#I don't need any others calling to me in the night

[jasontoddsotherhalf]

Hey guys, I gave it a try lol let me know what yall think!

Jason Todd isn't a cruel guy.

Not on purpose, anyways. He saw some shit as a kid, as any kid did growing up in Crime Alley. His parents were murdered when he was still very young and he'd been taken in by THE Batman. Regardless of what anyone says, beating criminals up every night of your tween years does affect one's physce. Getting beat with a crowbar and killed by Joker does worse.

But now Jason is back, and he's stronger, and he's smarter. Sure he's scarred up and violent, but he's finally his own soilder, his own dog. And Jason really does love helping people. Which is why along side running the biggest crime ring Gotham had seen in years, he also works for a Mental Health Helpline.

He didn't get many calls directed to him, but he did get one tonight as he sat in his shitty apartment in Gotham, tending to a wound on his leg a few days old. He answered the phone, putting it on speaker and laying it on the coffee table.

"Hello, Gotham Mental Health Hotline. How may I help you tonight?"

A deep voice comes from the other side of the phone, a voice that Jason had heard in his dreams for years, praising him, scolding him, reading him stories to help him get to bed, waking up from resting to go fight crime.

"I'm not at risk. I don't need help." Bruce Wayne says slowly.

Jason clears his throat, his eyes narrowing. Would Bruce know it was him. Would Bruce ever be able to recognize him at all?

"I understand." Jason answered. "Is there any way I can help?"

Bruce took a shakey breath. "I don't need...help. I just...I have some heavy regrets waying on me. Mistakes that I've carried with me, guilt that acts like a noose, tighter recently than it has been in years. My son...I messed up so badly with my son. I want to fulfill my promise to him. I want to make it all okay again for my boy."

Jason shivered. He's not talking about you, idiot. He tells himself. He doesn't care that you're dead. He never cared. He's talking about perfect Dick or clever Tim. Not better-off-dead Jason Fucking Todd.

Jason slowly went back to tending to the open wound, which had started bleeding from how hard he was unintentionally prodding at it. "Have you tried talking to him? I'm sure he'd understand." Jason said through gritted teeth. It wasn't him. Batman didn't need Jason, so Bruce certainly didn't either.

"I would tell him. If he ever showed up. God, I'd tell him anything and everything." Something screeched in the background on Bruce's end and Bruce swore softly. Jason pictured him suddenly speeding through Gotham streets, the Batmobile swerving dangerously, recklessly.

Jason didn't say anything, just waited for his father- for Bruce Wayne- to keep speaking. He continued, after a moment. "I only see him sometimes, when I dream. And he's in my arms again, young and bright and so full of life and potential." So he was talking about Dick. The first Robin who had grown up, fought with Batman, and left, never to return, not as he had been. Dick was Nightwing now, and led his own team, though he was still close with Bruce. Jason relaxed. This call was not about him. He could continue with his plans of vengeance without feeling guilty. I'm sure I'll laugh about this later.

"I'm sorry sir..." Jason trailed off awkwardly. Bruce spoke before Jason could say anything else.

"He's...he's dead." Jason froze. Everything went still. It seemed as though the cars outside all went skidding to a halt, the blood in Jason's veins went cold. The only sound was the old light above him flickering. Jason stuttered slightly as he quickly searched up both Nightwing and Robin on line, a dark part of him hoping one of them had died. But no, there were only two articles published within the last few hours and it was about a case Robin, Nightwing, and Batman had dismantled the previous night.

Jason swallowed. "I'm...so sorry, sir. Do you want to talk about him?" Jason wanted him to say no, needed Bruce to say no. For once he wanted Bruce to close off everything and everyone and retreat back to the dark corner of his mind where he told no one anything.

And there was a long silence between them, Jason was sure Bruce would hang up.

Batman would have. But Bruce didn't. "His name was Jason. And he was the most golden and beautiful boy on this planet. You would have never thought so from judt glancing at him once. His hair was flat and dark, And he was short and skinny and always had dirt on him somewhere. But it was in his eyes, and in his laugh. That's where his love was held. He cared so much. About everyone. He always wanted to help. He would always rush forward, even if it put him at risk. He didn't care about himself. He cared more about the wellbeing of others. He was so sweet and..." Bruce's voice cracked. "I just want my son back. My sweet boy." Jason didn't say anything. He felt his throat burn and his eyes blur. "I-i'm sorry sir. He sounds...amazing. I'm sure whatever it is you feel guilty over..." Jason took a deep breath. "I'm sure he forgives you." He lied. Partially lied. Jason didn't know anymore. One conversation where one participant didn't even know who the other was did not count as closure, and nothing was different. But it wasn't the same either. Bruce cared. All this time Jason had been looking for Batman to show the effect Jason's death had on him, when really it was Bruce he should have been looking at.

Bruce was quiet for a long long time. "I wish that was true, son. But I don't think so. Still, thank you for saying so. And thank you for listening. You're a good kid." Bruce didn't say anything else before hanging up. Jason sat in silence for a moment, frozen in time, feeling dizzy. Then he sprung up, his injured leg aching and dripping blood onto the floor, and he ran to the bathroom, falling in front of the toilet and throwing up anything he had eaten in the past 24 hours.

AU, where Jason returns to Gotham, but in between of his evil mastermind plans and managing the criminal empire, he starts working in this anonymous psychological hotline services.

And gets a call from Bruce-fucking-Wayne.

Well. It is not like Bruce announces that he is Bruce Wayne — it is anonymous, after all — but Jason knows his father's voice, alright?

'I don't need a physiological help,' his father tells him the minute he picks up the phone.

Jason... Snorts.

'Of course,' he nods, making his voice nicer. 'How can I help you?'

Bruce pauses, his breath hitching for a second; almost as if he recognized Jason's voice.

'My... my son thinks I need it, but I am fine,' Bruce insists. 'Still... I want to, well, fulfil a promise I gave... for once.'

Jason rolls his eyes, a familiar irritation flaring up in green flames before his eyes. He wonders who is this lucky son that gets to have such a diligent, responsible father - Dickhead? Tim? Damian?

'I see,' he breathes out, trying to follow a protocol of the calls. 'I am sure he will appreciate your loyalty. Will you tell him about it?'

'If he appears,' something screeches in the background, and if Jason closes his eyes, he can easily imagine Bruce leaning back on the armchair, in the Batcave. 'I... He only ever appears in my dreams, my boy.'

Jason freezes.

'Excuse me?'

'I... He is dead, my son.'

Had someone else died? Jason frowns, reaching for his phone, typing anxiously Nightwing and Robin in the search bar, trying to see if there is something serious happened; because he can't be talking about the second Robin, can he-

'I am sorry,' he blurts out, eyes drifting back to notes on the table, with some common phrases that can be used in this situation. 'I... Do you want to talk about, sir?'

Bruce is silent for a while. Jason thinks he is about to drop the call, but then, he sighs heavily on the line:

'His name was Jason. And he was the brightest boy.'

Jason mutes the microphone. He thinks he is going to vomit.

[motorsportbarbie13]

Aftermath - Chapter 5

Aftermath - MV33 - Chapter 1 Aftermath - Chapter 2 Aftermath - Chapter 3 Aftermath - Chapter 4 Master List

When Lando leaves you heartbroken after you get tired of trying to make something out of nothing for far too long, Max steps in to help you pick up the pieces.

warnings: this chapter contains language and descriptions that illustrate abuse (mental and emotional). please don't engage with my work if you find any of the topics triggering. lando is, once again, an absolute asshole in this. i'd also like to point out that this is a character i am writing, i in no way am insinuating or implying the real lando is like this in any way.

pairing: max verstappen x leclercsister!reader

word count: 4k or something like that?

(Everyone say ‘thank you’ to @lestapiastrisgirl for beta reading and helping me through late night plot crisis so this can come out today!!)

f1.gossip.source posted

f1.gossip.source It's been months since @/Lando and @/MissLeClerc have been spotted togtether and we're starting to wonder...are they even together anymore?! Lando was spotted out alone in Monaco, looking annoyed at fans calling his name while his (ex???) girlfriend was papped out and about with none other than...Max Verstappen. Again. Rumors about the LeClerc sister and Dutch driver started to swirl right around the time her and Lando stopped being seen out in public...What do we think, chat??? Has little miss leclerc finally ditched the cocky British pilot for a new Dutch beau??? user029 maybe she got tired of having to parent her boyfriend??? user220 if it's true, she's really upgraded. 4 time world champion vs...what??? 4 time race winner. please. user0298 he never supported her art or anything, i'm not surprised she's moved on. max always looks smitten with her.

“Lando, you have got to get this under control.” The head of McLaren’s communications team hisses, her glare shooting daggers at the driver who’s just walked into the the hospitality building ahead of the race in Belgium. 

Lando glances up from his phone, face pale and eyes worried. “How the fuck am I supposed to control what the gossip pages post?” 

Marina throws her hands up in the air as she paces, her McLaren team kit wrinkled from lack of sleep thanks to the British driver. In the four weeks since your argument with Lando after Austria, things have only gotten worse. You’re still not talking to him and he still hasn’t figured out where the hell you’re living. You’re not staying with Charles and Alexandra or Jade, he’s been subtly watching both buildings. He knows you’re still in Monaco because you’ve been papped out with your family and friends but most maddeningly Max Verstappen. 

Everyone seems to have noticed you’re not living with Lando anymore, your appearances in his streams have dwindled down to nothing. Fewtrell has had to start banning people form his chat because they won’t stop asking about you and what’s going on. Everyone knows that something went down but you’re straight up refusing to behave like an adult and come back to Lando, where you belong and it’s infuriating. 

“You can’t, obviously.” Marina sighs, sitting down at one of the high top tables in the middle of the suite. 

Around her, the Thursday afternoon crew of engineers and communications people buzz, all prepping for their weekends. Everyone seems to be acting normal but Lando can feel their glares on his back as he walks through the building. They all know he’s causing the entire team grief by causing so much drama with you, taking the attention away from the decent start to the year they’d had before all hell had broken loose a few months ago. 

“But,” She continues, leveling a glare at Lando. “You either need to bite the bullet and release a joint statement with her announcing your breakup or you need to get her to the track this weekend and make a big show of a united front. It’s up to you Lando, but you need to do something. I can’t keep saying ‘no comment’ whenever we’re asked about the distraction this is causing the team.” 

Lando pulls at his curls, like hell he’s going to admit that you’d left him. He supposed he could go rogue and release a statement without you. That way he could control the narrative and try to get the fans back on his side if he made something up like a cheating scandal or something. The moment that the thought flutters through his mind, he forces it out. For some fucking reason, the fans seem to have a soft spot for you and it’s maddening. Lando knew there was no way he could get public opinion on his side, not with how he was getting ripped apart on socials right now. 

“We’re not broken up.” He bites out, taking a sip out of his water bottle as he contemplates what he can do. 

Marina glances up from her phone, brow lifted in question. “That’s not what it looks like here.” She turns her phone towards Lando and shows him a photo of you descending the stairs of a private jet that’s just landed in Belgium. In front of you, already down the stairs and waiting on the tarmac for you is your brother with Leo cradled in his arms. 

And behind you? A fiery rage burns bright and hot in Lando’s chest when he sees who’s behind you. 

Fucking Max Verstappen. 

The look you’re giving him makes his heart twist and for the first time since this entire thing began, Lando actually misses you. He misses the way you used to smile up at him like that, like your entire world revolved Lando and no one else. He missed the way your eyes would follow him around a room, how your body would center towards his. The way you looked at Max was how you used to look at him and it made jealousy twist violently deep in Lando’s gut just looking at the photo. 

“I’ll take care of it.” Lando spits before stalking off to the privacy of his drivers room. 

f1.gossip.source posted

f1.gossip.source Alexandra, Charles, and his little sister were seen arriving in Belgium this afternoon on Max Verstappen's private jet. It's yet another instance where the LeClerc sister was spotted without boyfriend Lando Norris, sparking new breakup rumors. Neither party has confirmed if they're still together, with McLaren PR insisting that the personal lives of their drivers are off limits. user019 honestly, I'm here for a LeClerc sister & Max relationship. >>>user028 me too. at least Max seems to actually like her, unlike Lando user0029 I mean, we all can see it. Why can't they just confirm it already??? user2333 fully on board the 'get her away from Lando train' ROOTING FOR YOU MAX!!! Get your girl!!! user029 my friend was out at the restaurant they were all at a few weeks ago and said that Lando crashed the dinner but left after a few minutes looking PISSED. >>>user029 honestly, Lando is kind of unhinged rn. get over her my man, move onnnnnnn!

“I can’t believe you got me to agree to come this weekend.” You grumble as you follow Max towards the paddock gates Friday morning before practice. 

“You’ve barely been to any races this year and it’s almost the end of July!” Max shoots over his shoulder, grinning like an idiot he’s so happy you decided to come this weekend. 

“I was at Monaco!” You protest lamely, shoving your elbow into your brother’s ribs when he laughs. 

“You live in Monaco, that doesn’t count Little Dove.” Charles chuckles, rubbing at the sore spot where you’d just assaulted him. 

“Whatever.” You mutter, rolling your eyes. 

After arriving in Belgium last night, you had gone straight to your hotel room, needing a bit of alone time ahead of what you were sure was going to be a stressful weekend. As usual, you’d been papped arriving on Max’s jet, which you were certain Lando had seen because the moment you had checked your messages in the SUV Max had rented for your little group, there had been a text waiting for you from him. 

I know you probably don’t want to see me and I get that. I’m sorry, from the bottom of my heart. Can we please get together this weekend and talk? Somewhere neutral if that’s what you want…

As you settled into the hotel room that was yours for the weekend, a war was being fought in your brain. On one hand, you didn’t trust a single thing coming from Lando’s mouth. Not a single thing. He hadn’t given you any reason to trust anything that he said for months, so why should you start now? But on the other hand…

On the other hand, you and Lando had so much history. His message seemed remorseful. You knew everyone in your life would kill you if you even entertained the idea of getting back with him but somewhere deep in your chest a little voice was saying maybe you should hear him out. He was finally leaving you alone, finally backing off, why did he have to pop up right when you thought you had finally gotten him fully out of your system?

You didn’t tell anyone Lando had texted you. Had been texting you all morning as well. You knew no one would understand. But you also hadn’t returned a single text either. The energy that responding to Lando would take was something that you just didn’t have today. 

Your little group is captured by photographers as you walk in, a few even call out your name asking where you’ll be spending your time this weekend. Since dating Lando, you liked to split your time between the McLaren garage and Ferrari but this weekend was going to be different. Your VIP pass had Charles’ face and name on the back, not Lando’s. You had credentials from Ferrari like normal but this morning, Max had also slipped a Red Bull card around your neck, telling you if you got sick of looking at all that red this weekend, you could spend time with him. 

“Are you going to come to the dark side this weekend and use those Red Bull credentials to whip up some gossip?” Max murmurs in your ear, watching as Charles trots off ahead of you after Leo. 

You bump your shoulder with his, rolling your eyes and laughing lightly. “Stop.”

Mischief plays in Max’s pale blue eyes as he smiles down at you, enjoying the way your cheeks flush under his attention. Ever since the race in Austria a few weeks ago, you and the Dutch driver had been spending a lot of time together, all casual but he’d really begun to look forward to the nights you spent curled up on his couch eating takeout and watching bad reality tv with him. 

Before he has a chance to reply though, he sees the color drain from your face as you freeze in the middle of the sidewalk. Whipping his head around, Max searches for what, or more accurately, who has spooked you. He already knows who he’s looking for so when his eyes settle on the McLaren driver standing just outside the sliding glass doors of the McLaren hospitality building across the paddock, his stomach lurches. 

You had known you’d see Lando this weekend. How could you not? This was literally his workplace too. There was no way to avoid him, you knew that but you hadn’t expected to see him so quickly and before you had managed to work out how to respond to his text from the night before. 

Your brother is between where you stand and McLaren’s hospitality so he clocks Lando staring after you at about the same time as you and Max. Turning on his heel, he scoops up Leo and makes a bee line back to where you stand, utterly frozen. 

“Dovie.” Max coos in your ear, twining his fingers with yours in an attempt to pull you out of the state you’re in. “Hey, sweet girl, look at me.” 

You ignore him, gaze locked on Lando’s frozen frame. 

Charles steps in between you and Lando, instantly cutting off your line of sight. This seems to yank you back to reality and your brother snaps into action. “Shit. I’ve got a meeting in five minutes. I don’t want her alone.” Your brother sounds panicked, like the way you’re just staring blankly ahead is really freaking him out. 

So, he improvises. “Here, take Leo and go take a walk. There’s tons of open space on the other side of the paddock.” Charles presses the small dog into your hands and you drop your gaze away from Lando for the first time in several moments. 

Your gaze drops to where your hand is still clutched in Max’s larger one. The steady warmth from his presence grounds you, allowing you to pull in a full breath for the first time in several minutes. 

“No, she’s not going off on her own.” Max cuts in, tone sharp. “I’ve got some time before I need to be in the car. Come stay in Red Bull with me until practice, then you can watch from my garage, okay?” 

The force of his words leave little wiggle room for argument and Charles can’t help but smirk a little. He should have known Max would step right up to make sure you were taken care of. 

“Yeah.” You agree weakly, finally tearing your gaze away from Lando, who is still starting at you, light eyes sharp and observant. You can feel the way his gaze drops to where Max’s hand is curled around yours possessively. “Yeah, that sounds good.” 

Without waiting for Lando to get any more ideas like wanting to try to come talk to you, Max tugs on your hand. He knows you well enough by now to know that you need a distraction and you need it fast. “Come on, you said you wanted to stir up some gossip this weekend, well here’s your chance.” 

You laugh despite yourself, nuzzling your face into Leo’s soft fur. “I’m keeping the dog.” You tell your brother as you allow yourself to be led away by Max. All Charles does is nod, relieved to know that you’re in good hands while he’s busy. 

missleclerc posted

24,029 likes liked by maxverstappen1, charlesleclerc, redbullracing, and others missleclerc in my defense, I was kidnapped ☝🏻 maxverstappen1 whatever, you wanted to be there. >>>missleclerc lies. It was a hostage situation. >>>maxverstappen1 is that what the kids are calling it these days? >>>user299 chat, are they flirting in the comments??? WE CAN SEE YOU TWO charlesleclerc can't believe you subjected your nephew to this. please make sure you take a shower before dinner tonight. >>>missleclerc rude. user0209 ya know, I'm kinda here for this ship. >>>user987 did you see how utterly distracted Max was during the one interview where she walked past him? couldn't take his eyes off her >>>user0209 lando's gonna be crashing out after seeing that interview tonight >>>user3443 GOOD. bro deserves it

“I think you may need to roll me up to my room after that dinner.” You groan, rubbing at the food baby making your black leather skirt pinch painfully at your hips. 

After qualifying Saturday evening, when the boys were all finished with their media and team duties, Max had insisted that you, your brother, Alexandra and himself all go out to dinner. He’d wanted to insist it just be the two of you but he wasn’t blind to the gossip you two had stirred up in the paddock Friday afternoon so he’d figured bringing your brother and his girlfriend along would be a bit safer. 

“I think I ate my weight in spaghetti.” Alexandra groans beside you as you plod towards the front doors of the hotel. “Carry me up to the room please, Cha?” She coos, throwing her arms around your brother’s neck as if she can’t go on one step more.

 Charles laughs, snaking his arms around her waist and pulls her close, dropping a kiss on her forehead, a gesture so tender and intimate you have to turn away. Your gaze immediately connects with Max who is standing a few paces behind your brother and his girlfriend. A small smile tips up at the corner of his full lips when you make eye contact at him and your stomach swoops at the affection for you in his eyes. 

You’re imagining things, you think instantaneously. There’s no way Max sees you as anything other than a friend, after everything that you’ve endured while he’s watched. How could anyone like Max be attracted to someone who had spent an entire year drowning in a failing relationship? It was likely a pity smile, something he gives you because he feels sorry that you haven’t found what your brother has found in Alexandra. 

“There you are…” A smooth British accent interrupts your thoughts, jarring you out of your spiral. “You stopped answering my texts.” Lando says pointedly as he joins your little group in the lobby of the hotel. 

Your eyes shutter closed as you blow out a breath. You had been hoping to avoid this confrontation all together but it was just another nail in the coffin of why Max wouldn’t even want to begin to get involved with you in the first place. Why would he willingly want to be with someone who was still so intertwined with her ex still? You’ve spent so long with Lando, were so intertwined with him it would certainly be easier to just go back to him, wouldn’t it? Maybe he was all you deserved after wasting three years of your life. 

“I was at dinner, Lando. It’s rude to text during a meal.” You carefully control the tone of your voice, not wanting to instigate yet another public altercation with him. 

“Ah, yes. I’m sure the company was riveting.” His eyes flicker over to where Max stands, stiff and unmoving, the smile that he’d just been showering you with totally gone from his face. “So, what do you say, can we finally talk like two adults?” 

“She doesn’t want to talk to you, Norris.” Charles cuts in, voice sharp and short. 

“I think your sister can answer for herself, LeClerc.” There’s a challenge in Lando’s eyes that you don’t miss and you know you have about five seconds to diffuse the situation before it gets out of hand. Again. 

Placing your hand on Lando’s elbow, you tug him away. “If you promise to chill out and actually listen to me, we can go to the bar and get a drink. One drink, Lando. Can you do that?” 

If you had been looking at Max then, you would have seen the light flicker out of his eyes. He’s grateful that his hands are tucked away in his pockets when he hears your words because the way the ball up into tight fists would be embarrassing had anyone seen it. He wants to say something, anything, that might convince you to not walk away with him. He wants to tell you how he’s feeling, how this afternoon with you in his drivers room and then garage was the best start to a race weekend he’d had in recent memory. He wants to beg you not to go with Lando. 

But he can’t. He can’t because he still hasn’t worked up the courage to tell you how he feels. Max is stuck in this painful sort of limbo where you two spend time together and he craves any bit of attention he can glean from you but it’s not enough for him to risk your fragile state of being right now. He knows you’re still recovering from leaving Lando. Three years is a long time to spend with someone, even if the last year was as painful as Lando had made it for you. He knows you’re not ready for him to tell you how he’s feeling but he’s afraid if he doesn’t, you’ll go running back to Lando. 

While the internal debate about what to do with his feelings rages on inside, Max watches as a cat-like grin spreads slowly across Lando’s face. He’s won. Lando’s won and they both know it. 

“Of course, baby.” 

You bristle at the name but without the energy to fight him, all you do is roll your eyes. Max’s mask of indifference somehow staying in place when he hears the nickname, but it tears him up on the inside. He’s not sure how he manages it. 

“I’ll see you guys tomorrow. Thanks for dinner, Max.” Taking a step towards Max, you fold yourself into him, enjoying the way his arms come around your waist without hesitation. The hug is firm and he holds onto you for several moments longer than necessary. 

 “I can stay down here if you want me to.” He murmurs in your ear, his breath tickling the shell of your ear, sending a cool shiver of pleasure down your spine. 

“I’m a big girl, I can handle him.” 

“It’s not you I’m worried about.” He responds, looking down at you. You’re surprised to see a stark look of concern all over his face, like he’s genuinely worried about you. 

“Max, I’m fine. It’s just one drink.” 

But Max knows Lando. It’s not just going to be one drink. But what other choice does he have? Reluctantly, he releases you and takes a step back, forcing himself out of arms length. You instantly miss the grounding warmth of his body and fight to keep your expression neutral. 

Max watches you walk away, shoulder brushing with Lando’s and has to resist the urge to rub at the painful clenching sensation that wraps itself around his heart. 

“You don’t have to watch her leave.” Charles murmurs, standing off to the side with a worried looking Alexandra. They both share Max’s opinion that this is a bad idea but like Max, what else can they say?

Max scrubs at his face, suddenly so overwhelmingly exhausted that all he wants to do is climb into bed and sleep until the race tomorrow. “What am I supposed to do, Charles?” He throws his hands up in defeat as you disappear around the corner just as Lando’s arm slips around your waist. “I don’t have a single claim on her, she’s not mine to miss.” 

His stomach twists painfully at the thought of having to go back to his hotel room knowing you’re touching him. 

“She won’t go back to him.” Charles says with more confidence than Max can muster up himself. “She’s been doing so well lately and we all see it’s partially because of you, mate.”

“Don’t give up on her, Max. Not yet.” Alexandra offers quietly, stepping closer to Charles before reaching out and placing a hand on Max’s shoulder. “She’s stronger than we all think but she’s going to need your patience right now. It’ll be okay.” 

The way it physically hurt watching you walk away had alarm bells ringing in Max’s head. He hadn’t realized just how attached to you he’d become in the time since you’d left Lando and it terrified him. If you went back to Lando tonight, he had this gut feeling he’d lose you forever and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to endure that. 

Max barely sleeps that night, tossing and turning for hours trying to convince himself he hadn’t just watched you walk right out of his life again. He knew he was, once again, getting ahead of himself and that he needed to wait before going into full spiral mode but he couldn’t quite get himself there. 

By the time he’s downstairs in the hotel lobby the next morning, waiting for the car that Red Bull had hired for him, he’s exhausted and on the brink of biting someone’s head off. 

“You doing okay over there, Verstappen? You seem a little…irritated.” 

Max turns and has to stifle a groan. “Why can’t you just leave well enough alone, Lando?” 

Lando has the nerve to look confused, brows furrowing as he tilts his head to the side. “I have no idea what you’re on about, mate.” 

It takes every ounce of control Max has honed over the years not to punch the British driver square in the face. “Why are you so fixated on her now that she’s finally trying to get away from you?” 

Lando smirks, quick and ugly, before he shakes his head. “See, now that’s where you’re wrong Max.” He reaches over and pats at Max’s shoulder patronizingly. “I don’t think she really wants to get away form me anymore. Not after last night.” 

It feels like the breath has been sucked out of Max’s lungs at Lando’s words. “What the fuck are you talking about?” He hisses, heat creeping up his neck. 

“You’re a smart man, Max. Use that big brain of yours. I think you know exactly what I’m talking about.” Lando grins like the Cheshire Cat as he shrugs. “Oh look, my ride’s here. Good luck out there today, Verstappen.” 

Without waiting for a response because he knows full well he’s caught Max completely off guard, Lando saunters off, hands deep in his pockets, without a second look back at the Dutch driver. 

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[captain-bubble-wrap]

HELP ME PLEASE

Your quinn is literally my favorite!!!!!!!!!!! Can you write him and reader!girlfriend on the phone after the stars game? Your sweet/sad quinn is the best!!!!!!!!!

Oh, you're WAY TO KIND TO ME...! 🥹🥹 Let's see what I can do!

All you had texted was, "I love you."

Incoming Call: Quinny

Quinn's broken voice in that post-game interview had killed you. The way he had looked down before answering about how he was feeling, his thoughts on Millsy's trade, and how he was handling the noise of the dressing room as the team's captain -- it was obvious how much it all was affecting him. Unfortunately, you were twenty-two-hundred miles away, and you felt powerless to help him in any form.

"Hey, baby," you said upon answering the call.

Quinn's voice was low, and it was obvious he was beyond exhausted, body and mind, "Do you have a minute?"

"Of course." Your stomach tightened like you were about to receive some bad news. You hadn't heard him sound this way before and given how the day had gone, you knew it wasn't going to be a butterfly-inducing conversation.

"Let me get somewhere a little quieter. I need to hear your voice."

To you, he sounded desperate -- like he was at his breaking point. While you waited for him to walk to wherever he needed to be, you couldn't help but worry about him -- about what had caused him pain during the game, how losing JT and the others was weighing on him, and the stress of the upcoming tournament that was just four games away. You couldn't get the sad look of his face out of your mind. When was the last time he had actually had a good day, that he was happy without nagging stresses?

"Hey Mike, I'm gonna step out for a few minutes," Quinn said, obviously not talking to you. You couldn't hear the other man's reply but it must have been favourable as Quinn would finally start his conversation with you just a few seconds afterwards.

He sighed heavily, "I wish you were here. I-- I feel like everything is out of control and I don't know what to do."

The sound of wind was intertwined with his words. You wondered if he had stepped outside the arena to talk to you, somewhere to speak without listening ears.

"I wish I was there, too," you confessed, a pain growing in your heart. "You're trying to carry too much, baby."

"I have no choice, though."

You knew where he was coming from. The title of Captain meant you wore several hats, and sometimes more than one at a time. You knew he had all of them on at once. This season hadn't been easy, and something had you believing it wasn't going to get any better.

"I know," you mumbled. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," he breathed out, feeling guilty for calling you when he was feeling like he was. "I'm sorry to put this on you. I just don't know what to do. Everyone is looking to me for answers and insight, but I don't have any. I don't know how to fix the team, I'm carrying as much as I can every night. I'm asked about what's going on behind closed doors and the temperature of the room and I'm over it. It's like the media just wants to keep stirring the pot instead of letting us just work it out. Now I'm being asked about if the team rebuilds what that means for my future in Vancouver. I-- I just-- I can't-- handle everything right now." Your heart was breaking hearing him on the brink of tears. His voice was cracking and shaky. "I need you."

"I wish I was there, sweetheart. I'd do anything I could to help you."

"I love you," his voice at a whisper.

"I love you, too, Quinn."

The first whimper made you cover your mouth to keep yourself from doing the same. Quinn rarely cried, at least not when you were around. To hear him finally drop that ultra-reserved demeanour of his was crushing.

"Oh honey, you'll be okay," you tried to reassure him, but they were words without certainty, you knew that. "You're doing the best you can, and you need to realise that you need to put yourself first sometimes. You're pushing yourself too much. It's not on you to solely fix the team, Quinn, though I know you're trying. I've never seen you this way before, and I'm scared it's going to break you."

He was silent on the other end, aside from his muffled cries. You didn't need him to say anything, though hearing his voice would have made you feel better, which made you remember what he had said to you earlier: "I need to hear your voice."

Maybe he just needed you to talk to him.

"One day at a time, baby, please. Be happy where you are, and what you have. You're doing all you can, and I need you to know that it's okay to struggle, but it's also okay to be content with how things are. You know there are things out of your control, and you just have to let them work themselves out sometimes. You'll drive yourself crazy trying to put bandaids on everything. I don't want to lose you down that rabbit hole." You'd pause before adding one more thing, "I just want you to be okay."

Quietly you'd sit there and wait for a sign from him, or whatever it might be. A long moment of silence would follow your words, making you pull the phone away from your ear to make sure the call hadn't dropped.

"I miss you," he choked out, breaking the painful silence between the two of you.

"I miss you more, Quinn. I wish you were here."

"Me, too," he said, sharply inhaling, like he was trying to push those emotions back down and get over it. "Thank you for picking up everything -- the call, the pieces...me. I'd be so lost without you."

You'd shake your head, "You never have to thank me, baby. I just want to help you."

"I appreciate that," he sniffled. "I just wish I knew where to start."

"With yourself, Quinn," you said bluntly. "How are you feeling? I saw you take the stick to the head early."

It took him a few seconds to respond but you didn't mind, "I don't know, honestly. Between my hand and whatever is wrong with my leg, everything hurts. I'm tired. I'm drained."

Everything he said carried so much weight and his emotions were so painfully honestly.

That was just Quinn.

He always spoke from his heart; wearing his heart on his sleeve every waking moment of his life. However this had a different air about it -- a nakedness. He was free to share his deepest fears with you, those raw feelings were bleeding from him with no hindrance. You appreciated that he felt so comfortable to open up like he was, and the fact that he was away from you, as well. Quinn didn't give the hint that he shared stuff like this with the guys on the team -- not like he did with you. You were different. He loved you -- you occupied a special piece of his heart like no on else did. That meant something special to him.

"You'll be home soon, baby. Just a little longer, okay?"

Through Quinn's end of line, someone was calling out to him, "C'mon Quinn-- the boy's are packing up, let's go."

You frowned hearing the empty orders, but you knew Quinn would have to end the call with you and head to the airport. There was always a sense of urgency after their games, especially the away ones.

"Yeah-- I'll be right there," he muttered, his voice dropping off at the end while he pretended to have himself together. "I'll call you when we get back to Vancouver."

"Be careful."

"I will," he paused. "Thanks, babe. For all that you do for me."

"Happy to help, Quinny. I love you."

For the first time, you heard his little giggle, "I love you, too."

[indecisiveavocado]

Warning: This contains images that are distressing. I'm sorry. The world is distressing sometimes.

To be clear:

One of the first photos of Emily Damari we have is of her missing two fingers

They were dressed up like that by Hamas, and the Red Cross did literally nothing to stop this performance.

Once we're playing that game:

These are photographs from Gaza recently.

(All images from the Guardian except the last one, from the Middle East Monitor.)

Given those photos, why can't I say something like

Shouldn't they be starving? Suffering? Hungry? Geez, I thought this was a war, not a party!

By the way, here are some photos from other parts of the world, also recently, I could use if I really wanted to hammer in that point--mind you, it's easy to find photos from Haiti or Yemen or what-have-you also.

Congo:

Sudan:

(This is an X-ray scan of a 20-month-old's brain. That's shrapnel in there.)

Anyway.

You have the fucking chutzpah to say Zionism is an illness? No. Zionism is a reasonable response to people like you, who we all know perfectly well would cheer as I go to the gas chambers and take my things. I need a country I know will accept me, because I can't trust you.

If you had the weapons and were in the right part of the world, you'd be the terrorist.

I wonder how you sleep at night. How can you consider yourself moral? How can you be anything?

I'd say whatever antisemitic cult you've fallen into is an illness, but no; you don't choose to get ill. It's a monstrous ideology, and it boggles my mind how anyone can consider themselves to be Right and Just when it consists of glorifying murder and torture of the Wrong People.

You say your posts are fact checked.

I have to believe you are either a liar or fucking insane.

I love how you say you don't look at any sources that debunk your claims. (That was yesterday.)

Or how you tell Jews pointing out, validly, that there is plenty of aid coming into Gaza, it's foolish to expect for a Jew to be safe there and that Hamas takes a fair amount of aid to kill themselves. You call Zionists fascists and tell us to kill ourselves.

You tell something like 95 PERCENT of American Jews to kill ourselves. You refuse to engage with other views, refuse to engage with anything.

Your antisemitic death cult is grotesque and disgusting and I am ashamed to live on the same planet as you.

Judaism doesn't normally have a hell. And usually I'm glad. I'm glad my religion doesn't think people need eternal damnation to be good. I'm glad I don't need to worry about that.

But some days...

Anyway.

You are what you claim to despise.

And I don't hope you die.

No.

I hope you suffer precisely what Emily Damari suffered, since, according to you, it won't be so bad.

I hope you suffer what Pongsak Thenna suffered, and Amit Sousanna, and Shiri Bibas, and Kfir Bibas, and all of the other ones.

When Hamas return hostages they look fine.

Whe israel returns hostages they need extensive health care or burial. Israel has sent trucks of bodies, hundreds of deceased "prisoners" back to Gaza with no explanation.

Israel is a terrorist occupation. Zionism is an illness.

[academyofbrokenhearts]

I have finally finished reading Blossom. Happy ending in the novel too, although a lot of things were vastly different; the main couple, of course, remained superior until the end.

Things we got in the novel that I am glad didn't make it into the series:

Dou Zhao, an adult woman, scheming and navigating complex familial relationships while in a two year old, then a five year old body. I get how it might be interesting for some, but it was incredibly boring for me, and since she managed to neutralise her stepmother quite early on, I saw no need to spend so much time watching her building up and managing relationships with everyone in the Dou family. Moreover, I am glad that the size of the family was trimmed down (I still can't make sense of all the relationships presented in the novel) and some characters were changed compared to how they were in the novel; it was amazing to see Grandma, who had been only a concubine in the book (and therefore couldn't even be called Grandma by Dou Zhao according to customs, let alone have any kind of power), turning into a formidable matriarch, and it was also cool to see Zhao Zhangru as the constant sidekick;

no Song Mo until 114 chapters in. I must confess that my main fascination in both the series and the novel was the relationship between the mains, and the fact that he is only mentioned once or twice before his first dramatic appearance was definitely not enough for me;

way too much time spent on side characters; like I said in a previous post, did I really need to know in detail how Suxin and Sulan ended up serving Dou Zhao? And it felt even more useless since in the novel they end up getting married and leaving the Song Manor, and only getting mentioned in passing from that moment on;

Things I wish would have made it into the series, but did not (and some of them could have never made it, unless the entire censorship board would have been in a coma):

all the sexual encounters between Song Mo and Dou Zhao. Like in the series, the start of their physical intimacy is quite slow, they don't consummate during their wedding night (but unlike in the series, it's not because she prepares a period PowerPoint presentation, it's simply because he knows the next days as newlyweds will be tiring, and just wants to allow them to rest). Unlike in the series, no one is cockblocking Song Mo (in fact, their subordinates are even alarmed at the lack of consummation), and when he decides to make a move on Dou Zhao, he does it, and no one dares to interrupt. They make love quite regularly from that moment on, and I like how Dou Zhao's reluctance is gradually melting away, and how the novel is clearly stating that she enjoys the encounters just as much as he does, and even becomes bold enough to initiate later on;

them being parents. I know we get that one cute scene with their daughter at the end of the series, but Song Mo is such a good dad and husband in the novel, constantly prioritising Dou Zhao's comfort and being just as involved in the child's rearing as she is (to the point that their son learns to say Papa before Mama). I surely wish we would have seen more of that in the series.

Song Yichun does not die in the novel. He is, in a delightful twist of fate, forced to expel Song Han from the family, a treatment he had hoped to apply to Song Mo, and is left disabled after Song Han attacks him. Moreover, the daughter he had switched at birth with Song Han is discovered alive, Song Mo takes her under his protection, and she gets married and lives happily. I surely wish karma would have hit the old man in the face like this in the series as well.

Other things that got changed which I am fairly neutral about:

Song Mo and Dou Zhao's backgrounds in life 1. I have to say I loved how the series made it crystal clear that life 1 was an utterly doomed timeline, with both of them being betrayed and ultimately killed, while the entire country was burning. Life 1 in the novel was bleak in a different, more subtle, way. Dou Zhao dies after a long illness, almost completely devoid of any human warmth - the novel tells us that both her sons with Wei Tingyu are distant, as a result of her being too busy with household matters to be able to form a bond with them, and the only warmth she gets is from her daughter, a child she had after forcing herself to have sex with her husband once more (she had trauma from miscarriage), hoping she could get pregnant again and alleviate her loneliness somewhat. And Song Mo, unlike in the series, is a very powerful figure after the coup, but is perceived as merciless (having slaughtered both his father and brother), cynical (he never finds out the truth about his uncle's death, and never bothers to) and, in the end, utterly, utterly alone;

the dynamic between them after the rebirth. Unlike in the series, where they forged a bond in life 1 which was the basis for their relationship as adults in life 2, in the novel they meet as teenagers (when he is 13 and she is 14), and he is more or less smitten from the beginning, whereas she fears and despises him at first, gradually starting to understand him the more their paths cross. While in the series, they are already both in love by the time she accepts his proposal (having gone through a lot of adventures together that strengthened their bond), in the novel, he is the one with the huge crush, while she accepts his proposal for more pragmatic reasons, trusting that he is capable and will support her in the way Wei Tingyu was unable to. But the attraction between them is mutual, and I really liked watching her slowly but surely falling in love with him due to his constant care and attention towards her;

Song Mo is way more calculated in the novel than in the series, where he's simply feral and would wreak havoc at any given moment were it not for Dou Zhao and her more sensible approaches. It makes for an interesting dynamic in the series, where they pretty much compliment each other, but I must confess I loved his scheming and 5D chess playing in the novel;

Dou Ming's entire character. Unlike in the series, which presented a nature versus nurture situation, with Dou Ming being shrewd in life 1 after being raised by her mother, and a sweet, innocent girl in life 2, as a result of not being raised by her mother, in the novel, Dou Ming exhibits jealousy from an early age, and constantly feels inferior, which ultimately results in her taking Dou Zhao's place as Wei Tingyu's wife. Their marriage is unhappy, as, just like in the series, he is not very smart and doesn't like facing difficulties. Unlike in the series, she doesn't die (she's too petty to die), but it's clear by the time she makes her last appearance in the novel that her life is miserable, and there is no chance of improvement;

Wang Yingxue is not even half as cunning and manipulative as her series counterpart; she fails to charm Dou Shiying in any meaningful way (he is never in love with her and only wants to take her as a concubine because they had a sexual encounter while he was drunk, and he wants to save face) and ultimately she pushes him away, becomes a pariah in the family and is sent to a country estate to die forgotten by everyone, including her daughter;

Miao Ansu has a completely different familial background and no connection to Dou Zhao prior to her marriage with Song Han. She's also far from being the timid forest creature the series portrays her as;

Song Han manages to be somehow even more awful than his series counterpart. Not only is he not in love with Miao Ansu, he also lacks any kind of respect for her, which ultimately pushes her to align with Dou Zhao and Song Mo, and initiate his downfall. His death is not described in the novel, but it is heavily implied.

Overall, while there were a lot of things I liked about the book, I think I prefer the pacing of the series way more. Also, the series got a "will they get their happily ever after, won't they?" feeling with the poison subplot that the novel lacked until very close to the end (when Dou Zhao is almost taken hostage during the palace coup). The royals are awful as hell in both iterations, the injustice never really gets solved (in my opinion, the Emperor was also very much to blame for Jiang Meisun's death, not only the scheming Empress), but at least the lovely main couple lives happily ever after.

Would I rather recommend the book or the series? Honestly, probably the series, but the Song Mo/Dou Zhao dynamic is lovely in the novel as well, and, if nothing else, those passages about their relationship are definitely worth reading.

[balkanradfem]

I wrote this post in a word document, and I named this document 'not got stabbed yet', so that's the theme today.

I mentioned someone was slashing my bike tyres in the park, and it happened two times in 4 days. I thought, you know, crazy park person was after me, and I need to stop going to the park with a bike, if I want to avoid this.

However, something else happened next. Something that truly chilled me. My bike tyre was slashed the day after, and I hadn't been to the park that day. Not even close. I've been to work, and then visited a store, for 5 minutes. Someone found my bike and slashed it either at my workplace, or at the store. Someone had to follow me to find it there. Someone knew where I worked and shopped.

The tyre had a very small hole, so it deflated very slowly, and I only realized it was flat after I got home. I didn't know whether it was slashed while I was at work, or at the store. I took the tube out to check it out, found no thorn or any natural signs of damage, and called the police again. I wanted to know if there was more reports of this happening.

This time I was in luck and got to talk to a police woman! So I was happy, and I was able to share more details, such as where, when, how many times it happened, she was willing to hear me out. However, she did not take it seriously. She told me somebody probably got offended that I parked my bike at the park, because it is 'the park', so they wanted me to stop leaving it there, and since the third time hole was so tiny, it was possible I just ran into a thorn. I allowed that it could not be ruled out, but it was incredibly unlikely since I was only riding it directly on the street, not any grass or branches, and I did not find a thorn inside of the tyre. Usually when I do run on a thorn, it will get stuck in the outer tyre.

I explained I was worried about being followed, and legitimately scared of going to work next day, but she said I can't shut myself in, I shouldn't be scared, I shouldn't let someone know they've managed to unnerve me with this! And I'm facepalming, thinking, what kind of girl power is this? Is a stalker gonna quit if the victim is not unnerved enough? Wouldn't that inspire them to escalate behaviour? I sighed and thanked her for listening to me.

There were no other reports, she couldn't even tell me if it happened before at all to anyone. I looked up online if there were records of it happening to anyone, anywhere, but only articles I could find were about mass slashing on one location, like one person slashing 30 bikes at once. It was never about just one person having it happen repeatedly.

I was thinking about what was the point of this, and decided if it's not a crazy revenge for something (and I don't know what, I don't have beef with anyone in the entire city), it has to  be to stop me from using my bike. So I would have to walk. And be much slower. Much more easy to follow. And apparently I was already followed, if they managed to find my bike at my workplace. I was scared to go to work again.

To make things more interesting, I was at that point reading 'Career of Evil', which is jkr's book about a serial killer who stalks and murders women, and some of the book was written from the killer's perspective. This part helped me, because it revealed how it could actually be a bit difficult to attack a woman if she's only walking trough public places with people around, refusing to be out at night, refusing to go into dark alleyways or overcrowded bars and dance clubs. He couldn't do it out in daylight where there were witnesses. I had to stop and think whether this book logic could translate to real life, and if this holds out in reality. Can I protect myself just by being in open public spaces, in front of witnesses? Can I be sure I won't get stabbed if I stick to these rules? And I figured, yeah, that actually tracks, nobody will stab me in front of witnesses. And if I'm on my bike, it's harder to catch me. As long as I can quickly repair my bike every time and use it to get around, I should be safer than walking.

But I still felt unnerved about being followed, so I decided to go to work in a disguise. It was a different location and I didn't want to be followed there. I put together a jacket that was a different color than my usual one, put on a wig, different shoes, pants; it was obviously mismatched upon a close look, but if you saw me zooming by on a bike, you couldn't tell it was me.

Next morning, I nervously entered the workplace all costumed up, and people thought I was pulling a funny prank on them and were delighted. They insisted I stay in my new getup to show me to more people to get a laugh. They acted like it was the most fun thing I ever did. I played along, thinking how this is a convenient reaction, because I didn't want to take the disguise off immediately, for the chance that I'm still followed.

Later they asked me why am I in a mascarade, and I explained what happened. They then confirmed I'm definitely being followed, and started listing all cases where a woman got stabbed jogging or walking outside, which was just great to hear.

My bike remained whole that day, and I got home in my disguise safely as well. Now the question remained – do I stay home scared to go out all day? Do I just go around in a disguise everywhere? I needed to know why this was happening to me. And I felt sick of being scared and agoraphobic. So I made up a plan.

*

Later that same day, I went out with my bike in my usual outfit, bright and noticeable jacket, and my laptop in my hands. I went to the park. I carefully tied my bike behind where I was sitting, and opened up my laptop, which had a bit of tape covering the light from the camera. I was filming the bike with my webcam while I was on the laptop. It was almost obvious what I was doing, from the way I was sitting and leaning, but I was there to find out whether the tubestabby was a freaking idiot or not. Either he would fall for the trap, stab my tyre, get caught on camera, and I would know who did it. Or, he would do nothing while it's being filmed, and I could sit in the park, and do whatever I wanted to, safely.

My bike was fine half an hour later when I headed home, and I then had to review the footage, to see if anything happened. Bike was on camera the entire time, nobody came close to it, but also I was on camera, and while I was reviewing it, I had the crazy experience on seeing how my own face looks while I'm online, reading messages, scrolling trough tumblr. At first all I could see were my eyes moving left to right rapidly, I was speed reading, looking all scared and nervous because I did expose myself to a possible stalker and I was not having a good time. But as time went on, I saw myself breaking into smiles, because I had read something funny, and by the end of it I was just grinning and laughing, the internet humor broke trough my nerves and made me forget the fear. Tumblr is okay.

I was satisfied. I had been to the park, I wasn't stabbed, my bike was not damaged, and if I kept this up, I could be in the park and be safe by the means of obviously recording the bike. I can't do it at night time, as my webcam will not pick up a picture in the dark.

I'm not that spooked out anymore, I was freaked out when my bike was slashed the third time, and not even in the park. It is still scary that it's happening to me only, and I'm not targeted randomly among other people. And that it happened on a different location that nobody should have known I'd be on. If I catch the culprit it will take effort not to try and fight him immediately, because I am truly weak due to my impinged nerve and that guy has a sharp object. But he is a coward, destroying my stuff behind my back, never facing me and telling me what his problem is. I refuse to be scared of a coward with a sharp object.

[loveandpeaceanddoughnuts]

Hiiii I recently found your account and love your writing.

Would you be able to write something angsty for Levi where the reader gets seriously injured while out on a mission? I’d like it to be really angsty but whatever you want to do I’m good with!

Hi lovely anon, thank you so much for your kind words and this request!! I've dabbled in angst here and there, but this is definitely the darkest I've gone. I was surprised to find I really enjoyed writing it! Maybe there's more angst in my future hm...

Anyways THANK YOU again for sending this, I love hearing from readers and love requests! I'm sorry that it took me so long to get back to you, I hope you still see this and that you enjoy it if you do!

don't fall away from me: Levi x Scout!Reader angst

[tw: hurt/no comfort, heavy angst as requested!, injury/gore, spoilers for No Regrets, mentioned (not actual) vomiting // wc: 2k // ao3 // set before the fall of Shiganshina]

It wasn't often that you and Levi were separated for missions these days. A combination of luck and called-in favors from the Captain meant that most days and nights you were by each other's side, sometimes worse for wear, but together, at least.

But luck didn't last forever, and Levi wasn't all-powerful. You had been sent on a long-term mission beyond the walls, leading a troop of Scouts to establish an outpost farther than the Regiment had ever been able to put down roots. It was risky, but if successful, would pay off immediately, filling in new corners of the Eldian map. Levi stayed behind, part of Erwin's private detail as the Commander lobbied for more funding.

Levi hated it. Hated the pompous bastards he had to deal with, the tasteless displays of wealth in the inner walls, and worst of all, that it kept him from you. But you had reassured him as you always did, strong arms around his neck and soft lips against his. "I'll be home soon, Levi. Wait for me." He saw your squad off, raised his hand in a stern wave, watching until you and your horse disappeared over the horizon.

It wouldn't last forever, he reminded himself. You were tough. So was he- a few weeks away was nothing in the grand scheme of things. And he'd seen you take down enough titans to know that they should be afraid of you. The memory made his chest swell with a quiet pride. You were a damn good soldier, and you were his. He'd make sure to remind you of both when you came home.

That was the hope that kept Levi patient as he waited out the weeks. Once the political posturing was over, he took his stress out on the spiders that had taken up residence in the rafters of the scouts' barracks. Hange was heard laughing quietly to Moblit that HQ was always cleanest when you were away. Luckily for them, Levi didn't overhear, too busy chasing his worry away with a dustrag.

The morning of your squad's return dawned clear, the sun cresting the Walls like it anticipated your arrival as much as Levi did. The Captain had been up before then- fussing over his hair and straightening his cravat needlessly, wanting to appear cool and calm when he rode out to meet you. You were sure to tease him otherwise. It had become something of a game to see who could spot the other first at your homecomings, waiting just inside the gate or, if impatience got the best of you, riding out to meet the other on some pretense.

He sipped from the teacup between his fingers, hiding a smile as he thought about the look on your face. Your eyes always lit up, your grim on-duty expression melting into relief, excitement- love, when you saw him again. He was almost sure it was love. Little as he knew about the subject, anyway. Hoped it was, would've prayed it was if he had any faith. Because Levi loved you. He hadn't admitted it yet, but the weeks of separation had shown him just how much he had grown to rely on you, to cherish your shared moments, the light you shone in the dark corners of his life.

Maybe he didn't need to seem cool and calm, this time. He allowed himself to believe that you'd missed him as much as he missed you. That certainty carried the Captain to his horse, through the gates, out on a hard ride through the outskirts of the walled city, until he saw the blurry forms of your squad through the morning mist. His carefully fixed hair fell back into messy bangs across his forehead as he urged his horse faster, his body taut with both exertion and excitement. You were almost home.

He searched for your face in the crowd of green-cloaked soldiers to no avail. Maybe you were scouting ahead, or keeping watch from the rear. He shook off the icy tendrils of fear that crept down his neck. Surely that was all. Levi looked to the rest of your squad, but they didn't meet his eyes. Some of them limped, some held bandaged limbs, others leaned on their comrades. The tendrils turned into choking vines.

Levi reared his horse in front of the ragged procession and leveled them with a glare. "Where is she?" Silence. He gritted his teeth, his voice a sword. "I won't repeat myself."

A single Scout stepped out from the ranks. Levi recognized her as a young recruit; this would have been one of her first missions. She gestured at a covered wagon hitched to the horse behind her. "She saved us, Captain." The girl's voice wavered, then broke. "We wouldn't be here if she hadn't-"

Levi didn't know if she finished her sentence. He was already off his horse and shoving past her, his mind a wall of white noise. Somehow he was standing beside the wagon, ripping the cover back with shaking hands-

In the days and weeks that followed, every Scout from that ill-fated mission would swear on their lives that the Captain maintained his composure in that moment. Whether in solidarity or out of the fear that came from watching the collapse of something unbreakable. Every last person there that day would deny that they ever heard Levi sob.

The sound tore from him helplessly, choked horror in the back of his throat. Your bloodless lips were parted, your hair strewn across the packs of gear they’d propped you on. Your arms lay limply atop a rough blanket that hid everything below your chest. When Levi reached for your hand, pressing it to his cheek, you were cold. He whispered your name, but you didn’t stir.

With effort, Levi tore his gaze from your body and whirled on the soldier that had revealed you. “Tell me what happened.”

In fits and starts, she managed the story. It had happened so fast, she said, the night watch asleep in the newly constructed outpost, the early sunrise revealing a trio of titans surrounding the camp, all teeth and eager eyes. 15m class and hungry, scrabbling at their tents, waking up to a nightmare.

You had slept in your gear- Levi clenched his fists against a sudden surge of nausea. You always teased him about his habit, sleeping sitting up or fully clothed, ready for anything. But out there, on your own, you had done the same. Did you think of him as you fell asleep? The girl was still speaking, her gaze far away. You had sprung into action, using the titans themselves as anchors to fly at their nape out there in the vast flatness of the wild.

You dispatched two quickly- of course, Levi thought, of course she did- but the third- the girl stopped to drag the back of her hand across her mouth, swallowing a dry heave. Levi had to resist the urge to shake her, to make her keep talking- but she soon continued in a whisper.

"The last titan caught her in it's teeth. It was a blur, we didn't see, only heard a- heard a snap, and a scream... we cut it's Achilles tendons, brought it to it's knees, and she fell..." The scout trailed off, her jaw working soundlessly as she remembered. "The wound, wounds- they weren't clean, sir." Her voice was a strained apology. She wobbled, clearly spent, and Levi turned away.

He stepped back toward the wagon where you lay. Levi took a slow breath, reaching into the depths of himself to find the strength to look at what hid beneath the blanket. He peeled it back, hissing through his teeth when the fabric caught on patches of drying, tacky blood.

It took a moment for Levi to process what he was seeing. Your lower body was a torn mess of crimson, contrasting hideously against the stark white of exposed bone protruding from your mangled calf. He could see the titan's attack written on your flesh- the purpling crush of teeth along your thighs and the shredded aftermath of those jaws tearing down to your ankles. The smears of dirt and gore told him how you were dragged along, out of the titan's clenching jaw, off the battlefield.

This is a dream. A nightmare. Levi told himself, clinging to it with a childish desperation that he thought had been beaten out of him long ago. He tried to swallow but his throat had gone cotton-dry. His tongue cleaved mute to the roof of his mouth. This isn't real.

He blinked, and suddenly it was Furlan in your shredded uniform, or you in his. A dizzy panic clawed up Levi's chest. He shook his head, looked away and back- and the scene changed. The hollowed pallor of your cheeks was that of his mother's corpse, a dim memory of hell. He thought he might be sick, thought wildly that he couldn't vomit in front of the other Scouts, couldn't let them see such filthy weakness- but that was forgotten when you opened your eyes.

You stared blindly at the wide, wide sky, and Levi saw Isabel in your place. Not again. Please, not again. He watched your chest rise and fall like it was the only thing tethering him to the earth, like he was the one willing it to continue. Please.

"Le-vi...?" Your voice shocked him into sanity. He cupped your cheeks in trembling hands.

"I'm here, I'm here," he rasped. "I've got you. Stay with me."

You slowly dragged your fingers through the blood on your uniform, then held them in front of your face. You didn't seem to understand where it came from, what had happened. Levi moved into your sightline. You reached for him, but your head lolled and your arm fell back in the next instant. Levi caught your hand and lifted it the rest of the way, pressing your bloody fingers to his lips.

"I'm here," he repeated, fixated again on the defiant movement of your chest as you slipped back into unconsciousness. "I'll protect you."

The other soldiers were shuffling about, some trying to quiet their nervous horses. Levi forced himself to inject authority into his voice, to project some stability on the surface as he crumbled within, never taking his eyes from your face. "I'm riding back with you. Let's go."

Eager to go home, the camp moved quickly at his order. Someone hitched Levi's horse to the wagon were you lay, seeing that the Captain wasn't about to leave your side.

Your body seemed to shift before Levi's eyes, a mist poured into the shape of the ones he had already failed, already lost. Their corpses laid atop yours, or beside you, or sprawled at your feet until he forced them away, the sight of your breathing like a talisman. Your blood dried and flaked on his cheek, but he hardly felt the itch. His cravat lay abandoned on the filthy floor.

Every jolt of the wheels made him grit his teeth, fighting down a surge of rage at the horses, the stones that made them stumble, the ground itself for not softening for you. He wanted to carry you home himself, wanted to tear off his own legs and offer them up for you. He wanted to wake up.

He spoke to you, the words pouring out, unstoppable. Vows to protect you, spiraling into impossibility- he'd kill every last titan to make sure they never touched you again, he'd give you his blood to replace what you'd lost, he'd burn down the world to keep you warm.

Confessions that had never passed his lips before, spilling into the space between you, overflowing helplessly in a whisper you couldn't hear. "I love you. Did you know that? Could you tell?" He choked on it. "I fucking love you. I didn't want to, but I do, and I need you to come back, so I can tell you to your goddamn face."

He couldn't stop touching you, kneeling at your side, his legs long gone numb. He brushed the stringy hair from your forehead, warmed your hands in his, smoothed the blanket back over your wounds. When there was nothing left to do, he did it all over again, repeating the words until they hung in the air and piled over your body, still breathing, only just.

"I love you. I love you. I love you." Please.

[skywardsister]

Stobotnik Fanfic- The Doctor's Retreat

I've been wanting to write more fanfiction since I haven't in a good while, so have a little something based on that deleted scene from Sonic 3 that so many people (including myself) wish was kept in the final version! Sonic the Hedgehog 3 is property of Sega and Paramount, the writing is mine (please don't use my work without my permission- thanks!)

            A bright column of sunlight illuminated the inside of the giant robot once that powered-up hedgehog wrenched its massive head off its hundreds of intricate hinges. Then came the grand fall. Within the confines of his copilot cockpit, Agent Stone braced against the elaborate console in front of him and grasped the controls as hard as his arms would allow. His efforts didn’t suffice to keep him stationary during the sudden drop, which tossed him about and dashed him against the floor upon final impact. Shooting pains etched up and around the man’s rib cage but he barely gave it a thought; Stone forced himself up and forward, maneuvering through the collapsed machine quickly.

            As expected from the ruckus their battle caused, armed G.U.N. members swarmed the wreckage like flies to a carcass. It would require droves of industrial vehicles to completely strip down and ship the robot away, so this visit was presumably just to survey the damage and ensure the threat was neutralized. Locating and stealing a G.U.N. uniform to patrol the premises was exceedingly simple for an agent of Stone’s caliber. Waiting, not so much. The agent joined the ranks of the armored goons itching to break off from the crowd and find who he was really looking for- the doctor. He was on pins and needles and kept his eyes on a constant swivel, not for fear of being discovered, but for any minuscule signs of hope. Ivo was right about technology- if only Stone was a robot himself, he could hunt for heat signatures and shorten the search significantly.

            The agonizingly-long surveillance ended eventually but not soon enough for Stone’s liking. He slipped away when it appeared the other agents were finally satisfied with their work and piled into their trucks before heading out. Sonic and his companions also filed out to recuperate from the fight; they must have thought themselves victorious. Their absence would also lend itself well to the task at hand.

            “Doctor?”

Agent Stone called out the moment he knew was the only one left. The sun was long gone, its light receding rapidly between the trees and casting long black shadows everywhere. Shrapnel embedded in the dirt popped and snapped beneath the soles of his boots as he navigated in near-darkness, sometimes sidling between crunched pieces of debris. The crisp night air stung his nostrils as he moved briskly. He called out again to no response.

Stone was primed to search for as long as it would take to find Ivo; what else was there to do? The agent spotted something by the hulking, dislodged robot head: a leg, peeking out from beneath a sizable sheet of reinforced steel. There was the answer to his prayers. He practically leapt over the fallen mech pieces that sat between them before he found himself at the doctor’s side. Adrenaline thundered through Stone’s veins at the sight at his feet which provided a much-needed boost to heft the scrap metal off of Ivo’s chest. The doctor laid face-up and wouldn’t open his eyes despite stimuli upon inspection, but a quiet wheezing reassured Stone that he was indeed still alive. The agent exhaled and shifted away from the other man’s face.

“Don’t scare me like that, Doctor,” Stone muttered and furrowed his brow as he attempted to lift one of Ivo’s arms. Something shifted and popped. His eyes widened and he gently eased it back down on the ground. Right- a fall so dramatic plus collapsed debris would never leave someone in flawless condition. To think someone would survive it all unscathed would be pure naivety. Sometimes the doctor’s grandiose personality made Agent Stone forget he wasn’t any more invincible than the average person. He leaned over and tucked his hands around and beneath Ivo’s body before hoisting it up and over his shoulders without much trouble. Unsurprisingly, ashy dust caked to Ivo’s coat peppered Stone’s uniform with grey specks almost immediately along with a smoky, metallic smell that wrinkled his nose.

The edge of town was a mile away, where Stone hoped those pesky local cops wouldn’t be snooping around The Mean Bean; if he was presumed dead, they hopefully wouldn’t think to investigate it any further than they already had earlier that afternoon. In the case that none of his tech was confiscated while he was out, he might be able to conduct some x-rays. The trek would be long and arduous in the dark, but the agent would only feel the presence of his companion and not the added weight.

Coming to the cafe, the agent shook his head upon noticing someone had loosely cordoned off the front doors with yellow police tape, and he suspected that officer who tried to arrest him before. Stone gingerly pulled it off with a foot so it fluttered down to the concrete sidewalk. He felt relieved the doctor wasn’t awake while he was unceremoniously dragged inside like a limp sack of coffee beans; why did they have to be pull-doors, especially at a time like this? Ivo ended up carefully sprawled out on the countertop while his loyal sycophant contemplated their options. If anyone found them alive, there would be eyes on them in every state in the country; they would need someplace low-profile to hide until the doctor fully recovered.

“We’ll figure something out,” Stone said, unsure if he said it for Ivo’s sake or if perhaps it was more to reassure himself.

[tarta-de-limon]

HEY YOU GOT MY FAVORITE GAYS EVER AS YOUR BANNER- me fr

anyways do you have any ocs perchance I would like to draw em

LMAAAO, THEY'RE ADORABLE, I HAD TO HAVE THEM IN MY BANNER

And omg, I do but... they're kinda cringey.

...

Anyway here they are!!!!

It's a quick drawing of all of them, they don't belong to the same storyline tho, I created them to entertain myself, and it's a sketch like this because I actually draw them traditionally, not digitally. I draw them in my classes.

They're more like... introduced characters into DC universe??? As you can see second Luan on the right is WonderGirl, so...yeah, cringey.

But I want to share their stories because I love them!!!

If you don't care, you can skip, I already gave their designs right here, so knowing their stories is kind of unnecessary??? I put some photos ahead, so you can skip the text and go to the photos if you want to draw any of them and need references!

So, Natalya is actually just a normal teenager, daughter of Bruce Wayne, didn't really cared about her mother so... she's dead, I guess. Maybe a one night stand. I created her because I thought it would be cute for Damian to have a gentle, kind big sister figure? In that moment I wasn't into DC in general, so I didn't know about Cass and Steph, I only watched the movies.

But then I read the comics, and well, here's her lore:

So, she's very fragile, she gets tired easily, she gets sick easily, but as a kid, she really, really wanted to be a to do sports and all that to prove Bruce and others she wasn't weak. She knew Jason and was super close to him. Then Jason died haha. She felt alone, Bruce was grieving, Dick was grieving, she gets angry, she hates everyone, then Tim takes the mantle of Robin, Natalya hates him.

Like, really, really hates him.

Uhh... Idk if this is canon or not, because as I've said before, I'm not a Tim fan...

So, in this au Tim's parents die, Natalya feels bad, kinda tries to fix things, doesn't really work.

So she's been always trying to be loud and annoying to call others attention, but after this, she kinda quiets down??? And realizes that, well, sometimes listening is nice too, yk? I remember I had this scene where she's complaining to Alfred, like; why won't he forgive me!? I already said sorry! (She's a kid)

And Alfred tells her to, well, to kinda listen to others? Because all she's listening is herself; I already apologized, I already said I'm sorry, I'm right, you're wrong.

And well, ever since then Natalya kinda calms down and learns that, well, sometimes life is life, and that she never really had a passion for sports, she didn't even liked them she just wanted to be noticed.

She realizes that what she does like is playing chess with Alfred, and well, she joins the chess club of her school, once she's calmer and nicer Tim forgives her, they become close. Everything's going just fine...

And then Damian arrives.

But Natalya is super happy, she had a little brother! And she was going to be the best sister and give him all the attention and affection she didn't have when she was a kid.

At first Damian doesn't like it. Then he kinda does. Is nice to have someone caring for you, and Natalya is just...nice. she's the type of girl that likes to take care of others, and that really likes to do little gestures like baking sweets for you when you're feeling sick.

... then she dies. Yeah. Idk why I decided she would die. She just does.

Damian revives her with the Lazarus pit, because he feels it was his fault (something, something happened, Natalya covered him with her body, she dies). I really wanna go into detail but it'll be too long.

And when she revives she's kinda traumatized! But she's adapting. Besides, her body isn't as weak as it used to. I have this scene where she's running and she realizes; Wait, I'm running. I'm not tired. I'm not having trouble breathing. I'm running!!!!

So Natalya's kinda happy, I guess.

(she ends up with a bunch of scars and her left eye is grey now. She can't see with that one. She was shot. Multiple times. I like to think her scar have like this 💥 form.

Uh... second one is Luan(19)! I actually created her, again, while I was watching the movies; wouldn't it be funny if Damian had a twin sister? So that's where the design came from. Damian in the movies doesn't look like o picture him now tho 😭😭✋✋✋ anyway, her lore? Well, as Damian twin sister: she was trained, killed, revived, killed, revived, then she was poisoned with Joker Venom, but it kind of made her crazy, she tries to blow up the whole city, she realizes last moment what she's doing, she develops like...personality problems??? (Her real self and the venom self, kind of), she runs away.

She spends time trying to find who she is, then she returns to Gotham to end a criminal organization she created while she was a villain. She refuses to talk with the batfam because she feels to guilty, because well, she kinda tried to kill them all.

That's as Damian's twin tho. As a new Oc? Idk... she's a villain... that's it. I didn't really thought about her new lore. I just really like her design. I created a boyfriend for her, when I was redesigning her to be older and just a different person. She met him when she was fighting batman and Robin, and he kinda "saved" her ("saved' because she knew he was spying on her and pretended to be loosing to see what he would do). His name is Kairos. It means: a propitious moment for decision or action. I think it's pretty accurate.

Kate is my favorite. She's such a tiny little devil I love her so much.

Her real name is Lydia, actually, she lived with her mother, a drug addict, in crime alley. When she was three or so, one day she kinda got mad at her mom, a temper tantrum, and well, she had the bad habit of hiding while she was angry.

Well she hid under the bed and just then some bad guys appeared because, surprise, her drug addict mother owed them money.

They killed her...uhhh, warning, I guess:

⚠️ They kinda... strangled her. And I have this scene where the just put her against the floor, the woman is dying, and Kate is there, under the bed, and she can't do shit because, she's a damn toddler and is scared? ⚠️

She stayed there, hidden under the bed for a whole day, just in shock, before she ran away from her apartment and just... Idk, she just wanted to leave. She was panicking, alright?

The point is, Selina finds her.

Kate is in a state of shock and doesn't really react, so Selina takes her in and gives her a new name. Kate! Like kitten, get it?

So...

She's kind of a prodigy??? She's a smart ass, she knows how to build all type of machines and is pretty smart.

So she fixes Selina's little gadgets if needed, and Selina will buy her materials so she can build her machines.

There's more lore to her but, well, let's just say this is too long already.

She kinda gets traumatized. She's fighting for her life, she cuts her hair. She heals. She becomes a better person.

I REALLY WANT TO GIVE DETAILS BUT UHG, I FEEL LIKE IT'LL BE TOO MUCH.

Anyway here's the other Luan's lore:

She's WonderGirl, she was supposed to train with Diana but Diana decides she's not ready. She's too... brutal. She fights like boxing? You see those bracelets? They extent to her hands so they turn into big gauntlets she uses to fight. So yeah, violent. The thing is like she actually has fun while fighting. She'll be jumping and giggling, and well, that's not very...sane thing to do?

She grew up in Themyscira, by a secluded group of Amazons that just taught her how to fight, and how to be 'a good warrior'.

When Damian forms his Teen Titans team he kinda kidnapped her too (because let's be honest, he kidnapped everyone, lmao). Damian feels kinda related to her??? Because Luan is always sayin: a good warrior does this, a good warrior does that. And she's willing to die for 'her honor.' it kinda reminds him to how he used to be in the League.

I honestly created her because Jon and Damian were missing a wonder to be like, Batman, superman and Wonder woman. And then I kinda liked to think Damian and Luan would have something. Honestly? This is all Djinni's fault. God, did I hate her.

But uh, then I had this idea where she kinda gets lost in time and she kinda looses her memories and...

Yeah, I won't give details. You already know why. Too long.

Oh yeah, and she used to kill. Damian taught her not to!

Anyway, that's all, I'm so sorry for my rambling, I just had to share them because I love them so much. 😭😭😭

[wickedsmille]

batman, robin, sentient super suits, oh my!

I got this idea stuck in my head and rather than committing it to the 15 page graveyard of other story ideas, I actually wrote it! (I'm so proud of me :'3) The aforementioned is. . . . The suits/costumes are sentient! With limited autonomy!! And their own personalities!!! So, yep. This one might actually make it onto AO3 when part two is done.

Probably rated T because Jason. Did not edit because nope. Sillies at the end because of Jason's Tim!feelings and stellar repression skills.

(Here's Part 2!)

-----

Imagine Jason’s surprise when Bruce leads him down to the Cave, the Batcave, and he spots the costumes of Batman and Robin innocuous in their cases. The bright lights above them shine down, illuminating the bright colors of Robin and glistening off the dark planes of armor of Batman. All four feet of Jason was vibrating with excitement. Patiently with a small, private smile, Bruce guided him towards the cases.

The closer he gets, Jason notices how they’re not on mannequins. A few more steps and he can’t spot any internal structures keeping them up or wires suspending them. Curiously enough, the costumes seem to be standing of their own accord. He didn’t question it as he came to stand right before the glass. His hand rose to press against the case, mouth open wide in awe and eyes about the size of dinner plates.

Now, just picture how a tiny, baby Jason reacted when the Robin suit recoiled. The fabric gathered together and plastered itself to the other side of the case away from Jason. The neck of the suit shifted back and forth like an invisible body was shaking its head. Pulling his hand away as if he’d been burned, Jason took a staggering step back and looked to Bruce for answers. The man stared at the case, eyes narrowed and mouth pinched into a thin line of disapproval.

It was then Bruce explained the nature of suits and the heroes they choose. Here Jason had thought Bruce created Batman and Robin, not the other way around.

Apparently one night, after getting the hair-brained idea to take to the night to fight crime with nothing but his wits and an arsenal of R&D weaponry, Batman came to him. The suit was in his study hanging off the clock. As he stepped inside the room, the suit slithered off the clock to stand before him. Tall, dark and imposing. Written in quickly disappearing fog on the glass of the clock was the name Batman.

Robin was all Dick until he decided to leave it behind. It came to Dick mid-swing from the chandelier. One second he’s flipping through the air to reach the banister, the next he’s flailing wildly after misjudging the distance. Robin caught him, the sleeve of the suit wrapped tightly around his wrist. Then the suit skittered down the stairs to the main foyer, wild and energetic as it seemed to do a round-off, onodi, bridge, illusion and finished with a needle. Again and again till Dick’s face lit up like the sun itself. Robin became a permanent fixture next to Batman from then on.

Robin was devastated after Dick left it but it still took months for Bruce to coax the suit into engaging with Jason. He did everything he could to help. Sitting and even sleeping in front of the case. Whispering his secrets and wants to the layers of kevlar and nomax. He told Robin things he could barely admit to himself let alone anyone else. It was after Jason confessed how much he loved his mom and dad in equal measure that Robin finally accepted him. That night, when Bruce opened the case and once more tried to take the suit out, it came easily where normally it was immovable. 

The tight fabric slipped on like it had been made for Jason and Jason alone. Deep down, he knew it hadn’t been. The suit made his chest hum and his skin tingle but it was like wearing someone else’s skin. The discordant feeling didn’t stop Jason from fully losing himself to the magic of Robin. Even when Dick loudly protested Jason using the suit but what could he do? Robin chose Jason, eventually, even if Dick hadn’t. 

Maybe that’s why Robin couldn’t as effectively protect him from the Joker as Batman did for Bruce night after insane night tangling with the rogues. 

For a long time, Jason didn’t have a suit aside from the grave clothes he clawed his way back to the land of living in. Time gets fuzzy from there but he doesn’t remember another suit coming to him. Not then and not after Talia took him in, healing his body while his mind stayed locked up till she tosses him into the Pit against her father’s wishes. Jason suffered under the League and its training, shuffled off periodically to one master or expert or another to learn more about demolition and explosives, firearms and sharp shooting, spy craft and more. 

When Red Hood comes to him, Jason is just coming back to his clay walled room with its moth bitten wool blanket and wood cot, blood on his knuckles and the beginnings of a nasty shiner. He’s who-the-hell-knows where. Talia never did see fit to keep him in the loop no matter how loudly or persistently he pestered her for details. She dolled out what she wanted when you wanted to achieve whatever twisted goal she’d cooked up in her head. Like siccing him on Bruce and the whole of Gotham like a living nightmare tailor made to make Bruce hurt.

Seeing a suit laid out across his cot has been the most significant deviation from his routine in a long time. Long enough the site of the black tactical gear and heavy armor visibly startles him. His hand tightens around the handle of his door as he stares unabashedly at the suit. 

“What the fuck is that?” he asks, pointing to the red helmet facing the doorway at the head of the bed.

The sleeve of the leather jacket raises up a couple inches. The buckle around the wrist rises up straight and Jason doesn’t need to be a genius to know his suit just flipped him the bird. He returns the gesture and the lenses of the helmet flare a bright white before going out again. 

“Well, aren’t you cheery.”

The entire upper part of the suit shudders in what he assumes is a shrug. Cheeky. He kind of hates it.

He’s trying very hard to not look a gift horse in the mouth despite his suit’s apparent attitude. It’s not as showy as Robin, thank god. There’s a cliff with his name on it, ripe for pitching himself off of, if he got a gimmicky costume. He’d take his chances rolling back into Gotham in a t-shirt and jeans then toss on another pair of undies and tights. The mercenary look is much preferred and appreciated.

Besides, despite the attitude, this suit is his. Not some hammy down Bruce needed to coax into accepting Jason.  

“What am I supposed to call you?”

The lenses of the helmet light up again but this time they stay on. Cautiously, he takes a couple steps closer. The suit doesn’t move again, patiently waiting for him. Nothing happens so he closes the distance and gingerly picks up the helmet. The metal of it is warm beneath his fingers and a hum starts deep in his chest. The helmet slips on easily and fits like a glove. A wash of colors and symbols scroll across the HUD as it springs to life. 

The screen blanks out entirely then a burst of red that settles into the words Red Hood. Then Lets fuckin do this bitch it reads.

“Huh,” Jason says. “Huh.”

Red Hood is an asshole apparently though he can’t deny the poetic justice of taking on the old name of his murderer. Terrorizing Bruce is going to be so fun.

Jason leaves for Gotham that night. 

Within three months, he has his claws in Crime Alley and a burgeoning drug empire. It takes him six months to properly align the pieces around the board so he can set his plans for Batman into action. He’s a veritable force of nature when he’s wearing the Red Hood. Bullets glance off the armor, knives slip right past and the brass knuckles sewn into the gloves teach as effective a message when he needs to get up close and personal. It allows him the space and strength he needs to wrestle the city under his control so he can start making moves.

He becomes the Red Hood.

Things don’t go as planned though, per say. 

He barely hobbles away from the confrontation with Batman and the Joker. At least this time, with the Red Hood, he does walk away. 

The world is a whirlwind of sights and sounds, colors and impressions. He works himself down to the bone till the bitterness and anger dissipate enough for him to feel like a person again. Separating Jason Todd from the Red Hood, making the distinction rather than losing himself to the suit, is one of the most difficult things he’s ever done. 

Red Hood isn’t happy about it and makes it known with the hard hits he takes. Not enough to threaten his life. Until Jason is facing down at least thirty heavily armed guys and the building is rigged to blow. The suits can do a lot of things like help Batman become one with the shadows and keep the laws of gravity from gripping too tightly to Robin. Red Hood is built for protection through thick armor for Jason and a nasty assortment of weaponry for those who hurt others. 

But they do have their limits. 

Jason just never thought he would reach it except he does and it leaves him bleeding out in some dingy back alley in Gotham. He presses hard against the wound on his side around the jagged piece of metal sticking out to stem the bleeding. His head is throbbing in time with the beating of his heart. The harder it pounds, the more it slows, the less Jason thinks he’ll make it out of this one. He’s fuckin’ clawed and crawled, sweat and bled and turned himself inside out again and again and this is how he goes? Bullshit. Straight up bullshit.

He blinks the sweat out of his eyes and forces himself to focus as the HUD flickers on and off. The light of it is faint as the air filtration system hums loudly. A tiny icon pops up in the corner that hadn’t been there before. Some simple silhouette of a person’s bust. It clicks open without his say so and the screen darkens before it springs back, determined and stubborn. 

Pictures and words flash across the display, too quick for him to properly make any of it out since his brain is as good as scrambled eggs at the moment. It centers on a cartoon version of Batman’s face, complete with comically severe scowl. Jason frowns and shifts, wincing at the white hot flare of pain shooting up his side. And his arm. Shit, guess he’s not just dealing with the shrapnel in his side.

“Don’t you dare,” Jason rasps in warning. 

In answer, his suit selects the icon and, to his immense surprise, it immediately connects to the comm network the Bats use. You know, the heavily encrypted one only the masters of top tier hackers have ever been able to get into. The one he isn’t supposed to have access to. At least, he didn’t think so. Things haven’t been bad with Batman and his clown car of other bats and birds. They haven’t been good either. 

“Hood,” Batman acknowledges with a hint of confusion and trepidation. Jason groans but it tapers off in a pained grunt as he shifts and the metal lodged in side moves with him. “Hood, report,” Batman demands, confusion abandoned for concern. 

It’s touching in that I-wish-this-weren’t-happening-but-since-we’re-here kind of way. 

He doesn’t say anything so his voice modulator whirs loudly in protest of his silence. Fucking suit. Civilians truly don’t know how lucky they are to not be dogged and bullied by sentient costumes and, wow, when he thinks about it that way it is incredibly weird. He may not be thinking clearly either since he’s pondering the very existence of the hero communities suits rather than answering. Concussion, maybe? Probably, he decides as a wave of nausea rises up.

Swallowing past the bile, Jason projects as much chipper nonchalance as he can when he replies, “Not much going on here. Might’ve gotten blown up. A little. Tis but a flesh wound.”

“Location,” Batman growls. 

“The intersection of Nun-ya-business and Fuck-off,” Jason says because he wouldn’t be him if he didn’t take every chance to be a shit to Bruce. Although, now may not be the time for it since black spots are dancing across his vision and he feels the bad kind of numbness sneak in. 

Jason’s locator flips on and a message goes direct to Bruce with his coordinates. Red Hood is a traitor. He’d rage at his suit for being so presumptuous and taking liberties. Most suits back down on playing such an active role after they choose their wearer. Maybe an automatic switch in imaging or restocked first aid supplies in a pocket. Never this. His suit is a busy body. To think, the fearsome Red Hood with all its holsters and extra layers of armoring and plating, a mother hen.

Not the worst thing, he guesses, as he loses consciousness.  

Coming out of a three day sedation to the bright overhead lights of the medical bay in the Cave with Batman looming over him, fully suited up and staring, a traumatic enough experience Jason readily steals his alternate-universe’s Red Robin suit. Unlike his own universe, this one doesn’t have to deal with fabric capable of higher thinking. The Red Robin suit is just that. A suit and nothing more, nothing less. It’s simple and perfect when he’s still angry at the Red Hood suit.

Running a few patrols back in his Gotham proves him wrong. Very, very wrong. 

He forgets to restock his belt and his hand meets an empty pocket on the belt where there should be smoke pellets. Except he used them the night before when breaking up a gang initiation. The armor plating doesn’t shift the quarter an inch Jason needs to avoid getting nicked with a knife. Plus switching between lenses in the mask manually is annoying. And needing his hand to work the comms? Horrible. 

Playing as Red Robin, the incredibly unexceptional and totally normal super-suit, shows him how spoiled he was with the Red Hood. 

Thoroughly frustrated, Jason tears into his safe house and tears out of the suit. He kicks it off into the corner then kicks it again because fuck this. He’s over it. So over it. Hopefully Red Hood isn’t salty about being benched and relegated to the cache he has hidden in the ceiling. 

Moving aside the ceiling tile and sneezing from the dust and what he hopes isn’t asbestos, Jason grabs the lock box. He pulls it close then lets it drop unceremoniously onto the floor. Sue him, the thing is heavy. A ball of writhing unease makes a home in Jason’s gut as he kneels next to the box and starts methodically disarming the security on. His hands hesitate opening the lid. 

What if the Red Hood decided to fuck off to parts unknown wherever these things go when they get retired?

Then he realizes how stupid it is to be mostly naked aside from his undershirt and shorts, scared to face the consequences of his own actions. He built the mythos of the Red Hood on forcing the human shaped garbage of Gotham to pay up on their moral debts. Being brash, antagonistic, caustic and aggressive he’ll own up to but Jason has always prided himself on shying away from hypocrisy. So he holds his breath and flips open the lid -

To the suit, crammed in the small metal box, lifting the sleeve of the leather jacket on top and flipping him off with the wrist buckle. Again. 

“You son of a bitch,” Jason laughs, back handing the buckle. Looking over his shoulder at the disarray of the Red Robin suit, he adds, “Look, it’s not me. It’s you.”

The next night, when he gets suited up and pulls the iconic red helmet of the Red Hood on, Jason stands over Gotham and feels whole. Jason and the Red Hood and Jason-as-Red-Hood, co-existing peacefully within and around one another. The pieces click together, making him feel lighter than he has in years. He thinks this must be how Bruce feels when he’s Batman or Dick when he’s Nightwing. When you know who you are. Robin was an ideal he clung to desperately even if it never quite fit right and Red Robin was a bad idea he needed to understand the nature of suits.

They weren’t his, not like the Red Hood is because it’s an autonomous extension of himself.

Because he’s not completely heartless even if the Red Robin suit lacks any sort of intelligence, Jason takes pity and dumps it in the Cave. Let Bruce or Lucius dissect the thing so they can unlock the secrets of suits. Or use it to mop the floors. Whatever, he doesn’t really care. At least it’s not his problem anymore. 

Then Tim steals the suit. It’s a theme with Tim, apparently. Jason would take it as a goad and beat his ass if Tim didn’t leave and come back different. As is, when he first sees Tim looking pale and world weary in the Cave with an equally exhausted looking but alive Bruce next to him, Jason is feeling too many things too quickly to focus on Tim’s sticky fingers. In no way does looking like warmed over shit excuse Tim for constantly taking his stuff but he can delay payback. There’s feelings he needs to repress at seeing Bruce whole and right there.

Tim doesn’t abandon Red Robin like Jason did. No, he keeps it. Why, Jason has no clue. It’s punishment enough to wear a plain Jane suit like Red Robin so Jason elects not to confront him. If Tim wants to punish himself, it saves Jason the time he would take to do it. As time goes on, they start to get along so why shake it up for something stupid like the Red Robin suit, he thinks. 

Landing softly on the roof Tim’s crouched on, Jason’s heavy boots barely make a whisper of noise as he creeps up on Red Robin. He’s bent over with his arms extended so he can scare the shit out of him. 

Jason doesn’t get the chance to. About five feet away, back still turned to Jason, Tim asks him dryly, “Can I help you?”

With a sniff, Jason straightens up. “Yeah, by not being such a fun sucker.”

“Oh, so sorry,” Tim says while not sounding at all sorry, “next time I’ll let you jump scare me so I totally blow my stake out.”

“Thank you,” Jason replies.

He can feel Tim’s eye roll even if he can’t see him. “Did you come here because you’re bored or do you need something?” Tim asks.

With a shrug Tim can’t see, Jason answers, “A little of column A, a little of column B.”

“As you can see, I’m indisposed at the moment either way.”

“Alls I see is you sitting on your ass.”

“Exactly, now shoo.”

“I will not be shoo’ed,” Jason says as he comes around and sits down next to Tim. “I am un-shoo-able.”

To prove his point, Tim twists so he’s facing Jason and makes the actual shoo’ing motion with his hands. It says a lot that Tim will give him a hard time considering their past. Never once has he shied away from Jason since he and the others got chummy again. If it were him, Jason would incessantly badger and pester and be a complete dick. But Tim has never been like that, even when he should. Like he should with Jason.

Quiet reigns over them. Tim goes back to surveying the building across the street and Jason absently watches too for lack of anything better to do. Truly, he was bored. Patrolling Crime Alley was slow, for once. Who would’ve thought? Tim happened to be the first person he came across as he was traipsing the city just because he could. Lucky him. 

“How’s the suit treating you?” Jason asks casually, honestly curious. Tim has been wearing it for months now.

A subtle tension stiffens the set of Tim’s shoulders. “Fine,” Tim says cautiously. 

“Why even keep it on? I tried since it’s all, ya know, not a semi-conscious being literally handling my tits and bits for hours a night. Didn’t work out so well for me, obviously.”

Tim chews on the inside of his cheek while his hands tighten around the binoculars pressed to mask. It’s a testament to Jason’s growth that he lets Tim think through his answer without disrupting him with a heckle or five. Plus he’s invested. He really wants to know why the hell Tim is keeping Red Robin when the alternate-dimension suit is so sub-par compared to the costumes they have. 

“I don’t have any others,” Tim finally replies, voice quiet and tight. 

Oh, oops. Looks like he stepped on a landmine without meaning to. The thought that a suit wouldn’t immediately choose analytical, ambitious and surprisingly badass Tim Drake hadn’t even crossed his mind. 

“I get that,” Jason says. “Can’t tell you how many times I’d turn a corner when I was with the League and hope there’d be a suit. Some signal like, yeah, you’re ready to leave these shitheads behind.” 

Man, he did not mean to share some deep-down, touchy-feely bullshit. But that doesn’t make it any less true. Waiting for the Red Hood was agonizing. Empty days spent learning how to snap a person’s neck and the most painful bones to break, how to engineer car bombs, what kind of scope it takes to blow someone’s brains out from five hundred yards. Never feeling ready because he didn’t have anything but his ratty jeans and tee and standard issue League garb. Wishing he’d be released from the never-ending violence that is the League because nobody else seemed keen on letting him go easy. At least with the Red Hood, he was able to convince Talia it was a sign from a higher power on how truly ready he was to ditch them and enact her not-at-all-subtle machinations.

The silence makes Jason feel awkward and uncomfortable but Tim is thoughtful when he responds, “I’ve never been chosen by a suit before.”

“Really?” Jason can’t help but ask. 

He thought Robin would’ve been scrambling to claim Tim. Robin did give Tim pants, after all. He’s always wondered if Robin kept the scaly panties just to troll Jason since it wasn’t happy with his wearing it. 

Tim nods. “I, well, Dick and Bruce were in trouble and I was there but Robin didn’t. It didn’t want anything to do with me. Alfred tried getting it to see some sense but I eventually had to wrestle it on. Robin wasn’t happy with me.”

“Huh,” Jason says because he doesn’t actually know what to say but leaving Tim hanging feels like a crime in and of itself.

Like the psycho he is, Tim laughs. “Yeah, pretty much. Robin fought me my whole tenure but I like to think I did alright. Besides, I don’t think Robin is very happy with Damian either after he forced it on. You should hear the arguments he gets in with the suit.” A vicious little smirk curls up the edge of Tim’s mouth. It’s a ruthless thing Jason likes the look of. 

Now Jason really can’t cash in Tim’s debt to him for taking yet another suit from him. Tim repurposed what was essentially his garbage because he had nothing better to use. Kind of sad, now that he thinks about it. And Tim fucked off to parts unknown with a regular ass suit to do the impossible. Actually did the impossible. Tim really is the best of them, in Jason’s humble and will-never-be-voiced opinion.

“I can imagine. You got some video footage of one?” Jason questions, steering the conversation back to safer waters. 

“No, I would never keep something like. Come on, I’m a good guy,” Tim says sarcastically.

“The only thing good about you is that mouth.”

Even though he’s the one that said it, Jason’s brain overloads and crashes all in the span of a nano second. That was definitely flirty. In no possible universe, dimension or other-world would that line not be considered flirty. He didn’t mean to do it. Right? Right, because flirting with Tim would be weird enough Jason would need to submit himself to a litany of invasive tests just to figure out what in the hell is wrong with him. Slips of the tongue do happen-

Bad analogy to use now that he’s thinking about Tim’s mouth.

“I get that a lot,” Tim says, brushing off Jason’s folly easily. 

“Get some,” Jason encourages lamely. 

In another feat of extraordinary social ineptitude, Jason reaches up and ruffles Tim’s hair but he does it too hard. It ends up being some weird combination of a noogie and hair pet. He stops that right away and instead uses Tim’s head to lever himself up. Obviously he’s not going to recover from this interaction. Several fatal blows have been dealt. The only sensible thing to do is escape as quickly as he can and go scream out the embarrassment into the void. 

Tim squawks in protest and bats away Jason’s hand. His brows are furrowed and sporting a deep set scowl as he no doubt glares at Jason for using him as a hand hold. Whatever, all the better if Tim is pissy. It means he hasn’t noticed Jason being a complete and total moron. Or picked up on the way the shivering, shimmying pool of warmth building in Jason’s belly is making him grimace and sweat.

Hands up in a gesture of surrender, Jason backs away. Satisfied, Tim goes back to watching his building. Jason backs up another step when, weirdly enough, Tim’s cape moves. Like a full on flap to the side. It opens up a brief glimpse to Tim’s backside, boots and belt and skin tight leggings, before the heavy material settles again. There’s no breeze tonight though Tim might have been fiddling with it or something. 

Jason can’t be sure. Doesn’t really care. He has a hasty retreat to get to. 

He means to retreat but Red Hood, the motherfucking, traitorous dickbag the suit is, must take some measure of joy in Jason looking like an idiot because Jason trips on the laces of his boot on his next step. Now, he’s sure he tied them. Double, triple, quadruple knotted with a complicated pattern Bruce taught them all so this exact thing wouldn’t happen. Yet, flailing and just barely saving himself from belly flopping onto the roof, when Jason looks back his laces are definitely undone and the culprit of his current predicament.

The one in which Tim turns oh so slowly with an eyebrow so high it disappears into his hairline. Judgement is pouring off Tim in palpable waves. He meets Tim’s gaze and wants to melt through the roof. 

“That wasn’t me,” he instantly denies.

“Uh huh,” Tim says dubiously which makes Jason glower. “Thanks for reminding me why I like having a regular suit.”

“You sure you don’t want to take Red Hood for a ride?” 

Jason decides he’s going to stop talking for the rest of ever. He had wanted to annoy Tim for lack of anything better to do. Not test the limits of how much mortification a person can feel before their will to live force quits. Things have gone so, so wrong. 

Tim wrinkles his nose at Jason’s offer. “No thanks,” he says simply. 

Nothing in his tone gives him away so Jason isn’t even sure if Tim picked up on the accidental and subtle as a sledgehammer come ons. He’s not about to point them out so he rolls over, ties his goddamn shoes and gets up. Carefully. In case his suit decides to do something else unforgivable. Thankfully, he doesn’t have any issues getting to the edge of the roof or setting himself up to grapple off. 

“We can play How Much Gasoline Until the Nomax Melts if you want,” Jason threatens his suit, voice barely above a whisper. Then, louder, to Tim Jason says, “Okay then, see ya, Red.”

While Jason has been preoccupied with the simple task of traversing the roof, Tim has already gone back to his task. Binoculars up, body pitched forward as he intently watches something, he waves lazily over his shoulder.  No indication is made that Tim needs him to stay and act as back up. Must be a survey and report only kind of night. All the better because Jason would rather eat concrete and sleep on glass than stay with Tim for a few hours.

He has some more emotional repression to get to in the form of whatever he’s feeling about Tim. Very important stuff.

Stay tuned for a part two! (For real this time.)

[bonefall]

it is healing to come onto this blog and see basic respect for diasbility after being in other corners of the fandom and reading the words “snowkit could never be a warrior because he wouldnt know what anything is. he wouldnt even know what a clan is because nobody could explain it to him” said in full seriousness

Im..... That statement is so ableist I cannot even imagine the worldview you'd need to have in order to come up with that.

They really think the only way anyone learns anything is through verbal-speaking-words-noises? No one has ever observed something before? Not even once?

This is beyond touching grass, this person just fell out of the fucking Jurassic Period when all they had was ferns and stegosaurs.

I just...

OH YES. I remember my first day of Society Lessons as a hearing person, where the everything was explained to me. Via Audiobook. FIRST they spoke and said, "you are standing on the ground." It was a life changing revelation, and the world began to spin.

But it did not stop.

THEN they said, "there are fingers on your hands." The sensation of flesh and bone crackling into existence is indescribable, but I did not yet know pain, until they told me, "that hurts." I began screaming immediately.

And yet... it continued.

They explained so much. Chairs. Tables. Walls. The sky. Frogs. Ionizing radiation. Breathing. I was told all of it, in one sitting, and only then did I understand. Only when my ears were bursting with normal hearing knowledges, did they begin... my final test.

A strange wall-chair-finger emerged from the sky-of-the-wall, stood on the ground several times, until it was in front of me. A second one came behind it, this one slimmer. The audiobook gave these things names;

Human. Father. Mother. Door. Walking. It was completely impossible to know what these things were until that very moment.

I watch a human dip a hook into water and produce a fish, and I recall my Society Lessons where they called that "fishing." I am decked in the face by a nefarious hooligan, and I have only the audiobook to thank when I know I have been "punched" by a "bad guy." It was only the magic of verbal-speaking-words-noise that made me understand that there are "other people" and that they "do stuff."

Sometimes, even, in "groups."

Before the Society Lessons Audiobook, I knew nothing. I was pure, innocent, uncorrupted by concepts such as "parents" and "door." I am grateful every day that there is no such concept as "being shown things" or "simple logical reasoning" or "looking."

Blessed be those amongst us who escape the horrors of the Society Lessons Audiobook. I pray that you never learn what anything is. Be free! Free as a bird, which also knows nothing and famously cannot learn. 🤗

DEAF/HOH FOLLOWERS I'm losing my mind do you want me to bump a 'Hearing Disabilities Herb Guide' to the top of my priorities? Something you can use to bludgeon whackadoodles like that. This is ridiculous

Obviously not a MEDICINE guide but like; common causes of hearing disability in clan cats. Accommodations for hearing loss vs congenital deafness. Actual difficulties of not having that sense Clan-by-Clan. Debunking of misconceptions like... not being able to learn APPARENTLY.

[pocketramblr]

Inspired by this post: give Bruce a star sapphire ring

I've never met anyone who cared as deeply for his fellow man as Bruce Wayne

[sysig]

Not going the best (Patreon)

[seithr]

Randomly remembered the half-reason i call my oc-verse by the name it has while laying in bed. One-half of the reason i still knew, but I had forgotten what had truly, really cemented it jointly until now

(it was a song from my favourite band I haven't listened to in a while.)

(the song fit so well at the time, still does, that i needed to hold onto it for the main protagonists forever, by partially naming their story in reference.)

Does this explanation make any sense? Does anyone know why I'm tearing up remembering this. Aahh

[selfinflictedgunshotwound]

imo everyone on earth should be talking about Him (don't want this showing up in the tag even though it's not a diss) but everytime i go to the tag and there's only like 3 new posts i'm like. oh yeah almost no one cares except me and like 5 other ppl on here

i ran out of tags KFHSJENNXN i don't think that's literally ever happened to me before anyways don't read them because it's just me being insane as per usual

[angeltism]

rot.ary di.al the aqua bpder song ever