#OR his family's circus burning down!!!

[starsapphire]

best friend died, lost his job, girlfriend trying to dump him, about to get assaulted, city about to be blown to shit, little brother's dad about to get murdered, other little brother back from the dead and trying to kill him, family in shambles, universe about to end, radiation poisoning imminent, life falling apart. oh yeah. everything's coming up grayson

[shotmrmiller]

simon isn't a man you take home. he's for the literal streets. dresses like he's homeless because all that matters is that his throwing knives and handguns are pristine. the only reason his home is spotless is because he doesn't live in it, it's all for show. his pantry has only salt and mouse traps, his fridge a long expired bottle of ketchup and something that if anyone ate, they'd gain superpowers.

he's got a crazy look in his eye, and who can blame him after all that shit he's been through? gut-wrenching betrayal, unimaginable torture, then buried alive shoulder to shoulder with his ol rotting buddy, ol decaying pal? he joined the military a butcher's apprentice, and now he's an echo of what simon riley used to be, a fading silhouette that wanders the corridors in base. a ghost.

he has to play music whenever he's not at work just to keep the screaming voices in his head at bay, and it has to be loud enough to drown out the incessant high-pitched ringing in his ears. a cacophony of noise that wears his thin string of patience into in-existence.

he's a killer, he's a man who's donned his skull mask for so long that he's forgotten the face underneath.

you don't bring a man like him home. and when you eventually did, even your parents had agreed.

he looks one clown short of a circus.

he hovers over you like a ghost. (ha)

possessive, obsessive, paranoid.

he'll kill you if you try to leave him.

simon heard everything, not like they had tried to keep their voice down. it hadn't really mattered to him, empty words pelting knotted flesh only a sharpened knife could cut through. but you hadn't taken any of it.

his little hero, coming to his defense. it'd been the first time- in a long time- that his icy cold, tiny heart skipped a beat.

simon's always been his own savior. he saved himself from the shit life he had with his family by joining the army. he'd clawed his way out of his own grave, freshly turned soil stuck under his fingernails for weeks. he'd gone after the head of roba, in the name of vengeance. even now, he's a part of the justice league, the task force 141.

unsung heroes.

and here you were, standing in your parent's kitchen, all bared teeth and scalding temper- over him.

simon's so aroused that when he rises from where he's seated, he sways on his feet. there's no stopping him from briskly walking over to you and hoisting you up and over his shoulder, heading for the door.

there's no stopping him from throwing you into the backseat, and climbing in after.

you weakly try to stop him with stammered words, just wanting to know what the fuck he's doing but when simon starts to impatiently undo the button of your jeans, his confined manhood pushing up underneath you, it clicks.

you don't want him to stop when the calloused pad of his thumb rubs your slippery clit with expertise, thick fingers curling inside your swollen cunt.

you definitely don't want him to stop when his cock slides through your slick folds, his hand wrapped around his thick base. his tip pushes inside, mild discomfort already flaring. gravity then does the work, slowly sinking you onto him until his thighs are flush against your arse. the sweet, decadent burn of him splitting you in half sparking your nerve endings alight, from the waist to your knees.

you beg him not to stop when he fucks you in earnest; desire, sticky and wet, dampening the coarse trimmed hair of his cock. the air inside the truck muggy, heavy and thick with sex. he places his hand under your navel, right when he knows he is, and grunts when he gently presses down. the noises coming from you and your sodden pussy are obscene, lewd, downright vulgar and he wonders if you'd let him record it- to replace the banal music he usually listens to.

your breath hitches beautifully, and simon makes sure to watch how you let go of his shoulder to weave that hand downward to take yourself over the edge.

"impatient little pet, can't even wait f'me to get ya there, eh?" the low chuckle he lets out is cut short at the feeling of your slick walls fluttering around him, making him groan. he keeps his sharp gaze on you when your body tenses, back arching as you jerk fast, little circles over your pearl. he plants his feet and begins to thrust upward, your weight nothing to his strength and-

how beautiful you look in the pleasure he brings you.

it's cliche, truly, that he comes when you do, but he couldn't care less in this instance. your cunt squeezes him like a silken fist, a tight vice that milks his cock almost painfully so. his grip around your waist is bruising, but it only adds to the sensation- the delightful bite of pain prolonging your pleasure.

the base of his spine tingles from his climax, and his breathing is ragged. alive. your hands skim the wide breadth of his chest, as if brushing off the dirt he'd once been buried under.

his little hero.

you took him home, so now he takes you to his.

(...don't look in the kitchen, pet.)

[tealvenetianmask]

Does Blitz blame himself for Cash's abuse?

Stick with me, and I'm truly sorry.

All of the people except Cash featured in the memories Rolando shows Blitz are people who Blitz has cared deeply for and felt like he hurt, failed to get close to, or let down.

Let's look at them (again, yes)

Tilla

Fizz

Verosika

Loona

M&M

Barbie

A whole lot of Stolas

So. What. The. Actual. Fuck. Is Cash Fucking Buckzo. Doing in this line-up?

Well. Hurting Blitz, horribly. My first meta on this scene didn't really capture this, but as many have pointed out, this is Cash grabbing Blitz's freshly burned wrist after the fire and smacking the ever living shit out the burned side of his face. Presumably blaming him for the fire and everything (and everyone) lost from it. And then Cash telling Blitz in the hospital that Fizz doesn't want to see him.

It's emphasized too. Right after we see the memory of Cash hitting Blitz, we see Blitz physically flinch while watching it.

So if this is just a compilation of horrible memories, maybe that's all there is to it.

But if it's a grouping of the people Blitz cares for, well . . . it makes sense for it to be that, doesn't it? Blitz has a lot of love in him, and yet he's scared of intimacy. His trauma is ABOUT hurting people, losing people, driving people away, craving closeness that he can't have . . .

Being an abuse victim is complicated. Being a family scapegoat is complicated too. A lot of abusers try to make the victim think that they're ACTUALLY the cause of their pain and everyone else's, and we already know that Cash did this to Blitz (literally in this same set of memories in the hospital).

But we also saw it in The Circus when Blitz was much younger, and saw how much this tactic got to Blitz.

Cash guilts his son into going into a dangerous situation for him. If Blitz doesn't do this, their lack of resources, the possible suffering of his parents . . . it will all be Blitz's fault.

And Blitz cares deeply (he always has!), so he does it.

Now one might argue that Blitz says "of course I want to help Mama" here and leaves Cash out of his reply, so he doesn't love his father. But reality is often more complicated than that. He's upset here that Cash is forcing this on him. Cash hurts him. His mother (seemingly) offers much more love. That doesn't mean that Blitz doesn't ALSO feel some care and responsibility for his father's wellbeing.

I think that Blitz believes (or at least a significant part of him believes) that he destroyed Cash's life too with the fire, and that he deserved that beating and being turned away from the hospital and possibly many of the beatings and beratings that Cash delivered in the past. I think that in the moment when Cash grabbed him, he felt that he fully deserved the agony he felt when Cash held his wrist.

I think a part of him loved his father growing up and still loves him-- that there were moments between the incidents of cruelty where they had fun together as a family, and where looked up to his dad and wanted desperately to win his approval.

I think that Blitz has a lot of anger toward Cash too, and that a part of him always knew that Cash was wrong to hurt him. He had a whole lot of resilience and defiance in him even as a young kid.

I think that he felt guilty for all of the times he felt angry at his father. I think he might still.

I'm off to cry and then grab my pitchfork and storm wherever Cash is living nowadays. Who's with me?

[feefivefoe]

Surely Dick wasn't too at fault. He wasn't there for the majority of your mistreatment! He was starting up the Titans, or taking care of his own city, Bludhaven.

And when you had first come to the manor, both you and himself weren't exactly ready to have a new family, with him still having unresolved trauma over the death of his parents, and you having watched your apartment complex burn down from the inside!

You were both hurting and emotionally repressed back then, so you can't blame your big brother too much, can you?

At least, that's what he tries to tell himself at first. Because no, he wants to HELP. And he's one of the most well adjusted ones of the family (as though that's saying much-), so he can't be one of the biggest ones at fault.

Of course it isn't yours either, you were just a poor baby. You just didn't know what you were doing. And you still don't! It's so clear you're trying to push them away because you're afraid they're going to hurt you again, but they won't! They've learned their lesson, honest!

Don't you know what the realization that you're gone did to Jason? It almost tore him apart, you know! And Damian is just so curious and eager to meet you. He has so much to make up to you, so just come home and let big brother handle everything, okay? He's so eager to shower you in all the bonding moments he missed out on when you were little!

Why didn't you tell him you did theatre shows? He was in the circus, you're both performers! (In the back of his mind he can't help but wonder if that similarity is what drove you to start in the first place. Had you been desperate for a connection before genuinely falling in love with the art?) Ah, but don't get too involved now that you're out of school! That might put you in the same location as Clayface at some point.

Why don't you just perform at home? You can do a show where you play all the parts, or you can assign them roles...he's sure the other would agree if you were the one asking!

He's insistent on showing you off to the media at first, wanting everybody to know what a happy family the Wayne's are. Ah, but being in the public eye puts you at risk, and questions rise about your whereabouts for so long...maybe be a homebody! Don't go out without one of your brothers or dad, okay? They're used to handling the media, and how harsh they can be.

And the handful of villains who know their identities can't target you if you're at home. Your home. Not that dingy, unsafe apparment where they can't make sure you're warm, and fed, and safe, and happy-

Just...just stay where your big brother can look after you, okay? You both missed out on so much, after all!

[blitzwhore]

It just occurred to me that the circus went up in flames... and now... the I.M.P. headquarters have (at least partially) gone up in flames as well...

But when the circus burned, it broke Blitzø's family. His mom died. His father turned everyone against him. His sister cut ties with him. His best friend was maimed and manipulated to hate him.

Whereas when I.M.P. burned, it was so he and his family could hopefully be saved.

And now I can't stop thinking about how it wasn't Loona who set that drawer on fire. She tried, but she couldn't get the lighter to work. It was Blitzø.

Even after what he's gone through, Blitzø will stop at nothing to keep his family safe. If he has to take everything he's built and burn it to the fucking ground in a second to keep them safe, then so be it.

I... I need to sit down...

[gaywineauntsstuff]

I love those incorrect Wayne family posts where a baby bat (usually dick) calls Bruce to be like … so the house is on fire….

But what’s infinitely funnier

Is the fact that

Dicks house blew up, the circus was burned down, everyone he so much as brushed shoulders with on the street was being gunned down, his last link to learning his language lost.

He then finds out all of this happened due to a traffic jam, watched a man die in front of him, had a panic attack on a rooftop, had…stuff that’s less than savory and I will not discuss done to him on said rooftop by a former FBI agent who was sisters with the district attorney.

And he still didnt call Bruce.

Dick Grayson would rather commit suicide via radioactive city than ask Bruce Wayne for a dime.

and the best part is when its not Dick its Tim

the boy who invented a fake uncle so CPS couldn't fuck with him and he didn't wanna ask Bruce to adopt him

Bruce adopted Dick so that Tims fanboy instincts (I got adopted by one direction au except its the last survivor of a niche acrobat troupe you were obsessed with as pre-teen) would override his repulsion at asking Bruce for help.

Like Tim calls Dick for help with casework and goes "only bruce is free... guess ill just die then lol"

and when Dick needs help... he calls superman (not bruce) or the titans (who hate bruce) or he also goes "well Ive had a good run let me see if I can mask this attempt on my life as a last bid at heroics"

Bruce would cry tears of pure joy if Dick or Tim called him for help with anything ever. (after testing to see if the weren't replaced by clones and also half expecting this to be a case of being trapped in a dreamworld)

like the rest of the kids also wouldn't call Bruce but these two are the ones who like bruce (mostly in Tims case.... Occasionally in Dicks but yeah)

there's Cass but she fought Wonder Woman and broke into stephs, babs, dicks and Bruces places for shits and giggles she's not asking anyone for shit.

[threepandas]

Bad End: Poisoned Cups

I hadn't adjusted well, at first. I don't think anyone could have. Being an elf sound cool, on paper. The better eye sight, the incredible hearing, the stamina. All sorts of perks right? But what they don't tell you, is that when your soul is human? When you get isekai'd by some divine oversight or fucker with a truck?

It doesn't adapt that well, to a new body. Your soul INSISTS you should still be human, with all the trappings, and throws a FIT, when you just.... aren't. So you end up with migraines. Eyes that swim in and out of focus. Wheezing, struggling, breathe. A body at war with itself.

The world was so loud. Too loud. I could hear EVERYTHING and it HURT. Couldn't breathe and THAT hurt. Was nauseated all the time, from my eyes refusing to focus properly. That too, hurt. All of it, pain. Just? Pain. Day after day, pain pain pain.

My poor parents were helpless. The doctors struggled.

But the King? HE could save me.

And he did.

He was younger then. Just barely into his rule. His Father having just stepped down. My parents, desperate, brought me before him. Waited in line for days. They didn't even know if he COULD do anything, were grimly prepared for him to say that sadly, nothing COULD be done. But? Instead? He looked me over, called for several old texts, looked again, then called upon the strength of the Throne.

My parents apparently started weeping the second I stopped.

All I remember is the pain going away. Being exhausted. A REALLY pretty elf man in a crown. Things getting... better, after that.

I was told that story often, as a child. It utterly transformed our household. From merely loyal citizens, to devote Loyalists. Speaking ill of the King in THIS house? Would now get you HURT. My parents had been convinced they were going to LOSE me. The King as far as they were concerned, saved my LIFE.

Which is why I didn't put anything together. Seeing as we were an "all King all the time" Sort of house. We had one(1) team and we were sticking to it. Permanently. His son? Eeeeh, maybe. We'd figure that out later. We didn't care to know. And I was too busy with school work to CHECK.

Which? Meant I didn't NOTICE? He looked? More and more... Otome Capture Target as time went on. Specifically, he looked kinda crown prince from "Dance of the Secret Forest! A True Love For Me?!" sort of Shaped. Which... gee, what ARE the odds? Especially given that so many OTHER things are named suspiciously similar or exactly the same to that game?

.........yeeeeeah. I decided not to take chances.

I looked that shit UP.

And wouldn't you know it? Protagonist-chan? Not there yet. But she SURE COULD BE! All the legends were EXACTLY what they should be. Forests and locations the same! PEOPLE the same! Oh HELL no. Good to know where NOT to be, I guess.

Not my circus, NOT my Otome Drama Monkeys.

I? Would be working for the KING. My family owed him a debt.

And when I graduated? I applied. Top of my class. I studied my ASS off. Could have gone anywhere. But I was aiming for the TOP. A debt to be repayed and frankly? Excellent job security on top of it! So filling busy work in dusty ass backrooms it was. Gotta start from the bottom, after all.

I exhausted them. Was honestly barely trying too at that point. They should see me TRYING to put my nose to the grindstone. Burn the midnight oil! Ha! HA, I say! Long elven lifespans slow you all down! I? Used to live in a capitalist hellscape! This is NOTHING.

I'm not even multi-tasking. It's not even LUNCH YET.

Did I get promoted? Yes. Do I worry my coworkers? Deeply! But shit needs doing and we don't have all day! There is a nation to run! Have some tea. Eat a turnover. Now~! Where are my fuckin documents~☆?

I get promoted again.

Then again.

Aaaaand again.

I'm pretty sure it's cause I scare people. Am FAST. Efficient. Willing to hunt my coworkers for SPORT, like a god damned bloodhound, if it means we get that one extra tax document that makes or breaks us. I have (and will again if necessary) climbed through people's fucking WALLS. Cause, honestly? If they wanted to stop me?

They should have warded the gods damned vents.

Fuckin casuals. Get on my level.

So, now? I am the baby. King's inner circle. And EVERYONE? Is damn near twice my age! And, granted, yes. It IS hilarious I still scare like half the people working under me... but come ON! You are elite government officials! Do BETTER! (Geez. At least my PARENTS couldn't be prouder.)

But... (and God damn it, why is there ALWAYS a "but"?) here's the thing. It? Took me a WHILE to get where I am now. Long enough, in fact, for our... Problem, to arrive. A Problem which is GOING to cast his Majesty's kingdom into chaos and turmoil, in fighting and divides. Religious upheaval. A PROBLEM, which? In the name of luuuuuv~?

Is going to get NEIGHBORING COUNTRIES involved.

And WHO do you think is going to have to deal with that? WHO will have to prevent all out WAR? Religious schisms? Ward off assassins in the night? Certainly not Mr. "But Daddy, I love her!". Oh no, HE gets to sit back and enjoy the fruits of his father's suffering! Make more trouble! (Fucker.)

But, hey! Maybe I should throw in with his SECOND son, right? The supporting character? He seems vastly more reasonable and emotionally more balanced doesn't he? Well educated, cautious, why, thoughtful even! Ha ha... yeah... he DOES seem that way, doesn't he?

SEEMS.

He Is Not. Little fucker is a SPECIAL flavor of batshit. Completely "wake to find him standing over you, in your LOCKED BEDROOM, asking if you want to see his new favorite knife" nutty puffs. Not sure which side of the family it comes from, to be honest. Disturbingly good at getting past my warding.

Or at least he WAS, until I got the King involved. Ha! Royal wards! You can't touch me! I sleep like a BABY now! The only people who can enter my rooms now? Are literally JUST me and the KING HIMSELF! How safe is that~‽

But for real... poor his Majesty, you know? It's not like he didn't TRY to be a good father. Take time he couldn't afford out of each day, to spend time with his sons. Insist on eating meals together so he could ask them about their interests, how each day had gone. Involved them where he safely could.

He's a somber man. A dignified one. But let NO ONE say, he is not a LOVING one.

And HOW do his children fucking reward him? Middle school love dramatics and MURDER ATTEMPTS IN THE NIGHT! Because, YES, I have found the disturbing murder board that the second prince has in his "secret" room. Right along his equally disturbing stalker board of ME.

I, obviously, told the King.

He did not look pleased.

Don't know if my new reality has, like, intensive therapy programs or something? But I hope for ALL our sakes, that the second Prince is at the winter palace getting HELP, instead of just? You know... plotting.

His Highness has a nasty tendency to plot, after all. But hey, his Majesty says not to worry about it? I choose to believe him. Concern myself with more immediate threats. Enjoy, no longer turning around to find some baby faced little creep with a hunter's stare, just... watching me. As I try to work. As I try to eat. Around corners, still as a statue, yet somehow a THREAT, in lonely and too empty corridors.

God fucking DAMN, his little "crush" was creepy!

If it weren't for his Majesty? I would have run and run FAR. But... but I? And you CAN NOT repeat this, okay? It's WILDLY inappropriate! A-And I SWEAR I'm never going to.. to ACT on it! I would NEVER. So...so PROMISE, okay?

....cause.... I may... MAY! Possibly! Just a LITTLE bit! Sorta, kinda, just a BIT? Have a TEENY? Little crush... on... his Majesty? Maybe???

YOU CAN'T TELL!

It's SO fucking inappropriate. Oh my GOD. I hate this so much!? Cause he's my BOSS! And old enough to be my DAD! I SHOULDN'T be so attracted to him, right?! Plus he's the KING! There's definitely a power imbalance there! How would that even WORK?! We would have no future! I don't know the first THING about how to BE royalty. And no one would accept me!

Not that I think I even have a CHANCE! Fuck no! I'm not THAT arrogant.

But, like? A girl can day dream. Fantasize, you know?

Which is why? Having his SON? Be a creepo stalker at me? Kinda the WORST. I've literally JUST discovered I'm into older men! Thanks! BEGONE, zygote! Also, your vibes are RANCID! No thanks! I hated that and am SO glad it's gone. Now? All I have to worry about? Is Protagonist-chan and the political SHIT SHOW she drags after her like trail of destruction.

Why is she involving foreign royalty? PLEASE stop involving foreign royalty! Dukes! Religious leaders! MILITARY LEADERS. Stop "Helen of Troy"-ing your ass through our nice, PEACEFUL, kingdom!!! What the ACTUAL FUCK!? This is NOT A THEME PARK.

I watch, vaguely horrified, as his Majesty finishes reading three (yes, count um! Fucking THREE!) different royal missives demanding three different women of legend, from three DIFFERENT legends, who coincidentally enough? Happen to ALL BE THE SAME PERSON. Fucking Protagonist-chan.

They were from long standing ALLIES.

We could not AFFORD to lose those.

And the FOURTH message? Oh, THAT? That, was from his SON! Mr. "But Daddy! I Love her!" HIMSELF! He wants permission to marry the random woman of unknown province he found in the woods! Could be a foreign spy! Could be a mad woman. Who CARES right? They're SO in love~

Enough to START A WAR OVER IT.

I skip the tasting cups and instead? Bring his Majesty a bottle of the strongest star wine I can find. The sort that could damn near eat through rocks and vaporizes in air if you pour it out. Pain killers too, for what HAS to be a killer headache. Then I hesitate. You know what? Fuck it. I grab a cart. Make a care package.

Paper, ink, the STRONG tea, that special occasions tea (in case he needs a reason to remember his will to live), some snacks, a few shawls in case he decides to work late...

It's worth it, to see the way his stressed face relaxs when I return. Eyes softening, corner of his mouth curling up in that tiny, secret, little smile. We can get through this. We WILL get through this. I may not be able to stand by his side, but? I can support him. Help.

So long as HE sits in this office, burning himself down to keep this nation warm, so too, will I.

Tea or booze, your Majesty?

"A blend, I think. Unfortunately, I fear it is going to be a long night for us both." He replies. His voice smooth and low, effortlessly filling the room. A lifetime of public speaking, ingrained so very deep. "You should pour yourself a cup as well, my dear. Sleep will be a long time coming, we will need both the calm and the clarity."

I rolled my borrowed tea cart to the side and got to work. Strong tea and stronger star wine. Certainly a... flavor. Fairly certain such a thing should be illegal. Pretty sure our healers are going to be appalled. But, oh well. Needs, must. One for me, one for him.

He held out a hand. It was a sweeping gesture of his arm, a gentle turn of his wrist. I could never get used to his casual... elegance. The beauty of him. Like a living art work. A dancer. As though he were an actor, striking a pose, about to consider the soul of the simple tea cup. I handed it over, gently and with as much elegance as I could.

It still felt clumsy in comparison.

Yet he still smiled, just slightly. In that way I had learned to spot. Tension dripping away from his shoulders like thawing ice. Running in little rivers like melt waters, as he sat back in his chair, half turning it to face me. A brief moment to relax. Before work begins again.

"Ah... completely vile. Thank you, dear. It's disgusting." He said dryly, catching me off gaurd, and making me damn near snort into my cup. "If it did not work so well? I would never consume this swill again. What a perfect waste of tea and wine. We should invite Yevault."

I laugh. A snirking, snorting, choked little thing into my cup. God, but I've been TRYING to laugh more elegantly. Hell, I've even practiced. But when he catches me off gaurd? I swear to God, I cackle and pop. Like some sort of deranged witch pig. Ow, my sinuses.

"Oh but that's right, Yevault is a healer, on the occasions he takes time from being an unbearable snob. He might actually make us rest, dear. Then where would we be?" His Majesty muses, taking another sip before grimacing at the taste.

I go to respond. Probably some quip about "preferably in bed" or "asleep". Only... only to find my tounge sluggish. My exhaustion mounting, not slipping away. The world has begun to sway. Just a little at first, then notable. My mouth... fuzzy? Prickly. W...what?

His Majesty has begun to frown. Delicately setting down his cup... cup? Something about... a cup... I have taken too long to respond. He rises. Strides in a few, urgent, steps over to where I lean. Against the edge of my assistants desk. Swaying~ swaying~ w-why is the ground... my tounge feels to big. Think? I've begone to drool?

Warm, big hands cup my face. Was slipping forward, to the side. Gonna fall? Not anymore. Up. Hi! Is the king. Hi King. I... I don't feel so good...

His eyes have gone focused and cold. Pretty. Crown begins to glow. Leaves. Gold and gold, a halo of light. From within and beyond him. Power of the throne. Oh... oh I was here before, wasn't I? My bones remember. Like the roots to his great tree, power seeping deeper and deeper into my body, finding imperfections to consume. So... so much LIGHT.

I can not look away.

"Poison, was it? How terribly banal. Do they think me so simple to kill?" There is scorn in his voice. Utter distain. But deep beneath, like the hidden embers of a forest fire, there is rage. "How dare they drag you into this. Bad enough they throw a FIT over some trouble making tart, now they get the innocent involved? What if I had not been paying attention? Or you had taken that tea where I could not see it? Unacceptable."

Like spreading branches, like antlers, the light spread. The hands on my face gentle even as his Majesty's face might as well have been carved from stone. I tried to protest, swallowing thinking past the still rolling nausea. It was my fault! The tasting cups exsist for a REASON. They're supposed to test for things like this. I got too comfortable.

"No." The word slammed down as about an absolute as any sentence CAN. A declaration from on high. The commandment of a king. "It takes far more then simple poisons or common blades to kill me. The power that flows through the Throne insures it. You do not have that luxury. You could have DIED."

"....might still yet."

The last bit, almost a confession, pressed to my brow as he leaned down to press his lips to my forhead. His grip tighter, as though to stop his hands from shaking. My joints were starting to hurt, like I had a nasty cold, and I was already starting to feel feverish. I was starting to drip sweat. Shit.

I tried to stay calm. But... but I was scared. What do I do? Your Majesty! What do I DO?!

"We are going back to my quarters. Work can be brought to me. You need to lay down." He decided after a long moment of deliberation. Something had shifted in his eyes. I couldn't make heads or tails of it. Clung to the only trustworthy source of comfort I knew, in the chaos of this moment. "I'm going to take care of you. I have you, dear. Just trust me, darling. I will fix this. I swear it. You don't have to worry about a thing. Just put all of your trust in me, all right?

"Just come with me, dear. Everything will be all right."

"You can trust me."

[bloop-bl00p]

So who’s in the wrong?

Trigger warning: talks of sexual coercion, abuse, it’s long as fuck and the mention of St**as may trigger some unwanted rage.

• Don't argue about how I’m wrong without reading this first, look I’m a person it’s natural to be incorrect and I’m all for debate. Thank you. Obliviously I won’t always directly agree with you and will defend my arguments, respect is mutual be respectful and I/any other people ready for debate will be respectful to you.

• I tend to post these at night (at least in the country where I live) don’t expect me to respond to you immediately because most of the time, I’ll be sleeping.

• This post is mostly for me, I was really trying to recontextualize their relationship and came up with my own conclusion. There’s lots and lots of repetition, especially at the end so it can get annoying.

Actual start of the rant

I’ll be honest here, I’m biased and I don’t like any of these two, especially Stolas, my girls Millie and Octavia are underappreciated but I’m gonna stick with them no matter what.

While I have a clear animosity toward these two, I decided to be completely objective, I’m gonna point out what both of them did wrong since the beginning of the relationship and the writing issues.

Childhood friends, really?

The first time Stolas met him they were kids, and considering how he blushed when he saw Blitzø performing at the circus we can guess he got his gay awakening here….

Wait are we really going to take into consideration the feelings of a child? Childhood crushes are rarely relevant, and it’s not like they were long-time childhood BFFs, no he just saw him and blushed. We also have to consider the fact that he saw him the day he learned that his entire life was premeditated to his displeasure, Stolas was a kid, and he never wanted to get married so he naturally sought to find a form of escapism to his situation. Which is a pattern that followed him to his adulthood.

His father saw that he took a liking to the imp and bought him for the day and they played buddy. But Blitzø wasn’t having it at all.

He never wanted to be here and honestly, Stolas’s interest in literature isn't his cup of tea. he then proceeded to use Stola's naivety against him to steal items on behalf of his father.

This is the moment where I lost it completely, the first time they met was Blitzø using Stolas’ feelings in order to steal, why didn't Paimon beat the crap out of Stolas? These two literally stole everything and you’re telling me that Stolas did not get scolded? that’s hardly believable when he got smacked just for bowing to an imp. Paimon is the type of parent who only notices his kids when they are making a mistake, the fact that he didn't punish Stolas or even try to pursue Blitzø’s family is more than odd.

Don’t take this as me blaming Blitzø, if anything I blame his father for purposely using the name of his mother to influence his child. Blitzø was just doing it for his family, most importantly for survival.

Blitzø was a child living in poverty in a society that looked down on him because he was an imp, with the influence of his father and the people around him, he learned that he needed to steal in order for him to survive.

Even if there was this “cute” little montage of the two smiling and “playing” Blitzø wasn’t having it he was not here for Stolas he was here to make sure his family ate tomorrow.

But you wanna know why they couldn’t have Stolas actually punished by Paimon because they needed him to still hold onto his Blitzø fantasy.

The messiest meeting I’ve ever seen

Stolas grew up, married Stella, and purposely stayed in a marriage he could have avoided for the simple excuse of “I stay for my daughter.”

I explained why this is a stupid reason →HERE← going back to him. The security eventually brings him Blitzø who was trying to break into his room to which he brings the imp in it and starts casually flirting.

This is the moment when each of y’all are going to burn me. Stolas isn’t that much in the wrong here, yes, it’s a bit weird to flirt with a guy you haven’t seen in years but first, he drank a lot prior to their conversation. While he wasn’t drunk, it’s safe to assume he wasn’t in full control of his speech. Second and last, Stolas said it better than me.

It’s teasing, I don’t think he was actually aroused and more amused by the possible implication of why Blitzø would try to sneak up during the night specifically in his room. This is a man who canonically read smut, what he said was relatively vanilla. Plus Blitzø didn't express any form of disgust except a subtle “ew” before directly getting into his game and playfully flirting back.

In his head, it was just a friend coming back after a long time to see him, he was genuinely trying to catch up.

Is it stupid from a writing perspective that he somehow never realized that he was fooled as a child? Yes. Do I believe that the second he saw Blitzø he should have been more wary because he should have known that the last time he saw him he literally stole from his parent’s castle? ABSOLUTELY!! But the writing gymnastics perpetuated by the writers allowed Stolas’ cluelessness to be believable, in the story at least.

How ‘bout Blitzø?

He wants to start his killing business and goes on a mission to steal the grimoire from Stolas, in order to do so, he flirts back with the Prince and lets things escalate quickly.

He’s more in the wrong, with this context at least, he’s trying to manipulate Stolas in order to steal. The first reaction Stolas had when Blitzø actually went on with the more sexy talk was to back off, ‘til now Stolas just made a few innuendos Blitzø actually elevated the situation. Birdie eventually gets bitten and all of that pent-up frustration from his marriage drops and he starts to say very very questionable comments.

I’m not gonna blame him here because again, Blitzø was manipulating him, to him, that was what Blitzø wanted. They eventually fucked, because Blitzø pitied Stolas. Does this remove accountability for everything he has done to the Prince until now? No.

Verdicts

➤ Stolas not getting grounded as a child for letting an imp steal stuff is nonsensical it was probably a deliberate decision so he could act all friendly with Blitzø for their meeting. He drank not to the point of drunkennes, but still a lot. Alcohol will always affect the brain even when you have not reached a drunken state, so it’s safe to assume that Stolas wasn’t fully in control of what he was saying or doing.

➤ Blitzø is not in the wrong as a child, but he definitely used Stolas to get what he wanted as an adult, he takes the L.

The “Passionate fortification”

Coercion definition

It’s persuading someone to do something by using force or profiting from a possible disadvantage.

There’s sexual coercion where you convince someone to have sex with you by force. The instance of a boss using his power to have sex with one of his employees will be sexual coercion because he has power over them. He can threaten to fire them at any moment, even if he’s a “nice guy” and “will never do such things” That doesn’t remove the control he has.

Even without being threatened, the employee may accept because they do not want to risk their job or negatively affect their career. There’s a difference between genuine concent and the one you gave when disadvantaged. Power imbalance makes it hard to actually evaluate if the concent given is sincere or not.

Going back to Stolas and Blitzø

Stolas, unfortunately for Blitzø, realized that he got robbed and oh well, what does he do?

A. Get rightfully angry for being stolen but since he’s reasonable simply get the book back pacifically?

B. Get more than angry and completely destroy Blitzø’s building in order to teach the Imp a lesson about messing with Royal?

C. Prostitution 2.0 without concent.

If you choose C, congratulations you’re correct.

Now many people seemingly don’t think the deal was sexual coercion because Blitzø accepted it and because Stolas would never even think of actually threatening Blitzø, with the definition I gave I explained why they were weak arguments. The power dynamism is unhealthy, let’s look at how this deal even came up in the first place.

Blitzø was in danger actively running for his life telling Stolas “Hey dude, it’s literally not the time!” he’s getting shot at! You cannot tell me Stolas couldn't hear him getting chased, worse, he was seeing it before his eyes.

It was mentioned that they had a discussion about the grimoire before and that Stolas allowed him to use it. Why couldn’t he make the deal at this moment? Considering that he can actually see Blitzø, there’s this disturbing impression that he waited for him to be in danger, thus in a situation where he couldn’t process information properly so he could make the deal. It’s just an icky impression I had when rewatching the scene.

Even without the whole thing of Blitzø being in danger, the deal would have been unhealthy. Blitzø needs the book for the sake of his business and, y’know, get money to make sure he has a shelter above his and his daughter's heads and he doesn’t know Stolas personally. How could he possibly know that this practical stanger would have been “nice” and accepting if he refused, Stolas is a Prince, he can ruin Blitzø company with the snap of his fingers, it’s this whole power imbalance all over again.

But I kid you not when I heard someone have this take:

It’s still Blitzø's fault because why the hell would he specifically choose to own a business where he needs Stolas’ book? He brought this unto himself.

My brother is Christ are you dense? Blitzø did not choose this, the writer chose to make IMP a human-killing business. What the Hell?

But since I like to dismantle every argument on the internet I’m gonna open parentheses to explain, why, in the story, Blitzø chose to have this business…

( First of all, owning something as complicated as a business for an imp is weird, most of the people Blitzø has talked to have pointed out how surprising it is for him to thrive. Millie’s parent literally thought she was poor.

The fact that he still decided to go for it stems from insecurities I’m going to explain.

We have to evaluate the fact that he always wanted to own his own company, first completely based around circus. Then later killing people. It’s a childhood dream that persisted.

We are shown that he did try to work in a circus as an adult, but he was overshadowed by Robot Fizz. Blitzø is someone with a lot of self-image issues, when he explained to young Stolas what he wanted to do, he explicitly said that he wanted to become the most famous imp with a lot of money. We know that his performance was considered mediocre compared to the better Fizzarolly. As an adult Fizz literally did what Blitzø couldn’t and even without being physically there he put him to shame.

Which led me to believe that he sought something that only he could do correctly. At default of being a clown, he would be something else.

We don’t know how he got into killing business exactly but my guess is when he was Verosika’s bodyguard. She did say “Unlike you, he (being Vortex) actually does his job well.” While it’s more of a theory, I believe he quit the industry Fizzarolly was dominating and went on to protect the succubus.

The sentence was mostly for teasing and picking fun at but there’s also the possible implication that maybe Blitzø was actually bad, why? Because it was his first time, maybe he got better and realized “Hey I actually like killing people.” Then the whole “stealing credit card and ditching her” happened and he eventually started his business in Hell.

But here’s the thing, he’s not the only one killing other demons, he probably doesn't have enough money to buy angelic weapons and alleviate his business to kill royalty like Striker does, and hell, considering where he lives Striker seems to sacrifice a lot to afford those things. Blitzø and his team will just be hitmen over many, so what do you do to push your business agenda, you kill humans directly on Earth.

Blitzø started the company to prove himself that he was good at something else, which is killing. In an effort to seem original from any other killers in Hell, he decided to go for killing humans which he needs Stolas’ books for.

You could ask why he simply didn't get an Asmodeus Crystal because he needs to be registered to use them. How do you get registered? Is it like a passport? Do you need to pay, maybe he just didn’t have enough money to do so and simply resulted in stealing as a last resort. I said it at the beginning when discussing Stolas and Blitzø’s dynamics as kids, he learned in his childhood that in order to survive he needed to steal. A behavior that still stuck with him. )

BOOM parentheses closed.

Verdicts

➤ Stolas flipped the situation and is in the wrong for coercing Blitzø, I’m not saying that Blitzø is a saint here. But his relationship with other people does not matter right now, he’s clearly a victim, just not a perfect one.

➤ I can’t believe that I had to actually explain why Blitzø chose to have this business, he always brags about how good he is with guns and deserves recognition. That’s something he uses to inflate his ego. Not saying that he shouldn’t be proud of his company of course.

Lust and Codependency but not Love

Stolas

Stolas never had a really tangible idea of what healthy relationships look like outside of fiction, we’ve seen him throughout the series reading two books, “Imp in the Sheet” and “Passion & Brimstone.”

Considering that Stolas almost always tends to specify the nature of Blitzø which is an imp (basically a race in this world) it leads me to believe that Stolas is fetishing Blitzø.

Think about it, throughout all of season 1 he was always pointing out how small he was compared to him, mentioning most of the time in his flirting that he was an imp, sexualizing his body, and speaking of how big he was. Not just to him, while he wasn’t flirting with others he always found a way to remind everyone “Hey, y’all are small imps.”

Honorable mention to “Impish little plaything.”

This is not love, it's lust, he likes getting dicked by people hierarchically inferior to him. It’s the white girl having sex with the POC wild man all over again but make it gay with demons.

But why Blitzø out of all people? Because Stolas sees him as a way of escapism.

Every time Stolas is in danger he calls unto Blitzø. In the face of danger, he thinks of Blitzø. In his little fantasy, Blitzø is the one who is going to “save” him from this boring marriage he absolutely has no control over. Except that no, he was indeed forced to have Octavia which is tragic but that ends here. He easily called unto divorce the second a stranger came into the picture as if he was confident that his happiness was guaranteed now that Blitzø was here.

Notice how I used the word “easily” to describe the divorce, he did not face the consequences that should have happened, Stella made parties about how they were still legally together as if it were an accomplishment. Stolas could have left without any problems.

“I’m staying for my daughter” is a weak argument, I’m sending you back to the purple link. If he really wanted to stay for Octavia, why did he throw all of his effort for Blitzø? When the divorce was officialized, he directly went in to get a crystal with the hope of Blitzø staying otherwise he would have sunk into misery, he does not want to be responsible for his own happiness.

You’ll tell me he uses anti-depressants but most of the time, he takes a good amount of them once and that's all. I’m pretty sure that you shouldn't take a shit tone of them in one gulp immortal prince or not it does not help. On top of that, he doesn’t make any effort to fix his drinking issue that has been showcased in the show. Stella is mean? Quick the alcohol! There’s literally a scene where he wakes up from a blackout caused by drunkenness,

He’s miserable, acknowledges it, and has all of the tools to ameliorate his life but he doesn’t. He preferred fantasy, a fantasy he is projecting onto Blitzø. I don’t care if he wants to be better, we all do but he needs to put in the work.

OCTAVIA IS RIGHT THERE BEGGING YOU TO PAY ATTENTION TO HER!

Yes, it’s not romantic but it's still something! Before seeking deeper bounds you need to work on yourself and learn to be content with what you have first, he’s acting as if nobody ever loved him completely disregarding his daughter’s.

When I said put in the work I mean multiple things regarding Stolas’ situation, the fact that he, whether consciously or unconsciously, believes that Blitzø is the solution to all of his problems and not HIS action reeks of a shitty self-esteem. He could have got rid of Stella who clearly has a negative effect on him, which he did but way too late and it affected his daughter out of all people.

He could have surrounded himself with people who actually cared for him, Better, Stolas is isolated, and the introduction of Vassago in the trailers, and the confirmation that he isn’t evil, means that there are probably other positive figures in the Goetia. He could have tried to socialize and go to parties or special events about his favorite subject.

Most importantly, he should seek professional help, there's rehabs and anti-depressants in Hell, and you’re telling me there’s no therapist?

I’m not a therapist myself but I did have a period of my life where my self-esteem was relatively low, those are the solutions I applied during my healing journey and while I definitely still have work to do, I can say that I’m fine now.

Because I worked on myself.

Blitzø

Tell me how could he love the one guy who constantly belittled him throughout most of their interaction.

Often the counter-arguments to that will be that Stolas did not realize that he was making Blitzø uncomfortable, but that doesn't mean that he did not hurt him. If I shot you in the shoulder, you wouldn’t care if it was accidental or not, I still shot you and now I have to make up for it. The same goes for Stolas.

Also…

How bad do you need to be to be unable to read the room and realize that someone's facial expressions show discomfort, how deaf do you need to be to not hear when he blatantly says “Hey, I don’t like how you call me that all the time!”

The fact that the writers make it seem like he did not realize how uncomfortable he was is to me a writing issue again. Or Stolas is just that braindead.

I already explained why Blitzø hasn’t given his consent to the deal in the coercion/unhealthy power dynamics parentheses, so let’s skip ahead to the dependence part.

Here’s my take, Blitzø does not love Stolas.

We all know how bad this guy is at relationships, his last bad experiences make it so he constantly sabotages his connection with others because he cannot fandom the thought of being vulnerable with someone. Being vulnerable is exposing yourself to potentially being hurt, something that happened too many times to him. I believe his relationship with Verosika was just a regular hookup, she mentioned that he only left when she confessed leading me to think that it never was official. He enjoys casual sex because he still wants to feel wanted but leaves when feelings get involved, a pattern he most likely had with other people.

Does this trauma justify him being a dick to everyone else, no. But, he recently showed a desire to make up for his bullshit. While I believe the resolution was fast, he worked out his issues with Fizz and they are friends now. It’s still salty with Veronika but it’s implied that she doesn’t hold that much of a grunge anymore. He still has work to do though.

So how does Stolas fit in all of this?

The deal was made way before he started apologizing to people, meaning that he was vulnerable so here’s the situation:

He’s a guy so bad at showing his true colors that he purposely makes his relationship with people unbearable because at least it’s something that he would see coming. He got hurt but deliberately, he’s in control of the situation. At the same time, he actually craves intimacy making him seek casual sex as a form of replacement for genuine attachment. Now you have this powerful man being the one controlling the situation and weirdly being obsessed with him forcing him into a sexual relationship.

Stolas came like a little flower, offering him the thing he want in the fucked up way possible, a form of attachment, and now Blitzø is stuck in this situation where he doesn’t want the relationship but still accepts it. First, because, it's for the sake of his job, and second because it’s the only form of “attachment” that he could get. He might as well entertain Stolas with sex long enough just so he doesn't get disinterested in him, for the money and for the sense of false intimacy it provides.

Verdicts

➤ Both are codependent on each other but Stolas is the one in power, he’s the abuser who is projecting his savior fantasies onto Blitzø. Some will say that Blitzø is just as a shitty person as Stolas, what he did to Mox is disgusting but does he deserves to be coerced?

When people said that, it felt like they said “He’s a bad person therefore karma bitch!” no, Blitzø is not meant to be a perfect victim. What he did to other people was awful but it did not have any impact on his relationship with Stolas, whether you like it or not Blitzø is a bad person but he’s also a victim.

Hey! It’s the episode with the best song in the first season!!

So Moxxie and the best girl of the show after Octavia had a little rendezvous in Ozzie in order to celebrate their marriage. Moxxie again proves himself to be a lucky boy.

To which Blitzø decides to stalk them… now I mentioned he’s bad at relationships. The fact that he stalks them can be explained by the fascination he has, he is probably jealous or trying to leave something he thinks he would never have thought them. Which does not justify the stalking or sexual harassment! No, I merely explain why he does it.

Unlucky he is, he needs a partner to continue following them in the restaurant to which he calls Stolas feigning inventing him to a date in order to do so… look, calling someone just so you can use them to stalk your employees without specifying your true intention is bad. He’s in the wrong there.

So Stolas was alone in this castle hinting at his solitude, and got existed when he was asked out. While they were still the annoying flirting and infamous “Blitzy” you cannot say that he did not try a bit to get closer to him. He wanted to have a good time, I mean he thought that Blitzø actually wanted to see him, not just because they had a deal. So you’ll notice that he toned down the flirting a bit.

He was not only aggravated that Blitzø wasn’t paying attention to him, which makes sense in this context because anyone would be pissed if the date that invited them didn't give a shit. But despite this, he is actually trying to have a conversation, with how surprised/confused Blitzø looks, I can only assume that it’s the first time Stolas is addressing him over anything else than bad attempts at sexy talk.

He still fumbled despite his best effort.

They weren’t uncomfortable until Asmodeus, a figure of great authority, pointed them out. To Blitzø this means one thing, he is something that Stolas will love to brag around among the lesser, he will toy with him and use him as he pleases but the second their relationship threatens his reputation, the second he will be in the company of the higher folks he will drop him. He’s a kink, a toy to be ashamed of.

You can tell me all you want that this is not what Stolas wanted to convey but the comparison feels so much clearer when Millie and Mox are in the picture. They are unapologetically sweet to one another not caring about anything or the judgments of people, Millie literally knocked out Fizz to protect her husband! Then you have Stolas who’ll brag about how hot Blitzø is, but not too much to make sure it does not reach higher ears. Blitzø realized this and that's why he refused to stay with Stolas at the end of the episode.

“Hey, now that we’re alone we can act all lovely-dovely, sorry for not defending you earlier but my reputation is more important.”

Because of this gesture, all of Stolas’ attempts at getting close felt like some sort of roleplay the bird was planning, but got cut short the moment he got humiliated. It's why rather than saying “I don't want to spend time with you tonight” he says “I don’t want to fuck you tonight.” Blitzø believes his feelings are getting played again.

Stolas said it, it’s just a transaction, a favor for-favor thing. Blitzø does not want the illusion of being a couple to settle in, and despite all of this he still apologizes for not sleeping with the bird.

He got his confirmation that Stolas could never truly love him, one of the reasons being societal. He’s dead set on keeping this relationship as it is.

Verdicts

➤ Blitzø once again used Stolas to entertain his immoral behavior, while the stealing of the grimoire wasn’t immoral because it was for the sake of his companies. Dude literally just wanted to stalk his employees, what the hell dude? He takes the L.

➤ Stolas isn’t the reason for this rendez-vous and actually came with genuine interest, intending to actually have a genuine conversation with Blitzø to flesh out their relationship. But he just dug his own grave and he proved to Blitzø that he was just a toy, a toy to be ashamed of and only used in private to whiting the minority he belongs to.

Honorable mentions

➤ At the beginning of Harvest Moon, during Stolas and Blitzø's conversation, it is implied that it’s not the first time that Stolas advanced the dates of their meeting to align with his princely duties. Now I want you to think of one thing, how many times do you think Blitzø had to completely drop everything he was doing just so he could reluctantly go fuck one bird without even respecting the schedule. And I’m insisting on the “reluctant,” Blitzø cannot say just “no” to the sexy part, he can’t just drop the books no he has to have sex with Stolas.

➤ People take the scene in Truth Seekers where Stolas got all big and angry as proof that he cares about Blitzø, potentially meaning that he was watching over him and decided to intervene to save him.

Not only does he call him “Impish Little Plaything” reducing him once again to the role of toy and dehumanizing him completely, but what does he do after traumatizing the agents? He asked for a little “thanks” When you do something genuinely nice you do it from the kindest of your heart. Blitzø obviously did not see any other possible so he slept with him to satisfy him.

➤ When rewatching the show I noticed something all the way through the first episode of Truth Seekers. When Stolas starts aggressively flirting with Blitzø, his natural reaction is to call out of his bullshit which unfortunately falls on deaf ears. In Western Energy he even allows himself to push Stolas away when he’s too touchy. (at 0:33)

However, in Truth Seeker, we can see he’s still uncomfortable/annoyed but doesn’t do as much as he did in the first episode. He got used to Stola's behavior and stopped trying to assert boundaries, he knows the Prince won’t listen anyway.

➤ People in Western Energy were angry at Blitzø for not jumping on his horse to fulfill Stolas’ fantasies of being saved by him.

First of all, he mentioned that he had a shot to give to Loona, an appointment that took him five fucking years to get. So yeah, sorry I ain’t available to save your ass.

Second, Stolas has a legion of demons he rules over (S2/Ep.1 = 1:32) why the hell would he call that one random imp who has a life outside of him? He even has the nerve to say “I think you should come save me.” (S2/Ep.4 = 2:00) bitch call one or two members of your legion maybe?!

Third, not only did Blitzø apologize for being rightly busy with his own life but, just because he was worried, and also for the sake of his business, he sent Millie and Moxxie to get him. He still assured that help was in the way without asking for anything else unlike someone.

The “passionate fortification” gone wrong

Stolas realized that coercion is bad and decided to ask Blitzø to meet him so he could have a proper conversation about the unhealthy nature of their deal and… oh. Wait…

Stolas: I’m sorry if anything I said or did may have offended you tonight. Blitzo: ITZ WUTEVS Stolas: Next time you come over. Maybe we can talk about what happened at Ozzie’s? Blitzø: Y? Stolas: I’m sorry nevermind. It’s not a big deal. I was just worried about you. You seemed very upset and you took off so fast. But maybe I read too much into that. I’m glad that it’s not the case. I wasn’t upset either I just wanted to make sure you weren’t and obliviously you can handle any stupid joke a clown can make. Asmodeus can be very invasive with his humor. But I thought it was pretty funny. What he said about me at least. I enjoy being the subject of the jest. Maybe you can say mean thing s to me too the next time you come over. If you want? Blitzo: SHUR

→ HERE ← is a link to other much-needed phone calls between these two.

Stolas does show some levels of care in those banters and seems to be driven by wanting to respect Blitzø boundaries. Those happen in parallel with him realizing that the deal he made was fucked up so he wanted to give Blitzø is the choice. The fact that Blitzø did not acknowledge these attempts as genuine affection was explained earlier, in Ozzie he basically got the confirmation that every Stolas is acting like that it’s just to fuck with him.

Right now after what seemed to be months where Stolas gave him the choice he deliberately chose to stay away from him before coming back to the full moon, Stolas failed to do one thing to convey the seriousness of what they were gonna adress.

That little piece of lyrics from Blitzø let me once again think that this was Stolas who asked for the meeting using the full moon as an excuse. Considering Blitzø was more than happy to get back to square one and how he prepared himself to do the nasty to Stolas, he clearly did not get announced that this wasn’t going to be their casual sex. Which is a big mistake.

Just to remind everyone, Blitzø uses this relationship to get the feeling of closeness he thinks he’ll never have and doesn’t deserve.

Quoting myself:

“Stolas came like a little flower, offering him the thing he want in the fucked up way possible, a form of attachment, and now Blitzø is stuck in this situation where he doesn’t want the relationship but still accepts it. First, because, it's for the sake of his job, and second because it’s the only form of “attachment” that he could get. He might as well entertain Stolas with sex long enough just so he doesn't get disinterested in him, for the money and for the sense of false intimacy it provides. .”

We the audience know this but Stolas doesn’t. But even without this knowledge, why would you not mention that you do not want sex but serious talk? Be for real! Miscommunication is when you fail to convey information, he did not try to tell him beforehand that this was gonna be serious!

So Loona essentially planted the seeds in Blitzø’s head that Stolas was getting bored of him, and well… it fucked with his mind, so how does he respond when the unintended suddenly serious talk happens? With denial then anger.

Can he seriously expect sincerity from Stolas? To Blitzø, there are two solutions, Stolas is roleplaying with him or he’s throwing him away after his fun. It’s the worst-case scenario, he had the power, he put Blitzø to shame stripped him away of his pride, constantly belittled and tossed him to the role of toy, a toy he cannot show off to royalty because of his statue. And then what? Does he leave him after everything?! Seriously?!

And Stolas?

He understood coercion was bad and we can give him the thumbs up for that. He fucked up on everything else, first because it’s the only thing he seems to acknowledge, he only reflects on the unfairness of the contract and not how his past behavior hurted Blitzø.

When Blitzø started going to roleplay, rather than stopping him and further showcasing the seriousness and sincerity of his action he just left like he got a full fleshed-down answer.

You dropped a bomb so suddenly, out of nowhere, using the pretext that you two were going to fuck and you expect him to proceed with this information in a matter of seconds?! Not only did you not leave Blitzø at least a few days to prepare himself psychologically by saying that the night wouldn’t be about sucking your ass for once, but you go and abandon the ship when you don’t get a desired answer?! What the hell is wrong with you?!

The bitches are fighting now

Why did Blitzø come back to Stolas if he hated him so much?

Trauma Bounding

Trauma bonding is when you feel a deep attachment to your abuser. In my opinion, this is what happens here.

This is the relationship Blitzø thinks he deserves, he feels entitled to Stolas because Stolas is what he has coming. He ruined the lives of all of his past lovers/hookups, and his family hates him, yes his friendship with an old crush was fixed but it’s a very minor improvement when you compare it to the years of self-deprecation Blitzø suffered from. Stolas is a prince, Blitzø cannot ruin his life, he cannot blow him up like he did with Fizz, he cannot run away from him, he cannot do anything but please him.

From having sex with him, he gets the semi-form of love he’ll never have with the guarantee that he won't be able to leave. He gained a fully long-lasting “relationship”, a toxic one but it’s better than nothing.

But now that he has the choice, the Asmodeus crystal, with his mind so ingrained in the idea that Stolas is the only thing he deserves, he tries to reinstall the only thing he seeks in this. Intimacy. Stolas doesn't reciprocate, which is surprising.

“You usually like it when I talk all dirty, and fucky, and shit.” (S2 Ep.9/0:52)

Blitzø doesn’t want to lose his VIP pass to a semblance of what love could look like, he can still stalk his employees but it would be drastically different from actually acting on his frustration.

But less talking about Blitzø, why is Stolas so upset with Blitzø? Because despite everything  that happened he still can see that he is genuine. He’s frustrated that Blitzø cannot see it outside of sex.

Honey, you put yourself into this situation.

Must I remind you of the “favors for favors” thingy, you were the one who initiated sex as the center of the relationship? In addition, you ruined the image he has of you. You refused to listen to his complaints when you were aggressively flirting and touching him, and you built this image of superiority and dominance over him with your actions, which nullified all of your attempts to try and be soft because it’s simply not possible to think that you could be genuine with him.

Now you have the chance to apologize and listen to him, but you choose to be sassy and hold the most hypocritical speech I have ever seen.

Watch me lose hours of my life dismantling some of his bullshit:

“As shocking as this might seem, Blitzo- I don't think I'm in the mood to "do sex" with you. In fact, I don't think I'm even in the mood to do words with you! So, how about you respect that?”

And I’m sure Blitzø wishes he could have said the same thing to you multiple times, while Blitzø is clearly disrespecting Stolas’ boundaries here, you cannot tell me how hypocritical that sounds from him.

“I don't look down on you! How many times do I ha- When have I ever?! You speak just like that vile Striker friend of yours. The one who tried to kill me and you couldn't be bothered to come help me. Remember him?”

Imagine changing the subject when the conversation had absolutely nothing to do with Striker. Isn’t Stola's award of the racism toward imp in the society? I mean, he can not be aware of his own bigotry, but why does he sound so surprised when someone points out how royals and even himself talk down to Imps? Granted, Striker was torturing him while doing it, but with Blitzø? That should have been the moment when he realized that maybe he was racist without realizing it. You know a self-reflection you make by actually thinking about what the other is telling you rather than dismissing them.

“I suppose you are right, silly me. It's not an imp's place to protect a Goetia, is it?”

You own a legion of powerful demons, why do expect an imp to constantly save you?

“That's all you were waiting for, wasn't it? For me to play into this idea you have of me that I'm this prince who thinks he's so much better than you. Well, I don't! Why would I allow everyone to see how much I like you? How I've tried so fucking hard to spend time with you, to support you? You don't owe me those things, but you can't just ignore all that!”

I explained most of these things already, but my question is why bother? Why are you wasting your time and energy on someone not reciprocating your feelings when you could redirect them to your daughter?

– Oh, you think I can't apologize?! For what?! You want me to be like- Oh, sorry, this entire time I assumed the worst because I was convinced a prince could never love someone like me and I've let my self-hatred stop me from apologizing to anyone I could ever care about! – Well, yes. That.

I… yeah I’m absolutely going to make you apologize when I’m partially the cause of why you see me that way. What? Apologize myself? Ah! No.

“Do you feel any kind of remorse for what you do?”

Also Blitzø: “Stolas, don't act like what we have is anything but you wanting me to fuck you, okay? You make that really clear all the time. *voice breaking* But, I just, I-I can't do it tonight, okay? I'm sorry.”

“Stolas, wait! I'm s-”

The last verdicts

My final thought will start with a question, where is the love?

This fandom and the series are constantly beating us with the allegation that this is just a miscommunication issue that is going to be fixed at the end!

They are soulmates, everyone!

You know what I see? I see a man unable to face his issue himself and projecting his savior fantasy onto a stranger leading him to eventually trap this other person in a shitty deal just so he could fulfill his dream. On top of that, the person he trapped clearly doesn’t give two shit about him, and seeking the comfort they provide made him neglect the important parts of his life. AKA his child. He’s waiting energy on someone who doesn’t care and torturing this person at the same time.

I see another man trapped in a shitty deal, unable to leave because his life depends on it and because he deeply believes that it’s the only form of love he could get, so he simply content himself with it. Despite not being 100% in control, he still finds little cracks where he can manipulate the one who has the power in order to do immoral shit.

How romantic, but seriously…

Where the hell do you get the conclusion that yay they bone and love each other?! They are two miserable people searching for consolation in a very destructive situation! Not only is the narrative using the most badly affected in the relationship as a punching bag but it is also trying to fly over the radar and showcase this mess as an endgame. A match made in Hell, everyone!

What could have been a powerful story exploring how childhood trauma can let two people fall into a toxic relationship just so they could cramp onto each other to feel the warmth of the flesh turned into… whatever soap opera subgenre it is.

What should have happened is that Blitzø should have realized that he deserves a better form of love, he has a daughter and a friend who cares about him, if anything he should seek to rebuild healthy dynamics with his family and with himself.

Stolas should have realized that one of the many factors of his misery is himself and should have focused on the things that matter, his daughter and mental health. By the end of season 2, they should have separated realizing how they both fucked, mostly Stolas. Season 3 would have been based on their healing journey and how they are focusing on it before seeking relation.

But no… apparently, what they have is love, they are miskomunicatatatin… and they should fall in love to fix all of their issues. Yay! Season 2 is about the end and it's way too late to hold Stolas accountable for everything I’ve mentioned up there, with how the narrative focused on beating the dead horse that is Blitzø, I’m getting the vibe that when they address Stolas it will never feel truly satisfying.

Anyhow, I’m gonna sleep now, rewatching Helluva Boss again and again gave me a migraine.

And → HERE ← you can find a good video, it helped me with the making of the script and the channel is too underrate, go support them.

[celaenaeiln]

Is Dick's tendency for self-destructive habits really as bad as some fics make it out to be?

oh interesting!! In some way, yes actually.

Batman (2016) Issue #689

Dick and Alfred!! The duo make me so happy <33

But anyway, it's weird that someone who's so effusive with his affection so often and readily "deflects a moment of genuine emotion." Which is also one of the reasons why Dick Grayson as a character is so fascinating because he's never what people expect him to be. He's like a puzzle box where every time you think you solved, you just opened yourself up to a hard, even more complex one wherein the process repeats on an endless cycle.

He's incredibly self-destructive in the way he drive a burning car off a bridge and he'll know it's on fire, he knows where he's going, but he'll do it anyway because the car has a bomb and it's safer with him than the civilians behind him.

You know what? I just realized he deflects intimate conversations because he wants to keep the focus on the other person. Since he was Robin, Dick has been purposefully neglecting his feelings in order to take care of Bruce's. Right after his parents died, he bottled up his sadness and sorrow because he was worried that Bruce would blame himself and he didn't want Bruce to do that.

It's always been "Tell me what's wrong, Bruce." He's been so busy raising his guardian, his friends, his siblings, his teammates, that Dick has sunk into the role of a performer - the spotlight's on him but the audience is the focus.

I didn't realize until writing this ask but self-destruction is just such a normal thing with him that it's become a part of his personality. In fics it's very obvious when he's being self-destructive or neglecting himself or etc because he's very aware of it but Dick in canon has just made it his thing. It's actually the Titans that realize this and yank him out of it because Dick has no idea what he does to himself.

The New Teen Titans (1980) Issue #28

The New Teen Titans (1980) Issue #28

He's not self-destructive in a way that he's conscious of it but his habits and his lifestyle don't really give him a choice. He literally works himself sick.

The Titans (1999) Issue #9

"Maybe it's too much. Dick --have you considered that? You're working Bludhaven, even joining their force, you still clearly intend to come here to Gotham every time he calls you -- working so hard you're making yourself sick,"

"No. It's not the newness that's the problem."

People are literally telling him to calm down and he's like 'No! I'm perfectly okay. This is fine, let's continue.'

And this isn't even going into when Blockbuster blew up his life and Dick kinda lost himself to hunt him down and make him pay. People understand that Desmond burnt down the circus but Dick was still connected to the people in that circus, like he used his contacts there to sometimes inquire about things going on Bludhaven. The people at the circus raised him along with his parents so killing them was like killing Dick's aunts and uncles and friends and childhood. What happened then and after the SA was catastrophic. To Dick self-destruction has just become a part of him because he aims for perfection in every aspect of his life.

Like Donna said, "He works with the Titans, on his own, goes to school, and then he works alongside Batman..." and so on. Usually people struggle to maintain even one area of their life like just school or family but Dick's juggling, his work, his family, his friends, his relationship, his teams, and is still on call for Justice League incidents.

Titans (2003) Issue #6

He literally dropped everything to come over and break up the Titans (OF WHICH HE IS NOT EVEN A PART OF RIGHT NOW BECAUSE HE'S IN THE MIDDLE OF DEALING WITH THE OUTSIDERS) and the Justice League full on fighting.

He's not self-destructive in the way he doesn't want to get out of bed or that he isn't clean, it's just that Dick Grayson is a machine. He's got ice in his veins and he just powers through everything. Everything he does has to be top notch, so sleep and social life and happiness can say goodbye because he's too busy for that. This is why the Titans are so important to him and for him because they realize this toxic trait of his and do their absolute best to yank him out of this bad habit because Dick certainly can't stop.

So self-destruction has become part of his personality but unlike in fics, it's conducive self-destruction. It comes from his refusal to feel any emotion that isn't for others because Big Brother Dick Grayson and Best Friend Dick Grayson are always there for everyone but the second he's asked to help himself or someone tries to help him, he flakes. He's the best at helping others and being there for them but he's allergic to getting help or talking about himself.

[magnoliasandarson]

on the rocks

Jason Todd drinks. This surprises people. Dick, for one, had a particularly comical reaction to watching his baby brother grab a beer after patrol. It had been over the top, a dramatic gasp, a demand to see some valid ID- the works. Jason told him to fuck off and plopped down on the couch. Dick had stayed standing for a moment, searching for some sort of crisis in his baby brother, before joining him with his own bottle.

Jason Todd goes to bars. This, too, surprises people. All of the Bats know, for some reason Jason can't confront, about Willis Todd. They all know to look for the smallest twitch- the faintest microexpression to give away that Jason is in some sort of post-traumatic panic. Every loud, drunk idiot makes them place a hand on his arm like they're scared he's going to blow up. Jason usually ignores them and finds a quiet corner.

Jason Todd attends Wayne Galas. It had been a slow process, getting him to don an actual suit and smile for the cameras. He had done it before... everything- had happily lined up to be part of Gotham's circus. But after being declared legally not-dead, he assumed his family wouldn't parade their zombie around. He was wrong.

So now, he leans up along the polished metallic wall of an overly grandiose banquet hall and longs for the days when his family hated him. Maybe he's being melodramatic. But who really cares? If anyone has earned the right to be a bit dramatic, it's the guy who died during the rehearsals for his sophomore production (he'll always be bitter about that). The starched lines of his suit itch- and the Gotham elite give him a wide berth. He wants desperately to leave.

Brucie is out and about- in rare form to boot. He's got a model on either arm, sloshing expensive whiskey onto one of their glimmering gowns, grinning ear to ear as he slurs out a story about skiing. Jason wants to punch him in his perfect face. Equally drunk snobs crowd around Brucie, eating up the prince of Gotham's every word. The crowd lives for his ridiculous act, and Jason hates him for it.

Way back when Jason had worn the stupid leotard and pixie boots, Brucie went sober. He was still a charming idiot because, of course, he was, but due to his new ward's troubled past, he gave up liquor. It had been a nice gesture, one that made young Jason feel like Bruce loved cared about him in a real way. Guess that streak ended when Jason did.

Dick was in his periphery, glancing over every couple of seconds like he was waiting for Jason to go green. Jason really couldn't give a damn; there was no confusing Brucie for Willis, even if they were both mean bastards. There is no danger of a violent hand or Batarang tonight; he knows that. There would be a crowd of witnesses, and neither man would've ever done anything with an audience.

Brucie snatches an expensive-looking bottle away from a passing server, and Jason is done. He knocks back the last of his drink and shrugs off his brother's hand.

The scar tissue wrapped around his throat burns as he storms out.

[silverwhittlingknife]

Dick Grayson & Tim Drake: Reading Guide

Once upon a time, two kids met at a circus... and the rest is history.

table of contents:

who are these losers?

what's fun about them?

why a reading guide?

how does the reading guide work? (tl;dr: there are quick recs, a selected chronological list, and a complete chronological list)

where is the spreadsheet? (x)

who are they?

Dick Grayson and Tim Drake: the first Robin and the third Robin.

Also known as the circus boy and the earnest computer geek, the hotshot and the pretender, the slighted prince and the new apprentice, the acolyte and the hanger-on, Nightwing and Robin, Batman and Robin, Batman and Red Robin, and Marcia and Cindy (BftC 3, N 110 & 119, B 617, DC 677, Detention Comics 1, R 168, RR 14).

Or as Jason calls them, "You idiots" (TT 47).

More seriously, Dick Grayson is one of the most enduring comic characters ever - he's been around since Detective Comics 38 in 1940! He's Batman's first ward, first partner, and eldest son. When Dick's parents are murdered, Bruce identifies with him, comforts him, and takes him into his home, where Dick ultimately volunteers to join his crimefighting mission. By candlelight, the Dynamic Duo swear an oath: That we two will fight together against crime and corruption and never swerve from the path of righteousness!

Tim Drake was created in Batman 436 and formally introduced in Lonely Place of Dying. He's a lonely kid who imprints on Dick when they meet as children, and Dick hugs him and promises to do a quadruple somersault for him; he's horrified and worried about Dick in the aftermath of the Graysons' murder, which he witnesses. He watches Batman comfort Dick, deduces Robin's secret identity, and becomes a secret devotee of the Dynamic Duo. Though he admires them both, it's ultimately Dick who he idolizes and tries to emulate when Bruce is spiraling: Batman needs a Robin. No matter what he thinks he wants.

Their slow-burn strangers-to-friends-to-brothers-to-antagonists-to-brothers-again arc develops from 1989 to 2011, and it's one of the standout examples of the DC Post-Crisis era's commitment to gradual character development and careful continuity.

what's fun about them?

SO MUCH!!! But one of my favorite things is their friendship has RANGE!! They go from sweet kids to tense strangers to loyal friends to brothers over the course of real-life years and tons of comics. They fight, they tease each other, they get protective, they worry, they chase each other down, they walk away... there's just so much story here.

They meet at the circus as children, when both their parents are still alive. They meet again, years later, when Bruce is reeling from Jason's death and they team up to stop him from hurting anyone. In the early days, they're brothers-in-arms and never quite family - instead, Dick is Bruce's loyal-but-estranged eldest son, and Tim is Bruce's new loyal-but-wary apprentice, with his own family and his own semi-estranged dad. The slow process of evolving toward found-family is a delight to watch.

They work together as Nightwing and Robin over four years of in-universe time and for over twenty years of real-time, gradually forging a fierce bond of friendship and, ultimately, brotherhood.

Then Bruce dies, and they have some huge fights.

But even when they're estranged, even when they're not speaking... they never stop loving and trying to protect each other. No matter what.

why a reading guide?

Quotes from New Titans 60 and Batman 441 (1989), Nightwing 25 (1998), Nightwing 69 (2002), Red Robin 1 (2009), Red Robin 12 (2010), Gates of Gotham 3 and Detective Comics 874 (2011)

I think reading guides are cool!! And somebody asked me about one!

More generally, I think reading guides are always helpful, but especially with Dick & Tim... you know, when I first started out trying to read their comics, I got kinda overwhelmed. Because on the one hand there's SO MUCH CONTENT - they're one of the classic enduring friendships in all of post-Crisis! their relationship is a HUGE BIG DEAL! they're constantly calling each other and hanging out and supporting each other and arguing!

But at the same time, all of that content is scattered across lots of different books, in Robin and Nightwing and Detective Comics and Batman and New Titans and Titans and Young Justice and Teen Titans and Shadow of the Bat and Gotham Knights and Birds of Prey and Showcase and DC Holiday Specials and so on and so forth. There's not One Definitive Place where you can read The Dick-and-Tim Story.

So: a reading guide!

how does the reading guide work?

Dick and Tim are in over 400 comics together and over 800 comics each separately. That's a whole lot of comics! So I've made a spreadsheet with three different reading guides, depending on how interested you are in these two:

1-5 Quick Recs: If you just want to check out a couple comics, check out these quick recs for "if you like fluff," "if you like angst," etc.

200 Starter Comics: If you want to do a comprehensive, chronological Dick-and-Tim read without committing to all the comics, this list has some of their major team-ups plus some solo comics so you know what the heck is going on. Most of them have a "sneak peek" you can use to decide if you want to read it.

Big List: A complete list of all the comics Dick and Tim are in, in chronological order, with links to dc.fandom and to DC Universe Infinite. It has filter views.

This spreadsheet was a labor of love, obsession, and SO MUCH PROCRASTINATING doing other things. I update it sometimes.

where is the spreadsheet?

it's here. have fun <3

[covetyou]

for one night only

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist

pairing: Frankie Morales x fat contortionist f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings: Oral sex, face fucking 👀, fingering, addiction, minor mention of clowns (no descriptions, mentioned very briefly), drug use (not Frankie, minor mention), squirting, slightly subby Frankie. word count: 4.5k summary: Frankie Morales has a problem. Not the drink. Or the drugs. Frankie Morales has a problem saying no. One night only, one night only… In the morning this feeling will be gone It has no chance going on

A/N: I feel like one of those ao3 notes where the author is like "soz this took 4 years to update, my whole family died and then I had to move country 12 times, and now I live on the moon and have to send all updates down to earth via the postal sysem", but my dog was diagnosed with a heart murmur on Tuesday (on Catfish Day, no less!) and then on Wednesday I was cranked open and scraped out, because I have the luck of beign born with a cervix. Neither of those things are good conditions to write smut under, I've found out, least of all when it's also the hottest days of the year so far.

So, here we are, 2 days late, and I'm not asking for forgiveness or apologising, I just really like to complain and make lighthearted jokes over serious things to make myself feel better. happiest belated Catfish Day, pocket pals 💛

same reader character as in jester little bit more 👀 this story continues in fools just wanna have fun (Dieter x reader) and family friendly (Frankie x Reader [x Dieter])

follow @covetedfics and turn notifications on for updates on future work

From the moment Will proposed it three weeks ago, Frankie knew tonight was going to be a stupid idea. Still, here he was, walking into the fucking circus of all places, staring at a glowing sign that was taunting him with the words he'd told himself every time he'd ever gave in to the temptation of booze or coke.

For one night only.

Seven months of sobriety didn't make that temptation go away, and even though this was his longest stint clean in some time, today was not the day to be pushing himself. Work had exhausted him and tested his patience to the extreme, and now he was spending his one free evening in a place that was more overwhelming than it could ever be enjoyable.

It's not that his friends weren't helping, either. They were trying, just like Frankie was trying to enjoy himself, hoping each time they asked him if he was doing okay that it would suddenly be true. But the smell of beer and the press of warm bodies against his as they shuffled into the Big Top made him feel less and less in control as time went on.

It didn't get better from there.

In the Big Top, somewhere between the chaos and the elegance, and back to chaos again, he'd lost himself in it all - that was until he was distracted by a distinct smell brought into the big top by a troupe of clowns that he knew would lead him nowhere good.

That nowhere good turned out to be a shitty looking trailer half covered by a tarp, with "Bravo"scrawled on the door in sharpie. If you'd asked him how he got here, he wouldn't exactly know - he just knew it involved hearing a name, lying to his friends about needing the bathroom, and sneaking away while they were distracted by a sideshow game he had no interest in.

He knew the road he was heading down. That for one night only sign burning in his mind as he stood there, fighting a war inside his own head.

Then, like an angel covered in soft furnishings, you'd turned up, dumping blankets with an oomph onto a cart behind him, wearing what looked to be nothing more than a t-shirt and sandals as you turned to look at him, took one look at the twitching in his hand and the hesitation in his body before you told him he didn't want what was on the other side of that door.

And Frankie knew you were right.

You were the most right thing he'd seen all day. So, when you beckoned him, he obeyed, following behind you like a starving puppy as you led the way through the mess of trailers, to what must have been your own.

He'd watched as you climbed the steps ahead of him, sequinned ass on display with each step upwards, watching it sway and jiggle as you ascended, only pulling his eyes away when you turned and looked down on him with a knowing look.

That's how he found himself here. Surrounded by soft things and delicate lighting. Away from one kind of temptation but sat right in front of another, watching as you grip the edge of your t-shirt, pulling it high enough that he can see a strip of your belly as you gesture back to those impossibly short shorts.

"Do you mind if I...?"

Frankie nods, waving his hand and stuttering over too many words as he tries, and fails, to be unaffected by you and what he can only imagine you'd feel like beneath his hands.

"No, sure, fine. Uh. Go ahead."

You laugh as you start to undress, letting your t-shirt fall to cover you once more. He watches you peel those too tight shorts down your legs, grunting with the effort as they roll and pinch against your thighs. Your skin bulges and ripples as they roll down your legs, and Frankie can think of nothing but sinking his itching fingers into your soft skin and anchoring them there as he dives head first into the place hidden just beyond the hem of your shirt.

"You made the right choice, y'know. I'm much more interesting than what Bravo the Clown has to offer," you say with a wink, catching him watching you just as your shorts pool at your feet and you step out of them. "He might have his head up his ass, but his head can't touch his ass like mine can. Tea?"

With a nod, Frankie watches as you move to the kitchen - a small counter with a water kettle and some mugs, and not much else - before you call back to him.

"You can get comfortable too, if you want."

And so he does, pulling off his hat first, before unbuckling his belt and tugging it from his pants with a sigh.

When you come back, you hand him a mug, which he accepts with a thank you before gripping the burning ceramic hard in his hand, rubbing his other along the rough fabric of his jeans.

"You need a distraction," you say, with a nod to the mug burning his palm. "What do you usually do when... y'know?"

"Keep busy, usually," Frankie says, looking down at his hand, flexing it until the sting subsides.

"Let's find you something to focus on then. An activity. Something good."

Frankie's mind immediately goes where he knows it shouldn't. You'd seen him struggle, and you'd helped him, the least he could do was keep it in his pants and his mind out of the gutter.

But then, when you sit down opposite him, crossing your legs as you take a sip of your own tea, all he can see is the gusset of your panties, and he knows he's ruined. He doesn't even try to hide his cock as it hardens in his jeans each moment he spends looking at you, so casual and relaxed in this space you brought him to.

You know, of course. If he was paying even a bit of attention to what your own eyes were doing, he'd see that you're well aware of the affect you're having on him. Since he looked up at you from the steps, part of you had been working out how you'd get him beneath you again, and now it was looking like all you'd need to do was snap your fingers and all your dreams would come true.

Some might say that would be manipulative. The man needed a calm place to be for a little while, and you were happy to provide it, no payment necessary. But, with the way he was looking at you, pleading with those beautiful brown eyes - combined with the shockwaves sent to your cunt every time his voice rumbled from his chest - it was clear you were both fighting a losing battle against something much better to give in to than whatever quick fix Dieter could rustle up.

A blaring ring of a phone pulls you both out of your thoughts, and he scrambles for his pocket, pulling out a battered looking phone with a crack across the screen and pressing it to his ear.

"Hey, man," he says into the phone, not meeting your eye.

Here, in the quiet oasis of your trailer, with nothing but the distant tinkle of music to disturb the peace, you can hear every word from the other end of the line clear as day.

"Fish, where the hell are you?"

And now, maybe it is manipulative of you to stretch to put your mug down on the counter, drawing his eyes back to you.

"Uh, just had to get away."

When your fingers slowly drag up your thighs, tugging the hem of your shirt upwards and over your panties, you don't miss the way his throat bobs in a heavy swallow, his eyes going glassy as he tries to focus on the voice practically screaming down the line over the noise of carnival music and chattering crowds.

"You back at the van?"

And maybe the leg you put on the coffee table is a little unnecessary, but it works. Soon his eyes are drawn down to between your thighs, and the small scrap of fabric covering you that he'd been trying so desperately not to look at.

"No, no. I had to -" you draw your shirt a little higher, the soft pooch of your belly and the waistband of your panties now on show for him. "- mierda. Just some place quiet. It's chaos out there."

"We can leave, hermano. I told you, you never have to force yourself through this shit. You want out, we're out."

Your hands continue up, and up, pulling your shirt with them and then, just when your breasts threaten to spill out of the bottom of it, you let go, stretching your arms high above your head with a smile.

"Hello? Fish? Catfish? You're worrying me, man. Where are you?"

Raising your eyebrow, with one last ace up your sleeve, you let your thigh fall to the side, and watch the entire house of cards come falling down.

"I gotta go."

"Fra -"

"I'll text you."

The line goes dead, and Frankie quickly taps out a message in hopes to keep Santi quiet for at least a little while. When his phone is face down on the seat beside him, he lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding and rubs his hands on his rough jeans once more.

"So, Fish," you start, drawing his attention back to you, where you sit tracking your fingertips slowly up and down yourself. "Think of anything fun we could do?"

With a sly smile, biting your lip, you shuffle your hips forward. No sooner are the tips of your fingers dipping below the elastic of your panties, and he's up, out of his seat.

And straight on the floor in front of you, having taken one big step over the coffee table to get to you before wedging himself between your spread legs. And fuck does he want to touch - dive right in and feast - but instead he sits back on his haunches, staring up at you from his position on his knees, looking absolutely wrecked.

"That what you want, pretty boy?" you say, as he wipes one hand across his chin, the other balling into a fist in his lap.

He's nervous. Impulsive, sure, but hesitant. So, you reach for his hand before it falls to join his other in his lap, and press it into the soft meat of your thigh, squeezing down, before releasing and letting him take the reins.

His exploration is tentative, at first. Soft sweeps of his hand from your knee to your hip, and back again. Watching up at you as you relax down into the cushions around you, sighing and smiling each time his hands trace a new patch of you and light it on fire.

When his other hand joins the first, taking its place on your other thigh, you whisper breathy words of encouragement to him - words that sound so loud in his ears but he knows are barely audible above the sound of his own heavy breathing.

That's all he needs to start pressing his mouth to your bare skin. Kisses to your inner knee, small nibbles to the swell of your thigh. Each and every press of his mouth is met with a giggle - his facial hair tickling your delicate skin.

"I see he called you Catfish," you say through another giggle as his kisses move higher, following the trail of his hands.

"Yeah?" he says, his breath ghosting your thigh, smiling as you giggle again. And fuck, even if he never gets any higher than this, no closer to salvation than right here, the bulge of your thighs in his grip, this would be distraction enough to fight through fifty more bad days.

"It's the whiskers, isn't it?" you ask, laughing again when he scratches his beard lightly on your inner thigh.

But then, he's face-to-face with the tiny scrap of fabric covering you - so much smaller than he expected when he was sat staring from the other side of your trailer - looking up at you now that you're quiet, giggles subsided but one brewing just beneath the surface.

"Or," you start, as you reach down for his face, dragging your thumb across the swell of his plush bottom lip. "Or it's because you're a bottom feeder. Catfish by name, catfish by nature."

A soft kiss to your cunt over your panties comes before you even finish your taunt, and you find yourself groaning out his bizarre name not once, but twice as he cuts you off each time. Not that you mind, of course, and he doesn't seem to either. Each moan you make makes him press deeper and deeper kisses to you, until he's dragging his mouth up and down the seam of your clothed pussy, desperately trying to taste you.

Your cunt, as desperate to get to him as he is to her, throbs, trickling slick as he mouths at you, teasing your clit with nudges of his nose. And then he's licking you - not where you want him, but near enough, as he licks a soft stripe up one side of your cunt then the other, tasting your skin where your panties don't quite cover.

What you really want is to tear your underwear off and let him devour you, but you don't. That would mean pushing him away, and he's far too lost in it for you to even want to attempt it. So, instead, you reach down and yank the thin fabric to the side just as he takes another soft bite of your thigh, and delight in his gasp when he takes his first proper look at you.

"Oh, shit."

Whatever restraint he was showing before flies right out of the window when he can finally see your pussy. He dives in, tonguing your entrance, tasting every drop of arousal he's pulled from you since he started his teasing. Within a few licks, you've slouched further down the bench, spreading your thighs wider as his hands wrap around them and pin you down.

You feel better than he could imagine. Your thighs are thick and plush - the fat of them easily gripped and kneaded in his palms as he messily eats you, pressing his tongue into your hole only to feel you clench around him.

It doesn't get any less messy, or more refined, as he laps at you. It's like he's ravenous, and maybe he is, but it's too much, too fast, too soon, and not enough all at once.

"Slow," you gasp, rocking your hips, hoping he'll get the picture. And, to his credit, he does. He pulls back, looking between your furrowed brows and the wet mess he's licked over your cunt, and instead takes a slow swipe from your hole to your clit.

"That's it," you moan as his tongue teases around you. He avoids your sensitive nub for a few strokes, choosing instead to circle it, to tease you. But then his broad circles swirl tighter and tighter until you're groaning out into the tiny space. "Right there. You've got it. Oh, fuck."

Frankie moans right back. He's like a rock in his own pants, so hard it's bordering on painful, but he can't bring himself to pull a hand away from you to adjust himself. Instead, he uses his finger tips to pry you open a little, spreading your slit wide for him to lick into before focussing back on your clit and slipping a finger easily inside you.

This is how you're going to come. Onto this beautiful mans tongue, his fingers buried inside you, your t-shirt rucked up higher and higher by your own hands, fingers pinching your own nipples, head thrown back.

"Fuck, so close."

He groans, nodding into your cunt, his tongue swiping up and down on your clit with each bob of his head. And he looks beautiful doing it - eyes screwed shut as he moans and whines into your pussy, wanting nothing more than to please you, planting a delicious seed in your mind as he gets more and more desperate to make you come.

"Give me another finger, pretty boy," you ask, biting back a good boy when he slips a second thick digit into your fluttering pussy.

Reaching down, you stroke his face, pulling his attention up to you as you thread your fingers through his messy hair while he laps and suckles away at your clit, fingers pumping shallowly inside you.

"You want me to use that pretty mouth?" you ask, and the groan he gives you in return almost sets you off then and there.

"Oh fuck, that's good. That's good," you pant, taking a deep breath to try to hold back your rapidly approaching orgasm. "Stick out that tongue for me, pretty boy."

Frankie, ever the obedient little thing, sticks out his tongue for you, groaning when you slip a finger across the wet muscle and into his mouth, letting him suck on it for a little before swiping it across your own clit.

"Keep it out for me."

"Uh-huh."

You tug him closer, scratching gently at his scalp when his tongue slides against your pussy, before holding him in place.

"That's it. Keep it out. You're going to make me come, pretty boy. Keep those fingers right there too. Don't you dare take them out."

The look in his eyes tells you everything you need to know right then. This is exactly what he needed, the perfect antidote to his seemingly inevitable downward spiral. He looks entirely fucked out - face a mess, lips swollen, facial hair drenched in saliva and your own slick. Then, with a small nod of his head, you start to move, rocking gently against his face at first, before you pick up the pace.

You're not sure you've felt anything better. His fingers are deep and he's curling them inside you over and over, pressing against a spongy spot you're all too familiar with. You're grinding your clit against his tongue - using his whole face to get yourself off, alternating between the smooth slick swipe of his tongue before the rough scratch of his facial hair briefly catches your clit, and back, over and over. It's driving you insane. You're driving yourself insane, but you can't - won't - stop. How could you when he's panting, practically sobbing into your pussy, as you use him.

Now, you really are going to come. You rock against his face more rapidly, movements more precise now, fucking yourself onto his fingers and grinding your clit into his tongue, fingers tugging and pulling at his hair.

Then, your back is arching off the bench, a loud, keening groan leaving you, your fingers twitching and releasing from his hair, your hips stuttering as it all gets too much. Anyone else, any other day, and this would have spelled a ruined orgasm for you and a terrible nights sleep. But Frankie doesn't let up. Your fingers release him and he continues, nodding his own face against you exactly as you liked it, fingers curling, and curling, and curling so wetly inside you you're sure you're going to burst.

Until you do. You convulse there right on the bench, clit twitching against Frankie's tongue as you gush against his fingers, his chin, coming so hard you're sure you've left the atmosphere.

It's only when your voice finally comes back to you, your silent orgasm all but wrung out of you, that you tell him to stop - practically beg him - and collapse back into the cushion, still twitching.

Frankie sits between your legs, pressing feather light kisses to your mound, as you come down. He looks so peaceful there, between your thick thighs, soothing himself with your body while he ignores his own aching cock.

"What's your real name, pretty boy?" you ask with a lazy smile, swiping your thumb across his chin and the wetness still glistening there.

"Francisco. Frankie. It's Frankie," he mumbles into your leg, finally shifting to alleviate some of the strain in his jeans.

"Come up here and kiss me, Frankie."

On aching knees, Frankie pulls himself up. He moves to hover over you, to hold himself off of you in case he gets carried away, but you pull him down, pressing your mouth to his and tasting yourself on his tongue.

"Mhm. You want a hand with that, Frankie?" you ask, feeling the solid length now pushing into your thigh through his jeans.

"Wanna fuck you," he gasps into your mouth, rutting and grinding forward as you scrape blunt nails up his back.

And it makes you freeze. Frankie, in that moment, is certain he's fucked up. That's not what this is.

But then he hears you curse softly under your breath, looking over to a cabinet as you try to wrack your brain for when you last restocked your stash of condoms. Too fucking long ago, is the only answer that comes to mind, and you're certain you don't have any.

"I don't have any fucking condoms - goddamnit," you say with a pained sigh, trying to stop tears of frustration pricking in your eyes. You want it too. If the bulge in his pants is anything to go by, you'd have the time of your life riding him straight through till morning.

"But we can do something else?" you say, hopeful that he doesn't want to go just yet as you reach down and start stroking him over his pants. "I think I owe you that much."

Fuck does it feel good, having your hand stroke him. He wants nothing more than to say yes - not to cash in on what he's owed, but because you feel so damn good. Still, he knows it wouldn't be enough. He'd had enough tragic experiences and fumbles in the past few months that he knew the only way he was getting off was from his own hand or by fucking hard into something soft and wet, or he wasn't coming at all.

"No," he says softly, kissing you again and shifting his hips back from your grip. "No, it's okay. And, I'm not - shit - don't feel guilty, I'm not trying to do that, I'm just - it's just - uh - fuck - it's difficult. For me to, uh..."

You lay a comforting hand on his side as he trails off. "It's okay."

If your own shame had ever taught you anything, you know he's about to apologise for something that doesn't need an apology.

"Can I show you something cool, Frankie?" you say instead, cutting him off before he could let the shame eat at him.

Frankie nods, and lets you gently push him back and off the bench seat you're both awkwardly lying on.

Hauling yourself up, you reach for something under the bench closest to the end of your trailer, and pull, throwing all your weight back until the bench is shifting forward and a hidden piece of the puzzle is pulling up and out, where you can push it down onto the coffee table.

You climb onto it then - the pillows and blankets making so much sense now that he sees this is your bed - and pull a cord on the ceiling, letting it rattle and shift until there's a soft clunk.

"Come here."

Frankie follows, wary of the stability of the whole thing only for a second, climbing up behind you as you lay down. Sitting beside you, he follows your eyes up and up until they reach the ceiling.

Only, there isn't one. Instead, what he's faced with is a window to the endless sky, lit with streaks of light bouncing off of clouds, turning them a rainbow of colors as they shift and sway.

"This is what I do when everything feels too much," you say, looking straight up into the night sky. Frankie lies beside you then, looking up into the abyss alongside you in that tiny space.

"I lie here for long enough that all the big and overwhelming things feel small again. Something about looking out into the universe really puts stuff into perspective, y'know?"

"I think I do," he says with a smile, just as your hand finds his arm.

You lie there together for a little while. Talking a little, but mostly just looking out into the sky, occasionally remarking on the shapes of the circus lights beaming into the heavens.

"Fuck," You say suddenly, and Frankie turns to see you pressing your hands into your eyes, blocking any view of the sky above as you lie together in your trailer. "Fuck."

"You okay?" he says, worried that he's over stepped his mark, stayed too long and made a weird thing weirder just by sticking around.

But then you're pouncing on him, pushing him back into your bed, and latching onto his mouth in a feverish kiss. It's all you can do to not rub your bare cunt on his jeans in desperation for more, because that's just it. You want more, condoms be damned.

"What if," you say between kisses, "I could get condoms - what if - I could grab some right now - do you - do you wanna...?"

Frankie thinks it's the most obvious thing in the world - he is, after all, still rock solid in his pants. No amount of staring at the night sky seems to be making it go away. In fact, he's just got harder and harder since laying down with you and having your hands dance delicate patterns onto his bare arms.

His hands find your ass, pulling you further into him, dragging your leg over his own and your cunt along his thigh, making you grind down into him and moan into his mouth. He doesn't exactly have words for how much he wants it, just that he knows he's as desperate for it as he was to be buried face first between your thighs. So, he groans back, your hand finding a perfect spot on the crotch of his jeans, rubbing and kneading the solid lump of his cock through the denim.

"S'that a yes?" you mumble, and as you pull away, staring into the wrecked glazed eyes of one another, you both laugh, catching each others mouths in another hurried kiss.

"It's a hell fucking yes, hermosa."

At that, you dart up. Or you try to, at least. It's more of an awkward roll and a flop as you try to pull your leg from Frankie without causing any damage, before you crawl off the end of the bed and grab for your shirt and those tiny panties again - wherever the fuck they are. Balance should be your thing, but right now as you're frantically shoving clothes on, anyone would think you didn't do this for a living.

"Wait here," you pant, hopping into your shoes. "I will be right back."

And as you leave the trailer, the door slamming behind you as you practically run away into the night, Frankie thinks of how lucky he is to have found salvation in a place like this - a soft little oasis amidst so much chaos.

this story continues in fools just wanna have fun (Dieter x reader) and family friendly (Frankie x Reader [x Dieter])

tags: @beefrobeefcal @schnarfer @for-a-longlongtime

[playboysaleen]

Through Ash and Iron (7)

Jinx x Reader x Caitlyn

Summary: Through Ash and Iron plunges you into the heart of Piltover’s gritty streets, where you’ve always felt the weight of your family’s failures. Rejected from the Junior Enforcer Program, your anger burns brighter than ever—until one fateful punch changes everything. The eyes of Piltover’s elite may look down on you, but it’s the wild eyes of Jinx that truly see you. She’s chaos personified, and you’re drawn to the destruction she promises. But that’s not all. Caitlyn Kiramman, a poised enforcer with a soft spot for rebels like you, offers you a chance to rewrite your future—if you can control the rage you can’t seem to escape.Torn between the order Caitlyn represents and the dangerous freedom Jinx offers, you stand at the crossroads of two worlds. As your power grows, so does the tension between these two women. One promises a chance at belonging, while the other ignites a fire you didn’t know you had. But the choices you make will change everything—not just for you, but for both cities teetering on the edge of war. Who will you choose? And how much of yourself will you lose along the way?

Warnings: Violence duh, gay panic(lol), cursing, all that jazz (whatever you seen in Arcane is what you gon see here)This is also a slight AU.(She/her)

Word Count: 4k

The group moved through the undercity’s darkened alleys, shadows swallowing their movements. Jinx darted ahead with her usual restless energy, her gaze flicking over every corner for threats. Sevika moved steadily, your weight barely affecting her, while Caitlyn trailed behind, struggling to keep up in the unfamiliar terrain.

“You’re slowing us down, pilitie,” Sevika muttered over her shoulder, earning a sharp glare from Caitlyn.

“Not all of us were raised in the shadows,” Caitlyn shot back, panting slightly but refusing to falter.

“Clearly,” Sevika muttered, adjusting her hold on you.

Jinx led them to a hidden refuge in the undercity, a crumbling old warehouse that seemed abandoned from the outside but held a vibrant, chaotic energy within.

“Ekko?” Jinx called, her voice echoing through the space.

From the rafters, a figure descended, his staff clanking softly against the ground. Ekko’s eyes narrowed as he took in the group, especially Caitlyn. “What’s the Commander of Piltover doing here? Thought this was Undercity business.”

Caitlyn stepped forward. “We’re trying to save her.”

Ekko raised an eyebrow, unconvinced, his gaze shifting to Sevika. “And you’re just letting her help? That’s new.”

Sevika scoffed. “Don’t get used to it.” She set you down gently on a makeshift cot. “She’s barely keeping it together. And these two? They’re a damn circus act. We need someone who actually knows what they’re doing.”

Ekko crossed his arms, studying you. “She doesn’t look so dangerous now.”

“That’s because she’s unconscious,” Sevika muttered darkly.

Jinx shot Ekko a look. “We’re not leaving until you help. I know you’ve got connections. Heimerdinger. We need him.”

Ekko frowned, glancing at Caitlyn again. “And you trust her?”

“No,” Jinx said bluntly, before looking at you. “But I trust Spark needs this.”

Ekko sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Fine. But if this goes sideways…”

Sevika smirked. “Trust me, kid. I’ll handle it.”

Ekko nodded, signaling one of his people to fetch Heimerdinger. As they moved to make preparations, Jinx and Caitlyn stood on opposite sides of the cot, their eyes meeting briefly before both turned their attention back to you.

Neither spoke, but the silent agreement was clear: no matter their differences, they wouldn’t let you fall.

The air in the room was heavy, charged with tension as you strained against the enhanced cuffs and binds holding you down. Your once gentle gray eyes now burned an electric purple, their light almost pulsating with raw anger. The thick straps around your wrists creaked under the pressure of your struggle, the metal glowing faintly as your energy licked against it.  

In the shadows of the room, Caitlyn and Jinx stood side by side, their usual antagonism momentarily subdued by shared apprehension. Caitlyn’s knuckles were white as she gripped the back of a chair, her usually composed face betraying a flicker of fear. Jinx, for once, was silent, her mismatched eyes darting between you and the bindings as if calculating whether she could get to you in time if things went wrong.  

Then came your voice—a guttural, unrecognizable roar that reverberated through the room.  

“LET ME OUT!” Your words were raw, primal, sending a shiver through even the bravest hearts.  

Heimerdinger stood a safe distance away, his small frame partially hidden behind a console of glowing monitors. His bushy eyebrows furrowed in deep concern as he examined readouts on your vitals and energy levels. “Fascinating… but deeply troubling,” he muttered to himself, his soft voice a stark contrast to the chaos in the room. “This level of energy output… it’s beyond shimmer. It’s something far older. Something… wrong.”  

Ekko stepped closer, his staff in hand as he tried to catch your attention. “Hey, it’s me. Look at me!” he called out, his tone firm yet familiar. “You’re stronger than this. Whatever’s going on in your head, fight it!”  

Your head snapped toward him, your glowing eyes narrowing like a predator sizing up its prey. “Fight it?” you spat, your voice low and menacing. “You think I haven’t been fighting, boy?” The last word dripped with venom, as if you didn’t recognize him at all.  

Ekko flinched but stood his ground. “This isn’t you!” he said, stepping closer despite the warning looks from Caitlyn and Jinx. “Whatever they did to you, we’ll fix it. But you have to trust us!”  

“Trust you?” You let out a bitter laugh that dissolved into a snarl. “You don’t understand a damn thing. You can’t fix what’s broken beyond repair.”  

The bindings groaned ominously as you pulled against them, your muscles trembling with the effort. Sparks of purple energy danced along your skin, sending a pulse through the room that made the hairs on everyone’s arms stand on end.  

“Spark, stop!” Ekko shouted, his voice breaking slightly.  

“Stop?” Your voice cracked with fury, tears of frustration mingling with your rage. “Why don’t you try stopping, Ekko? Why don’t you take the weight of every scream, every scar, every betrayal and carry it until it breaks you?”  

Ekko’s jaw clenched, his grip tightening on his staff. “You’re not broken,” he said, his voice softer but still resolute. “You’re just lost. But we’re here to help you find your way back.”  

Your laugh was hollow, devoid of warmth. “You think words can fix this? You think—”  

Before you could finish, a sharp cry escaped your lips, your body arching against the restraints as another surge of energy rippled through you. The purple in your eyes flickered erratically, as if something inside you was fighting to claw its way out.  

Heimerdinger approached cautiously, his voice calm but urgent. “Her condition is deteriorating. We must stabilize her before she… changes further.”  

Caitlyn and Jinx exchanged a glance, the unease in their expressions mirrored in their stiff postures.  

“We can’t just stand here,” Caitlyn said, her voice firm despite the fear lacing it.  

Jinx nodded, her usual manic energy replaced with determination. “Do what you gotta do, Furball,” she muttered, glancing at Heimerdinger. “Just don’t let her… don’t let her go.”  

Heimerdinger sighed, adjusting his goggles. “This will not be easy. Nor painless. But if we don’t act now…” He trailed off, his gaze lingering on you as you writhed in agony.  

The room fell silent except for the sound of your ragged breaths and the occasional crackle of energy. Ekko stepped back, his face set in grim determination as he prepared for whatever was to come.  

The battle wasn’t over, but the storm in your mind raged on, threatening to consume everything in its path. 

The tension in the air was palpable as Heimerdinger worked meticulously, his small hands deftly adjusting instruments and checking readouts on a glowing console. You sat restrained, your electric purple eyes glaring at him with a ferocity that made even the bravest flinch. Every attempt he made to approach you—scalpel, syringe, or scanner in hand—was met with resistance. Your muscles flexed against the enhanced binds, causing sparks to flicker in the air as your energy pulsed unpredictably.

“Hold still, my dear,” Heimerdinger said gently, his voice soothing but strained. “This is for your benefit, I assure you.”

You bared your teeth in response, a guttural growl rumbling from deep within your chest. “Get away from me.”

Ekko, standing nearby, sighed heavily and rubbed the back of his neck. “She’s not gonna make this easy, is she?” He turned to the doorway and motioned for reinforcements. Moments later, several of his Firelight companions entered the room, their expressions wary but determined. They fanned out, creating a calculated distraction, moving and speaking to pull your attention away from Heimerdinger.

It almost worked. Almost. 

The moment Heimerdinger’s needle grazed your arm, you let out a roar and pulled against the restraints with alarming strength. The chair bolted to the floor screeched as it tilted, and the binds groaned dangerously. “I said GET AWAY!” you yelled, your voice shaking the room.

Jinx and Caitlyn, both on edge from the start, looked at each other in panic. Caitlyn’s hand hovered near her rifle, while Jinx clenched her fists, her mismatched eyes wide with uncertainty.

But Jinx made her move first. Without hesitation, she darted forward and grabbed your face, her fingers cradling your jaw firmly yet gently. Her bright purple eyes locked onto yours. “Hey, hey! Look at me, Spark!” she said, her voice urgent but soothing. “It’s me. It’s Jinx. You know me.”

Your breathing hitched, the tension in your body wavering. The glow in your eyes flickered like a dying flame as you stared at her, recognition creeping through the haze of anger and confusion.

Caitlyn watched the interaction, her heart tightening painfully at the sight. She hated how easily Jinx seemed to reach you, to pull you back from the brink. But instead of giving in to her feelings, she stepped forward and took your hand in hers. “We’re here,” Caitlyn said softly, her voice steady. “Both of us. You’re not alone.”

For a moment, the energy surging around you dissipated. Your eyes softened, the electric purple dimming as you looked down at Caitlyn’s hand in yours. You felt her warmth, her presence, grounding you as much as Jinx’s touch. Slowly, your thumb brushed over Caitlyn’s knuckles, a small but deliberate gesture that spoke volumes.

Behind his console, Heimerdinger’s ears perked up as he observed the change in your vitals. “Fascinating,” he murmured before stepping forward. “Absolutely fascinating.”

He addressed the room, his voice brimming with both curiosity and sincerity. “Do you see what’s happening here? Her vitals—heart rate, energy output, neural activity—all stabilized the moment the two of you connected with her. I’ve studied countless cases of emotional grounding, but this… this is unprecedented.”

Both Jinx and Caitlyn looked at him, their expressions a mix of confusion and concern.

Heimerdinger smiled gently, his bushy eyebrows lifting. “It seems our dear Y/n has not one, but two grounding anchors. Two individuals who can pull her back from the edge. It is rare, yes, but it speaks to the depth of her connections with you both. Love, in all its forms, is a medicine more potent than any science can replicate.”

Caitlyn frowned slightly. “But how… How can she feel this way for both of us? Is that even possible?”

Heimerdinger nodded. “Oh, absolutely. The heart is not limited to singular attachments. It is vast, complex, and capable of loving in many ways. What matters is that you are both here, willing to fight for her, and that she feels the same for you.”

Jinx smirked a little, her fingers still resting on your face. “So, what? We’re her secret weapons or something?”

Heimerdinger chuckled softly. “Something like that.”

With the room calmed, Heimerdinger finally approached again, his movements careful and deliberate. This time, you didn’t resist as he drew blood, his small hands steady as he performed the procedure. Your focus was elsewhere.

Jinx began absentmindedly playing with your ear, her touch light and almost childlike in its curiosity. Your ear twitched slightly in response, and she grinned. “Still in there, huh?” she whispered.

Meanwhile, Caitlyn’s grip on your hand remained firm, her thumb tracing gentle circles over your skin. She glanced at Jinx, then back at you, her expression softening. “We’re not going anywhere,” Caitlyn said quietly, her voice meant only for you. 

And in that moment, despite everything, you felt a small flicker of peace amid the chaos. 

The laboratory buzzed faintly with the hum of machinery, the sterile lights overhead casting a pale glow across the expansive room. You sat in the center, still restrained for everyone’s safety. Heimerdinger busied himself with his instruments, carefully analyzing samples and running tests. Your breathing was more even now, though every so often, your purple-tinged eyes flickered with residual energy.

As Heimerdinger spoke to himself in scientific jargon, Jinx and Caitlyn sat together on the far side of the room. While their bodies were angled away from each other, their voices carried enough venom to cut glass.

“I’m just saying,” Jinx began with a smirk, her tone saccharine and laced with mockery, “if you really cared about her, you wouldn’t have shoved her in that tower like some kind of prize.”

Caitlyn, sitting primly but clearly seething, shot back, “And if you cared, you wouldn’t have dragged her into the undercity chaos, where she’s been poisoned and manipulated by people like Silco and Singed.”

Jinx leaned forward, her mismatched eyes glinting with mischief. “Oh, you mean the chaos that she saved you from how many times? Oh right—every time. Face it, Cupcake, you wouldn’t last a day down there without her.”

Caitlyn’s composure cracked just slightly, her cheeks coloring as she snapped, “And you wouldn’t last a moment up here without her being the only reason anyone tolerates you.”

The insults grew sharper, cutting deeper with each exchange, each laced with truths neither was willing to admit. Yet, beneath the barbs, it was clear—they both cared for you deeply, in ways they couldn’t bear to articulate without the armor of sarcasm or anger.

In the middle of their back-and-forth, your low, raspy voice broke the tension. “Water.”

Both women froze, their gazes snapping to you. For a moment, there was silence as they processed the sound of your voice, the first sign of normalcy since your collapse.

Ekko, standing nearby and visibly relieved by your request, stepped forward with a cup of water. “Here,” he said gently, carefully bringing it to your lips.

You drank slowly, the cool liquid soothing your parched throat. Once finished, you met Ekko’s eyes and sighed, your voice quieter now but laced with sincerity. “I’m… sorry. About earlier.”

Ekko shifted awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah, well… I’ve heard worse. We’re good.” He hesitated, then added, “I’m just glad you’re coming back to yourself.”

You nodded, the weight of everything pressing heavily on your restrained body. “Me too.”

As the room settled into a quieter rhythm, Heimerdinger approached with a datapad, his small face drawn with a mix of concern and fascination. “My dear,” he began, looking at you over the rim of his glasses, “I’ve uncovered something extraordinary—and troubling.”

Everyone leaned in, their attention shifting to the Yordle. “You were subjected to an early prototype of what would eventually become Shimmer,” Heimerdinger explained, his voice grave. “Long before it was weaponized and mass-produced, it seems Singed was experimenting with enhancing human biology at a fundamental level. You were one of his earliest subjects.”

Jinx stiffened at the mention of Singed, her fingers curling into fists. Caitlyn’s face darkened as she absorbed the implications.

“You mean… she’s been like this since she was a baby?” Jinx asked, her voice uncharacteristically quiet.

Heimerdinger nodded solemnly. “Yes. Her physiology has been altered at a cellular level. The energy surges, the heightened aggression, even the physical changes—it all stems from this early experimentation. It’s remarkable that she’s maintained her humanity as much as she has.”

Caitlyn frowned deeply, her hand curling into a fist. “Is there a way to reverse it?”

“That,” Heimerdinger said, his voice laced with regret, “is something I cannot yet answer. But I will do everything in my power to find a solution.”

As Heimerdinger continued his analysis, you caught sight of Jinx and Caitlyn throwing wary glances at each other. Their earlier insults lingered in the air, but there was a strange, reluctant truce forming. Despite their differences—and their undeniable rivalry—they both wanted to help you.

Ekko lingered nearby, watching silently, as you leaned back into the chair, the weight of their care and the revelations sinking into your already taxed mind.

The lab was tense, the air thick with unease as Heimerdinger’s instruments blared an urgent warning. Everyone’s attention snapped to the flashing screen as the old yordle worked furiously at his station. “Her neural activity is spiking! Someone is attempting to manipulate her memories—no, her entire sense of self.”

The room dimmed further as the screen lit up, showing fragmented images—your memories, flickering and disjointed, projected for all to see.

Singed’s voice slithered through the speakers, low and taunting. “Spark… always so resistant. But you were made for this. You were mine before you even knew yourself.”

The name sent a bolt of panic through you. Restrained as you were, your body jolted, muscles straining against the cuffs. The memories began to play in vivid detail.

The first scene was the bridge. A younger version of you, no older than eight, clung to a man with dark eyes and a soft, protective voice. “Run, Spark!” he shouted over the chaos, his hands gripping your shoulders tightly. His face was lined with desperation and love.

“I’ll find you,” he promised, his voice cracking as an explosion rocked the bridge. “I’ll always find you.”

Tears blurred your vision in the memory as you turned and ran. Another explosion threw you off your feet, the shockwave sending you hurtling off the edge of the bridge into the abyss below. The memory twisted with your present scream, a feral, guttural sound that echoed through the lab.

“Who is that?” Caitlyn asked, her voice tight, as she watched the memory unfold. “That man…”

Heimerdinger didn’t answer, his focus on stabilizing the feed.

The scene shifted, colors swirling into a hazy glow before sharpening into a dimly lit workshop in the Undercity. Silco’s face appeared, calm and calculating as he introduced a small, nervous girl with big, expressive eyes—Powder.

“You’ll work together,” Silco said, his tone like a command disguised as a suggestion. “Spark, meet Powder. Powder, meet Spark. Together, you’ll survive this world.”

The memory’s viewpoint shifted as you timidly held out your hand, your young voice trembling. “Hi.”

Powder’s eyes brightened, her hand reaching out to grasp yours. The contact was electric, a sudden flash of warmth and connection filling your chest. The memory lingered on the way her small smile grew, and even through the manipulation, you felt the same ache of love that you’d always carried for her.

Jinx’s breath hitched as she watched, her face unreadable. Ekko murmured softly, “So that’s when it started…”

The memory flickered violently, then reassembled into a much later scene. Piltover. A pristine, sunlit street. You were older now, more guarded, but your eyes softened as they landed on someone.

Caitlyn.

The memory showed her standing confidently, issuing orders to her fellow officers. Your heart raced even in recollection, and the memory zoomed in on the way her lips moved, the way she carried herself. You didn’t even realize you’d been staring until she turned and caught your gaze.

“Can I help you?” her voice rang out in the memory, tinged with polite suspicion.

You fumbled with a response, but her directness had stunned you. She arched a brow, her lips twitching in a faint smile, as if amused by your hesitation.

The colors surrounding the memory brightened, flickering in the same vivid hues that had appeared in your interactions with Jinx. This time, the connection was undeniable. Even in the memory, your heart clenched, the depth of your feelings surging to the surface.

Caitlyn’s hand flew to her mouth as she watched. “That was the first time we met…” she whispered, her voice trembling. “You—” Her words caught, the realization dawning in her eyes.

The memories continued, bouncing between moments with Jinx and Caitlyn. The nights spent with Jinx, laughing as she rambled about her creations. The quiet conversations with Caitlyn in the aftermath of missions, where her steady presence had grounded you. The vivid emotions in each memory were palpable, displayed for everyone to see—the warmth, the longing, the unspoken love you had for both of them.

Jinx shifted uncomfortably, her gaze darting to Caitlyn. “So… what, we’re both your favorites?” she muttered, trying to sound casual but failing to hide the hurt and confusion in her voice.

Heimerdinger’s voice broke through. “Fascinating. Remarkable, even. It’s exceedingly rare for one individual to find such grounding in another. But two? Your connections to both of them are what’s anchoring you now, keeping you from succumbing to this manipulation entirely.”

He turned to Jinx and Caitlyn, his expression solemn. “You may not like it, but both of you are vital to her recovery. Without your support, the bond she has with you, she may lose this battle.”

Another violent shift occurred as the screen showed a fragmented image of Singed’s lab. His voice echoed again, chilling and familiar. “You cannot fight what you are, Spark. You belong to this.”

The screen flickered with more chaotic flashes of childhood memories, the Undercity, and the bridge. Heimerdinger’s face grew graver as he worked to sever the link. “We’re running out of time,” he said urgently. “Her mind is fracturing. The Arcane is the only chance we have left to stabilize her.”

The argument resumed immediately.

Caitlyn was the first to speak. “It’s too dangerous! You’re talking about tampering with something we barely understand. She could die!”

Jinx crossed her arms, glaring at the yordle. “Yeah, no thanks. We’re not turning her into some science experiment. She’s been through enough.”

Heimerdinger attempted to placate them. “If we don’t act now, the manipulation will consume her entirely. The Arcane isn’t just dangerous—it’s necessary.”

The shouting rose, but you barely heard it. Singed’s voice still echoed in your head, growing louder. The name Spark reverberated like a drumbeat. Finally, through gritted teeth, you forced out, “I’ll do it.”

The room fell silent, all eyes turning to you.

“I’ll do it,” you repeated, more firmly this time. “If it’s the only way to stop this… I’ll take the risk.”

Before anyone could protest further, Heimerdinger’s instruments began to flash with new urgency. He turned back to his monitor, his ears flattening in alarm. “We’re too late. The link is strengthening—he’s trying to take full control.”

The screen crackled, showing a warped and twisted view of your memories. Singed’s face loomed large, a sinister smile stretching across his face as the connection deepened. The colors around you swirled chaotically, bright and disorienting.

Your screams pierced through the walls, reverberating in the hollow space. Memories, real and fabricated, crashed through your mind like violent waves. The final blow came in the form of a vision so visceral, so cruel, it shattered you completely. You saw them—Caitlyn and Jinx—on their knees, blood pooling beneath their bodies as Singed’s voice whispered in your mind, “You couldn’t save them… You were never meant to.” 

The vision played in slow, agonizing detail. Caitlyn, her azure eyes wide with pain and terror, mouthing words you couldn’t hear. Jinx, defiant even in her last moments, reaching for you with a trembling hand before collapsing. And you? You were frozen, powerless, a specter unable to act.

The room fell into chaos.

You let out a guttural roar, feral and heart-wrenching, as your body surged against the restraints. The cuffs groaned under your strength, the binds barely holding. Heimerdinger shouted over the chaos, “Her vitals are critical! We’re losing her!” Sparks erupted from the equipment as your erratic energy surged into the room.

Jinx was frozen in place, her wide eyes reflecting your torment. Caitlyn staggered back, slapping her hand over her mouth as tears streamed down her face. “No… No, this isn’t happening,” she whispered.

Ekko, wide-eyed and pale, looked between you and the others. “We have to do something!”

“No!” Jinx finally screamed, snapping out of her stupor. “She’s not gone yet! I—”

Ekko didn’t wait. Amid the panic, he sprinted toward the Arcane prototype stimulant. Ignoring Heimerdinger’s frantic protests, he grabbed the glowing syringe. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, mostly to himself, as he moved to your side.

“No!” Caitlyn shouted, stepping forward to stop him, but Ekko was faster. He drove the stimulant deep into your chest, his hands trembling as he pushed the plunger down.

The room fell silent.

Your body arched violently as the Arcane energy surged through you, lighting up your veins like molten fire. Jinx froze, her lips parted in shock. Caitlyn stumbled back again, her hands shaking as she reached for the wall to steady herself. Heimerdinger gasped, his ears twitching, as the monitors blared a high-pitched warning.

Ekko stood in front of you, his face pale but resolute. “Come on… come on…” he whispered. But as your body fell limp against the restraints, the glow in your eyes didn’t fade to their soft gray—it extinguished entirely.

Your head slumped forward, the hollow vacancy in your eyes making it seem like you were… gone.

_______________

mmmmmhm, yup.

[s0fter-sin]

soapghost circus au

ghost’s an extreme motorcycle stunt performer - globe of death, riding on his back wheel along tightropes, that sort of thing

soap’s a fire breather/dancer. he’s a roaming performer; he just finds empty spaces or bored people and starts twirling

he pretends not to notice the way he always wanders towards a certain tent every night to watch a certain masked daredevil defy gravity. he thinks he's slick and that ghost won't notice him in the crowd, completely forgetting that he's carrying something that happens to be on fire

ghost couldn't miss him if he tried

one day off, soap's trialing fire whips; he loves the loud crack and the way the flame licks through the air and maybe he's a little too impatient to practice with non flaming whips first, even though he's never used one before

he's covered in soot and fine welts where the tip of the whip keeps flicking back up at him, cutting through his shirt and stinging his skin but he doesn't let that stop him. it starts to stick to him, damp with sweat and blood and he's quick to strip it off; throwing it to the side to keep practicing

when soap finally gets a few good cracks in a row and breaks to celebrate, he almost jumps out of his skin when he sees the masked rider leaning against a trailer watching him

of all the times he's wanted ghost to talk to him, this is not one of them

he wanted to impress him, dance for him with his flaming batons and be mesmerised by his fluidity and skill

not catch him filthy and struggling with something as basic as a whip

he's ready for ghost to ream him out for not having control over the whip - he's known throughout the circuit for expecting utter perfection in his routines - but when ghost finally does speak, it's only to ask if he's done for the day

soap falters for a moment. he wanted to get some consistency with the whip before he stopped, but he's starting to feel the hours of practice; muscles aching and skin blistered with minor burns

he says he is and ghost pushes off the trailer, nodding his head to make soap follow. he brings him back to his trailer and tells him to clean up then takes out his personal med kit to treat the grazes on soap's skin

soap's shocked; for all that he loves to watch ghost perform, they've never really talked before

part of why he joined the circus was so he wouldn't be a burden on anyone, the oldest in a family with too many mouths to feed and not even time to nurture, and here he is taking up ghost's valuable practice time bc he wasn't good enough to handle his own discipline. he tries to brush him off, downplaying the burns and tries to leave before half them can be treated but ghost just glares and orders him to sit back down

ghost does expect perfection from himself but it isn’t out of any malice or ego; it's bc he knows if he isn't perfect, he could very easily die. he’s picked a dangerous profession and he gives it the respect it deserves. there isn't any shame in being a novice or failing at something; he thinks there's a lot of beauty in having the courage to get back up again and again

so every day he watches soap practice and bullies him into his trailer to put him back together bc he knows he won't do it by himself

and every night soap wanders over to ghost's section of the fair grounds, in awe of his skill and wishing he could be worthy of the care he gives him

[starry-bi-sky]

sO i got to part two of the daniel jason todd fenton au :)

>:) word count 8k+

So, first, taglist for folks who asked for it: @blep-23 @mikyapixie @isnt-that-grape @randomenglishmajor @illryiannightmare @the-navistar-carol

SECOND: this part needs a trigger/content warning list: - CW Mild Swearing - CW Slight Psychological Horror - ^ CW mild depictions of being haunted by your own ghost/death flag and not realizing it (other people do though) - CW Brief Emetophobia (Danny throws up during a second nightmare) - CW Danny has nightmares of dying - except its of Jason Todd's warehouse death. It's not explicit but it's implied - TW Mild mentions of perceived Blood - TW Depictions of Corpses (first is non-descript, and then second one is slightly more descript but its not anything uh, super descriptive) - TW Mild description of burns (the descriptive part above) - TW Depictions of Panic Attacks (Danny's nightmares)

I mentioned that this au was inspired by a song lyric from Jann's 'Gladiator' here is that line:

I know your addiction's attention, Let's start a show Is it everything and more than you were hoping for? Show us something we ain't never seen before

The day after Danny meets himself, he's downstairs having breakfast in the dining room with the rest of the family, listening idly in on their conversations. Tim Drake is talking about something about Wayne Industries with Mr. Wayne - and wasn't that a startling surprise to learn the first time? - and Damian was slyly trying to feed Ace under the table. Duke Thomas was mid conversation with Cass, much of it audibly one-sided as Cass swaps between ASL and verbal speech.

(Danny comes across her a fair few amount of times in Wayne Manor. The first time was in the library. She hands him a book about planets, smiles, and walks away.)

(He hasn't talked much to Duke Thomas yet, but he plans to - he seems cool. They just haven't had the time to run into each other yet. Danny might just have to corner him, he thinks.)

And finally Dick Grayson on his left, his Dick Grayson, was talking away with the other Dick Grayson - who had stopped by from Bludhaven for the morning for his day off. He was a cop, ew. They were comparing lives, specifically college lives. There wasn’t much to talk about in their childhood, it seems. Danny was quietly listening in. 

(They both gave their Bruces headaches as children, apparently. Climbing the chandeliers and sliding down the staircase banisters. Flips and tricks only a child raised by the circus could do.) 

All-in-all, a very quiet morning, Danny thinks. That is, until the other Dick Grayson turns to him and goes; "I'm sure you've been asked already, but what do your parents do, Mini Jay?"

Danny squints at him, and releases his grip on his spoon to raise a pointed finger. "First off: only my Dick Grayson can call me Jay, you have your own." He says, slightly playful and nodding to Dick - oh that was going to get confusing, fast. He should come up with a nickname for one of them, probably - "And second: you're the second person to ask me that, actually. Jason - er, myself? - asked me yesterday. My parents are ectologists."

Apparently, mentioning that he met himself is a set of magic words, because the whole table stops what they're doing, and Danny's half-sinking back into his chair when all eyes turn to him in varying degrees of surprise. Dick - Richard, he’s going to call him Richard - looks at him with wide eyes and furrowed, confused brows. "You saw Jason?"

(Danny sends Bruce a confused look, but he's not paying attention - looking at everyone else with threaded eyebrows and a faint frown. Well, at least Danny isn't the only one confused by the reaction.)

(What a comfort.) 

"I guess that nickname is a dimensional constant." He mutters under his breath, and straightens up, eyeing the room warily. It... doesn't bode well to him that the Waynes were surprised by his other self's appearance -- was hisself estranged from the family?

...He hopes that doesn't happen in his world. Dick and Bruce may not be his adoptive family, but he likes them quite a lot. He wants to stay in contact with them when they get home.

"Yeah, he was in the library." He says, frowning at Richard Grayson. "He was sitting in my armchair." He supposes it was Jason's armchair first -- god, that was so weird to refer to himself in third person. "We talked for a little bit, and he asked me what my parents did. They're ectologists, by the way."

He turns to Mister Wayne and tilts his head, "Did you really not know that he was here?" He asks, narrowing his eyes. He wouldn't expect Richard to know, he doesn't live here. But Mister Wayne looks just as surprised, perhaps even a little remorseful.

(There’s a pit in his stomach that’s growing bigger.)

(His neck burns with a new pair of eyes, ones that he can’t see.) 

Mr. Wayne looks thoughtful for a moment, and then carefully, he goes; "Jason is rather... independent. He comes and goes from the manor when he feels like it." And the way he speaks sounds like he was choosing his words carefully. Danny suppresses the shiver of unease.

Something was not well in this house. Something unspoken was haunting the air. 

(Jason would know about hauntings, wouldn’t he?) 

He hopes history won't repeat itself, he likes Bruce quite a lot.

"...Alright," he says after a moment of silence, not hiding his wariness as he slowly turns back to Richard. His eyes flick towards Bruce, and then to Ricard. "Anyway, my parents are ectologists, as I've said for the third time now."

Richard, for his effort, takes the topic change easily, and his surprise shifts into one of curiosity - as does everyone else. (Did Danny really not mention what his parents did? Even Dick and Bruce look intrigued.) "That's... new." Richard says lightly, Danny commends him for the way he sounds non-judgmental. "What are ectologists?"

Danny quirks a dry half-smile, and deadpans; "Studiers of all things dead and afterlife."

...And there is that reaction again. A ripple of surprise and intrigue that spreads throughout the room as everyone looks at him, like a bunch of cats perking up their ears. 

On the other side of the table, Damian scoffs quietly, a sound much like the one Jason - the other one - did when Danny told him. Danny's eyes snap over to him in an instant, he stares at him, trying to study him. Why that reaction - again? 

He lets himself frown, briefly, before addressing Richard again. "Everyone just calls them ghost hunters, but the 'official' term is ectologists." He drawls, air-quoting the word 'official' with his fingers as he rolls his eyes. "They've been obsessed with ghosts since college. We even have a lab in the basement, and they keep liquid ectoplasm samples in the fridge."

Danny's been in the lab a handful of times, he and Jazz both have, either to clean it as part of their chores, or to listen to a lecture from their parents for their newest invention. The lab is cool, kinda, but Danny thinks it wouldn't look out of place in any evil lair of a Rogue with a doctorate. 

…He’s glad that the Fentons weren’t stationed in Gotham. They would have blown up a street. He’s surprised they haven’t already. 

"Ectoplasm?" Dick asks, leaning over to catch Danny's eye. Almost by instinct now Danny smiles at him, and then nods.

"Mom and dad say it's the stuff that makes ghosts." He explains, leaning back against his seat, his arms crossing. "It's invisible in its natural state, and it makes up everything. Kinda like the Force from Star Wars, or just, matter in general."

That cracks a few quiet, laugh-like sounds through the dining room. Danny halves a smile again, a swelling of pride in his chest that lingers for a moment. "My parents say that when ectoplasm condenses enough in one area, it can start taking on visible properties," he continues, "they say that ghosts are just the memories and emotions of a dying person or animal being imprinted on a concentration of ectoplasm, and that the ghost itself isn't actually the person or animal, just matter trying to mimic it."

Which Danny guesses makes sense, even if the way they talk about ghosts made him really uncomfortable. His parents insisted that ghosts weren't actually people, but he just couldn't shake the idea that they were. How close to ‘human’ does something get before they actually are? 

Well, no, that wasn’t fair. Superman wasn’t human, and yet everyone treated him like he was. Let him rephrase himself:

How human-like must something get before they are considered as such? Before they’re considered sapient and sentient, and real?  

"That's... quite interesting." Someone says, and Danny turns to see Bruce leaning his elbows against the table and putting his chin on threaded fingers. He looks genuinely engrossed in what Danny's said, and pride once again leaks into his heart. "You mentioned they kept ectoplasm in a liquified state in their... fridge?"

"Oh yeah," Danny says, putting his full attention to Bruce, "it's crazy. They keep little test tube racks in the freezer full of liquid ectoplasm, and it's this - uh - glowing, bright green stuff. It used to be the weirdest thing in the house."

(From his peripherals, Danny notices the room tense up again at his description — and he bites back the urge to slow his talking down and narrow his eyes. Suspicious. Suspicious. The Waynes weren’t scientists - why do they react to something like they are?)

(Nobody knows what ectoplasm is. To the scientific world, it's an unconfirmed theory of a state of matter. Why do the Waynes act like they know what it is?)

(Danny is not stupid. Even if his scientific family makes him feel like it, sometimes.) 

Bruce gives him this half-tilted, confused smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling up. "Used to be?"

Danny opens his mouth, the answer already on the tip of his tongue -- and then he freezes. His jaw clicks shut as he frowns. Should he say what his parents' latest pet project was? Surely, surely, it would be fine? Their inventions never work - and a life-sized portal is just another thing on his parents' crazy ideas list.

His teeth sink into his bottom lip, chewing on the skin as he rolls the answer over in his head. ...Surely, it would be fine. His face turns in hesitance, and his shoulders scrunch and twist to his ears, like he's about to admit something that could get him grounded by his parents.

"They... may, or may not, be building an inter-dimensional portal in the basement?" His voice steadily pitches upward nervously the longer he speaks. By the time he finishes, his voice is close to a squeaky pitch.

There is a horrified silence that follows him, sitting in the air so still-like that Danny could hear the whoosh of a pin drop. He should have expected that, nervously surveying the ranging horrified expressions on the Wayne family's faces. "...I promise they're harmless... to the living." He hesitates, "Mostly."

Bruce stares at him for a long moment. "Mostly?" He repeats, his brows arched high and pinched together. Danny cringes back a little.

"Dad's a little clumsy, that's all." He says, shrugging with a helpless smile. It doesn't help, he thinks, and the silence is strangling. Sitting up, he's a little frantic to add; "I really, really, doubt it's going to work, Bruce. Their inventions never do. Mom and dad built a mini portal in college and it didn't work either!" There's a moment of silence following him, before he quietly adds, wincing, "It- it did hospitalize the guy who was helping them, though."

He only heard about that when he asked his parents about the portal - it was still in production when they picked him up. Jack Fenton claimed it was safe as safe could be - they’d make sure that the ‘college’ instance never happened again.

Bruce - both Bruces actually - looked vaguely ill at the thought. Mister Wayne’s face was blank, his face sunk into his folded hands, and Bruce’s stare burned into Danny, intense like concentrated fire. 

Danny for some reason - either through his panicked urge to make things better, or through temporary insanity - laughs forcibly. "The worst thing that could happen is that the portal could explode, but that never happens."

Next to him, Dick makes a stressed sound. "That's not better, Jay." He forces out. He looks even more horrified.

Danny sucks on his bottom lip for a long beat. Then lets out a breath.

"Yeah, I know." Danny sighs, deep and long while his shoulders slump. He watches the room for a moment, with their various stony-like expressions, and looks back at the very concerned-looking Bruce. "But Bruce, I swear it's fine. Nothing's gonna happen, please don't call the Justice League on my parents. They really are harmless."

Bruce looks conflicted.

"I was being dramatic when I said the portal could explode, it won't." He continues, giving Bruce what Jazz has called his 'cheating puppy eyes'. "My parents are eccentric about their line of work, but they understand lab safety. They'd never do anything to put me and Jazz in danger."

...Actively or on purpose, that is.

He and Bruce stare each other down. One second, two seconds; what feels like thirty seconds pass in silence before Bruce relents, sighing deeply and uncannily dad-like. He drags a hand down his face, and rubs his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. "When we get back to our universe, you are giving me your phone number so you can contact me if anything happens."

Danny beams, nodding hurriedly. "Thank you, Buzz."

Bruce isn't able to hide his smile - small as it was - quickly enough. "You're welcome, Danny."

—-----

Danny has a nightmare that night. He doesn't remember most of it. There's a ticking sound, and high laughter, and there is a thumping heartbeat in his ears. Everything is dark and he is in agonizing pain.

He wakes up in paralyzing terror, a scream lodged in the back of his throat. His head pounds like a concussion and there is a shallowing ache in his ribs, like someone's kicked him, and kicked him, and kicked him until all air has been knocked from his lungs. He can't breathe.

Danny's hands scrabble for his throat, and even though he can hear himself gasping for air, it doesn't feel like he's taking any of it in. There is no relief in the action, no reassurance, and everything is so hot. He kicks at his blankets, his panic growing higher as they tangle around his legs.

He needs-

He needs--

He needs to move. He needs to get up. He needs to free himself. He needs to prove that he's not dying. He feels like he's dying. He feels like he's burning. There are tears swelling in his eyes as he finally gets the blankets off his feet, and he rolls - quite literally - out of bed.

He tries to catch himself, he does. But he doesn't. He hits the floor with a heavy thud and can hardly bring himself to care -- he catches himself on his elbows, and the sting it causes makes him feel worse. The air is knocked out of his chest again. 

The ground is cold though, blessedly cold. And before Danny can realize this, he lifts his head and, disoriented, looks for the door. It's too dark, it's too dark. His head swivels blindly in search of it. He needs to get out, he needs to escape. 

"Bruce." He croaks, still trying to force air down into his lungs. His call comes out raspy, weak, and hot tears blur his vision.

"Dick." He tries instead when a minute passes and no one comes, and he thinks he can finally start breathing. No one comes to find him - his voice is too quiet to wake anyone up. The tears in his eyes bubble and pop, and stream down his face.

He makes a distressed noise. "Jazz?" He whispers, his voice shaky and uneven with an encompassing want for his sister. It's nearly been a month since they got here. He wants Jazz.

No one hears him. He's alone.

God, he doesn't want to be alone. Please don't make him be alone.

Danny eventually gets himself calmed down. But he is curled up on the floor, trembling with the lingering traces of fear from whatever dream had woken up. His fingers dig painfully into his arms, leaving crescent-moon indents by his nails. The contents of the nightmare are already fading further into his mind, slipping out of his hands like water. Like ash.

He feels no need to chase after it.

The back of his shirt is damp with sweat, and in between the trembling he is also shivering, goosebumps lacing up his arms. His eyes have adjusted to the dark, and he stares with wide, crying eyes at the side of his bed. His breath comes out in short, shaky pants.

He doesn't know how long he lays there, trying to comprehend what happened as his mind still hangs onto the edge of the dreamworld. It feels like there is something in the room with him, crawling along the walls.

Danny forces himself to get up, and the sudden standing makes his vision blacken and swim as blood rushes to his head. He stumbles, slightly, and lurches halfway across the room for the light switch.

He squints as the room is drenched in light, chasing away the lingering paranoia in the back of his brain. He is still shaking. His head still hurts. He still looks, wide eyed, around the room for anything out of place.

There is none.

But he still feels unsafe. He needs- he needs to find someone, or go somewhere else. He grabs a firm pillow off the bed, and leaves.

(He ends up in the library alone. He turns on the lights and grabs a book Dick recommended to him, and he curls up tight in his armchair. He ends up falling asleep just as the sun is rising.)

(He doesn't tell anyone about the nightmare.)

-

Progress in getting the three of them back to their home dimension is slow. Dimension Hopping is a rare experience, and what update Bruce gets he relays back to Danny and Dick: they're trying to figure out a way to send them back safely, from the exact time they disappeared, and to find what dimension they're from. It's complicated magic.

It's been three weeks. 

Danny, for one, is getting homesick. He misses Jazz, Sam, and Tucker terribly, and his parents. Bruce and Dick are great, really, and Danny kinda wants to keep in touch with them after they return to their own world, but they aren't replacements of his sister and friends.

His nightmare from a few days ago still haunt his steps. He closes eyes, and that high-pitched laughter and blood-rushed pounding burns itself his ears and fills a level of unseen terror into his heart. Danny thinks that if he was hit with Scarecrow's fear gas, this is what it would feel like.

He tries to avoid falling asleep by reading in his room, by stargazing, but the place sets him on edge; an unsettling reminder of that nightmare. So he goes to the library when it gets too much, he's run into Bruce twice now doing it, and they both do reading.

Danny thinks Bruce can suspect something is up with him, but he doesn't want to tell him about that nightmare. Dick either, for that matter. He just wants to forget it.

They spend afternoons in the gym, they have it mostly to themselves - Tim Drake is at Wayne Industries, Damian Wayne is at school, so is Duke Thompson, and Cassandra Cain is... doing whatever she does during the day. Danny's not totally sure.

Dick in that time, tries showing Danny how to be more flexible. He says he's a fast learner, but Danny knows he's been slacking lately with his lack of sleep.

There isn't much they can do outside of the manor - Bruce and Dick can't go outside because they'll catch the attention of the paparazzi, and they are both significantly younger than their counterparts, and Danny isn't allowed out without a chaperone.

Which has its own unique set of problems because rumors could rapidly start if he's seen with any of the Waynes multiple times. The paparazzi aren’t dumb enough… okay, most — some — of them aren’t dumb enough to make a tabloid claiming there’s a new Wayne kid just because they see the Waynes interacting with one kid, one time. Multiple times however? That’s another story. And, he has the same issue as Bruce and Dick - he's a baby-faced Jason Todd. Who is Bruce Wayne's adoptive son in this world. He could be recognized. 

And how do you explain a tiny Jason Todd to a world where Jason Todd is a full grown man?

So all three of them are... stuck inside, so to speak. And making do with what they can. Danny spends most of his morning and early noon with Dick, and then they both separate after to have time to themselves before dinner.

Bruce is in one of the studies, doing... something. Danny's not sure and he keeps forgetting to ask.

--

Dick likes Danny - Jason? - Jay. Danny said that he can call him Jason, and he doesn't protest to being called Jay. 

Point is: he likes Jay. He's a delightful kid to be around; he's funny, and clever, even if he doesn't realize it himself. And Dick's a little upset that Jay isn't his brother in his world, he would've loved to have him around the manor. He probably would have visited more if he was around.

Something that he and Bruce were still slowly trying to fix...

He likes spending time with him - getting to teach him his acrobatic tricks was not something he expected, but he loves showing Jay how to do them. He thinks this is probably how Bruce felt when he was training Dick how to be Robin, all those years ago.

Speaking of which, Dick was still not over the Robin jacket that Jay wore. The origins of it weren't the best - Jay started wearing it to take back the insult the other kids at his school were throwing at him - but isn't that what part of what being Robin was about? 

Cheesy, he knows. But his point still stands.

He thinks that if he had to pass the Robin title down to anyone, it would be Daniel Jason Todd-Fenton. Or perhaps just Jason Fenton-Todd? Jay doesn’t seem all that attached to the name Danny. 

(“Mom and dad just started calling me it when they picked me up.” Danny — Jay shrugged when Dick asked him about it, the two of them swinging from bar to bar. “I wasn’t tellin’ ‘em my name at the time, so they gave me a new one.”) 

If he had met Jason before the Fentons had, Dick thinks maybe he would have adopted him instead. And what would that future look like? Would he have been able to, when he had to go to college and classes? Would he have been able to keep going out at night, and keep that secret to himself? 

He’ll never know, he supposes. 

“I think that’s it for today.” Dick says, swinging off the jungle gym and landing on the mats with a cat-like thump. Behind him, Jay groans, and drops with a less graceful thud as Dick stretches out his spine. There’s a satisfying pop-pop-pop of his back as he leans back. 

He turns, and sees Jay going for his water bottle. He looks tired — from what, Dick doesn’t know. But there are dark bags under his eyes and a sleep-distracted look on his face. He’s been distracted, and their lessons have been suffering from it. 

Dick wants to know what’s bothering him, but Jay hasn’t said anything, and Dick doesn’t know what he could say to make it better. 

“I can still keep going.” Jason insists, but he tiredly slumps over to grab his water, and straightens up sluggishly. It’s probably not a lie, but anything Dick shows him he doubts that Jay will retain it. “You don’t have to stop.”

“Oh but I want to.” Dick says, walking over to grab his own water. “I’m human too you know—” and Jay snorts at him with a grumbled ‘doubt it’. “—so I also need my breaks.” 

“With the way you can bend I really don’t think so.” Jason mutters, eyeing him up and down. Dick laughs quietly and takes a long sip of his water. “Seriously, circus boy, what do they feed you? Actually - what did they feed myself?”

Dick’s laughter doubles as Jay’s eyes grow wide and wild, his head shaking with spasming arms. “No, seriously! I don’t know if you’ve seen the other me yet, Dick, but he- he’s fucking huge!” He exclaims, and jumps as high as he can as his arms try to make a silhouette above his head. “I- I’m almost as big as Jack Fenton, and we’re not even biologically related! I don’t know where he got that much height to him, ‘cause- ‘cause Willis, that drunk bastard, was never that big!” 

Dick hasn’t seen the elusive other Jason Todd, and he’s been so curious about him. Both he and Bruce have — especially considering that everyone else doesn’t seem to want to tell them about him. He tried stopping his other self to ask about Jason Todd of his world, and his other self just said that he was his little brother and the second robin, and that he did a lot of his own stuff. 

It was a whole bunch of fucking nothing. And he and Bruce were growing suspicious about it. They hadn’t thought of it before because, well, they were busy adjusting to being in a new world and trying to figure out a way back. And then Jason was never really brought up, but neither was Dick Grayson unless Dick asked about it, and he didn’t think to ask about Jason Todd before.

It was all just strange.

But Jay’s exclamation over the size of himself distracts Dick long enough that he forces himself to put the mystery of Jason Todd on the backburner for now. “I’ll- I’ll have to see him for myself, Jaybird.” He says when his laughter subsides, and he straightens up. 

“Seriously,” Jay stresses, and he starts to make his way towards the gym door. “He’s fucking massive, Dick. Built like a brick shithouse.” 

Dick almost starts laughing again, “Where did you even learn that phrase?” 

Jay rolls his shoulders back and grins at him slyly, “I read.” He says, and it’s so clearly not how he learned that word that Dick barks out a laugh. 

They reach the door, and Jay holds the door open as Dick reaches for the light switch. He looks behind him, surveying the room quickly to make sure that there’s nothing they could have left on the floor, before turning off the lights.

Bright green eyes stare at him from the mirror. Right where Jay is standing. 

In an instant, the lights are back on. Dick’s heart has been kickstarted into fifth gear, suddenly and loudly racing in his chest as he darts his head around the room. It was only two seconds, perhaps only even one, but fear has been shot like an adrenaline needle into Dick’s veins. An inhuman, skyrocketing fear alike to Scarecrow’s fear gas. 

What was that?

What was that?

WHAT WAS THAT?  

But there’s nothing there. There’s nothing there. There’s nothing there. There is only Jason where the eyes were. 

From the mirror’s reflection, Jason turns his head — he hadn’t been looking at Dick, he hadn’t been looking at Dick — and stares up at him. There is confusion written on his face as he glances up at Dick, and then at the mirror. He meets his eyes - Jason’s blue, blue, not green, eyes — and Dick forces himself to look away from the mirror and down at Jay.

“What was that for?” Jay asks him, perfectly normal and perfectly confused. 

Dick feels like he just ran a marathon. He’s panting, he doesn’t know why, and he forces himself to sound like he wasn’t as he wets his lips and furrows his brows. “I thought I saw something.” He says, frowning. 

He didn’t think. He did. He did. 

What did he see? 

It was standing where Jay was. Those eyes. Those green-green eyes. It was where Jay was. He forces himself to shake his head, his frown deepening, unsettled. Jason peers around him as if to see what he had, and Dick puts a hand on his chest, stopping him. “It was nothing, let's go.” 

He turns Jay around, and ignores his bewildered look. That lighthearted mood he had earlier has plummeted, replaced with an eerie paranoia as he takes the door from Jason’s hand and flicks the lights back off. 

When he looks over his shoulder at the mirror, there’s nothing there. 

—------------

Danny has another nightmare. It’s the same one. It’s dark again. That high pitched laughter fills his ears. The ticking is louder, louder, louder. It’s counting down, but to what - he can’t see — he can’t see what it’s counting down to. 

There is still so much pain. His head hurts, his body hurts. He has a body now, he can remember he has a body. He’s in so much pain. He looks down at his hands and pooling around his knees is a bloody yellow cape, it’s torn and bloody and his hands are bloody and torn and he’s wearing green gloves. 

He wakes up just before the ticking stops. He doesn’t know how he knows that the ticking stops. 

Danny rolls over and hangs himself sideways off the bed, gasping for air that doesn’t come. He wants to scream again, to shriek with such terror that it sends everyone in the manor running into his room. He doesn’t, he can’t, he has no mouth and he must scream. 

Danny gasps for air instead, and then dry heaves until he throws up onto the floor. His head is spinning with the fadings of a dream-made concussion, again. His chest hurts deeper, more, it’s no longer shallow and as if someone was sitting on his chest, like someone had beat him in the stomach and chest and head.  

He feels like he’s choking. He is, he’s choking on what bile he can’t get out of his throat, and he forces himself to swallow it back down. He’s crying, he realizes, and dragging in air down into his lungs to the point it hurts. 

What is going on? He thinks through the haze in his mind. With what lucidity he has he brings a hand to his head to make sure he’s not bleeding. His palm swipes against sticky skin, and all that comes back is sweat. He’s not bleeding. He feels like he is. 

Make it stop. His inner mind wails as he finally, finally, starts to calm down again. He’s still crying. The tears burn down his cheeks, and he absently sticks out his tongue and licks the ones that gather at his lips away. He wipes at his face again, and when he looks at his hands, all he sees is skin.

He’s not wearing gloves. 

His hands reach for his back, and grasp his sweat-soaked shirt instead. He’s not wearing a cape. It soothes him, just a little bit. But not enough to keep him feeling safe. 

Danny peers over the side of the bed, and through his dark-adjusted eyes he sees the sitting puddle of throw-up on the floor. He cringes, sniffling. He can’t keep that there. He needs to — he needs to clean that up. 

Alfred must be sleeping by now — what time is it? He doesn’t know. He can’t wake him up. Where does Alfred keep the cleaning supplies? 

Danny throws his legs over the side — they’re not broken, he thinks dazedly — why would he think they’re broken? — and he stumbles to the door. He avoids, somehow, the sick.

(He passes by a mirrored vanity on his way to the door. He doesn’t see his reflection staring at him with green-green eyes. He doesn’t see those eyes following him.) 

He runs into Bruce in the hallway. He should have guessed it so. Danny freezes in his tracks, fear shooting up into his throat as Bruce turns towards him, already a smile pulling on the older man’s face. 

It drops immediately when he sees him. It twists down, and his face burrows into concern. “What’s wrong?” He asks, and Bruce is kneeling before him before Danny can blink. He looks worried. Danny must look awful then.

(He does. He looks pale as a ghost, and his face is splotchy red and shiny with tears.) 

Danny blinks at him numbly, trying to get his thoughts in order. Bruce’s hands are on his shoulders, Danny throws his hands over them, squeezing the knuckles and blinking widely. “I had-” he licks his lips, “a- uh, nightmare. And then I threw up.”

Fuck, he feels like a toddler. His eyes burn with embarrassed tears. He’s fucking thirteen. He’s not a baby. But he feels like a little kid going to their parent’s room. Bruce isn’t even his dad. He shouldn’t feel this way. 

But Bruce doesn’t make fun of him, or scold him, and Danny didn’t really expect him to, but the concern that melts over his face as his eyes soften makes him feel all warm and fuzzy anyways. “Okay,” Bruce says, expression softened but no less worried, and stands up. “Okay, we can go find Alfred then.” 

Danny’s lips press together, uneven and wobbling. “Please don’t.” He says before he can stop himself, and his voice cracks. He feels like such a baby. “I can clean it myself. We don’t have to wake him up.” 

“Do you even know where the cleaning supplies are, chum?” Bruce asks, and in the dark hallway he can see him raise an eyebrow. Danny’s lips press tighter together. He doesn’t. But he can find it. 

They wake up Alfred. Dany feels like shit the entire time. 

“I’m sorry.” He croaks as he follows Alfred and Bruce down the hallway with a mop and a bucket. He’s so embarrassed. He’s going to cry again, and he hates it. “I can do it, Mister Pennyworth. Please.” 

“You sound,” Mister Pennyworth starts, his voice soft, “just like young Master Jason when he started living here.” He turns to throw Danny an endeared smile, and Danny thinks it’s supposed to make him feel better. It does, a little bit, and it also makes him feel worse. 

“I am Jason.” He says, and tears spill down his face again. He is Jason. That’s his name. It’s not Danny, it never has been. The time he’s been here has slowly been pointing that out to him. He may be Fenton, but he’s not Danny. 

Alfred gets it all cleaned up, and Bruce sticks with him after he leaves. Danny’s grateful and resentful of it — hasn’t he embarrassed himself enough tonight? 

Bruce leads him to the library, a funny parallel to the first time. “We can ask Mister Wayne —” Bruce’s face scrunches up slightly, and Danny laughs under his breath. At least he’s not the only one still weirded out by it. “— about getting you a new room tomorrow.” 

Danny sniffs dryly, “How’d you know?” He didn’t think it was obvious that he didn’t want to go to sleep in his room. Bruce smiles knowingly at him, sadly, and they both sit down in the lounge chair next to the fireplace. It sits across from Danny’s armchair.

“I know a thing or two about nightmares.” He says softly.

Oh. 

Yeah.

That’s right. His parents. 

He probably had nightmares about that. 

Danny looks away from him, his eyes drop to his hands. His bare, non-bloody hands. He leans into Bruce’s side. “I don’t wanna talk about it.” He mumbles. He doesn’t want to talk about dying. Or what he thought was dying.  

“And you don’t have to.” Bruce says, slinging one arm around him and slumping against the curve of the chair. Danny reluctantly follows his falling, and finds himself trapped between the back of the chair and Bruce’s side. His ear is pressed to Bruce’s heartbeat. “We can just sit here, and talk about something else.” 

Danny blinks at the empty fireplace. “Okay. Tell me about films again.” 

Bruce’s fingers dig gently into his hair, and scratch slowly against his scalp. “Okay, Danny.” 

Danny frowns. “And don’t call me Danny. It’s Jason.” 

He doesn’t look up to see Bruce’s smile, but he can hear it as the man thumbs over the shell of his ear. “Okay, Jason.” 

(Danny falls asleep halfway through Bruce’s telling of the history of the Grey Ghost. Bruce knows by the way his breathing slows into a steady rhythm and his eyes don’t open.) 

(He smiles for mite a moment, before it drops and his eyes turn to the bookshelf in the corner. Standing there is a small black figure, with two burning green eyes.) 

(They stare at each other for a long, long minute, Bruce’s heart rising slowly. The figure tilts its head, and disappears. Bruce doesn’t sleep for the rest of the night.) 

—-------

Danny stares down Bruce. Bruce stares him down back. It’s morning. It’s breakfast. Everyone is at the table eating, and he and Bruce are having a silent staring contest. Danny has to ask Mister Wayne about moving to a new room, he thought he would be able to do so after breakfast. 

(Who was he kidding? He wasn’t going to ask at all - why bother Mister Wayne about something he can get over?) 

(Bruce, apparently, wasn’t having it. With that stupid knowing look on his face.) 

But Bruce wants it to be now. Danny narrows his eyes at him, and Bruce raises an eyebrow back. Dick Grayson, his world, was going to notice soon. He was sitting next to Bruce this morning. That traitor. 

If you don’t do it, I will. Bruce’s face says. Bastard. Danny was going to take away his Jason rights.

Danny’s the first to relent, pressing his lips together into an annoyed, thin line, before he lets out a silent sigh and turns to Mister Wayne. “Mister Wayne?” He says, cringing slightly when Mister Wayne looks up at him - as with most of the room. 

“Yes, Danny?” 

He spares one last look at Bruce, who nods curtly at him, and Danny throws him one last annoyed look before turning back to Mister Wayne. “Would it, uh, be fine if I changed rooms?” He asks. 

Mister Wayne tilts his head, slightly, to the side with a look of interest. “You can, but what brought this up? Is everything okay?”

Fuck. Shit. Fuck. Danny was expecting that question. He glares at Bruce from the corner of his eye. And then smiles shakily at Mister Wayne. “Um, uh, yeah. Everything’s fine— it’s just, it’s stupid. Some, some stupid nightmares keeping me up.” 

Mister Wayne’s brows furrow, and Dick looks concerned from Danny’s peripherals. “It’s not stupid, you can change your room. I’m sorry you’ve been having nightmares.”

He doesn’t even ask what they’re about. Bruce didn’t either — he thinks he would’ve, maybe — but fuck, jeez. Danny laughs uncomfortably, scratching his jaw. “Yeah- um, thanks. It sucks.” He just barely stops himself from blurting out that he was dreaming that he was dying.

That was not a can he wanted to open. They would have questions, he knows they would, and he doesn’t want to think about it. The image of his bloody, torn hands are already seared into his mind. 

Everyone goes back to eating.

(Dick keeps looking up at him with a shadow of a frown on his face, like he’s keeping an eye on him. Quick enough that Danny doesn’t notice it. Bruce does, and watches his son from the corner of his eye.)

(Danny doesn’t see it, but his reflection turns its head. And peers around the back of its chair. Its eye burns green and it stares at Dick. The next time Dick looks up, it catches his eye.)

(He doesn’t straighten up, he forces himself not to react. He just keeps staring at it, his breath locked in his lungs, his limbs filling with a low, buzzing static. He doesn’t know what it is. It’s terrifying him.)

(The reflection doesn’t react to him, but its eyes seem to… glitch. And an eye appears next to it, and another one appears in a line. The pupils slowly turn to look… at Danny.)

(The window begins to crack.)

“JaSON!” Dick suddenly yells, standing up so abruptly that his chair falls back and slams against the ground with an echoing bang. Danny jerks back in surprise, and stares at Dick, who looks at him with equally wide eyes. 

Dick looks like he’s seen a ghost, his face pale as a sheet. He looks ill. He’s panting, there’s a sheen going over his forehead, like he’s just run a mile. But he’s gripping the table like he may just vault over it.

And everyone is looking at them both once again. Bruce looks incredibly concerned. 

“I— what?” Danny says, pushing his back into the chair as far as he could go. 

Dick blinks, and heaves a breath. Like whatever trance he was in was just… snapped out of. His brows furrow, and he moves, suddenly, peering over Danny like he’s trying to look around him. Left, right, and over, and then back again. 

“You—” he pauses, breathing in, “you looked like you were about to disappear.” 

Danny stares at him in disbelief. And he looks behind him, laughing nervously. There’s nothing there but his own reflection in the smooth glass window. “What- what kind of fucking—” he turns back around to look at Dick. “Why would you say that?” 

“There was something in the window.” Dick says immediately, and Danny is immediately rising to his feet and rushing around the table. Nope - nope, nope, fuck that. He’s by him and Bruce in an instant, as the other Waynes stand up and turn to the window as well.

Dick’s arms are around him the moment he’s within reach, tugging him into his side as one hand presses down against his chest, keeping him close. Dick hasn’t taken his eyes off the window, brows furrowed and serious. 

Everyone looks so serious. It’s freaking him out a little bit. 

“What was your nightmare about, Jay?” Dick asks when he finally tears his eyes away from the window and looks down at him. He’s got a protective hold on him, something so similar to Jazz whenever their parents set something on fire upstairs. 

Danny swallows dryly — does he have to say it? Saying it might bring him back to it, and he doesn’t want to go back to it. Twice was enough for him. “I was dying.” He admits anyways, and regrets it immediately when half a dozen heads all snap to look at him. 

In a panic, his mouth runs. “I was- I don’t remember anything- I just, it was dark and I was in pain and-” He presses his lips together, “I— I was in so much pain. There was this laughter—” Laughter. Familiar laughter now that he thinks about it. From the news. Danny’s lips curl downwards, and he whispers to himself, “Joker?”

“Joker?” Dick repeats, his voice hard. When Danny looks up, his face is unrecognizably stern. “You had a dream that the Joker was killing you?” 

“I— no— yes?” Frustration bleeds into his chest, fear pooling up his throat as the nightmare pulls on the edge of his memory. “I don’t fucking know. I didn’t see anything, all I heard was ticking and that stupid laughter. And I was bleeding, and I was wearing this yellow fucking cape, and- and I was dying.” 

He pulls himself away from Dick, his breathing picking up. “I just- I was— there was this ticking sound and I woke up before it stopped, and I- I don’t know why I knew it was about to stop — but I know that when the ticking stops something bad was going to happen— and it was just a nightmare.” 

Danny grits his teeth, and looks back up at Dick, forcing himself to calm down before he works himself into a panic. “It was just a fucking nightmare, Dick.” He says forcibly, and then he marches out of the room to the library. 

His appetite’s been ruined. 

—---------

Danny’s — Jason’s — asleep next to him. Bruce would think it was sweet if it weren’t for the fact that Jason’s been having nightmares about dying of all things. Nightmares that weren’t, he suspects, completely unfounded. 

His other self looked ill in the face as Jason marched out of the room that morning after Dick’s outburst. Outburst. That’s all he can think to call it even if it sounds juvenile. Like it was unfounded as Jason’s nightmare. 

His other self has been hiding something from him. Something about Jason Todd of this world, who he hasn’t seen at all since they arrived, but Danny — Jason — has. He would’ve thought the other Todd was a ghost if his other world’s… children… hadn’t confirmed seeing and knowing him recently. 

(That was something he still hasn’t fully comprehended. Children, plural? He adopts more after Dick? He has a biological son?) 

He’d be interrogating his other self on this if Jason wasn’t asleep next to him. It would be remarkably easy, as they were all sitting in the living room for the afternoon. All his other children were vigilantes, he wouldn’t need to keep pretenses.

But Jason is asleep next to him, and he doesn’t know. So he resolves to staring holes into his other self’s head, who was going through documents. A case, he bets. His other self doesn’t pay him any mind, but Bruce knows he knows that he’s staring at him. 

(“What have you been keeping from me?” He growls the moment Jason is out of the dining room, rising to his feet. The look on his other self meant that he knew something about those nightmares that Bruce didn’t. 

His other self looks at him, “Nothing that concerns your world.” He says, all of the kids looked tense as well, but now they were staring between the both of them like a fight would break out. 

“Bullshit.” Dick snaps before Bruce can speak, he walks around him and points an accusing finger at his other self. “You looked like you saw a ghost when Jaybird said he was dreaming of the Joker killing him. You know something.”

He did not tell them anything.) 

Whatever it was that his other self was hiding, Bruce would find out before they went back to their world. This concerned him, and it concerned Jason’s safety. If he wasn’t safe and his other self knew something about it, Bruce would be furious. 

Jason’s ragged gasp cut through the air like a knife, and Bruce’s gaze snapped down to his face as the boy’s eyes flew open and he jerked sharply. Jason’s hands were latched onto his shirt before Bruce could react, his nails dragging into his skin like he was trying to claw himself up.

It was another nightmare. Jason was clawing at him, trying to sit himself up while jagged, awful sounding gasps filled the air. He wasn’t looking at Bruce, he wasn’t looking at anything, his eyes glazed over like he was still trapped in the nightmare. 

Bruce wrapped his arms around the small boy and pulled them both down onto the ground, ignoring his other children standing up and looking at them until he had Jay in a cradle. 

The boy was still gasping for air, hyperventilating. His hands drop from Bruce’s shirt and scratch at his throat, his arms forming an ‘x’ while he tilts his head back and desperately tries to draw in oxygen. Bruce tilts his head back up with his hand, and leans him against his shoulder. 

“Breathe.” He murmurs, pushing damp black curls out of Jay’s face. It was a poor command - Jason’s eyes were squeezed shut and his face scrunched in pain, Bruce doesn’t think he can even hear him. “You’re safe.” 

“Bruce.” Dick hisses into his ear, and Bruce doesn’t look at him. He grunts to let his son know he heard him. “The mirror.” 

Bruce’s eyes fly up.

There was a floor length mirror sitting in front of the couch. A mirror that Bruce was conveniently, coincidentally, sitting in front of. A mirror that should have been working as all mirrors do. 

A mirror that, instead of showing Bruce his reflection back as he was, showed him in his Batman suit. Jason was in his arms, but in a torn, bloody uniform. A uniform that looked like a Robin suit. Jason - his Jason - wasn’t a Robin. But here he was, dressed as one, his black-yellow cape pooling beneath him and covered in blood. 

The Jason in the mirror, the Robin, wasn’t breathing. His head lolled over Bruce’s arm lifelessly. 

Bruce’s heart skids to a stop, and he looks back down. Jason was still breathing, his hyperventilating was beginning to slow, but he was breathing. The pained crease of his face was softening, even as his brows were still furrowed. 

When Bruce looks back up at the mirror, the reflection has changed. It wasn’t back to normal, Jason was just in a different suit. He was wearing a white hazmat suit now, and he was burned, horribly. The suit was melted to his skin in patches around his body in black, charred splotches, what wasn’t burned was torn, and the skin he could see was cauterized. The only part of him that was bleeding was his head, and it soaked his black hair red. What of his face he could see, there were bright green lightning figures going up his neck, burning the skin around where it glows. 

The mirror cracks down the middle, severing Jason from Bruce. 

He forces himself to look down, terrified to see the reflection a reality right in front of him. But Jason was alive, uninjured, and breathing quietly. Bruce presses two fingers to his throat, and feels a steady pulsepoint thumping against the pads of his fingers.

Jason’s eyes open and blue stares up at him.  

When Bruce looks up at the mirror, the reflection is back to normal.  

[rustycopper4use]

Ok, uhm....I've seen someone make a request for poly Ozzie x Fizz x Reader in which the reader is Blitzø's brother, but I got a better one for you! How about (poly ofc) Ozzie x Fizz x Male Reader who is Striker's older brother? Like, maybe he heard about what happened in greed ring and came to apologise on his brother's behalf and maybe offer his services as bodyguard?

Fizz x Ozzie x Male reader!

sorry I went a little bit off the rails but I hope you like it!!

At the beginning you were close to fizzaroli as kids.

 you first met him at one of his shows, and you would try to see all his shows. And ended up dragging your younger brother striker to them, much to his protests.

  You would spend hours with fizzaroli, him being the only sense of affection in your life. Giving your family’s old fashioned values. His was the escape from it all.

 Your father resented the wasted time spent with some lowly circus clown, he would try every thing to make you to stop seeing him. After awhile he even turned Striker against you, which in retrospect wasn’t hard he idolized him. 

 In the ended up with you sneaking out the house everyday to see the goofy imp.

 However that was until the fire. You had been only been able to talk to him when you actually came to the circus.

 So one day you went to see him, with a small birthday gift you’d be able to pay for.

 only to met with ashes, and burnt remains of childhood memories, it was hauntingly void of life still fresh with smoke.

 And you never heard from him again.

  You left the gift in the remains. It became a regular thing, you’d leave a small gift every year on his birthday.

  A way to remember him, maybe you’d just like the sadness that came with it rather than the bitter empty feeling in your cold aching chest. 

 Or you’re still in denial, waiting for the day he’ll somehow come back and it’ll be some big cruel joke.

  After that you replaced that time with meaningless jobs, helping dad around the farm. 

  While your younger brother took up kill for hire, you would be along aside for protection, an extra set of hands. 

 This new attitude brought a sense of pride to the rest of the family.

 Your relationship wasn’t the same with your less than functional family. You weren’t ever close to your father or brother but, it got even more distant. Opting for only talking when needed.

  One day striker came back from a job beaten bruised, and burned.

 As you fixed him up, he whined about his failed attempt, he brought up an all to familiar name.

 “Y’know that lowlife clown was such a brat to deal with, and his pathetic friend Blizto-“

 “Are you talking about fizzaroli?”

 “-Wait no, Fizzaroli’s alive?.”

 “Look I don’t care if you had a soft spot for that thing, I had a job and I’m gonna go through with it.”

 “You never thought to tell me he was alive!”

 “Of course I didn’t, Dad and I knew you were going to act like this, you became a better demon because of us.”

 “Get out.”

 Striker gets to door before turning back towards you.

 “Im not gonna give up this job because you’ve grown weak.”

 “Oh I know you won’t.”

 He left.

  You weren’t sure what to do now. Striker was a stubborn person, he wouldn’t give up till Fizzaroli’s head was on a stick.

  Luckily for you. you were just as petty as the snake.

 For the next few days you looked for opportunities to work at Ozzie’s. You came across for a listing for a personal bodyguard for Fizz. 

 You got scheduled for an interview, part of you dreaded seeing him again.

 You headed down(up?) to the lust ring. The gorgeous neon lights, against the calming rain.

  The Ozzie’s club was nothing short of a spectacle. And the start to your new life.

  Ozzie was apprehensive on hiring someone with relations with the demon that kidnapped Fizzaroli in the first place. 

 But Fizz reassured his worries, he knew you weren’t like him.

 The start of this job was- not exactly awkward, but there was this weird air around you three. A few weeks in and you’ve finally settled in, you grew comfortable with the duo and life finally felt back on track.

 You still felt guilt for what your brother did, you would always give gifts to fizzaroli as a form of an apology, a better change than what you did for 15 years. You also get into the habit of going above what was asked for even at your own expense.

 Even when Fizzaroli explained he didn’t blame you, it was your brother’s actions after all. You settled for buying him flowers every other day.

  The two would flirt with you, fizzaroli being more bold, knowing exactly what makes you tick and that special spot that makes you melt.

  Ozzie on the other hand, had a different approach. He took on a more romantic strategy, he learned very early on that his voice was your weakness, a few praises and you were a goner. 

 When striker found out he was pissed. His own brother fooling around with blue blood, how did you turn out like this.

 Every time he would show up you always up lovey-dovey just to rub salt in a wound.

  Fizzaroli adored it when you’d get riled up and your southern accent would slip. He would purposely push your buttons lovingly just to hear it.

 Every time Fizzaroli would want attention you’d always make sure to hold his face given it’s the only part he can really feel now.

 Ozzie was the only one that Could cook, and that still didn’t change with you around. Sure you weren’t as bad as Fizz but still.

 Fizzaroli would call you a cowboy (affectionately)