arguement is.

His right had catches your other cheek until he has encaptured the entirety of your face within his palms. He stares, looking deep into your eyes, for what felt like minutes. maybe searching for words to say, accountability maybe.. you anticipated an apology ..

“Ya do this all the time me love.."

'what jobe, what i do?' you croak

'ya cry when I tell ya the truth, baby, ya know I don’t lie', he pecks the corner of your lips.

You break away and look at him through your now damp lash clusters and teary eyes.

my man my man my mf man

'make up your mind' - chris brown inspo kinda

i hate a nigga that doesnt take accountability btw.

[sundaycentric]

I need fluff can you write yandere dan heng and if you do 2 Neuvillete (idk how to spell his name 😭)

Sorry if this goes over the rules you could ignore I loveee yandere dan heng hehe

(separate yandere) dan heng & neuvillette x gn reader

content ★ headcanons, minific, yandere, not proof read, gn reader, reader has hair in dan heng's part, sfw, fluff?

note ★ i love yandere hcs.. idk what it is i just eat them up every single time. but sorry for my recent inactivity ?!?! i rushed these a bit tho.. hope theyre still good </3 mainly just put my thoughts down :(

DAN HENG ★

Dan Heng knows what it's like. He knows what it's like to be locked up, forced away from the outside world. He knows what it's like to be alone and scared. He knows what it's like to have someone watch your every move. Dan Heng knows what it would be like for you. Yet, he can't shake the thoughts and desires to take you.

Dan Heng knows it's wrong. He can sympathize, which is probably why he tried to deny it all in the first place. However, he's been so selfless. He accepted punishment without complaint. He helps around the Astral Express so much. It's hard for Dan Heng to not be selfish this once and indulge in his love.

That is if he can even call it love. Dan Heng tried to deny his feelings for you first. He knew how hard it would be, even without expecting the obsession to come along with it. His draconic heritage makes him more possessive than the average lover. They hoard what they love, and it includes their mates as well.

Dan Heng can't avoid it entirely, though. Being without you feels like an even worse punishment than his banishment. With you, he feels something he has never felt before. Dan Heng can no longer deny his love for you, even if it may be more than that.

You might notice him giving extra attention to you. It is never anything big, but rather small things. Dan Heng looks at you a bit longer. He smiles slightly when you talk. He stands closer to you. He won't flinch away when you grab his hand. He'll let you into the Archives. Dan Heng will treat you differently.

He is still silent as ever, but he is more relaxed around you. At the same time, he feels more tense, though. Dan Heng doesn't want to push you away. He'll take his time with you.

In his dragon form, his thoughts are even worse. It is harder to suppress his desire for you. Especially when he already begins to subconsciously think of you as his mate. This is when things get a bit more severe. He's less controlled.

Dan Heng's tail might loosely wrap around your ankle as if you'd run. He'll glare at people he thinks are too close. He'll only go where you go. He'll favor you and always find a way to defend you. Things like this are much more noticeable as his love grows.

The Archives have a lot more entries about you. Your physical description, personality, hobbies, interests, and moods all have their own extensive pages. When he can't be with you, he'll simply write or read about you. Dan Heng will find himself reading over your information if he can't go to sleep.

At this point, Dan Heng knows it is more than love. He knows he is obsessed with you. But he doesn't care all that much. He feels something, something that isn't cold. Something that feels good and warm in his heart, even if it is terribly wrong in his brain. He's given up on trying to suppress it. He simply can't, so Dan Heng embraces it. He embraces you. He loves you.

If you do end up loving Dan Heng as well, he will be overjoyed. You can't see it on his face, but the way his tail tightly coils around your waist tells you otherwise. He isn't too big on physical touch normally, but he will always have some kind of touch on you.

He'll get a bit overbearing. He doesn't want to see you hurt. It's dangerous trailblazing. Dan Heng needs you.

If you find out the extent of his love, he might finally lose the rest of his self-restraint. You'd probably run. He doesn't want that. He won't let that happen. You're his now.

Dan Heng gently ran his fingers through your hair, playing with it. You sat down in front of him with his tail securely wrapped around your waist. Your back snugly pressed against his chest. Both of you breathed slowly, enjoying the moment.

"Dan Heng?" You asked. He did not respond. He only continued to mess with your hair. You couldn't see his expression, how he looked at you with utter love in his eyes. He was thinking.

"Dan Heng..?" You question softly. This time, Dan Heng seems to have heard your words. His fingers stop for a moment as he blinks.

"Yes, what is it?" His fingers resume once he speaks. They softly pull through any tangles, Dan Heng paying extra attention to make sure he doesn't hurt you. His tail lightly twitched around your waist.

"I was thinking about going on the Luofu with March and..." You didn't get to finish your sentence as Dan Heng's grip on your hair tightened. It hurt a bit, as his fist pulled on your hair unknowingly. Dan Heng's voice came next.

"No," he said. Dan Heng's voice was far colder than it usually was. He sounded angry and disappointed and upset. It was impossible for you to turn to see his expression with his hand holding your head straight. Dan Heng repeated, "No. It's too dangerous. The.. Stellaron Hunters are there. He is there. If something happens to you, you will never be able to best him in a fight. You need to stay here, where it's safe. Besides, March and the others don't need you. They can do this alone."

Dan Heng's words came out harsher than he was meaning to, but he was too busy worrying about you to realize. He shuddered slightly, imagining what it would be like if you were Blade's next victim. It wasn't hard to figure out Dan Heng is attached to you, so perhaps he would go for you to get to Dan Heng. The thought sickened him. He never wanted to see you in pain like he had to be. Slowly, his grip loosened as he went back to playing with your hair.

However, you were also a bit uneasy. Dan Heng's tone was off, and he had been acting weird recently. You spoke after a few minutes of silence, "I'm feeling tired... I'm going to go to sleep in my room now, Heng."

"Hm," Dan Heng hums, "No. I think you will sleep in here from now on."

NEUVILLETTE ★

Neuvillette also knows it's wrong. What he stays up at night thinking of is illegal. It goes against everything he does in life. Yet, he would never think it would feel so good.

Neuvillette has never been a selfish man. For hundreds of years, he upheld justice for others. He was always fair and righteous, even when it hurt. However, Neuvillette has never really wanted anything specific in the first place. Yes, he yearns to understand himself and others, but he has never felt that carnal desire to own something.

That is, until he met you of course. Suddenly, he felt something he'd never felt before. It was weird, bubbling in his chest sweetly. It made his heart ache with yearning. It almost felt a bit painful, but it was also so enjoyable. He wanted more of it.

You made him feel something he has yet to grasp. He may not understand emotions well, but he knows what certain ones are. But this, he does not know. You made Neuvillette feel something new. Something that made him feel a bit more alive. As if you were the purpose, the reason he was born.

Neuvillette tries to dismiss these thoughts, but it's hard. He must focus on his duties, but he often thinks of you in the moments between work. He knows it's wrong. But it doesn't feel bad. It feels good. So, is it really that wrong?

Neuvillette is still very busy, though. He will get the melusines to spy on you, which they happily accept. Neuvillette often tells them about you since he doesn't have anyone else he can tell. It's gotten to the point where alongside seeing Neuvillette as their father of sorts, they see you as a parent as well. Of course, they think, you must be the monsieur's spouse. They certainly have no issue with simply ensuring their 'parent's' safety, after all.

Neuvillette never corrects them. After all, it makes him feel warm inside. Marriage sounds nice. A legal contract, bounding you to each other forever. Suddenly, Neuvillette seems to pay more attention to marriage documents and trials related to it.

He will never say anything first. Ever. Even though Neuvillette wants you badly, he will not break his moral code and risk doing something irrational. He likely wouldn't either way, but he worries. Especially when it comes to you.

Neuvillette is very protective of you. He wasn't very big on touch, but now he likes to have some sort of contact with you. Holding your hand, arm, waist, finger, whatever it may be. It helps him make sure you're okay. It's been so long since he's felt affection like that, and he tries to get you to spoil him with it sometimes.

He loves it so much when you treat the melusines like they are your children. Maybe one day you can have children together. Whether it's biological or adoption, he doesn't care. Neuvillette wants to be with you however he can.

And once the prophecy kicks off entirely, you're never leaving his sight again. Even if you're not from Fontaine, there's still a risk and uncertainty. Neuvillette won't let you slip away. He can't. He'll pamper you, do whatever you ask of him (besides letting you go), but he just needs you to stay where he knows you're safe.

If you try to leave, then good luck. It'll be raining. Hard. You can barely even walk without getting soaked. It's never been this bad in Fontaine before.. but as soon as Neuvillette sees you again, it's unbearably sunny. The weather is quite extreme.

You're his mate after all. Why are you even trying to leave him, if you are? This is your home now. Neuvillette sighs, perhaps you're just nervous. It's okay, though. He figures you need to adjust.

He won't care if you find out how much he loves you. Why does it matter? Of course, he loves his mate.

"I forbid you," Neuvillette stares you down, "My dear, please, come back over here. I'd hate to request a guard to block the door."

You stop in your tracks, not doubting Neuvillette's words. You could feel his gaze burning into your skull. It scared you. He was incredibly powerful, and it would be best to comply with him, no?

You turned around. He smiled gently, "Good. Now come, sit back down, mon ange (my angel)."

You listen to him, slowly walking back towards him. You sit on the couch next to his desk before he sighs. The rain gets a bit harder.

"You know that's not your seat," he murmurs. And you know exactly what he means. Neuvillette waits for you to return to him, and sit on his lap—your seat. You do.

"There," Neuvillette breathes out on your neck. He wraps his arms around your waist and buries his face into your neck. The rain alleviates, slowing. You shake a bit in his grasp, either from his breathing or your possible fear.

"Shh.. it's okay, mon cœur (my heart), is it that you're cold..?" Neuvillette asks sweetly, before holding you tighter. "I'll warm you up, my love. Just stay with me.."

His hands begin to rub circles into your back as he flips you over. Neuvillette isn't manhandling you roughly, but he does it with such ease. It may not be purposeful, but it's a reminder of just how much stronger he is than you. After all, he is a dragon. He uses his glove hand to gently push you against his chest. Neuvillette effectively trapped you in his warm grasp.

"Neuvillette.." You say softly, "There is no need to hold me like a lifeline."

He smiles but doesn't loosen his grip. "I beg to differ. After all, I don't think I could live without you, so you are my lifeline, no? My lifeline and my mate.."

Neuvillette's voice is longing. You won't be able to get out of this any time soon. The rain disappears alongside your smile (or frown).

[obsidian-flame]

Hera wanted Athena to win

Guys hear me out, this is my conspiracy theory LMAO

I feel like in God Games when Athena is battling the Gods to help Ody, of all of them, Hera wanted her to win the whole time.

Hera is the final "level" of the game, and if Athena convinces her to say yes, then it's a yes and Ody must be released, and I'm sure Hera knew that fact.

Now look at what all the other Gods say.

Each of them gives a very specific reason why they don't want Ody to be freed.

Apollo's reason is slaughtering the sirens.

Hephaestus' reason is the Scylla sacrifice.

Aphrodite's reason is abandoning his mother.

Ares' reason is being cowardly in the Trojan war.

And then, we get to Hera, and she's just like 'Yeah just give me any good reason and I'll agree to let him go'. She has no qualms with Odysseus, she has no motivation even to fight with Athena on this. She doesn't really require convincing, per se.

She's legitimately just asking Athena to give her any half decent justification so she can say yes and make it look legit in front of Zeus.

The whole time as Athena is giving Hera reasons, Hera is also continuously egging her on to give her a better one, a more sound one that would look really convincing. She's saying things like 'Try Harder' and 'You can do better than that.'

So my theory is that after Zeus announced the God Games, Hera saw it as a chance to stick it to him for once, for all his cheating and disloyalty to their marriage, so she wanted Athena to win, and played her cards accordingly.

All she needed was Athena to give her any half-decent justification for her to say yes, so that the games look legitimate, but ultimately she was on her side the whole time. She made the game really easy for Athena, because she gave her free reign to think of absolutely anything and everything she possibly could in favor of Ody, instead of giving her a specific, niche argument she has to fight against.

Additionally, Hera is the goddess of marriage in the pantheon, and even if she doesn't care the least little bit about Odysseus, I am willing to bet she very much cares about Penelope.

Think about it, Hera herself is stuck in an awful marriage to Zeus and is not very happy about that. And she would 100% relate to Penelope's struggles of being alone, missing her husband and trying to ward off the suitors who are trying to force her into a, let's be real, abusive marriage with Antinous.

Hera as a wife definitely sympathizes with Penelope as a wife, and releasing Odysseus so he can return to Penelope is the only way to help her be protected again.

So there you go. My conspiracy is that Hera for one absolutely wanted Athena to win the entire time. I think she at the very least tried to help her, I mean she couldn't have known that Zeus would fucking kill her for winning LMAO

[leonkennedybreedingkink]

PRETTY WHEN YOU CRY

bestie!leon kennedy x reader

warnings: 18+, dubcon lol, mental health issues for both leon and reader… he’s a pervert and again ooc but that’s the fun of things. dacryphillia and he’s a little mean and sleazy.

tumblr removes fics with nsfw tags from the tag. ergo i’ve flagged the content at the beginning. you’re also responsible for your own media consumption, so if this bugs you, don’t read it.

Leon sat there on the edge of the bed with you, rubbing your back as you hid your face in your hands. “I just feel like I’m going in circles.” You tell him, lifting your head out of your hands to rest your chin on them. “I mean, I don’t feel like I’m ever gonna get better.”

He can sympathize, he really can, especially when he was in boot camp post Raccoon City and laid awake at night because he had nightmares otherwise.

He rubs your back in circles on autopilot, trying not to get bored or indulge in an impulsive thought that tells you to shut the fuck up and quit fucking crying, maybe open your blinds once or twice a day and you wouldn’t feel so bad. Eat a fucking vegetable or two while you’re at it.

You, believing the best in him, don’t really notice. “I just—“ and your voice breaks, face warming all the way to your neck as you hide your face in your hands again and kick yourself internally for crying in front of him.

You hate crying in front of everyone, your face gets splotchy and you can’t breathe through your nose. When it’s Leon, though, your best friend, it’s a little worse because you’d bet he looks cute when he cries, him and his stupid Botticelli angel face.

And, oh, that’s not really the right move.

He doesn’t remember when watching someone cry would be enough to get him off, except for an adult video he watched had a girl get fucked so good he could watch tears leak out of her eyes, openly sobbing when she squirted because that faceless phallus hit the right spot inside her.

Or when his ex-girlfriend was on her fourth orgasm of the night and she cried just a little while his face was between her legs.

He needed a stress reliever that day, it was a tough time; and he’s never really had to think while going down on someone.

Leon shifts a little and prays to a God he doesn’t believe in that he’s not seriously getting bricked up by you crying. Nope, it’s not going down, shit, he hopes you don’t notice.

You stifle sobs into your palms for a good thirty minutes, face and ears hot enough to power a fucking house. You take a break to wipe your eyes with your sleeve, sniffling wetly before you reach over to blow your nose. “‘M sorry,” You tell him, voice wobbling before you blow your nose and toss the used tissue away.

“It’s fine.” Leon tells you, his voice just a little strained. He wraps an arm around you and pulls you into his lap and prays you don’t notice that he’s bricked up just from you crying. God, Leon, that’s so fucked up. At least those girls—nameless pornstar and ex-girlfriend—were enjoying it, you’re crying because you’re sad and mentally ill.

Again, fucked up.

You cry a little harder when he’s being so kind to comfort you, hiding your face in his shoulder as you sniffle and keep the sobbing to a minimum. When your tears come to an end, that’s when you notice that he’s fully hard beneath you. You lift your head up after a pause, wiping one eye as you look at Leon. “Leon… are you…?”

He can’t quite hide a grimace. “I’m—um, I’m really—I’m not—“ And when he catches sight of your red face and tear-streaked cheeks, he nearly groans, his throat suddenly dry. That’s when he flips you onto your back.

You land in the pillows with a soft grunt, giving him a bewildered look. “What are you doing?” You ask him in a little voice, sniffling and wiping your runny nose.

“Do you ever stop feeling sorry for yourself?” He asks you, one hand planting in the pillow beside your head, the other untucking his shirt.

Your stomach turns and he can visibly see his words hit the mark. “What?” You ask him, eyes close to brimming with tears again.

“Jesus,” Leon swears, undoing his belt buckle one handed cause he’s had enough practice. “You wanna know what I think? I think you like wallowing, I think you like having people consoling you.” His belt comes undone with a rattle, his button and fly next.

You stare at him with your mouth agape before a couple tears slip out. He takes the chance to push up your shirt and lets out a groan when he sees the cute black bra you’re wearing, hands wandering up to squeeze handfuls of your tits.

You yelp, back arching of your own accord—he’s glad that worked, you told him enough of what you liked when venting about your ex-boyfriends not being able to find the clit or eat pussy right.

He’s never had that problem, obviously.

A slightly mean smile crawls across his face before he leans down to lick a tear track up. “Poor, unloved little thing.” He coos, sticking his hands down the front of your sweatpants to find you damp.

Leon rubs circles on your clit to see you grind your teeth and twitch, one of his hands still on your tit as you try not to react further. “You just sit here in your depression cave and feel bad for yourself, huh? Do you even open up your curtains to get some sun? The sun’s real nice, a natural antidote to depression.”

Humiliation and an orgasm lick up your spine a few seconds after he’s done talking, body locking up as your hands fist in the sheets. He tuts at you and sticks his used finger in your mouth, kneeling between your spread legs as he pulls down your sweatpants with the other hand.

Aw, you left a cute little wet spot on your panties, just for him.

You lift up your hips when he tells you to, he throws the flimsy garments on the floor where they land with a soft slap. “C’mon, I know how make you feel better.” He tells you, one hand cupping your knee to put one over his shoulder as he finally pulls down his jeans and boxers to mid-thigh.

Leon sinks in with a stifled groan, then wraps your other leg around his waist, turning his head and kissing your knee once he’s balls-deep.

Your chest heaves and he kisses your collarbone—poor thing, it must be a little much for you, he’s not even moving.

You scrabble at him when he finally does move, nails catching on his shirt before you manage to tug him closer. Each short, staccato thrust makes the bed rock and punches little squeaks from you.

Your door’s open, but he doesn’t feel like closing it, so he puts a hand over your mouth as he covers your body with his, hips grinding to hear you whimper against his palm. “I know, I know, baby.” he tells you, lips ghosting over your cheek before he licks up more salty tears that overflow. “I’ve got you. You’re all empty inside, I’ll fill you up.”

But not before you come, Leon’s a gentleman like that. He loops his arm beneath you and pulls you into his thrusts, you grow a little louder beneath his palm. He shifts so his pubic bone can grind a little harder against your clit and your thigh twitches before you sob against his palm, brows furrowing as you lurch up, more tears squeezing out.

He fucks you through it before pulling out and painting your tummy white, collapsing by your side and panting softly. You sniffle loudly and Leon feels a little bad, rolling over when you do and spooning you from behind, his release staining your sheets as you cry quietly.

He holds you through it, kissing your shoulder and the nape of your neck before hiding his face in your hair. “I’m sorry.” He mumbles after a long silence, “I was out of line.”

You shake your head and stay silent, wiping your eyes as you two cuddle in silence.

[dunesofpriam]

Actually, the reason misgendering is hurtful is because it sucks having people tell you you're something you're not. It's hard enough to be born into the wrong body and to deal with the ways one's mind can try to destroy you because it recognizes how you exist as wrong, it doesn't help that when you ask someone for a little respect they spit in your face. Calling me a woman isn't wrong because being a woman is a bad thing to be, it's wrong because I was never supposed to be one and the "female body" I was born into just feels like a cheap, ill fitting costume that is constantly choking me. All most of us want is to be treated with respect. Me being trans isn't anymore of an ideology than me being bisexual is.

I'm sure it does hurt having someone tell you you're something you're not. When I was a kid my grandma told me dragons aren't real so I can't have one as a pet. Made me cry.

That doesn't make dragons real.

You can't be born in the wrong body, that mindset is born out of a the view that your body is just some vessel for your mind. You are the whole thing. Your body is you. I can understand you may have a condition(s) which make your life harder and I sympathize with that.

You say you were never supposed to be born into a female body; says who? Either you're looking to religion (which I don't ascribe to and can simply tell you I don't share your faith) or you're looking to biology, which has yet to show any actual physical condition which causes a person to be trans. At best you could say you were never supposed to feel you should have been male.

You will never be able to escape your female body, because you are female. Therefore your body will always be a female body. Perhaps if you were a frog or a parrot fish, but alas, we cannot change sex. You might feel no longer trapped if you were "perceived" as male - so you're referring to the societal constructs around male and female, in which case; congrats! That is the core of radical feminism - to deconstruct that. Women are adult female humans in the same way a bull is a male cow. It's just the term used to differentiate our sexually dimorphic species. No further inferences which can be controlled by free will should be ascribed to that, however those decisions made under free will should be analyzed and discussed to identify the societal factors causing them, and to figure out whether there is a biological component.

[the-raindeer-king]

Nikto is such a feral cat of a man. Wild, untrusting, always alert, always bristled, refuses to be kept if he doesn't want to be somewhere.

But pretty pretty you, you don't force his attention, don't demand his responses. You let him slowly creep closer over time, never forcing him to talk, never seeming bothered if and when he doesn't respond to you. Slowly, over a long time he creeps even closer. A mangled, feral thing that's not hissing at you anymore, not barring fangs and claws but slowly blinking it's eyes because it knows you now. He knows you, and you're no threat.

So he'll come closer, maybe one day rest his heavy head in your lap and trust you to be the one keeping your eyes open when he doesn't.

That sounds nice in his mind. -🐾(I don't know Nikto as well but the vibes are there and bold lol)

Nah, I think you got Nikto pretty down pat. I know there's little info for some (most? Idk correct me if i'm wrong. I didn't play the game) of the operators in warzone, so we're running off assumptions and headcannons to cover the middle ground.

anyway, but Nikto = feral cat. Yes.

When you first join KorTac, you're introduced to some of the higher ranking operators, as many rookies are. However, unlike the other rookies, you don't spare Nikto more than a polite nod. You don't even seem bothered by the way he stares, blue eyes bearing into your soul.

It shouldn't bother him. This is exactly what he wants. But for some odd reason, it does. Your disinterest makes the voices in his head louder, demanding your attention.

Nikto, as he so often does, ignores them. For now.

But as time goes on, they become harder to ignore. Or well, the effect you have on him becomes harder to ignore. The way his mind goes quiet when he comes to visit you in the med-bay, his entire being solely focused on you. Even though you're never focused on him the way he wants you to be.

Most of your knowledge of Nikto comes from the others. Mainly whatever König and Krueger let slip when they're talking to you. You sympathize with Nikto, but you keep that to yourself, understanding that he's probably heard enough sympathetic phrases to last a lifetime. So you offer the next best thing, and that's just to treat him as you would anyone else.

Because of this, a friendship had gradually grown between you and Nikto. That's what you're calling it at least. He's friendly, occasionally bringing you tea and snacks during your shift. You sit with him at meal time, sometimes seeking him out during your free time.

Most of the time it's a one sided conversation. Nikto never offers more than a few words at a time, but you never seem bothered by it. Opening up to people is hard for him, and you don't push for more than what he's willing to give. You're a blessing, an angel, and Nikto doesn't understand what he's done to deserve you.

The thing with men like Nikto is once you've shown him kindness, he'll come back for more. Let him sink his teeth into your soft flesh, mark you in a way that can never be taken away. A warning for others that you belong to him, and he isn't afraid to bare his teeth when necessary.

For now, he'll accept this. Dragging his weary body to your room, having returned from a two month long mission, familiarized with your schedule to know that you're not busy. You're never too busy for Nikto, always willing to make time for the masked man. He doesn't bother knocking, knowing the door will be unlocked. If it wasn't, he'd either pick the lock or just kick the door down.

He has just enough mind left to kick his boots off, before he's crawling into your bed. The mask stays on, a blessing and a curse, as he lays his head down into your lap. He may not be able to feel the softness of your thighs, but he can feel the way you drag your nails over the back of his head, as if trying to drag your fingers through his hair.

If he could, he'd purr in response. Instead he sighs loudly, practically melting into your mattress. And a few moments later, he's snoring. A sign that you're not going anywhere for a while, so you might as well get comfortable yourself.