#and i am like. thank you. i would rather die than admit an emotion in publich tho

[pietroleopoldo]

Oh god I am the mean edgy character of my friend group

[trippygalaxy]

His (Metal) Rose

A rewrite of an old headcanon! And like- my first x reader for LU in literal months if not a year-- HELLO! I AM BACK! :DDD

Summary: Four struggles with conveying his feelings verbally, so why not put his smithing skills to use?

Character: Four x Gn! Reader Warnings: No beta we die like Twi, some overthinking on Fours part? Words: 900+

Four hasn’t been the best with words in his life, stumbling through conversations and often struggling to convey his thoughts through words, which always lead to some tough conversations when it comes to personal relationships. Often his thoughts and feelings were questioned, some going as far as accusing him of actively hiding his emotions- which wasn’t true at all! Four felt a lot, he felt so much that it was so hard to single out one thought to begin verbalizing it, and it wasn’t like this was the Colours fault either– he's been like this ever since he could remember.

Four couldn’t count how many friendships -and potential courtships- he pushed away thanks to his lack of verbalization, so when he started to grow a connection with you, he was down right terrified. He was so scared of losing another person due to his own failings that he knew he had to do something. The hero could try to verbalize his thoughts, to sit you down and have a long and deep conversation but the thought of it made his skin crawl- he knows he would have to do it at some point but…he rather not now, especially when he's trying to not embarrass himself! But the longer he thought, the more he started to realize that if he can’t tell you how he felt…then maybe he could show you!

Yes, yes that is what he would do. He’ll make you something, something so full of every ounce of what he felt that he was sure you’d understand with just a simple glance!

Knowing he couldn’t act on this urge right away as the Chain was far from any nearby town, he decided on brainstorming. Taking parchment from Warriors journals and snatching the pencil that dangled from Legend’s utility belt -the hoarder cursed at him, something about mapping but Four didn’t really care in the moment- before putting his brain to work.

It didnt take him long to decide on a flower- A rose. He’s seen it time and time again, gifted petals and trimmed thorns, handed to a beloved in a show of care and understanding. Four scribbled dozens of different designs, each as elegant as the last but none of that mattered, not if he couldn’t bloom the fire forged flower with love melted into every burning vein. What was the use of a pretty rose if his love didnt keep the metal warm even on the coldest nights? If you couldnt feel the smooth petals and think of his thrumming heart for you then what was this all for? The smith spent quite a while planning the creation of the masterpiece which would be his rose- your rose- before he even THOUGHT about stepping into a forge. But, one day, with the final stroke of the graphite, the colour hero found himself satisfied.

And thankfully, it didnt take the Chain too long to finally arrive at the blessed town! Not even Time could have stopped him from running off as soon as they had booked into an inn, his energy and motivation higher than the clouds Hyila stood on. Now, to actually get access to a forge and materials…was a little harder than planned but Four wasn’t one to one for an answer when it came to fulfilling a task such as this!

It took him longer than he’d like to admit to get the hang of the new skill- and too many failed attempts that got smelt back down. Yet here he stood, rough leather gloves cradling an intricate metal rose, the petals curled like rolling waves on a calm tide with rippling edges. The rolling stem curled like a cat's tail, flowing as if blowing in the wind. Truely, a beautiful and brilliant piece yet something was still…missing. Sure, he poured every ounce of care into the vessel of his feelings and sure, he treated it as gently as he would you yet…a part of him -or many parts of him- felt like something wasn't there, wasn't representing the whole of him.

Twirling the rose in his hand gloves fingers, a pout heavy on his lips, as his eyes scanned the borrowed space, searching for something, anything to fill the missing piece.

Paint? No, it wouldn't adhere to the smooth metal. Patination? It would work, but he doubted this forge even had the equipment for such a thing. Frustration built behind the smith’s eyes. He was so close to finishing this yet he stayed slumped over this creaking workbench with a deepening pout.

Half tempted to ignore the scratching at the back of his mind that demanded perfection, Four sits up with a stretch only to stop mid way as a colourful hue glimmers under the workbench. Leaning back, the man almost jumps in joy as his eyes catch what seemed to be cut gems -likely artificial- shining up at him. It didnt take him long to find four coloured gems; red, green, blue and purple. Smiling ear to ear, the smith jumps up from his spot, grabbing all his materials and heading back to the anvil. It was time to put those jewelry classes gramps forced him through to use and to scratch that itch at the back of his head.

Finally, with sweat dripping down his brow, finally it was done.

Four admired the freshly polished, shining rose with a look of fondness. Pride swelled in his chest alongside the unimaginable adoration for you. A small thing it was, unable to even begin to tell of his love for you but even if it took thousands of bouquets to show you just that, Four was more than willing to be your smith.

[ashes-writing-corner]

And we are back, literally on time for Nosferatu to come out! Yall gifmakers are gifts from the gods I swear! Thank you for all you do! And to those who read my story and enjoy it, yall are gifts too and I love all of you ^^

Taglist: @exactlyelegantwizard, @xenoanamorph, @hoeia-strigoi, @arwenkenobi48, @xanth420, @serpentdeath, and @landlockedmermaid77

If you want to be added to the taglist please let me know ^^

On to chapter 3!

Exile: A Nosferatu Fanfic

Chapter 3

You're not my homeland anymore. So what am I defending now?

Ellen was at a loss. She honestly had no idea what to do. How could this have happened? How could she have been so blind? Ever eternally…and the Beast had seriously meant it. Even in death they couldn't be parted. There had to be a way…something…anything. This was not how she wanted to spend her eternal rest, lying next to the monster who made her life a living hell.

Not just her life. Thomas’ too for the brief time he knew of the situation. Her beloved Thomas…she couldn’t help but wonder about him now. Where was he? Was he even alive? Ellen didn’t take him for the sort to take his own life, and she would be devastated if that were the case. He had been her everything after the Beast abandoned her initially.

Oh yes, he left her. He left her alone when she needed him most. Left her with nothing but trauma and a severely scarred soul and a heart to match. It had hurt, even if Ellen wouldn’t admit it aloud. She didn’t understand why he had pulled away so harshly, so suddenly. But he stopped answering her, stopped visiting her, leaving her with this numbing sadness. She had waited, and waited, weeks turning to months, before she met Thomas.

He had been one of the few suitors her father had found for her. He wasn’t rich, nor did he have a well known name, but Thomas was hard working, honest, and decent. All were qualities her dear papa had liked and respected about him. Despite her oddities, he was so kind to her, so warm, courteous, and gentle. A better suitor couldn’t be asked for. So no surprise they courted and finally Thomas asked her to marry him, which Ellen was quick to accept.

With her acceptance, she thought that was the end of it. The Demon was gone, she was happy, and had all she wanted. Ellen didn’t need wealth or a nice house or material things. She just wanted a peaceful, happy life with her sweetheart. That was all.

But of course, the dead can never stay dead for long…

Furie whined softly next to her on the bed, his ears flattened as if sensing her emotions. For a hound literally named Rage, he seemed to have very little of it. The wolfhound had literally stayed by her side for the past two days, keeping watch over her for his master. The Beast hadn’t come back, just as Ellen commanded, and it made her wonder: Was he bound still by her power? Did she still hold some sort of sway over him, even in death?

Ellen had tried to be kind in a sense. She had to kill him, there was no doubt in her mind about that. He needed to die. But she had tried to be kind as it happened, for the sake of what they once were to each other. That was only fair wasn’t it? Ellen had tried to give him one last kiss, one last small gesture of love before they were both gone. It was only meant to be kind, as a way to let go of what once was.

She gently pet Furie. “It’s okay. I’m alright. I promise. I just…have a lot on my mind”.

The wolfhound looked at her, his ears perked as if he were listening intently. Ellen chuckled, her first laugh since her death.

“I don’t know if you’d be able to understand. But…I don’t really have anyone else to talk to I suppose-”.

Furie whined, as if attempting to remind her there was someone she could talk to. Ellen shook her head.

“Trust me, I would rather much talk to you more than him. At least you don’t try to tell me I did the right thing for the wrong reason” Ellen paused, “I don’t understand. I don’t understand any of this. I know what the covenant said but I thought with death it would be done. I could be free. But I’m not and I don’t know why”.

She knew why. It said Ever Eternally…but she didn’t understand why that meant even after death. Ellen got up and looked out the window, peering out the expansive, glistening surroundings. For a second she thought she heard a voice, a soft collective of voices, on the wind calling her name somewhere in the distance. It sounded like the whispers of every person she ever knew: Thomas, Papa, Freidrich and Anna and their children, even the Demon’s voice could be heard among them. Ellen felt her mind go blank a moment, her eyes going a strange milky white color as though she had died again. Furie rose from the bed and growled, followed by a sharp bark, pulling Ellen back to herself.

She took a deep breath and blinked several times to recollect herself. Ellen turned to the dog, calming herself a little as he came to her side and whined, nuzzling her hand. She pet him, breathing deeply as her mind and spirit settled back into her body. What in the world was that, that strange call?

Ellen kept a hand on Furie’s head. “Good boy. Thank you…thank you so much. I think I might’ve been in a little bit of trouble had I somehow answered that”.

Furie whined, wagging his tail at her praise. He had sensed something was amiss and had been quick to pull his mistress back from what he thought was something that could and would seriously harm her. He was entrusted with her safety after all, and the wolfhound clearly took that job to heart.

“It’s always snowing here” Ellen looked outside again thoughtfully, “How about we go outside and do something fun?”

The wolfhound cocked his head curiously and Ellen smiled as she got up to change. She wasn’t sure if she really needed to dress warmly in this world, but she figured it was better to be safe than sorry. The wardrobe was shockingly full of clothes she remembered wearing in the other world…and there were others in there she had never seen. Older dresses, some furs that looked like they hadn’t been touched in ages. These weren’t hers. But yet, somehow, they felt familiar. The texture, the smell hiding beneath years of unuse…she knew these older articles of clothing somewhere. Again, it was like a memory from a dream she had a long time ago…

“Let go” she heard a voice sound in her head, one that was eerily similar to her own, but not quite hers, “Please…you have to let go…for me…”

In her mind’s eye, Ellen could see the image of a woman with a face like hers, but her hair was a shining copper color, and her eyes a deep blue tinged with green. She looked pale, deathly so, laying in bed looking at her dead in the eye. Her pale blue-purple lips trembled as she reached a quivering hand out to her.

“Please…love…I’m afraid…”

Ellen dropped the fur coat immediately, frightened by the dream. It was like looking at her own pale, dying face in a mirror. Only the reflection had spoken to her. She set the coat back in the wardrobe and grabbed one of her own warmer outfits for her outside activities, which Ellen wasn’t even sure if she wanted to do anymore.

No, no, she did want to. She needed to get out of this castle, out of this room, even for a short while. Even if it was to do something silly and childish with a large wolfhound at her side. Ellen redressed herself and motioned for Furie to follow her, something akin to excitement blooming in her chest. She hadn’t done this particular activity since she was little and she always loved doing it.

She made her way outside, surprisingly avoiding the Demon. Ellen glanced around, rendered breathless by the glistening snow around her. It was as though the grounds of the castle were being purified under a blanket of white. Ellen stepped out, the soft snow giving out a satisfying crunch under her booted feet. Furie followed behind her, his tail wagging in excitement. He liked being outside, but liked it even more with her it seemed.

Ellen found a nice, clear spot to begin her work. She made a ball, small enough to fit in her gloved hand and slowly started to roll it around to increase its size. Her troubles seemed far away as she worked, her mind drifting to happier times. Furie moved the ball too with his head and Ellen laughed.

“Trying to help me now?” She asked and gave him a pet, “such a good, sweet boy. I don't get why he called you Furie. You're anything but” Ellen stopped in her work to give the wolfhound pets along his chin and chest. All the while his tail kept wagging in delight.

“You are the sweetest thing I swear” she put her nose to his and giggled, feeling very much like a little girl again.

Ellen turned back to her task, and Furie joined her in pushing the ball around. Little did they know, the third hound, Durere, had spotted them outside and ran back in to tell his sister and master about it.

He let out several barks to Orlok, as if trying to articulate what he saw. The vampire glared.

“She's outside?” He got up and glanced out a nearby window.

Lo and behold, there was his Little Soul, rolling a large ball of snow around with Furie, before finally settling it somewhere. What in the world was she doing out there? Chaos still called for her, and she was still susceptible to its call. It wasn't safe to be out there alone. Orlok turned from the window, grabbing his enormous coat to go out and keep an eye on her…

“I think we can start on the body now, hm Furie?” Ellen asked, to which the wolfhound barked and wagged his tail.

She turned to start a new ball, this one to be slightly smaller than the other, when Ellen felt her blood run cold. An all too familiar shadow fell over her, and she knew it was the Beast. She sighed and stopped rolling the ball as Furie barked a greeting to his master. Ellen stood, facing him fully for the first time since they found themselves here to see him petting all three wolfhounds.

“You’ve named him poorly” she dared to say, “There’s not an ounce of rage in him”.

“Because you haven’t seen him angry…yet” Orlok replied, looking over at the large ball of snow, “What is it you’re doing, Micul Suflet?”.

Ellen stifled the urge to glare at the nickname. “I would appreciate it if you used my name…And what does it look like I’m doing? I’m making a…a snowman”.

He raised a brow. “A what?”

“A snowman. Have you never…” she stopped when he just looked contemplative, as if the concept of such a winter activity was foreign to him, “You’ve never made one before, have you?”

“Such things were considered a waste of time back in my youth. I spent the winters studying, learning and preparing for my role” He told her, almost avoiding her eyes.

“You never even got to do such things? Just…do childish things like this?”.

Ellen didn’t need an answer. His silence and avoidance were more than enough of an answer. Honestly it hurt something in her to know that. Maybe that was a part of the problem, why he turned out like this. Ellen took a single step toward him, a hand reaching for his.

“Come…join me. Help me with this” she requested, “Please?”

He pulled his long clawed hand away from her, shaking his head. “It’s a childish waste of-”.

“Stop. Right now. Time doesn’t mean anything anymore. It’s okay. We can do things like this. No one’s here to stop us or judge us or anything. Who cares if it’s childish? A time spent in merriment isn’t wasted time, even if time was still relevant to us” Ellen looked in his eyes, “A passionate hour is never a wasted one. Help me with this…Just once”.

Orlok narrowed his eyes at her and then the huge ball of snow. He sighed in annoyance and shook his head.

“Fine…Once, and that’s it” he conceded.

“Once is all I ask” she smiled coyly, like a cat who had just caught her prey. Her first genuine smile since they appeared here.

But even that was enough to make something in his chest feel awfully warm…

If you guys enjoyed this please feel free to like, reblog, and comment! If you wanna read more of my work, feel free to follow! Thank you all so much for reading and I'll see you in the next one ^^ <3

[butwhatifidothis]

I LOVED To Be a Creature, and it genuinely creeped me out to see the things Edelgard and Hubert said to Byleth (though it's the same as the game, stripped out of its voice acting and background music, the dialogue is so much more horrifying). Really makes me wonder if Edelgard's love for Byleth is genuine in any way. Do you think there's any real love there or is it just obsession?

Thank you!!! I had a feeling that placing Edelgard and Hubert's words in a context that isn't meant to make them look flattering would really let their casual racism shine, and I'm glad it's seeming like that is in fact the impression people are getting lol. SO sorry for the late answer btw 😭😭😭

As for whether Edelgard's love is genuine... I got opinions lmao.

got a bit long lmao under the cut it goes

If Edelgard felt the way she does for Byleth on exclusively SS and CF, I could maybe see how this is a "genuine" love (insofar as a love steeped in "I may hate your race but you're special and Not Like The Other Ones because I think you're special to me" can, uh, ever be genuine, in any case). But because Edelgard still feels as strongly towards Byleth on AM and VW where she quite literally never talks to them directly in any meaningful way, it becomes waaaaay more like she's just weirdly obsessed with this person who saved her one singular time ever five years ago from an attack Edelgard set up. It makes the "love" way more forced and contrived and obviously trying to squeeze tears out of the player for standing up against the cute girly trying to murder them. Or, alternatively, it makes Edelgard come off as manipulative, saying that she just wanted to walk with Byleth and it makes her so sad to HAVE to fight Byleth because BYLETH wouldn't stand by HER - and she's saying this on AM/VW to a person she's talked to in conversation a cumulative, what? Hour? Two? Maybe a few days, being nice? Over the course of, being as absolutely generous as physically possible and not counting the five years Byleth was missing... two fucking years? She's shitting herself over fighting this stranger she doesn't fucking know? Yeah, sure buddy, whatever you say - you see what I mean?

And honestly even outside of those two routes, I think it's more that she sees Byleth as being hers rather than actually liking them for who they are. A body to stand next to her and tell her how right she is and comfort her - who doesn't have the background of "I was literally raised to think this is my only purpose in life" muddying the sincerity of the brown-nosing - who also happens to also act as The Perfect Fighter and The Perfect Strategist to actively help her get what she wants. That view of Byleth being a tool doesn't really go away unless they marry her, seen by how they quite literally get nothing for all they've done for Edelgard should they go unmarried to a noble (guess they just weren't meritable enough once their use to her was done).

As well as how much more Edelgard doesn't like Byleth disagreeing with her or otherwise going against her flow than pretty much anyone else in the game - you lose supports points if you don't think the Black Eagle Strike Force name she made is good, she quickly denies the notion that Byleth isn't detached from others/emotions and insists they are just like she is, she gives them the same callous and thoughtless words she was apparently given once in her life while they are in the midst of mourning their recently murdered father so that they get over it already and get back to being useful to her (directly saying she will only reach out her hand when it's time for HER to move forward, not when BYLETH heals from WATCHING THEIR DAD DIE IN THEIR FUCKING ARMS MAYBE A WEEK AGO). She never treats Byleth kindly unless they do everything she wants, which like. Isn't love???? At all????

There's just this... weirdly possessive air Edelgard has around Byleth that always threw me off, especially with how easily she admits to have been willing to kill them so far into CF and how readily she cuts ties with them the second the fighting's done (which is particular because how just how clingy she was to Byleth everywhere else - you know during all that time Byleth had a use to her). Incorporating that into being an intentional part of her character is certainly interesting, but not in a way that's flattering to the idea of Edelgard genuinely being in love with Byleth lmao.

Personally tho, even disregarding almost everything else, the simple explanation is that I don't think you can really sit there and say you love someone while openly hating part of their racial heritage. Wild thought, I know lmao

[sanguinarysanguinity]

OH may I ask for your director's commentary on your The Hornblowers' To Command series?? I am so infatuated with it <3

Thank you for the ask! I'm so pleased you like the series. Buckle up, this is gonna run long.

Under the readmore for length and discussions of sexual dynamics:

The Hornblowers' to Command (its official title, I also refer to it as the Any Service 'verse) started with the question "Is there anything that Bush wouldn't do for Hornblower?" a question that I've been poking at for ages. One day while I was pondering that, an anon ask came across @hornblowershitposts, positing that Hornblower might crave being on the receiving end of violent sex, and I thought, "Well? Would Bush hit Hornblower, if Hornblower requested him to?"

(Yes. The answer was an emphatic yes. But it would FUCK BUSH UP, aftercare required.)

Of course the tricky part of that scenario was not getting Bush to hit Hornblower, but getting Hornblower to ask for it. (This is the problem I've always had writing for that pair: Hornblower would rather die than admit to wanting something for himself, c.f. my hanahaki story, "A Well-Rooted Briar" -- but we're not talking about that story right now.) Hornblower was never going to ask to be hit, and that's how this became a threesome story: Maria, who we all know is as devoted to Hornblower as Bush is, could ask for what Hornblower couldn't.

Which then begged the question: how did Maria come to know this was what Hornblower craved? Which led to the backstory (not, I think, mentioned explicitly in that first story) that Hornblower can't get it up without violence. Which had led to some very painful questions on their wedding night, Maria eventually worming the whole thing out of him, one painful, reluctant confession at a time.

btw, all this required that Maria be a woman of MUCH higher fortitude than Hornblower credits her in his narration -- but then, Hornblower is an extremely faulty narrator about some topics. I have long chosen to believe that one of those is Maria.

So I wrote my smutty over-the-top oneshot, and that should have been the end of it -- except that I'd casually embedded in this 'verse the premise that Hornblower had never been able to get it up for Maria.

So whose children are those?

But I didn't get to all that right away: first off there was a whumpy little story in which I gave Bush (and then took away from him) an apotropaic nautical tattoo. I set it in the Any Service 'verse mostly because I needed Maria as a catalyst again: someone to explain the tattoo to, and also a mechanism for drawing some feels out of the normally-stoic Bush.

(See, I'd been reading about maritime swearing/cursing -- since I was a small child, I've been frustrated by maritime novels redacting all the cursing while making a BIG TO-DO about how inventive it is! Apparently maligning someone's mother was BIG FIGHTING WORDS in that era. Because, as the text pointed out, all these men had gone to sea as boys, and their last memory of any gentleness or tenderness in their lives was of their mothers, which caused them to build these women up as nearly goddesses in their emotional worlds. And seeing how I'd made Maria the source of Bush's aftercare in the previous story -- he had desperately needed it, and god knows Hornblower isn't in touch with his feelings enough to provide it! -- I thought to myself, I bet that's how Bush sees Maria's aftercare: as this monumental, nearly holy tenderness that he had hardly known in his life since he went to sea. So that's where I rooted the emotional throughline of "Cock on the Right" -- in those moments of Maria's nearly-holy comfort and tenderness toward him.)

All of which set me up nicely for the next story, which was a story I'd been trying to write for years: Hornblower inviting Bush into his and Maria's bed to supply his own deficiencies. I'd had the beginnings of a story like that in draft nearly since I first started writing this fandom, but I'd never been happy with it. Here, I just threw the original attempt out and started fresh, building upon what I already had in this 'verse: Bush's reverential feelings toward Maria and his deep service-submission tendencies. Nominally "Their Shared Will" (I am so proud of that title!) is a vanilla het story, but in actuality it is all about Bush's submission to the Hornblowers, and thus is as kinky as fuck.

By this point, of course, I had built a 'verse in which all the kids are implicitly Bush's. At which point I mostly stopped being interested in smut stories, and instead became interested in the canon timeline. How did they navigate these different ties? How do canon events and emotions change when the kids are Bush's? How do you navigate a relationship when your shame and repression are so pronounced that you can hardly bear to speak of it?

I have been toying with several more story ideas for this 'verse:

One is smut-adjacent, about what happens when the weird consensual non-consent of "Any Service Required" goes wrong -- i.e., when Maria makes a misstep and does something Hornblower doesn't want. I have a draft beginning for it, but I'm leery of finishing and posting it, mostly because I worry about its reception. But fucking up and violating a boundary in an otherwise loving and care-centered relationship is a thing that can happen, and I do think this trio is cruising for it. I also think "and what do we do about it" is a question worth talking about -- and especially worth exploring with these three, two of whom would rather die than talk anything out.

Another story I have the beginning drafted for is the moment of Hornblower's promotion off the Hotspur. Bush assumes that this is the end of his weird little family, and that without Hornblower to mediate Bush's inclusion, he's going to be cut out. He's wrong.

Three other stories that I want to write for this 'verse, but don't have anything drafted yet:

Bush returning to England in the Temeraire, during the winter of 1806-07, to find a black wreath on the Hornblowers' door.

Bush returning after "Cock on the Right", going to Maria to announce the happy news that he and Hornblower aren't dead after all -- and strangers are living in Maria's lodgings.

Caudebec. Although I'm not exactly sure what to do about this one, because the series is firmly Bush-POV up until this point, and… well. Bush won't be around to have a pov, if you know what I mean. But I would very much like to talk about what it means to go on.

Who knows if I'll ever get to writing them; I have the impression that most of my readership wants a happy ending for the family. I've already received pushback from a couple of different readers on these story ideas.

However! I'm pleased to say that @tgarnsl has a draft of a happier ending for them, where Maria doesn't die and the family runs off to live in Italy together. I hope to see more of that someday. (Maybe I should go ahead and write the tragic stories to give her an incentive!)

Again, thank you for the ask, and I hope you found something here you enjoyed!

[terrorofthetrident]

from an interview ewan did, he said that aemond never felt unconditional love from his family. aemond believes their love is dependent upon his usefulness. so, i think the fact that alicent might not look at him as the dutiful son she can always rely on (be disappointed in him) because of what happened at storm’s end will affect him and lead him into desperation in the attempt to be seen as that dutiful son again, the one his family can look to to see them through the war. i think in season two he’ll embrace his kinslayer title, play it up, and act like he doesn’t care about what his family thinks or says and hide behind that cold, stony facade…but eventually we’ll start to see that facade break away.

Different anon, in my opinion it's terrible circle where aemond can't stand alicent being disappointed in him, because he wants to be her beloved child forever, but he's also willing to show he's still useful, deserving her love despite storms end. I just don't think real closeness, vulnerability, mutual trust can exist betweeen him and alicent because he leaves no room for that. In episode 6 she comforted him, in 7 she was fighting for family to care for him when he lost an eye, but later he doesn't need her to show him support or console him anymore. He isn't vulnerable with her. I am not aegon fan but i admit he's always vulnerable around alicent and no one else. when he cries after she slapped him, do you love me talk in carriage and in trailer with the two of them in one room when he looks tired/sad/anxious with his hand on the chair. alicent just knows aegon better because he lets her in as an adult. he trusts her enough to be emotionally vulnerable with her. aemond hides his vulnerable side from her and everyone else. That doesn't encourage real closeness if he wears a mask all the time. vhagar is his only friend because he doesn't give anyone or himself a chance of real closeness. he is the designer of his own loneliness. I don't know what must happen for aemond to show his facade break away. He is the type to rather die than confess he cares.

first, i’m sorry for the late response, i’m so bad with asks. but thank you for sharing your thoughts! i tried not to make this so wordy (kinda failed).

so, i agree with you on some aspects…despite aemond’s own feeling that the love his family has for him is conditional, it’s clear that he loves his family and that alicent loves him unconditionally. even though aemond isn’t very open in expressing his emotions and feelings, there are still many ways in which he shows that he loves and cares for his family. he’s very protective of them, he pretty much trained his entire life so that he would be his family’s sword and shield, and he can be loving and caring with his family. in ep 9, we see him drop that cold, stony facade when he’s with alicent. he’s soft, caring, and comforting which is very different to his demeanor in ep 8. i think closeness and trust exists between them despite the lack of vulnerability with his words..but i do see your point, i think because aemond is guarded with his emotions alicent likely doesn’t have a deep level of understanding of who he really is, which is really just the tragic reality of their relationship due to the kind of environment they grew up in. aemond wants to be viewed as this formidable and capable protector that his family can depend on and to him vulnerability equals weakness, so he hides it from and for them.

for the most part, we don’t really see aemond openly expressing his emotions, other than when the bottled up emotions brewing up inside him cause him to explode in anger….and with all the tragedies his family will endure, i think it’s likely we’ll get scenes where he expresses his anger/rage/guilt…i think we could see glimpses of his vulnerability show in private moments where he’s alone and/or possibly with criston (i say this because it seems he feels comfortable sharing things with criston ie. when he brought up how he was taken to a brothel when he was 13).

i’m curious to see more interactions between aemond and his family, but, so far from what we’ve gotten, aemond’s scenes with alicent mostly revolve around him making himself useful (in ep 9, when he learns that viserys has died, the first thing he does is head to his mother’s room to offer his support, then when alicent asks criston to find aegon for her, aemond offers to join him).

aemond’s relationship with vhagar is different from the one with his family, he knows she accepts and loves him unconditionally. she can feel what he feels, so he can’t hide his true emotions from her, she sees him for who he truly is and, i think, knows him more than anyone. aemond and vhagar bonded due to their similarities of feeling lonely and like they didn’t belong….and this brings me to alys. idk about your and everyone else’s thoughts on their relationship, but i think their relationship has so much potential. he could identify with alys similarly to how he does with vhagar and develop a deep connection with alys through their potential similarities and we could see the facade break away….and i’ll just leave it at that.

[snow-143]

Water Coloured Tears | Jeon Jungkook

four- don’t waste my time (1.2k words)

Caffeine. What I need is caffeine, a lot of it, I decide. Maybe a pint of ice cream too.

I woke up at 9am. I'm not sure why, I never wake up early unless I absolutely have to, but when I took a look at my phone the call had not long ended.

I wish I could say that I've been productive in the past four and a half hours but that would simply not be true. I've been pacing around my apartment, more than likely disturbing my roommate.

More than likely is an understatement, I definitely disturbed him, he made that obvious when he came storming out of his room to throw a pillow at my head. I suppose I owe him a thanks considering that the well aimed pillow is what made me finally leave the apartment. 

Which brings me back to my first point, I need caffeine, it's all I can bring myself to think about on my way to the café. Favouring the thought of the bitter liquid rather than the anxiety filling my chest. 

At least with me getting there early I'll have time to mentally prepare myself. That's what I was hoping anyway. I even brought a book, hoping I'd have time to read a bit to distract myself, but no. Fate clearly had plans to give me a heart attack instead. 

One might think I'm being dramatic, which I'll admit I do tend to get lost in my emotions a bit. However, I'm not being dramatic when I say my heart stopped. Will I ever get use to seeing his stupid face again?

Sighing I make my way over to him, not before sending a longing glace over to the counter. 

When I finally reach him he's staring directly at me, looking like a deer in headlights. You'd think that I had forced him here by the way he's peering up at me.

'Quit looking at me like I'm holding you for ransom,' One thing about me is that I am not a morning person in the slightest, I may have been up for hours now, and maybe it's not even morning anymore but from the very little sleeping I had I would die to go back to bed right now. So in my eyes it is definitely still morning and I am in no mood to be looked at like I'm forcing my presence on somebody. 

'Sorry,' his voice is small, timid. Although, I'm glad he's shifted his gaze from me I can't help but feel guilty at my harsh tone.

Deciding to distract myself, and him, I move the conversation onto the project instead, 'So, are you wanting to start taking photos today or just go over what we want the over all project to look like?'

And there's that look again, that's when I realise he's brought nothing with him. Not the camera, his laptop and not even a note book or sketch book. 'Jungkook, please tell me you havent dragged me here just to waste my time.'

'I havent dragged you here just to waste your time?' His expression is far to sheepish for me to even entertain the idea that he might be telling the truth.

'Enlighten me then, what was your plan when you invited me here?'

When no reply comes I stand up to leave, 'Message me when you're actually ready to work on this project, until then don't waste my time again.' 

At least I'll save money on the extortionate prices of coffee on campus.

'Hey, wait a minute.' Without me even realising he's spun me around to face him again, holding my wrist much like he did after we got paired together. 'We can at least go over what we want the project to look like while were here.'

Sighing, I meet his eyes, actually meet his eyes instead of avoiding them like I have been, 'Only if you pay for my coffee, Jeon.' At this he smiles.

'You and your caffeine addiction.' It's said as a mutter. As an inside joke. A joke we used to share.

Without even waiting for a reply from me he's already making his way to the counter. I amuse myself with the thought of what he's going to order me, the picture of him trying to find something to order for me is a funny one. I just hope he picks something I'll actually enjoy.

Before I know it he's setting a drink in front of me and taking his seat opposite to me.

Looking at my drink my smile vanishes. He got my exact order. My completely bazar order that everyone questions me on. Even my favourite cookie to go with it.

My smile is back, a sad one now. Sitting here with him now feels far to familiar to when we went to visit colleges together. 

I would always insist on visiting the cafes, and well he would amuse my request. I would insist that I couldn't go to a college that didn't have good coffee. 

Now that I think about it we came to this café back then, sat at the table just left to us. Now it's occupied by a couple, giggling over a shared slice of cake.

I wonder if that's what we looked like back then. Wonder if there was someone in a situation similar to mine now looking at us with resentment at our happiness. I know that that's what I'm feeling right now at least. And I know that It's petty of me.

'So, I'm sure you've already got plenty of ideas for this project. What are your thoughts?' His words snap me out of my trans, bringing me back to the current situation. 

He's right, I've already got so many ideas. 

My favourite being that we make pieces that seem loving but you can change them to look heart broken, but also some show loving pieces mixed with the dark side of love. It'll show both sides of being in love, the ups and the downs. 

I also want us to work on one of the pieces together. To show that a relationship is a partnership. Although, a massive part of me is against this as it'll mean more time spent with Jungkook, I'm willing to suck it up for the symbolism.

The rest of the time is spent with me telling him my ideas and him adding onto them. He didn’t fully understand what I meant at first but when I gave some examples me caught on pretty quickly.

I try to ignore his smile when I reveal that I've already gathered some reference pictures so we can be on the same page for the project.

As our professor said, they need to be cohesive and I'm not taking any chances on messing this project up. Even if that means I'll have to work closely with Jungkook. 

'See, I knew you'd already have this all planned out. You don't even need me at this rate.' God did I wish I didn't need him to pass this assignment.

prev | m.list | next

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a/n: ik the art project doesn’t make a lot of sense rn but it’ll be more clear on what she’s planning when they actually start

[thewadapan]

Post-War Escapism in Godzilla Minus One

Many people lauded the period-piece creature-feature Godzilla Minus One as one of the best films of last year. It's definitely not a bad movie! But after finally sitting down to watch it, I was surprised to see very few people talking about some of the film's weaker elements, which stood out to me and my friends as being very obvious shortcomings. In this essay, I talk about post-traumatic fantasy, mixed metaphors, and the Unspoken Plan Guarantee. Smash that "Keep reading" button to keep reading!

This is definitely a more human story than Shin Godzilla, the only other Godzilla flick I've seen, but I think it's less effective at delivering what it sets out to achieve.

The film's opening is easily the best part of the movie, unburdened by thematic considerations, narrative momentum, or tons of CGI in broad daylight. We're introduced to our protagonist, Shikishima, a kamikaze pilot who's clearly fled his duty, landing at an island repair base which is promptly attacked by Godzilla. The kaiju appears differently here to his traditional appearances, a smaller, T-Rex-like predator that runs around biting people in half. Great stuff. We immediately grasp the emotional states of the pilot, experiencing a heady mix of mortal terror and utter shame, and of the head engineer, resenting everything about this guy. Godzilla is quickly established on a thematic level as the embodiment of the senseless violence Shikishima is running from, and on the narrative level as an unstoppable threat.

Shikishima returns to Tokyo to find that his parents are dead and his neighbour, Sumiko, fucking hates him, blaming the bombing of the city (which killed her entire family) on his cowardice. Such is the venom of her invective that she comes off as a vengeful ghost, haunting this poor shellshocked man by reminding him of his sin at every opportunity. We're also introduced to Noriko, a survivor roughly his age, and Akiko, a random orphaned infant she's ended up adopting. They form a kind of found family, with Sumiko in particular intervening to save the baby from starvation.

The film never really allows Sumiko to explicitly state how this affects her feelings, and although I felt her character was well-conceived, this meant she often came off as a bit cartoonish; less a person, and more a stock archetype you see in a shōnen story. The tension between her and Shikishima is very well-established, and the film never delivers on a specific moment of catharsis, where Sumiko admits something along the lines of: "I'm sorry for blaming you for this tragedy. I'd lost everything precious to me, and was lashing out. You are as much a victim as I am. Thank you for giving me a family again." And the thing is, even as I write that, I don't like it, I wonder if there's something more realistic in all of this going unspoken: but what I mean is, Godzilla Minus One is not by any means a subtle fucking movie. It's a WWII film with a giant killer dinosaur in it. The fact that the film did not take a moment to reflect on Sumiko's journey therefore struck me as an oversight rather than a deliberate choice.

Indeed, there's a lot of stuff in this film that feels similarly underdeveloped. I think this is primarily an anti-war film through the specific lens of a) kamikaze pilots and b) Godzilla, but it did not leave me feeling like I had just watched the definitive film about kamikaze pilots, nor the definitive Godzilla film. Although it occasionally gives lip-service to the horror of a government which would so blatantly view its citizens as disposable, it doesn't spare a thought for the many kamikaze pilots who did die; indeed, following that initial terrifying opening, the film is completely bloodless, with only offscreen or heavily-implied deaths taking place, and the finale of the film hinging thematically on an ending where not only does nobody die, but someone believed dead is actually revealed to have been alive after all.

Because ultimately, right, the horror of war isn't that people are dying—that's the horror of a natural disaster, which Shin Godzilla intelligently chose as the lens with which to frame its titular monster—but rather, that people are being killed. It's the fundamental irrationality and evil of one man being compelled to kill another, and this happening over and over again, on a scale beyond the ability of the human mind to fathom; hell, war films exist as an futile attempt to make us fathom it. Godzilla Minus one thus represents the perfect opiate for a nation grappling with its involvement in a senseless and horrific war at the whim of an insane government: it is an encore consisting of a just war, conducted not by the government but by the people, against an inhuman monster, which is defeated through bravery without a single life being sacrificed.

You see a lot of comparisons of this film against Marvel movies, mostly along the lines of "the VFX is so much better! the budget was so much smaller! the story was so much deeper!", but in terms of the fundamental character of the work, I honestly don't see the fucking difference. It's like in Top Gun: Maverick—a film people have compared favourably to this one—which laughably does not even name the country Tom Cruise is flying into to bomb the shit out of or whatever, I haven't seen that film, why the fuck would I want to watch that film?

I have no suggestion for how I would retool the script to fix this perceived shortcoming, because I'm ultimately criticising the fundamental premise of the film. In slightly shifting focus away from Godzilla as the personification of impersonal, indiscriminate nuclear holocaust, towards a more generic view of Godzilla as an embodiment of death and war, the film invites us to think of him more as an invading nation or army, and it didn't work for me, because war is personal and political in a way a big rampaging animal just can't be.

I really hate to say it, but the film was also really let down by many of the performances. Shikishima's minesweeper crew are straight out of a tokusatsu show for children, which I realise is kind of what Godzilla is, but c'mon, nobody's giving a bad performance on purpose! There's one bit where the younger lad takes mock offence at something someone's said, and it's like he's improvising in the background of a high school play. Although the leads themselves were generally better, they were let down in many places by the direction, which was often so melodramatic it wrapped around into being unintentionally funny. Finally, while this is kind of just a problem you run into with a lot of translated media, I felt that the dialogue itself was stilted, boring, and would often belabour the same points over and over ("it is good to live! it is cowardly to die!") instead of allowing the characters to actually express real feelings.

But hey, I am not immune to the charms of a well-choreographed sea battle. The first scene where the minesweeper runs into Godzilla is absolutely phenomenal, great spectacle and tension. The final plan is also well-conceived and visually engaging, but it does suffer from an absolutely textbook narrative stumble: a lot of time is devoted to explaining the plan, and then we see that same plan go off basically without a hitch. Like, it goes wrong, but only in exactly the one way it's obviously going to go wrong, which is to say of course you can't fucking kill Godzilla by sinking him to the bottom of the ocean and then dragging him back to the surface. All the elements of the plan which are kept from the audience with the intent of being surprises later are still so heavily telegraphed that they're not surprising in the slightest: of course those ships are unmanned! Of course there's an ejector seat! I liked the bit with the tugboats, I guess, that was fun, if a little cloying—again, what's the difference between that and "but there are more of us!" in The Rise of Skywalker? Okay, I'm sorry, that was unnecessarily mean of me.

Again, the big problem here is that the film has overplayed its hand with respect to its themes: there's a huge speech about how they're going to try and do what the government couldn't, which is to carry out the plan without sacrificing any lives. Everyone gets to live. It's so direct that you'll very quickly realise Noriko probably isn't dead either. At this point, what are even the stakes of the battle? Do we seriously think the movie is going to end on a note of Shikishima flying his jet into Godzilla's gullet, finally proving the value of kamikaze by using it to kill a big fucking dinosaur? Compare to the final act of Nope (I haven't seen Jaws, the ur-work both of these films are influenced by), which maintains a serious sense of danger throughout. This critical failure to maintain rising and falling tension, even during a scene which literally hinges on Godzilla falling and rising, was entirely avoidable and basically unforgivable.

The film is such a slave to very basic notions of setup and payoff that it sometimes seems to lose track entirely of what it's even trying to communicate. The younger guy on the minesweeper, who never fought in the war, is early on chastised strongly for expressing that he wishes he'd been able to fight. Then in the final act, he's initially denied participation in the plan, but then he shows up to save the day with his fleet of tugboats. I can perceive no subtextual justification for this: it's just, "well, this guy's there earlier in the movie, so he has to be there during the ending too!" Whatever.

Still, all my complaints aside, I ultimately enjoyed the experience of watching this film. It's fun, which I think is the main thing it's trying to be. Godzilla looks great, he has such a wonderful expression on his face. The basic elements of the story have a bit of bite to them. It's a shame, then, that as Sumiko felt towards Shikishima, so too do I feel towards this film: "you were so afraid of death, that you left me with nothing I cared about."

Rating: 7/10

If you've enjoyed this review, you can find dozens of similar essays written for every film I've watched in the last year over on Letterboxd, including this one. Letterboxd definitely favors snappy one-paragraph zingers over in-depth analysis, and I've never had much response on that site, so this is me experimenting with tumblr. I used to post godawful reviews here as a young teen, so I guess I've come full circle!

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Hello my favourite writer in the whole tumblr!

I hope you won't mind my question but i am curious. In NICIY when everyone finds out what really happened with Ivy pregnancies we see all sorts of reactions except of Aegons. So how did he process the murders? Did he even care?

Hello lovely!! Firstly, thank you so much, I am so appreciative 🥰💜

Secondly, whether Aegon does or doesn't "care" about the fact that Daemon has been poisoning Ivy and thereby causing the miscarriages is kind of a complicated question. I would say that he cares as much as he's capable of caring about it, i.e. he cares in a vague, drunken, unhelpful, and absent sort of way.

NICIY Aegon is extremely, pathologically avoidant. He avoids his family and responsibilities because they make him feel inadequate, and he avoids his marriage with Ivy for the same reason. They basically only ever spend time together when a) there is some sort of compulsory royal function or b) they are trying to conceive an heir. Aegon associates the marriage itself with his (very unwanted) position as the future king, and the miscarriages as yet another way in which he has failed (even if people assume Ivy is the problem, medically speaking). He's not emotionally invested in the pregnancies in the same way that most parents would be, and even when he is saddened by the miscarriages he doesn't really know how to express it (see Chapter 3). In Chapter 1, Ivy tells Aemond that Aegon doesn't mention the miscarriages to her, and that's generally true. He expresses some contrition for his shortcomings to Ivy in Chapter 5, but again, everyone admits this interaction is a deviation from the norm.

Whatever Aegon's emotions are, he typically processes them alone and with the help of a lot of wine. I think we can assume that Aegon was angry about what Daemon did, but that the anger paled in comparison to Aegon's general emotional anguish brought about by years of neglect/abuse from his family and feeling trapped in his role as heir.

Ironically, the reveal actually leads to a slight improvement in Aegon's mental health! Chapter 6 Aegon (the next time we see him after the Daemon-poison reveal) is trying to turn over a new leaf to some extent and is more warm to Ivy and the baby. Now that he knows someone else was the cause of the miscarriages (and therefore that he hadn't failed), he feels relieved and like a little bit of pressure has been taken off him and Ivy. There doesn't seem to be any reason why Ivy's current pregnancy shouldn't succeed, and Aegon is realizing that his marriage could possibly become a source of comfort for him rather than stress...until of course he discovers Ivy and Aemond together on Aemond's wedding night! 😂

Similarly, Aegon is able to be more affectionate and honest with Ivy after the decision is made for him to "die" (flee to Navarre) and free himself from his royal responsibilities. The less he feels trapped and/or like a failure, the more communicative and compassionate he is.

[tallbluelady]

16. Daybreak - @littlelordalphinaud

With her brother, Sideritis, and Nanna's sister, Ishtar, out watching the stars on the observatory, Minthe took the offer for another glass of wine inside the house with a chuckle.

"I really did not expect this to go so well so quickly for him," Minthe admitted. "I don't remember him dating much when we grew up. Maybe not having the weight of multiple exes let's him be free..."

"I have to admit, both of your exes sound like a lot of work," Nanna said. "I don't blame you for going home afterwards."

"Thank you," Minthe said.

"Not that most of you Amaurotines are normal in the first place..." he muttered quickly.

"Hey!"

"You call death 'returning to the star'. And I suppose it's true in your kind's case. Most of you go... willingly."

"Once our purpose is fulfilled, then most want to seek their rest," Minthe shrugged. "I have to admit that I'm probably going to noodle around a little longer afterwards. I can't imagine willingly stepping into the Underworld again."

Nanna tilted his head. "Have you been there before?"

Minthe shook her head and groaned. "I can't believe I just told you that..."

He laughed. "Blame the wine. Stars, I've said too much in front of Ishtar and her friends with this stuff."

"And you still drink it?" she laughed back.

"It's fun! Unlike your trip to the Underworld it seems!"

"You're awfully curious about the subject." Minthe said, squinting in suspicion.

"Well, of course I am. The fact that our souls go to reside in a physical location on the Star isn't what we're taught in Ur."

"What are you taught?"

"When we die - and may it be a long time yet - our souls return to the Lifestream. Which... I suppose it having a location in the physical realm isn't all too absurd. I just always assumed it was all around us, not under the ground."

Minthe stared into the fireplace, watching the flames lick the wood hungrily. "You're not wrong either. The fact that there's aether all around us makes sense. But... I guess more of our... personality or pain or soul goes to the Underworld. The previous Emet-Selch told me once that it's just where the aether is densest. It definitely felt that way. It's why despite our ability to travel on the Lifestream, we still rely on aetherytes. Otherwise we get washed into the sea of aether without a trace."

"I knew I hated aetheryte travel for a reason..." Nanna muttered.

"With a bright enough beacon, you can go anywhere. But knowing up from down in rather precarious when you've dissolved yourself down to your constituent aether..."

"Are you sure you're drunk?"

Minthe smiled over her glass. "Oh, I could talk like this til daybreak."

"If the conversation wasn't so interesting I'd get you something stronger. You're so well-versed with these things, yet you go for toxins! Why is that?"

"The Underworld is far too loud."

"That's it?"

Minthe nodded. "Most of it. I mean, the whole thing with the spirits of the dead isn't very comforting, but I could get around that if it was my job. I almost did, for Hades' sake. But the volume of aether and emotions was too much."

"Excuse me, what do you mean by the volume of emotions?"

"The last Emet-Selch said that only a few people have enough empathy to feel the emotions down there, and I was privileged to be able to. But it's just so much. Felt like my ear drums were going to be ruptured, but my soul instead."

"You Amaurotines... Abilities are blessings, yes, but did he ever teach you to reduce your personal pain facing it?"

"I never said it was painful to anyone other than you and Hythlodaeus..." Minthe muttered. "Oh."

"Could no one else ever see it was painful for you?"

"It's fairly overwhelming to most people." Minthe shrugged. "So they thought I would get over it. But then I found my passion elsewhere and that was it."

"I might be presumptuous here, but... maybe that's why Hades thought you'd still go down there. That you'd get used to it or some such."

Minthe hummed and swirled her wine glass.

"And Ariadne. She... honestly, between what you've told me and what Iris has told me, it sounds like she's having a fairly normal reaction to her brother dying."

She looked at Nanna askance.

"Iris said it was sudden and you said the Underworld can be painful. If Sideritis fell off the roof right this second and died, would you say that was a beautiful fate?"

"No, but..."

"But what?"

"She... Ari didn't have to hurt me about it."

Nanna took a breath and paused. "No, she didn't. But there's context for her actions."

Minthe sighed. "I'm not sure that's enough for me to forgive her."

"It doesn't have to be enough. It truly doesn't have to be anything, really. You've just been so distraught over it this whole time. And I can't stand it."

She tilted her head at him. "Nanna, this isn't your problem. Why are you spending so much of your time on it?"

He snorted. "Minthe, you've become my friend. It is my problem. Helping you will make me feel better, believe me."    

"I think I'm starting to."

Thanks for the prompt!

[itsbinghebitch]

"the bdsm is just a part of that that imo doesn't stand on its own without the emotional devastation. thank you for coming to my ted talk"

Exactly! Fucking this!! Like Vegas didn't fall for Pete because he found no other suitable partner sexually. If that's the basis of their relationship, how long would it take for Vegas or Pete to move on when they encounter someone more compatible ( and there always can be someone more compatible).

Also so so true about the pool scene. Pete could have said million other things ( I am not too mad about the "I am hungry", kind of like it) but then he chooses I am your pet, aren't I? And my god I wanted to slap someone. Like whenever I sent asks to people regarding this, they were like oh no no it was to steer Vegas away from harming himself. And I was...like that?! I also wanted more of an ambiguous ending. Like Pete torn between what happened at the safehouse ( the abuse , the talk, the romance, then the devastating day when Gun came etc) and his current feelings ( Vegas risking in to say that he is sorry, Vegas can't make himself shoot at Pete, Vegas confessing and wanting to die by Pete's hands, Vegas being shot at and the horror of losing him). I also think that if Pete was Kinn's most trusted to the point of actually him choosing Pete over Big ( just how?) for the mission...there should be more dilemma on Pete's part. He loves Vegas, might have been the one looking after Macau but there's still his loyalty for the main family. Wanting to be with Tankhun out of his sense of duty. Wanting to be with Porsche ( you know the guy for whom he took on the risky mission?) after his discovery of the not dead mom. And yet Pete isn't now just someone who feels like his purpose is to fade...he has finally been seen.

If that's the basis of their relationship, how long would it take for Vegas or Pete to move on when they encounter someone more compatible

*shouts this from rooftops, blazes this with tumblr blaze* bcuz yes. that's exactly it. you cracked it open everyone else go home

and yes, I'll rectify and say I liked the 'I'm hungry' bit and i love and understand their ongoing hunger motif. it's the pet thing that leaves me..... confused? for lack of a better word? like what does that resolution mean for their third act conflict? if Pete said 'I'm just an object to project your feelings on,' what does it mean that the only ostensible reason for Vegas not killing himself is their pet-owner dynamic? what does it mean for Pete's self-worth statement? how does it make any sense with the later hospital scene, when Vegas admits that Pete is not his pet anymore, but the most important person in his life? these all feel like threads of a conclusion for the pairing, almost as if there were several possible endings in the writers room and Pond said. actually let's just have them all :)

And yet Pete isn't now just someone who feels like his purpose is to fade...he has finally been seen.

let's caveat this with: kinnporsche is a show powered primarily by trope, shock value and melodrama. I try as much as possible to meet it at its own level, but that doesn't mean there can't be good faith critique of what it tries to achieve. your point is exactly why I was left frustrated by much of the latter half of the show. as a viewer you feel gaslit: Vegas claims Pete is the most important person in his life. we get Pete screen time galore. we have Pete go through trials and tribulations, yet why does Pete still feel like an extra? rather than creating a meaningful arc for him, the writing continues treating him as an afterthought.

compare that with Vegas, whose love arc with Pete is beautifully intertwined with his primary internal conflict (his positioning by his father as a competition object to the main family). while Vegas drives the Tawan pinch point and the safehouse arc, it's Pete's own decision to kiss Vegas and start their sexual relationship. his agency doesn't stop there: Pete also makes the decision to escape Vegas and then later on to punish Vegas physically and stick with Vegas as he gets shot and recovers. the reasoning behind these choices remains, however, nebulous to the viewer.

Pete deciding to escape the safehouse after starting a sexual relationship with Vegas--how does it integrate into the larger history of who Pete is? why is a bdsm relationship with his captor appealing to Pete to begin with? why does Pete decide to "take Vegas back" after Vegas's love confession and the parking lot punching during the coup? is this reflective of Pete's values as a character? was that enough for him to consider the conflict resolved?

these are all questions unanswered by the show. Pete feels like an extra because the writing treats him as such: unlike every other protagonist, we don't have a single benchmark for his inner conflicts except a violent past under his father's boxing abuse. at the end of the day, all of his actions are actually re-actions: to Kinn ordering him to follow Vegas, to Vegas's abuse, etc. to me, the only real, fully agentic action Pete takes (as I, the viewer, understand what exactly powers his choices), is when he offers Vegas his own life story in episode 11: I see you and I recognize your pain and suffering. here is how I surpassed mine.

[astroyongie]

Okay i might be a little late to this but i was reading through your posts that i missed since last month cuz I haven’t been online and i feel like there are probably people who need to hear the things I’m about to say.Also I apologise in advance for an extremelyy long rant

So my best friend has an almost identical replica personality to changkyun and let me tell youuu about this type of people.When in relationships with people they don’t have very deep feelings for they don’t really care about their partners side and don’t wanna be tied down,but when they love you they LOVE you.And this doesn’t go just for romantic relationships. They are very genuine with their affections and would literally give you their heart their efforts their time their money their everything like yes they do the cooking yes they do the cleaning lmao.And that’s precisely why they rarely let someone in because they know they get down BAD.They hide their vulnerability.Out of fear that people will use it against them and hurt them because you can actually hurt them soo easily when they care about you.However they do have a tendency to keep their very intense emotions deep inside and then those emotions after being bottled up for a long time explode seemingly out of nowhere so definitely the type of people to show up drunk at your place at like 3 am to confess how much you mean to them.Or you recieve a random text of them saying they love you and you’re like whut but they probably been thinking about how they didn’t show you their love enough and got scared you might leave or something lol.They brag about how they won’t loose their independence and won’t ever be tied down by anyone but what they need and yearn for is the exact opposite.They want all the sappy stuff even though they would rather die than admit it.They built their walls hiigh around themselves but ohh how they wish somebody would penetrate them. And I didn’t hear those things from my bestie either lmao I understood them by observing her as these people never express how they are feeling so i 100% agree with you that they need a very empathetic person since they don’t voice their emotions so there could be a lot of unnecessary misunderstandings,so if you’re someone who needs a lot of verbal validation and have to have everything spelled out for you these folks are definitely not for you.

Changkyun too wouldn’t be insensitive to his partner crying or being upset if he loved them,he would probably still feel uncomfortable when they’re emotional or crying because he wouldn’t know how to react and he would probably definitely avoid them in that moment but he would feel very bad. Definitely wouldn’t straight up apologise unless he really went overboard but would definitely not just let it be either,he would try to show you he’s sorry indirectly by buying you food or a gift or just coming up and hugging you or doing something you love.The people that know him always say he’s very caring and soft and the members even said he was the most romantic member.

So dont worry monbebe changkyun is not a bad person and he’s completely an asshole in relationships either lmao. Both kyun and my girlie are fake bitches who be hiding their mega softness

And you who are dealing with similar people,I know they are hard to understand but don’t worry they probably care about you a lot more than you think you just have to dig deeper to see it.💗

thank you so much for sharing this !!! <3 I honestly think that you explained the whole situation better than I could <3

[star-mum]

Is it still fashionable if I'm three whole days late?

JAWS OF LIIIIIIIIIFEEEE

trans reader ! trans reader ! trans reader !

"Jason 'gagging' the reader with his cock" you know me so well 😌

"during previous incidents, not this time" noooooooooo

"reader sucks on Jason's fingers" okay! we are SO back

"reader is more submissive and Jason is more dominant" you know me so well, for real this time 😌

DAMN WE'RE STARTING WITH THE SMUT RIGHT AWAY, HELLOOOOO

"you never wanted him to get too cocky about having this" LITERALLY MY THOUGHTS EXACTLY !!!! He's such an asshole (... YEAH I LOVE HIM, SO WHAT)

"he had pulled the bullet fragment out of your stomach and bandaged you up" o h

"the thick, impressive length" which I'll never say to his face EVER

"you had dangled yourself out of a high-rise building trying to save him, vowed that you would never let him go" my red hood arc emotional wounds are healing

"This Jason - even if he didn’t want to admit it - clearly cared about your feelings and wanted to show it" going insane thinking about Jason mellowing out almost IMMEDIATELY after that night

"unlike the Jason who would fuck into your mouth without asking and then laugh when you gagged on his cock" which I'd pretend not to like for the benefit of my own ego

"You think you’re gonna make me cum before you blow your load?" I'VE MISSED THEIR BANTER !!!!!!

"Think I’m some kind of amateaur?" I don't think you want me to answer that

"Perfect" "Don’t flatter yourself" I LOOOOOVEEEEE THEEEEEEMMM

"getting quite the workout in his legs and abs" thank god for Robin training

"you had to tell someone else in the Tower why you had to go to the ER to get it out" having to explain to Dick why Jason was up on his stupid motorcycle so soon

"He was decent looking" which is ALL I'll ever say to his face... pre Deathstroke at least

The lack of proper communication in this is gonna have me pulling hairs but it is also delectable

"whispering harshly under their breath about a young girl with severe, mysterious powers" looooove when main characters talk plot very loudly in a public space with 0 odd looks or repercussions

"Maybe, if you had a shot at having a relationship with your ‘real’ family - maybe you should take it" also !! she's RICH ! (sorry... ehhh... she's probably an awful person, old money rich ppl style)

"You should have said yes. But instead, you let your guarded instincts get the better of you" i get a sick sense of joy out of moments like this

"If you had known that was going to be the last time you kissed him, you would have savored it more" and we're back to the depression... hooray?

"when he saw that the limp body on the floor was you" OH SHIT

"giving you a harsh kick in the back with his heavy boot" OKAY ! I know that you're a villain but do you also have to be AN ASSHOLE ????

"The sword appeared through the front of your stomach".... do we really FUCKING DIE ?????

dream sequence ! dream sequence ! dream sequence !

"Jason awoke in a cold sweat" LETS GOOOOO

"Leslie gave him a deep frown" Leslie i am breathing down your neck, this is not proper fucking WORK ETHIC

"He felt like she was purposefully pitching hits at his weak spots" fun fact: she is !!! which is good, proves she thinks you can handle it !!

"Boyfriend?" she really looked him up and down and said "gay? bi?"

"Leslie looked utterly confused at this one" Leslie we really need to work on your poker face, c'mon now

"she would rather spend her last days ‘in grace and dignity’ than to be balding and ‘out of her mind" i mean... chemo is very hard on the body and with little chance of remission, I get it... she's rich enough to have the most quality of life even as she's dying

"Cold Hands, Hot Ass" ....OH MY GOD ROBIN'S ICE MACHINE I JUST GOT IT (forgot we had elsa powers, oops)

"You resisted the urge to make a ‘don’t hurt yourself’ joke" it actually physically hurt me to try not to laugh at this

"Yes, and you slept on a bed of bricks and ate dirt for dinner. Oliver Twist ass" homeless orphan on homeless orphan crime

"Besides, I have heard they can give you cancer" KSKSKSKSL NICE

"Maybe it was the Anti-Fear Gas" awn man back to depression again ;-;

"You’ve been ignoring these for days now! That’s rude!” THERE'S STILL A CHANCE !!!! WE CAN SAVE HIM AGAIN !!!

"He had unintentionally caused you to worry, on top of everything else. He had hurt you" i think you should bring your troubles prioritizing to therapy, my guy

"I’m - I’m so sorry. Jason’s - he’s gone" oh my fucking god, I forgot you made this a 2 parter cause HOLY SHIT !!! IMAGINE THIS IS HOW IT ENDS ???? CRAZY

The Jaws of Life

Jason Todd x Gender Neutral Reader

Now part of me has holes in it, and part of me is whole. 

We’ve only begun. 

I can’t decide - maybe it’s enough to get by for now.

But I’m having the time of my life - rotting in the sun.

We’re inside The Jaws of Life.

Part One: Panic Room

Summary:

You and Jason don't really hate each other - at least not anymore. Your feelings for each other are more than complicated, and before you have time to figure it all out, you have to part ways.

Jason goes back to Gotham at Bruce's behest, and you're off to visit a long lost relative that you didn't even know cared about you.

Unfortunately, while you're apart, the Joker makes things even more complicated with a phone call and a gun. And your world comes crashing down before you can even put names to all the stars in your sky.

Jason Todd x GN!Powered!Reader. Friends With Benefits to Lovers/Lovers Reunited. Smut, Extreme Emotional Angst, Hurt and Comfort. Set during Season 3. 

Word Count: 19,900

DC Titans Masterlist | AO3 Link

This is a sequel to Emergency Contact, so make sure that you read that fic before you start this one. This can be read as a standalone, but reading that fic first provides emotional context for the relationship between the characters, and it gives you more amazing stuff to read! Either way, I hope you enjoy it.

Detailed warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: this fic has a lot of warnings, so strap in - the reader character is completely gender neutral - the main pronouns used for the bulk of the fic are you/yours and there is one scene where Jason is talking to someone else about the reader and uses they/them pronouns for the reader and there is absolutely no descriptions of what genitals the reader character has (I like all my GN fics to be interpreted so that the character could be trans, or cis, or nonbinary, and that they could have a penis or a vagina); there are implications of the reader being trans or nonbinary (something I threw in last minute cause it felt like it fit the fic well), but like with my fat reader fics - if you're cis then just ignore it, roll with it, and remember that most fics are catered specifically for you; this fic DOES use Y/N (as do all of my fics); the reader character has meta powers - the reader character can form ice crystals out of nothing and can freeze pretty much any substance; Jason calls the reader 'babe' (but as I said with the previous fic, I think this is a genderless nickname and Jason would call anyone this when flirting and being affectionate); mentions of Jason's canon kidnapping and canon interactions with Deathstroke (and the trauma those incidents likely caused for him); mentions of canon deaths; the fic starts off with a smut scene - the reader gives Jason a blowjob; mentions of Jason 'gagging' the reader with his cock (during previous incidents, not this time); Jason uses the word 'pretty' to describe the reader (he says they have a 'pretty mouth') - again, I feel like this word is fairly gender neutral, especially in the context of him being affectionate; finger sucking (the reader sucks on Jason's fingers); protected penetrative sex - Jason and the reader fuck while using a condom (and because I didn't describe the reader's genitals, it could be vaginal sex or anal sex, who knows); marking kink; some dirty talk; the reader is more submissive and Jason is more dominant, but there is no explicit BDSM roles; (very brief) cockwarming; (and I think that's it for the smut section, the rest of the warnings are non-smut related); mentions of Rose having a one-sided affection towards Jason or flirting with him to try and further her mission (in this version, Rose and Jason never get together); mentions of Jason's past and the trauma he has surrounding it - including discussions of his poverty, his parents' deaths, his abandonment and neglect by all the adults in his life, his time in foster care; Jason has a generally poor self-image in this fic and has negative internal dialogue surrounding himself when he is narrating; mentions of the reader having a backstory similar to Jason's - the reader grew up in severe poverty and neglect and was homeless for the majority of their young life, and also had a parent who had issues with substance abuse; descriptions of Jason being kidnapped by Deathstroke; semi graphic descriptions of blood and violence (and death); semi-graphic descriptions of Jason being tortured by a kidnapper; mentions of the reader going to visit a long lost relative who is dying of brain cancer (if themes around hospice and palliative care are triggering to you, then these sections might be triggering - but I haven't gone into detail about the medical aspects or mentioned any medical environments or medical equipment, the cancer is a background plot point); mentions of Jason and the reader sexting in the past (none of the messages are detailed here); mentions of Jason and the reader sharing a dark sense of humor to cope with their traumas; an enemy describes the reader character as a 'pretty one' and 'pretty thing' (again, I think this is fairly gender neutral, and the villain uses this term in a more condescending way); descriptions of gun violence; this entire fic has extreme emotional angst, and this first half is the more 'light-hearted' part, so do be warned that this fic will not make you happy and it is a big whump fest.

A/N: I am so fucking excited to post this fic, you guys have no idea omg. This is just the first half, and I think the fic as a whole is what makes it a great fic, but I think this is an amazing start/introduction and I am so excited to hear what you guys think of it!! Especially considering that this fic has been two years in the making and I am finally getting to post it omg. I am SO EXCITED !!!!!

...

“Fuck, babe.” 

Jason let out a breathy sigh as your mouth worked on his cock, sloppy and eager against the beautiful dick that you had come to know so well over these past few months. 

It was rare that you treated him to a blowjob. Since the two of you had started this ‘relationship’, you had noticed that he often got too greedy when you sucked him off - trying too hard to take control, shoving his cock into your mouth with unhinged care, rather than just sitting back to enjoy the ride. He would make jokes about ‘shutting you up’ by keeping his dick in your mouth, and you never wanted him to get too cocky about having this. 

You wanted him to know that it was a privilege to have his cock in your mouth, especially without you simply biting his (very perfect) cock off. 

But after the chaotic past few weeks that the team had - with Gar and Conner being captured by Cadmus, with Donna’s funeral still fresh in everyone’s minds - you thought that Jason deserved this to take his mind off all of it. His wounds from Deathstroke had barely healed and everyone was still mourning. 

So you had him flat on his back in his bed - similar to the position he had you in not too long ago, when he had pulled the bullet fragment out of your stomach and bandaged you up. And you were straddling his knees as you worked your mouth on his cock, your tongue flat against the underside of the thick, impressive length while you bobbed your head, letting spit flow freely from your open mouth without care. It sloppily gathered around the base, slick down over his balls in a perfect, messy way. 

Naturally, the room was filled with nothing but the sounds of you gurgling on his cock and the moans that he could barely contain due to the deadly heat of you eagerly swallowing his dick. 

“Fuckin’ love your mouth.” He moaned, bringing a hand down to stroke gentle fingers across your cheek - burning, something that made you gasp quietly against his flesh. 

It was a move much more tender than he would have ever made before. 

This Jason was a Jason much sweeter than the one Doctor Light took from you on that near-fatal night. You knew that it likely had a lot to do with you laying your life on the line for him - the fact that you had dangled yourself out of a high-rise building trying to save him, vowed that you would never let him go. 

That night had changed everything for the both of you. 

This Jason was not the same sex-hungry, carnal, ‘live for the moment’ person who had left The Tower that night, half-cocked and determined to prove that he was better than the old ‘relics’ who kept leaving him out of all their plans. This Jason was humble, quiet, thoughtful. This Jason put his arm around you in a room full of people, not caring who looked on. This Jason actually took the time to think before he spoke. 

This Jason - even if he didn’t want to admit it - clearly cared about your feelings and wanted to show it. 

(And that made him a lot more deserving of a blowjob, unlike the Jason who would fuck into your mouth without asking and then laugh when you gagged on his cock.) 

“Goddammit, ‘m close.” Jason mumbled out - you could feel the muscles of his thighs straining under your palms, a concerted effort not to buck up into the warmth of your mouth to chase the finality of his high. 

You would have thanked him for it, if you didn’t have your mouth full. Instead, you bobbed your head faster and moaned around him - a wordless invitation for him to cum down your throat, for him to have a prize that he wouldn’t have been worthy of before. 

“Shit, babe-” 

Jason seethed through his teeth, and then curled his fist into the back of your shirt, tugging - surprisingly, urging you to pull away from his cock. 

“Come on, come up.” He said, gulping for breath. “I wanna fuck you.” 

You pulled off, leaving a sloppy twinge of spit trailing from your swollen lips to the pink head of his cock, glistening wet and slick sounding. His dick bobbed back toward his pelvis with a filthy, wet sound - causing him to groan as you caught your breath with a small gasp. 

“You feelin’ okay?” You chuckled, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “I have never known you to turn down cumming in my mouth.” 

“As tempting as it is to see my cum dripping from your pretty lips…” 

Jason said, reaching down and gently shoving his thumb past your over-worked, swollen lips. Naturally, you stuck your tongue out and tasted his skin, wrapping your lips around the digit and sucking once again, loving the absolutely lust-sick look on his face as you did this. 

You couldn’t help but to indulge in the attention - not when it was his eyes on you. 

“I definitely can’t pass up the opportunity to watch you cum while you ride my cock.” He added on, his voice rumbling quietly with lust, the idea clearly something that truly excited him. 

You popped your mouth off his thumb before you spoke. 

“Oh? You think you’re gonna make me cum before you blow your load?” You chuckled, posing it as a challenge - knowing that he fucked you better when he was riled up, when he thought of it as another thing to prove himself in. 

“Think I’m some kind of amateaur?” Jason scoffed quietly under his breath. 

He put a hand on your hip and pulled you up his body, silently agreeing to the challenge that you had posed. You shed your shirt while he grabbed a condom - you were already prepped and well lubed, seeing as Jason had made you cum with his fingers and his mouth before you had turned him over on his back, seeking to return the favor. 

He rolled the condom on and slicked up his cock with more lube for good measure, something that made a wonderfully filthy slick sound. Then, with his hands firm on your hips, he pulled you up to straddle him and had you mounting him like he was a throne that you were meant to sit upon. 

You let out a rattling moan as you sat down on his cock, feeling the full hot length stretch you open for the first time in too long. It was a smooth, steady motion - a joining of two people that came from silent, delicate knowing and trust. At this point, he didn’t have to stop and ask if you were okay - he simply knew from the blissed-out look on your face that you were enjoying every inch of it. 

It was perfect. 

With your hands balanced on his chest and his forehead pressed against yours, for once, his eyes daring to gaze into yours past the thickness of his lashes. Usually he busied himself with his head in your neck, or squeezed his eyes shut when your dirty talk got to him particularly well. And often, insisted on fucking you from behind so that he could focus more on destroying you with ‘skill’ than falling apart due to the expressions on your face and seeing every little echo of his cock flicker in your eyes. 

But this was distinctly different. Staring right into your eyes, no shying away, no backing down. As if inviting you to a more intimate part of him that you had somehow never seen, even if you had been naked together and fucked each other dozens of times by now. 

He was hot and heavy inside of you, so beautifully thick, filling you up so well. Strangely, there was that thing deep in your gut that yearned for him to pull out and peel the condom off so that you could feel every single raw inch of him - but you told yourself you were smarter than that. You should be. 

“Perfect.” Jason sighed, his breath puffing out against your chin. 

It was that single word that warmed your insides and made you clench around his cock, causing him to hum from deep within his chest. He stroked a slow, gentle hand from your hip to the fullness of your ass, up your back, holding you like you were something precious. It was so unlike every other time he had fucked you - when all of his touches were about grabbing, consuming you, holding you like you were an object to be taken and owned by him in those moments. 

You had liked it then. It was emotionally detached - but it was hot. It always made you cum hard and fast. 

But this was so different. Especially for you and Jason. 

“Don’t flatter yourself.” You whispered back, fishing for some of that old banter - the humor that had founded your entire ‘relationship’ with Jason. 

Jason laughed, and you bit back a moan when you felt the sound vibrating through you, when it drove his cock just a bit deeper inside of you. 

He resisted the urge to get sappy, to say ‘I meant you, you’re perfect’. Instead, he wrapped an arm around your waist, tucked a possessive touch tight around you and planted the other arm in the middle of your back, sitting himself up slightly, bending his knees - getting good leverage for what he wanted to do next.

“I don’t need to stroke my own ego when I have you, babe.” Jason announced, his smirk appearing in its usual stance and his voice soft.

Before you could muster any clever reply, he used his tight hold on you to lift you slightly off his cock and then began fucking up into you. In tandem with his rough, heavy thrusts up into you, he slammed your body down to meet the thickness of his cock, creating a rough, demanding rhythm that easily chased the air out of your lungs. 

“Jay-” You gasped, quickly becoming breathless. “Jason, fuck me!” 

You could little more than let him fuck you senseless. You were used to the feeling of his cock filling you up like this, yet it created that deadly curl in your gut each time like it was brand new. It sent harsh stinging across your nerve endings, a deadly wash across your skin as the heat crept through you. 

You knew that Jason was talented at this, but you also knew that it was something else. Something more than attraction - something you couldn’t get from anyone else that you still refused to fully acknowledge. 

“Hey, shh.” 

Jason hushed you, using that beautifully condescending coo that you knew meant he didn’t actually want you to be quiet - he always wanted to hear how loud you became when you were entranced by his cock. He bent his knees more to fuck up into you even harsher, causing you to make a wounded sound as his cock got even deeper into you. 

“I’ve got you.” He whispered, hot against your chin. “I’ve got you, babe.” 

The gentle, soothing nature of his voice juxtaposed with the venomous sting of his cock continually snapping against your pelvis was something that made you downright dizzy. All the combined sensations had your body arching against him - your muscles were tightening up, and though he felt that distinct warmth rising up in his own gut, he was proud to know that he had you there already. He was going to make you cum first, just like he had promised. He knew your body too well by now not to play you like a well tuned fiddle. 

“You gonna be good for me?” 

Jason mumbled against your neck, leaning in to gently skim his teeth along your skin. He sucked slightly, leaving marks, being entirely selfish in his claiming of you. He loved the taste of your skin on his tongue. If you refused to let him go, if you refused to leave him to let him rot in his own poisonous life, then he would let everyone know that you had taken him on and that you were owned now. It was his silent way of begging you not to double back, not to realize what a mistake you had made. 

“You gonna cum on by cock?” He added on, his throat flexing slightly as his own lust clutched at him. 

It was something that you couldn’t have refused if you tried. 

“Jason-!” 

You gasped out, unconsciously bucking your hips down to meet his thrusts as he continued fucking up into you hard, getting quite the workout in his legs and abs, spearing his cock into you from the angle below you. 

But fuck, you were so worth it. Seeing the twisting pleasure on your face as your orgasm washed over you, feeling the pleasant sting in his back as your nails dug into his shoulders. Hearing your choked off moans and panting breaths as you could do nothing but hang on for the ride, feeling the beautiful mess across his pelvis as you came, showing him just how good he was fucking you. 

“So good.” Jason moaned into your neck, latching on to suck the skin there once again. “Fuck, Y/N, so good for me.” 

He found his own skin on fire once again as you tightened around his dick, your muscles becoming a hot vice around him as you rode out your orgasm, forcing his mind blank from the pure pleasure of it all. He loved the sounds you made, the look on your face, the way you ground your hips so closely against his as you savored every second of it. 

Jason was dizzy as his own orgasm hit him, his whole body tingling and sparking with pleasure as he shot his load into the condom. He put a hand across your back, pulling you close, pressing your body flush against his and grinding up into you in tentative, almost gentle strokes as he rode it out. With his face buried in your neck, kissing you, breathing in your scent - it was almost tender. 

It was the closest to love-making that you and Jason had ever gotten. 

“Fuck, Jason.” You whined, your stomach curling with a new kind of heat, your skin on fire - this time, alight with the newly birthed feeling of his loving touch on your skin. 

To an extent, it almost frightened you. Especially because of how much you liked it, how you could see yourself growing to love it. Especially because now you felt timid. You didn’t want to scare this part of him away. 

“I’ve got you.” He said again, quietly mumbling the words into your neck like a sacred promise. 

Unable to resist the urge, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, truly holding him, leaning into his touch. You relaxed against his body, sagging into the hold, and Jason hummed with content against your skin at the feeling. 

For a few moments - a capsule against the world that felt more peaceful than you had ever known - you let yourself become lost to this feeling. 

Still speared on his slowly softening cock, you simply enjoyed the feeling of his hard, muscled frame against you, the feeling of his arms wrapped around you in such an affectionate hold - like two giant pillars keeping you safe from the world. You enjoyed the scent of his fading cologne twinged with his sweat, let one of your hands wander up into his hair and thread a couple of your fingers along his scalp, which got another pleasant moan from him. 

When you unconsciously clenched down on him again, you had a thought.

“Jason,” You whimpered out quietly. “The condom.” 

It was a cruel disturbance to your peaceful little world, but he knew that the two of you couldn’t just stay like that forever. He would have to separate from you to throw it out eventually. You would be horrified if that tricky piece of latex got lost inside of you and you had to tell someone else in the Tower why you had to go to the ER to get it out. 

“Oh shit.” He sighed in return. 

You hesitantly climbed off him and luckily, the condom easily slid out on his soft cock, and he tossed it away while you collapsed to lay on the bed beside him.

“We should just stop using condoms.” Jason chuckled, giving you a sly grin as he laid back against the pillows beside you. 

“Funny.” You griped sarcastically, moving to lay against his chest. You couldn’t resist the urge to cuddle, even if you wanted to go take a shower and get cleaned up. You could use the excuse that your legs were jelly right now and you wanted to gain back some of your energy first. 

You wanted to bring up the fact that you had been so adamant about using condoms with Jason because your ‘relationship’ with him was supposed to strictly be about sex. Sure, when the two of you started fucking, you didn’t expect that he was going to be sleeping with a different person every other week. Dick had you guys locked up in the Tower, constantly breathing down your necks - that was one of the reasons why you even turned to Jason for sex at all. He was right there. He was available. He was decent looking. 

And when you and Jason had started sleeping together, you had thought he was lying about how many people he had fucked before you. You thought he was a mouthy virgin or that he had slept with maybe one other person before he so boldly started pursuing you. But he could definitely back up all the talk, and that had you wondering how many of his claims were true. And that had you even more adamant about the condoms, because you didn’t know where he had… been. 

And then when Rose first came around, you saw the way she looked at him. You had seen her trying to flirt with him - a gentle touch on his arm, trying to pull him aside to talk after he came back from his brush with Deathstroke. You had wondered if there was something going on between her and Jason. 

You wondered if Jason proposing to drop condoms was his strange way of asking you to upgrade the status of your relationship. Friends with benefits, people who are still allowed to fuck other people - they use condoms. They have to use condoms, just in case. But people in a more serious relationship - they don’t always use condoms, because they don’t fuck other people. They don’t fuck other people because they’re in love. 

“Jason-” You said his name gently, about to ask him this, but then - his phone rang. 

A high-pitched digital tone chimed out from where he had put it on the nightstand and Jason groaned loudly in annoyance before he picked it up, looked at the Caller ID, and then promptly ignored the call. 

“Who was it?” You asked, curious who he would outright ignore like that. 

“Bruce.” He said, his tone dull, clearly feeling uncertain about the man. “The old man can leave a voicemail. Or send a text like a normal person.” 

This was strange to you. You thought that Bruce and Jason were coming to be on better terms. 

Bruce had come to Donna’s funeral, and you had seen the two of them talking quietly at one point. You had tried not to stare at the interaction unfolding, poorly reading Bruce’s lips out of the corner of your eye (but you didn’t get much out of it). Near the end of it, you had seen Bruce give Jason a fatherly pat on the shoulder before he walked away from the conversation, and Jason had looked entirely pensive about the whole thing, even if he hadn’t told you what it was about. 

You hadn’t been introduced to Bruce, then - the funeral really wasn’t the time for ‘meeting and greeting’, seeing as everyone was quietly in mourning over their lost friend. But you got the sense that he was a stoic and reserved man, and him giving that small bit of physical affection to Jason was about as good as an outright apology, telling him how much of a mistake it was to send him away in the first place. 

Apparently Jason didn’t feel the same way. 

“I didn’t know you were screening his calls.” You said, curious as to why Jason didn’t want to talk to Bruce. 

“I’m busy.” Jason said, giving you his usual stunning grin before he leaned in and began kissing up your neck again. It was a pleasant, sweet type of affection, but he was clearly deflecting from the actual point you were trying to make, trying to distract you. 

He didn’t want to talk about Bruce. And that only made you want to press the point harder. 

“Why?” You asked, trying not to fall victim to the feeling of Jason’s soft lips against your neck, lovingly sucking, moving with gentle kisses against your skin.

“‘Why’ what?” Jason replied - perhaps playing dumb, perhaps genuinely not knowing what you meant. 

“Why won’t you talk to Bruce?” You asked, clarifying. 

Jason sighed and leaned back against his pillow, collapsing with defeat. 

After a moment of tense, thoughtful silence - a moment in which you worried that you had pushed too far and he would simply tell you to get out - he finally gave in to the fact that he would have to talk about it. He gave in to the idea that talking to you about it would be easier than not talking about it at all. 

“He wants me to go back to Gotham.” Jason announced. 

He sounded oddly sullen speaking these words, which instantly confused you. You knew that Jason from a few weeks ago would have jumped at the chance to go back to Gotham, to resume his duties as Robin. He would have screamed with joy and eagerly asked Bruce when the next flight out was. 

So why was he hesitant now? Did it have to do with the incident with Deathstroke? Did he doubt his capabilities as Robin now? Did he want to quit?

“You don’t want to?” You asked, trying to sound gentle rather than accusatory. 

Jason found it all too easy to open up to you now. 

“I don’t know what I want.” Jason shrugged, entirely raw and honest in this declaration - for once, not dancing around his more serious emotions with jokes or sarcasm. “I mean, before, I would have been excited for Bruce to invite me back. But now…”

“This is probably for the best.” 

You said, trying to motivate him past his potential insecurities. Before it was something you had done with playful combatance, knowing that if you faced him with a challenge, he would always rise to prove himself, even if it was out of spite. And now it was something you did with brutal, soft honesty, but still, it was nothing new for you.

“The Tower was just supposed to be a temporary stop-over, right?” 

You posed, reaching out and gently brushing your fingers across his jaw. He stared into your eyes then, and you saw something swimming there - nerves. Longing. 

“Gotham needs Robin.” 

You repeated it because it was something you had heard Jason say before. 

One of the main reasons he took up the mantle of Robin, taking on someone else’s costume and name, rather than creating his own - was because he knew that lots of lost kids looked up to Robin. When he was a young kid, growing up in the shittest parts of Gotham, he admired Robin. He had been truly thrilled to meet Dick for the first time because, in a world where he was starving and alone and none of the adults in his life cared - Robin was his hero. Someone (seemingly) not much older than himself, who donned a cape, didn’t have any superpowers or magic, and got to stand alongside the Bat himself, fighting for justice. A voice for the voiceless. A fist for the powerless. 

Jason went to bed cold and hungry many nights thinking about Robin. Thinking about how one good person can make a difference in a cruel world. 

So when he had been given the opportunity to make up some dumb name of his own, or to become Robin - it wasn’t really a choice for him. He became Robin in order to be that symbol of hope for others, and in truth - to fulfill the hope he once needed for himself. 

“Right.” Jason sighed. He did have a duty to the people of Gotham. But something else was bothering him. “But… but what about us?” 

Us. 

He said it so fondly, like it was the most natural thing in the world for him to think of you and him as a pair. 

It was the first time either of you had truly acknowledged it. Finally acknowledging the way your dynamic had changed since that night. Otherwise, it had been absolutely unspoken. 

“What about us?” You echoed back, your voice trembling quiet.

You were truly afraid to hear his answer. 

‘Say it.’ You wanted to scream at him. ‘Say the words. Stop making me think that all of this has been just big one big hallucination on my part. Say it, asshole. Say it and I’m yours for the rest of your life.’ 

“Come on.” He sighed, flickering off towards the wall and refusing to look at you now, the words grating against his throat. 

‘Are you really gonna make me say it?’ He wanted to scream. ‘How much I fucking love you? How I can’t leave here now because I can’t leave you? How I would quit being Robin if it meant getting to be with you?’ 

The air trembled with the might of all those unspoken words as Jason gathered a better, more guarded reply. 

“The Tower was supposed to be a stop-over. At first.” He shrugged, still distinctly refusing to look at you. “But then… we… happened.” 

He explained it clumsily, clearly stuck for words in that entirely emotionally constipated way, motioning vaguely between the two of you. Once again, he was refusing to acknowledge the thing going on between the two of you. He was refusing to put those exact, big, serious words on it. Afraid that the weight of it all would knock him over, swallow him whole if he wasn’t careful. 

But his lack of words bothered you so damn much. 

Was it a casual relationship? Was it sex? Was it love? Was it the two of you finding your life-long soulmates and being too traumatized and stubborn and stupid to actually acknowledge it? 

You hummed in agreement of this, nodding. 

“You shouldn’t stay just for me, though.” You told him. 

His duties as Robin were important. Mending his relationship with Bruce was important. Far more important than having sex with you and training for whatever vague threat Dick had in mind (especially when Dick couldn’t stand up and protect Jason from very real threats, like Deathstroke). 

Jason’s face cracked with a flutter of disappointment and sadness, a rattle of emotions coming through that he usually wouldn’t show around anybody else. He thought that you were breaking things off with him - whatever things were. But that wasn’t the case. 

“I might have to leave soon anyway.” You added on, trying to clarify your point. 

“You’re leaving?” He asked, sounding entirely hurt by this, the words acting as a bitter accusation coming off his lips. 

He held in the other thing he wanted to say. 

‘Where else would you have to go?’ 

He was trying to be more thoughtful with his words these days - and he knew this sounded far too much like a dig, mocking at the circumstances of your past. A past which you had divulged to him in bits and pieces while laying in bed with him after a healthy fuck, much like this. 

When he had found out how similar the two of you were, he found his soul more and more drawn to yours. Your mother had been a deadbeat, much like his. Apparently she came from some richie rich family that you had only met a few times, when you were so young that you could only piece together a few memories from it, but she left behind all of it to be with her deadbeat boyfriend - someone who may or may not have been your father. Someone who got your mother hooked on drugs and petty crime to pay for the habit when your rich grandmother cut her off from the family money, knowing the kind of life she was living. 

You grew up a lot like Jason did. 

You saw your mother faded, abused, you had been forced to mature up and take care of yourself and even take care of your own mother when you had been far too young to do so. You had lived in slums. At many points in your life, you had been homeless. 

You never had a real father to speak of, and when your mother overdosed, you were left abandoned when you were still a young teen. But you took care of yourself well enough, especially considering that you had an advantage that Jason didn’t - icy powers from a freak accident that happened around the time you were born that should have killed you. 

It was only by luck that you ran into Dick and Kory when they came into the diner that you had been waiting tables at, whispering harshly under their breath about a young girl with severe, mysterious powers that they had lost track of. And you had pointed them toward the old Caulder house on the edge of town and offered to go with them - because you knew Niles Caulder from a time when he had offered to ‘help’ you with your own powers and you had gotten a bad feeling about the man. 

Jason called it luck because it was that incident that led you on the path to meeting him. 

“I’m only going for a little while.” You told him. “My grandmother - the one I’ve only seen like? Twice? Apparently she hired a P. I. to track down my mom. Found out my mom was dead, and then eventually - she found me. She’s getting sentimental because she has brain cancer or something? I didn’t read everything in the letter.”

You shrugged, spotty on the information and unsure if the trip you had planned was even a good idea in the first place. 

Jason easily understood why you were jaded when it came to the concept of ‘family’. You had been abandoned by them and left alone in the world. You had raised yourself, essentially. Why would you need them now? 

“She wants me to come and see her - something about deathbed remorse and blah, blah. I don’t know. I wasn’t gonna go, but Dick thinks I should, because she’s like the only living family I have that I know about.” You finished the explanation with a sigh, and Jason frowned. 

Of course Dickhead was being righteous about his moral code. 

Jason wanted to convince you to stay, but - maybe Dick had a point. Maybe, if you had a shot at having a relationship with your ‘real’ family - maybe you should take it. 

“Do you want me to go with you?” Jason had no clue why it was his first instinct to offer this. But it felt right. It felt instinctive to attempt to comfort you these days, rather than combating you or coming up with some annoying, clever comeback. 

You should have said yes. 

It would have been fun at the very least; an amusing trainwreck, perhaps. You could only imagine what it would be like - bringing your mouthy situationship along with you to visit your rich, uptight, estranged grandmother. Even just explaining the nature of your relationship with Jason to her would have been a wild and fun ride. 

But instead, you let your guarded instincts get the better of you. 

“No.” You sighed. “I - I can handle it myself.” 

You sounded a lot less sure in your reply, but you made yourself sure as you continued. 

“If she gets too whiny, or too… sentimental, I’ll bail. I know that Dick or Kory would come and get me if I asked them to. And I am very good at running from situations that don’t benefit me.” You tried to laugh it off, though this did evoke some painful memories of your past, when you had to run from things that very well could have ended your life - or worse. 

“You also have a habit of running toward situations that don’t benefit you.” Jason sighed, not letting you easily forget the fact that you ran into a gun-hot hostage situation and dangled yourself off a building to rescue him. 

You lightly smacked his shoulder in response, and he quietly grunted at this, rolling his eyes. 

“I can handle myself. Dickhead.” You replied, much less bite behind the words than there would have been before. “Besides, you have to go to Gotham and deal with your own sentimental old bag.” 

“The last word I would ever use to describe Bruce is ‘sentimental’.” Jason argued gently. 

“He keeps a trophy room full of stuff from every criminal he’s ever taken down,” You reminded Jason. “It’s his own form of weird, fucked-up sentiment.” 

Jason shrugged.

You laid back down, tucking yourself into Jason’s side and laying a few simple kisses against the skin of his chest before you settled in, closing your eyes. He wrapped his arm around you, and there was only a moment of quiet before -

“What are you gonna do after you visit your grandmother?” He asked, so entirely timid. “Are you gonna come back to The Tower?” 

‘Will I ever see you again?’ He wanted to ask. ‘Is it really over between us?’ 

Jason couldn’t imagine not having you around. 

You were the tape that had held him together after everything went down with Deathstroke. When the Titans went south, ruined by Dick’s lies and the pressure of enemies from their past, you were the brick wall that had held him up. If not for you, he could have easily imagined himself drowning in booze, crashing his motorcycle off the side of a cliff in a drunken blur; or jumping off the top of this incredibly impressive building to make himself nothing but a stain on the concrete below. 

You hesitated, but worked up the courage to truly speak what was waiting on your lips, especially when you weren’t looking at his face, tracing every micro-expression for potential disappointment or glee. 

“I could come to Gotham.” You whispered, barely letting your words break into audible sound. When Jason took too long to reply, you rushed to add on something else, to make your proposal seem less serious. “I guess I could come see that stupid cave you’re always talking about.”

Jason laughed at this, and you loved the feeling of the vibrations under the side of your face. 

“Yeah.” He said. “Sounds cool. I - I think Bruce would actually like having you around.” 

You wondered if that was true, or if Jason was just amplifying his own affection for you within his mind. Either way, it was sweet. 

You ended up falling asleep for a few hours. Jason’s gentle breathing flowing through his lungs under your cheek soothed you into an easy sleep - when you woke up, you were reminded of the drying mess between your thighs and wicked soreness that had set into your muscles. You needed a hot shower, and you needed to go pack a bag. You had to tell Dick that you wanted to book the ticket to go and see your grandmother. 

Knowing him, he likely already had one booked on the principle that you would come around to his line of thinking and he would end up being right. 

You were crawling out of bed when Jason’s hand caught your wrist. 

“You sneakin’ away on me?” He mumbled out, sleepy, not yet opening his eyes. 

“I gotta go shower, dipshit.” You said, your voice gentle and chiding, no real force behind the words. 

Jason gave you a sleepy smile. 

“Come back afterwards.” He replied, clearly hoping for more cuddles - or more sex. 

“I can’t.” You told him. “I have to get ready to leave. Remember?” 

This caught his full attention, and he sat up abruptly, blinking his eyes open to catch a glimpse of you in the barely there, dim light. It was just before sunrise, the sky kissed hazy gray outside of the giant windows that lined his bedroom.

“You’re leaving so soon?” He asked, disappointment barely masked in his voice as he continued to grip your wrist. 

“Yes.” You said, knowing that you were echoing that tone right back. “So… I guess this is goodbye?” 

“Fuck you.” He replied, a harsh sigh from his lungs. He hurled the expletive at the concept of a goodbye with you. That was something he never wanted. 

He tugged on your wrist and you were reeled in like a fish, walking around the bed toward his side. You tucked your butt tightly beside one of his thighs, sitting close to him, vowing that you would get up soon as he wrapped a thick arm around your waist. 

He had the other arm across your chest, tucking his hand along your jaw and tilting your head toward him. You eased into the kiss with a small moan, enjoying the softness of his lips like a tree enjoys the sun. You soaked him up for a few long moments, and when you tried to pull back the first time, he held you there for just a bit longer. 

If you had known that was going to be the last time you kissed him, you would have savored it more. 

In a silent agreement - he finally let you go, and his eyes stayed glued to you as you got dressed enough to go down the hallway and then, you left out his bedroom door. His eyes lingered on the door for a few prolonged seconds after you did so, and then finally, he turned over again and fell back into an unpleasant sleep. One that felt fitful now that you weren’t in his bed. 

… 

Jason felt cold. 

The room he was in - some mysterious, wall-off concrete place with no light - was freezing. And it wasn’t the pleasant kind of cool like the touch of your icy skin when you crawled into bed with him late at night. Or the shocking delightful kind of cold like when you played a prank on him, running your super-powered icy fingers up his back just to get a rise out of him. 

No, this was a shocking, dead kind of cold. 

This was the kind of cold that would bring death after a short period of time. It was the kind of cold that easily made his fingers and toes numb, and made him struggle against his binds - and it was only then that Jason realized he was tied up. 

His arms were pinned behind his back and bound at the wrists - though he couldn’t tell with what. He couldn’t feel the texture of the binding through the thickness of his Robin uniform gloves in order to know how to best get out of it. Whether it was duct tape or rope, that would determine his next move, and he needed to make a move - fast. 

His legs were free. That was a good sign. That would definitely be useful. 

Before Jason could contemplate much more of this, a door that he hadn’t yet noticed off to his right burst open, creating a rush of light into the dull, dark room - a blinding moment where all he saw was shadows and movement. By the time his eyes had adjusted, a body was being thrown at his feet. Or rather, a very limp, fully alive person. 

Deathstroke towered over this person, wearing his full gear, the armor thick and imposing, his silhouette blocking out nearly all the light that had just been let into the room. 

Jason’s eyes flickered from him, to the person on the floor - purposefully stiffening his jaw in his best attempt not to show any fear. 

His throat became dry and he held back a whimper of fright when he saw that the limp body on the floor was you. 

Your hands were bound behind your back, too, and you were forced silent with a cloth gag in your mouth, tied tightly behind your head. But your eyes truly captured Jason’s attention the most. Beyond the scrapes and bruises that littered your cheeks, signs of pain that already made him ravenous with rage, more than eager to rip apart whatever was holding him back in order to tear Deathstroke to pieces just for daring to touch you - your eyes were full of pure terror. 

Jason had never seen you like this before. 

Right from the moment he had met you, you had been nothing but confident - a palace of strength, calm, cleverness that he wanted so badly to topple. It was why he flirted with you, argued with you. He wanted so badly to get under your skin, to see you rattled. It was only when the two of you had sex that he finally saw some wavering in that, finally saw you falling apart. 

And eventually, it pushed away to something deeper, something softer - something that caused him to fall in love with you. 

But he had never seen you afraid. That fear in your eyes, you silently screaming at him for help - it put his stomach in knots within seconds. 

“It’s okay,” Jason rushed to assure you. He would get you out of this. “It’s gonna be okay, Y/N, I swear-” 

Deathstroke let out a chuckle - one that sounded muffled, cold, robotic behind his mask. 

“I can’t tell if you’re truly lying, following in the careless footsteps of your leader, or if you think that placating is the way to soothe someone in crisis.” He said, his tone entirely mocking. “There is no room for soothing here. Things most certainly will not be okay. Not unless you give me what I ask for,” 

“What the fuck do you want, asshole?” Jason spit back bitterly, posturing, trying his best to seem big and strong when he felt so utterly weak, so small in those moments. 

“Dick Grayson.” Deathstroke announced. “Tell me where he is, and I’ll let your little friend go.” 

Jason hesitated. 

When Deathstroke felt this, he continued. 

“And if you don’t, I won’t hesitate to dispose of this pathetic excuse for a Titan.” He added on, giving you a harsh kick in the back with his heavy boot. You cried out in pain, and Jason’s insides jolted. 

It was a move that made Jason want to scream, and make threats that he knew he couldn’t live up to. 

He deeply feared what Deathstroke meant when he said ‘dispose of’. 

“Is Grayson really that important to you?” 

Jason began to panic, his eyes flickering from Deathstroke’s imposing shadow to your terrified face once again. 

His brain felt scrambled. He searched, thought hard, concentrated, and somehow - came up empty. For some stupid reason, he had no clue where Dick was. The Tower, Gotham, Detroit - the fucking idiot could be anywhere. And something else nagged in the back of Jason’s mind - even if he did know where Dick was, why the fuck should he tell this asshole? Deathstroke only wanted to kill Dick. Why should it be Jason’s choice to trade one life for another? 

And even if he did tell Deathstroke where Dick was, there was no promise that Deathstroke wouldn’t kill you anyway as soon as he had the information. 

No - Jason could save you some other way. 

There had to be another way, some other way to get out of this, something else-

“Tick tock.” Deathstroke said, rushing Jason’s answer. 

“Fuck you!” Jason barked back instinctively, still panicked. 

And it was that panic that cost him everything. 

“Well…” Deathstroke hummed thoughtfully. “I suppose they truly didn’t teach Junior Robin anything, did they?” 

In seconds, he could sense it - Deathstroke could see right through Jason. He knew that Jason didn’t know the answers to his questions. And even if he did - he wasn’t going to give up Dick. He had a strange sense of loyalty to the person who had shit on him and failed to help him time and time again. 

Before Jason could come up with whatever magical solution he was hoping would come to him, Deathstroke reached down, fisted the shoulder of your shirt, and brought you up onto your knees with a surprising strength. You continued to look Jason in the eyes with an intense panic while the man reached for his belt, unsheathing a sword that glinted in the little bit of light. 

When you heard the sound of the metal slicing through the air, your muscles quaked with fear and you tried to get away - but you were too weak against him. 

It was too late. 

“No, no!” Jason cried out in protest, having nothing else to do but watch on in horror and hope that his pitiful cries could somehow stop this, tearing harshly against the bonds holding his wrists in place. “No, fuck you! Stop it!” 

It happened too quickly. 

The sword appeared through the front of your stomach, coated in bright red blood, and you let out a scream of anguish through the gag. Then suddenly, you were being shucked off the blade, thrown away like you were nothing, tossed back to the floor in a puddle of your own blood, limp and near lifeless. Deathstroke turned and left the room without a single care, shutting the door behind him, shutting out all of the light, leaving Jason in cold darkness once again. 

And it was only then that the ropes on his wrists somehow loosened, allowing him to break free and rush to your bleeding body - too late. 

Too fucking late. 

Jason grabbed you up in his arms, hoisting you onto his lap. He was empty with shock. He didn’t know how to feel. He hated the contrast of your cold flesh and the heat of the blood rushing out of you and quickly covering him. 

“Y/N, Y/N, baby, look at me,” 

He found himself sobbing, forcefully turning your face toward him with a gloved hand, tearing the gag out of your mouth - your lips scarily pale, more than they ever should be. 

“Fuck, fuck!” 

He couldn’t contain his screams of anguish when he pressed a cheek closer to your lips and felt the shallow nature of your breath. 

You were dying, and it was all his fault. You were dying, and it was all his fault. You were dying, and- 

Jason awoke in a cold sweat. 

He was shaking, frantically looking around in the dark, soon to realize that he wasn’t locked in a concrete room with your bloody corpse - he was in his bedroom in Gotham. He was at home in the comfortable, cushy Wayne Manor. 

He had been having far too many nightmares since returning to Gotham. He wanted to blame it on your lack of presence in his bed, or the fact that Bruce had practically banned him from training, now that he was benched from being Robin. So he wasn’t getting nearly as much physical exercise as he used to and it left him anxious and not nearly as physically exhausted when he went to bed, making his sleep uneasy. 

Bruce had suggested sleeping pills, but Jason hated the idea of the side effects. The potential of hallucinations didn’t seem like it would make his sleep any more pleasant. 

Jason sat up on the edge of his bed, and turned on the lamp, wincing as the bright light prodded at his eyes, aggravating a headache he had that wouldn’t quit for days now. He reached for his phone, and almost unconsciously, brought up your contact. 

He laughed when he saw the contact name you had given yourself - clearly something you had done as a joke right before you had left the Tower. 

Bootycall Temporarily Unavailable

The two of you often changed each other’s names in your contacts as a joke. He guessed that this one was a joke about how you would be gone for a while, unable to fuck him. But he hated that you insisted that he still thought of you only as a Bootycall. He decided to change it to ‘Robin’s Ice Machine’ - one of his favourites, and what he kept you listed as in his contacts most often. (Even though he wasn’t sure if he was actually considered Robin anymore…) 

He opened up his last text messages with you, and couldn’t help but smile when he re-read them. 

He had sent you a simple ‘u up?’ around three o’clock in the morning, being sleepless and horny, and you had replied ‘don’t come in here with that fuckboy attitude unless you’re bringing snacks’. 

And this had led to the two of you having the most amazing sex and eating junkfood afterwards. That was what he missed most about you. Simple nights. The ability to just be calm with you. Doing nothing with you and feeling so complete. 

Jason began typing out a message. 

‘I miss you. I can’t stop thinking about you. I-’ 

Then, he realized how terribly sappy and stupid it sounded. And he thought about how much you would hate it. And even if you didn’t hate it, surely you would have no clue how to respond. The two of you weren’t like that. You weren’t those kind of people. He heaved a sigh, deleted the message, and then he got out of bed. He changed into some jogging pants and a sweatshirt and put on some running shoes. 

If Bruce was going to ban him from being Robin, the least he could do was go on a run to get his head straight. 

While he jogged through the cold night, Jason tried to convince himself that he didn’t need you. Tried to tell himself that if you decided not to come to Gotham after all, he would be just fine. 

When he was finished with his run, standing at the kitchen counter chugging some way-too-expensive vitamin water that Bruce liked to buy, he pulled out his phone again and pulled up your contact. He considered calling you, and wondered what you were doing right then. He wondered if you would answer. He looked up what time it was in San Francisco, remembered you weren’t there, and then considered texting Gar to ask where you actually were - and then he went and took a long shower so he wouldn’t be able to touch his phone at all for a while. 

… 

When Jason went back to Gotham, Bruce made him go to therapy. 

Jason thought that the entire thing was a colossal waste of time, but Bruce insisted that if he was ever going to wear the Robin mask again - he was going to get ‘cleared’ first. 

Apparently, something about being kidnapped by a murderous psychopath, dropped off a building, and going to a funeral all in the span of a month doesn’t really scream of stability. 

Jason was weary of Leslie at first. 

He genuinely thought that her only job was to dig around for his secrets - any signs of his weakness, and report them back to Bruce. He still wasn’t all too trusting when she tried to assure him that whatever she said would stay between the two of them. But he wanted to get back to being Robin. He wanted to get back to doing his job. And if getting all mushy with her was the fastest way of doing that, then he would. 

… 

They were playing the stupid word association game again. 

“Mother.” Leslie said, posing the first word. 

“Fucker.” Jason said upon instinct, doing what he did best - deflecting from being too vulnerable by using crude humor. 

Leslie gave him a deep frown, and he actually felt a pang of guilt at disappointing her. 

She was one of the only adults in his life that he had ever felt bad for disappointing. Not because she put too many expectations on him - but because she didn’t. Because she expected pretty much nothing of him, and he wanted to show her that he could be great. He wanted to defy whatever bullshit Bruce had told her about him. He wanted to show her that he was more than worthy of being Robin again. 

“Sorry.” He said timidly. “Habit.” 

“It’s okay.” She said, forgiving him too easily. Jason wasn’t used to being forgiven. 

Jason appreciated it - nobody had ever given him the chance to ‘try again’. Not even you. But he was glad about that. When you mocked him for his mistakes or called him out on his bullshit, it made him want to try harder. You were the only person in the world that he found himself actively trying for. Everyone else - he didn’t give a fuck what they thought of him. He knew that they always had preconceived notions of what he was - a screw-up, a street kid pretending while waltzing around in Robin’s costume. 

But when you looked at him, you saw an asshole trying to be clever and you tore right through that persona, looking for something real. So even though he hated it - even though it made him wiggle and gape like a fish on land - he showed you more and more real parts of himself. And he couldn’t deny how good it made him feel when he was with you. 

So, practicing the honesty that you had forced him to find within himself, Jason tried a more honest approach to Leslie’s word game. 

“We can try again.” Leslie said, taking a small breath. “Mother.” 

“Gone.” He said, announcing the first thing that truly came to mind when he thought of that word. 

“Father.” Leslie moved on to the next word. 

“Bruce.” Jason felt far too naked and vulnerable when saying this, but it was true.

Bruce was the closest thing to a father that he ever had. 

And Jason knew that he was a bad son, constantly disappointing him - constantly failing to live up to the giant shadow that Dick had left behind. 

“Robin.” She said. 

“Freedom.” He easily responded. 

“San Francisco.” 

Jason felt like she was cheating at this point - trying to get him to weep and cry and spill all of his secrets like some kind of soap opera. He felt like she was purposefully pitching hits at his weak spots and waiting for him to block or be taken down. 

“Mistake.” He said, trying his hardest not to flex back on his honesty. 

He wasn’t even sure what he meant by that. If going there had been a mistake, or if he had made too many mistakes while he was there. Either way, it felt like the truth. 

“Safe.” She announced the next word, and Jason was not at all surprised by the first thing that came to mind. 

“Y/N.” He said your name without hesitation. 

You were the only safe thing in his life. The only thing - the only person that ever truly made him feel safe. Sometimes he was terrified of losing you, or hurting you, or poisoning you as badly as he had done with so many other people. But when he was in your arms, it was so easy to forget about all of that. 

You were safe. 

Which was a fucking rare commodity in his life. 

Leslie saw the look that came across his features - the look of fond longing mixed with gut wrenching fear. Naturally, she wanted to dig more into this. She knew that someone like Jason hadn’t grown up feeling safe, and she was curious why the concept of safety came to him now as a person’s name - and why he seemed so conflicted about it, about someone he had never even mentioned before. 

“Who is Y/N?” Leslie asked. Jason didn’t immediately answer, so she prodded more. “Boyfriend? Girlfriend? … Friend?” 

Leslie didn’t presume to know Jason’s sexuality, or the gender of his special person (and she wouldn’t judge him, no matter what he said) - but beyond gender, for Jason, it was even more complicated than that.

Jason didn’t know what to call you when speaking about you to someone else. 

A friend that he sometimes fucks? Should he even call you a friend? 

You had tried to save his life, but before that, the two of you had never really been friendly. Mostly argumentative. But no matter how much the two of you argued, you had never hurt him the way that Dick had, or Bruce had. Or even the way that the other Titans had when they had accused him of all those things he hadn’t done. 

Your arguments were playful. The two of you never said anything to each other that would actually dig deep, that was ever truly meant to hurt. Nothing like when the Titans had doubted Jason’s loyalty to the team - had accused him of truly trying to harm them. Your arguments with him always held a certain kind of passion. Every time you fired back against dumb shit that he said, even if you were blatantly disagreeing with him for sport - it meant that you cared. 

Jason shrugged. “Kind of.” 

“Can you… explain more?” Leslie asked, careful and curious. 

“Shit’s complicated.” Jason mumbled, truly unsure what to say in order to describe the situation. 

“Okay, well… whoever this special person is, whatever they mean to you… why is it that they make you feel safe?” 

Now that was a million dollar question. 

Jason had never really asked himself that before. The ‘why’. 

“Well…” 

He began trying to explain it, and found himself stuck for words. But Leslie was patient, and waited for him to find the right ones. 

“It’s like…” Jason sighed, finding the whole thing very difficult. “It’s like Y/N knows what I am.” 

“‘What you are’?” Leslie parroted back, using his own phrasing carefully. “And what would that be?” 

“An asshole. Ya know - a fuck-up.” He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Y/N has seen it first hand. They know me - they - they’ve seen all the worst parts of me, and… somehow, they don’t care. Y/N saw me at my worst and didn’t run.” 

It was the best way that Jason could think to describe it. Everyone else who had seen him beaten down and broken - Dick, Bruce, the other Titans - they all saw him at his worst and wanted to dump him at the first possible opportunity. But you held onto him tighter and refused to let go. Even when he struggled in your loving hold like an animal caught in a trap - you still held onto him tighter than anyone else ever had. 

And it made him feel a little less broken each time that he was with you. 

“Okay.” Leslie smiled. “So - you find safety in not being judged? In… being allowed to be messy?” 

“Yeah.” Jason nodded. 

“Well, that’s perfectly normal.” She told him. 

Jason found an odd sense of relief in this. There wasn’t a lot that was normal in his life. 

“A lot of great relationships - whether they are friendships, or something more-” 

Jason resisted the urge to speak up and say that you and him were definitely in the ‘something more’ category, but he didn’t want to jinx it. Not when it was yet to be official. 

“-are founded on the truth. Founded on two people coming together because they find safety in being allowed to be their most authentic self with the other person. Feeling that they can make mistakes without being judged.” She explained this to him gently, and Jason couldn’t stop thinking about you. “So if you have that with someone, you should embrace it. Embrace that feeling of safety.” 

Jason definitely had that with you. Or - he had the start of that with you. And he wanted so badly to embrace. To see where a life with you would go. Maybe it was something he wanted even more badly than becoming Robin again. 

Ultimately, Jason knew that he wanted to be loved, even at his worst. But he thought that even you weren’t capable of that. Nobody was. 

“Next word.” Leslie looked back down at her list. “Fear.” 

Jason didn’t take long with that one either. 

“Y/N.” 

Leslie looked utterly confused at this one. 

But - he was too raw, and he ended the session before she could prod him to explain it further. 

… 

Jason was afraid that he wasn’t good enough for you.

He was afraid that if the time ever came, if you were ever in danger - he wasn’t going to be able to save you like you had tried to do for him. Thinking back on it, he had no clue how you had so boldly stepped into the line of fire, how you had dangled yourself out of a window that many stories high, desperately holding onto him. 

You acted fearless, put yourself on the line just to save his life - ultimately, one that wasn’t worth saving. 

And if he couldn’t do the same for you, then he wasn’t worth the risks you had taken for him at all. 

It was this mindset that brought him to visiting Crane in prison. He worked hard to reverse manufacture the Fear Gas, wanting to be brave for you - not knowing that it would ultimately be his downfall. 

… 

Going to your grandmother’s house was certainly… interesting. 

She was rich. Old money rich. 

It was the type of wealth you had encountered very sparsely in your life. Initially, you had only met that type of rich person for the first time when you had met Dick - someone who drove a vintage Ashton Martin and said it was a ‘family heirloom’, yet thought nothing of trading it in for a minivan on a whim. 

When you first moved into the Tower - a million dollar condo with advanced tech that you could barely comprehend at first, you didn’t easily feel comfortable among all of the shiny, lavish, modern furniture and the fancy touchscreens just to access everyday necessities. At the time, you had still been sporting an illegally jailbroken iPhone 6 that you had pickpocketed off some random guy a few years prior, and soon as Dick found out about that fact, he insisted on buying you a new phone that you had a very difficult time accepting because you were not at all good with gifts or ‘being spoiled’. You felt awkward accepting something that you hadn’t worked for. 

It was one of the reasons that you so easily crumbled to Jason’s sexual advances. 

You felt so fucking alone when you first started living in the Tower. Your queen sized bed with a brand new mattress and brand new sheets felt too big. Being so new, it felt too cold. Sometimes you went stir-crazy, thinking about how much the silverware in the kitchen cost and the fact that the fucking television had an ipad for a remote (which apparently also controlled the curtains and the lights in the living room) - fixating on how if you had pawned those things off, if could have fed so many hungry children. 

At the time, you were desperate for a distraction. Jason became a very easy one to fall into. It was all too easy to fall asleep in his bed afterwards, because even if you hated the smell of Axe body wash and drying cum, sleeping beside someone, having a warm body at your back - it eased you so much more than sleeping in a big luxurious bed by yourself.

Your grandmother’s house was a different type of rich than the Tower was. Most definitely not modern; everything in her house was about as old as things can get - but still rich. It seemed that she was blatantly against technology, in fact. She didn’t seem to have a TV anywhere in the place, and all the phones were corded into the walls like it was the 80s, and she often mocked you for being so ‘obsessed’ with that ‘brick’ in your pocket (checking, looking for Jason’s calls or texts). 

All of the furniture was far older than you, and well taken care of. Polished, the fabric clearly patched or reupholstered by professionals in places where it had worn down over time. She was the nick-nack type. Tall china cabinets full of fancy dishes with patterns on them, and the moment she caught you looking at them, she went on long winding stories about how the pieces were rare antiques that had been owned by some Duke from some place in Europe - again, something more expensive than you could comprehend or even really care about.

Like it had said in the letter, your grandmother had brain cancer. 

She had a large tumor that was eventually going to kill her. Apparently money can buy a lot of things - but it can’t buy a miracle treatment. The tumor had invaded too much of her brain before it had been discovered, and operating on it at her age was more likely to mean death than recovery. And as she so gracefully put it, she would rather spend her last days ‘in grace and dignity’ than to be balding and ‘out of her mind’ - so she didn’t accept the only potentially helpful chemo treatment that was offered to her. 

Apparently, one of her last wishes was to meet and spend time with the grandchild that she had ‘lost’ when your mother took you away all those years ago. Your grandmother seemed nice enough - she peppered you with cheek kisses and invited you to tea the moment that you came in through the door. She had even sent a limo to pick you up at the airport, which made you feel far too important and awkward, sitting alone in the back of the expensive vehicle with a classical music station playing that you felt too intimidated to attempt to change.

And although your paranoid instincts were waiting for some horror movie reveal, waiting for someone to drug you and tell you that she was going to perform some voodoo ritual on you in order to use your young, healthy body to keep living her life and that’s all she wanted you for - you stuck around. Because the longer you waited with baited breath, the less that seemed to be the case. 

If the old woman wanted to spend her last weeks of life telling you winding stories about old dishes from Europe and drinking tea with you on her porch, then you would consider it a much needed vacation. You would simply sit down and listen. 

… 

“And you know, her granddaughter, she was a - a handmaiden for the Duchess of Yorke, and…” 

When you looked over at your grandmother, she had fallen asleep mid-sentence, holding her tea cup at an odd angle that made the small amount of tea inside almost dribble out. Though she had been talking just a moment before, telling a long, winding story about the history of the vase holding the flowers in the middle of the table - she let out a deep snore, and you worried that she was going to drop her cup or spill tea in her lap. 

Strangely, after such a short period of time being around her, you found yourself caring for the woman. 

You put down your own cup and crept over to her, trying not to wake her, and gently wriggled the cup out of her hands to place it down on the table. 

You nearly jumped out of your skin when your phone buzzed in your back pocket. When you realized what the sudden, frightening feeling was, you took a deep breath and calmed down. Your grandmother had asked you to turn it off and leave it in your room, a luxurious guest room that she had you staying in, but you couldn’t help yourself. You missed Jason and you were eagerly waiting to talk to him. You didn’t want to miss a potential call or text from him. 

You made sure that your grandmother was sleeping peacefully (in the oddly upright position as it was) before you took out your phone and sat back in your own chair, looking to see who had texted you. 

New message from The Flightless Bird

Yes, Jason had a very strange contact name in your phone. For a while, you had kept it as Hot Guy, as it had originally entered it, before changing it to (Not) Hot Guy as a joke. Then, when the two of you started living at the Tower, it became a running gag for you to steal each other’s phones whenever possible and change the contact name to something strange and odd, usually paired with a memey photo to jokingly represent the other person. 

After the incident where he had free fallen from the building to his near death, he had changed his contact name in your phone to ‘The Flightless Bird’ - a terrible bit of dark humor. You loved it, and you had kept it since then. 

Right before you had left for your flight out, you had snuck into his room and grabbed his phone while he had been sleeping, and changed your contact name in his phone from ‘Cold Hands, Hot Ass’ to ‘Bootycall Temporarily Unavailable’. Mostly because you didn’t need him sending you dickpics at three in the morning when he got bored. As much as you loved his cock, you thought about how weird it would be trying to get off in your grandmother’s house and Jason was so damn persistent and so damn tempting. 

You did have to wonder what PG-13 texting would be like between the two of you. It had been incredibly rare. All of your text conversations before living together at the Tower were R-rated enough to send anybody who read them into a mental meltdown. 

Before you could wonder if you should send him a message, making it clear that he wasn’t to pull any of his typical fuckboy antics, you opened his latest message, and a large smile ripped across your face. 

The Flightless Bird: ‘I miss you like hell.’ 

You hated that you grinned uncontrollably and your stomach flipped like a teenager with a stupid crush, but you couldn’t help it. Jason just made you feel like that these days. Even just knowing that he had been missing you too - that he had been thinking about you. That was something that had you floating as you typed out your reply, trying not to seem too desperate in your response. 

Robin’s Ice Machine: ‘Gotham must be really boring if you miss hanging out with me.’ 

You sent back the simple message and opened another app, browsing while you waited for his reply, trying not to seem too eager. 

Moments later, your phone buzzed again. 

The Flightless Bird: ‘Gotham is Gotham. It’s always been a boring shithole. The only time it’s not boring is when some fucker in a mask is trying to kill everyone.’ 

So very Jason. Before you could reply, he sent another message. 

The Flightless Bird: ‘Plus, it’s not just hanging out with you that I miss. ;)’ 

Leave it to him to make even a virtual wink look so incredibly sleazy. Somehow, it brought up fond feelings within you because you had missed him so much. 

You resisted the urge to tell him to cool it. Especially because your grandmother was sitting at the table with you. But you didn’t want him to get the wrong idea and start sending his cock out of nowhere. 

Robin’s Ice Machine: ‘Oh, you make it sound so appealing for me to visit.’ 

Then you quickly added on: 

Robin’s Ice Machine: ‘Dealing with homicidal psychos in costumes and you nagging me for a dick appointment. You on the Gotham tourism board?’ 

It was only a moment before your messages were seen, and you could practically hear Jason’s dry laughter in response, even though he was so far away. You felt validated when he sent you back several laughter emojis and then quickly typed out another message. 

The Flightless Bird: ‘I am, actually. First stop on the tour - my bed. Second stop - night patrol. We spend a few hours kicking ass together. Which leads into our third stop - Little Tony’s downtown for some pizza. Aka the only reason I keep coming back to this shithole.’ 

You couldn’t help but to grin at the thought of it. You resisted the urge to hide your face in your hands, almost embarrassed at just how cheek-splitting your smile was - waiting for someone to call you out on it. 

Your imagination ran away with you, and you couldn’t help but to feel warm, thinking about yourself living out his ideal day in Gotham. Being warm in his arms again, feeling his touch all over your body. Getting thoroughly fucked and only leaving his bed when the call of those in need beckoned you both to action. 

You soon began picturing yourself in some spandex costume - something you didn’t yet have and made fun of Jason for wearing so often, perhaps slightly out of jealousy because he actually got the importance of a title and a suit and you didn’t yet have either. You imagined yourself in something themed around a hero name with an ice pun to suit your powers, kicking ass beside Jason while he proudly carried the mantle of Robin. The two of you taking down criminals like a perfectly paired team and topping off your night with pizza from a familiar place that Jason praised.

You began typing again. 

… Robin’s Ice Machine is typing …. 

‘You wanna make it a date, Jay?’ 

But you feared that it would sound too forward. That he was simply joking about all of it and you would seem too eager. So you deleted that message before you sent it and typed out something else instead. 

Robin’s Ice Machine: ‘You brave the streets of downtown Gotham just for pizza?’

The Flightless Bird: ‘It’s worth it.’ 

Robin’s Ice Machine: ‘I guess they probably give Robin the hero discount.’ 

You typed out the message and sent it without thinking. 

You had been so absorbed in your own world over the past few weeks that you had no clue that Robin hadn’t been active on the streets of Gotham for a while. You hadn’t checked the news or hadn’t thought to check in with the biggest Robin fan you knew (Gar) to ask for updates. 

But ever since Jason had gotten back to Gotham - Robin hadn’t seen a night of patrol, his costume quarantined away in the Batcave like Bruce considered him some kind of disease. 

The Flightless Bird: ‘I wouldn’t know.’ 

You found this reply to be confusing, but waited patiently while Jason typed out more. 

The Flightless Bird: ‘Bruce has me benched. He said I’m not allowed to take on Robin again until I get “cleared” by a fucking shrink. Like I’m a fucking war vet or something. He’s acting like I jumped off that building on purpose or some shit.’ 

You wanted to remind him that in a sense, he did. That he had begged you to let him go because he hadn’t thought that he was worth saving. But you didn’t want to rub salt into the wounds. Instead, you felt curious about his words and hoped that he wouldn’t clam up if you went prodding. 

Robin’s Ice Machine: ‘Bruce has you seeing a shrink?’

You were more than tense with curiosity at this point. More than anything, you wondered if it was actually helping Jason, or if he was just going through the motions, trying to please Bruce. 

The Flightless Bird: ‘Yeah. Someone named Leslie. Wants me to talk about my feelings and be vulnerable and all that type of bullshit.’ 

For once, this was something that Bruce had done that actually gave you hope for Jason’s future. 

Robin’s Ice Machine: ‘Maybe it’s not a bad idea.’ 

… The Flightless Bird is typing … 

The typing bubbles appeared at the top of the screen a few times and then disappeared, indicating that Jason had read your message and was unsure about what to say in reply. Your stomach twisted up and you hated it. You hated to think that you might have insulted him. 

Finally, after a few long moments, he sent something back. 

The Flightless Bird: ‘Do you think I’m crazy?’ 

There it was. He was terrified that you thought he was broken. That because he had to go to therapy - it meant he was weak. That’s probably what Bruce thought. Or why he feared that he had been benched from being Robin. 

You carefully chose your words as you replied. 

Robin’s Ice Machine: ‘I don’t know.’ 

You easily sent in a single message, and he read it quickly. And then, you moved on to adding more, clarifying your words. 

Robin’s Ice Machine: ‘I don’t know if you’re crazy or not, and I don’t care.’ 

Robin’s Ice Machine: ‘I know that you’re kind of fucked up - but so am I. And I don’t want to spend my time around anyone else because your kind of fucked up matches my fucked up really perfectly, and nobody else understands me like you do.’ 

You sent the messages, and then thought of something important to add. 

Robin’s Ice Machine: ‘There is no normal well adjusted person in the world who would understand me like you do. Fuck normal people.’ 

(On the other end, Jason grinned and sighed with relief when he read these messages.) 

The Flightless Bird: ‘Yeah. Fuck normal people.’ 

Jason easily echoed back the sentiment, and then he said something that you weren’t entirely expecting. 

The Flightless Bird: ‘This therapy bullshit has got me thinking about a lot of things.’

You resisted the urge to make a ‘don’t hurt yourself’ joke - but you knew that he was sensitive, and you should encourage him to open up rather than make jokes. It was something that a version of yourself from a few months ago would have done without hesitation, but you absolutely knew that things between you and Jason had changed. Hopefully, for the better. 

While you were mulling that over in your head, Jason typed out another message.

The Flightless Bird: ‘I don’t think my place is with Bruce anymore.’ 

You were curious what he meant by this. Did he want to quit being Robin? Had he come to realize that everything Dick said about Bruce was actually true? 

When that argument came up, multiple times, you were never sure whose side to choose. You had never known the man personally, but you did find it strange that Jason seemed to idolize him and Dick seemed to resent him like he was some kind of cartoon villain. If anything, it made you wary and cautious of Bruce. 

Especially because you knew that Jason had been intensely dependent on Bruce when they first met - he had just aged out of foster care, and he had the ‘choice’ of being homeless or becoming Robin. And who would really make that choice when three square a day, a giant mansion, and a shining costume are staring you in the face? Especially after everything else Jason had been through - all the adults who had given up on him, told him he was nothing. Then he was being presented with the chance to truly be something, someone so damn important.

Again, before you could question him, Jason saw that you had read the message and moved to explain himself further. 

The Flightless Bird: ‘When I was at the Tower, I thought that being away from him…’ 

The Flightless Bird: ‘I thought that not being Robin was a punishment. But now I know that it was really good for me. And not for the reasons he thinks - not because I was benched and focusing on training.’ 

The Flightless Bird: ‘I got to be away from Bruce. I got some distance from the way he made me think about myself - about Robin. I used to think that I was nothing without him. That I was just some bullshit street kid nobody and him picking me up and making me Robin was what MADE me something.’ 

Your heart ached reading this. 

So that was why he idolized Bruce so much. He thought that he would be nothing without the old man. He didn’t see all of his own strength and determination that he put into Robin. He didn’t see all of his own bravery and resolute stubbornness.

The Flightless Bird: ‘Now I realize that I can be something without him.’

The Flightless Bird: ‘I know it sounds like sappy bullshit, but you’re the one who helped me realize that I am something without him. That I can be great - even without Robin.’ 

You re-read the message a few times over, those words clutching at your throat, nearly bringing you to tears. For a long time, a part of you thought that you weren’t good for Jason. That you were just another nagging force in his life, another negativity. Then - you thought that you were just something he used to fill the time, to distract from the mental noise, as you did with him. And even then, as you realized that you needed him in other ways, and you might be coming to love him - you thought that he would never feel the same about you. 

You thought that you had been fighting a losing battle, trying to comfort someone who didn’t want it, or wouldn’t accept it. But reading those words, feeling the rawness of their honesty - it flowed through you and hit you with a radical force. 

You actually helped him. 

You thought he was too stubborn and hard-headed to get through to, but hearing it directly from him - that was nice. It was more than nice, it was… it shook you to your core. 

Your phone vibrated in your hand again, and you realized that you had gone too long without responding. 

The Flightless Bird: ‘Too much?’ 

Clearly he thought that he had frightened you off. 

Robin’s Ice Machine: ‘Not too much.’

The Flightless Bird: ‘Good. So you won’t think it’s too much if I tell you that I’ve been looking at apartments?’ 

Wait - what? 

You had barely finished reading the message before he sent you a screenshot of an online listing - a picture of some shady, broken-down building. When you glanced at the address, you were almost sure that it was in downtown Gotham.

You wanted to believe that Jason was joking. But from the general tone of the conversation, he didn’t seem to be. He was eager to get away from Bruce, to be out on his own. 

Your stomach curled with warmth at the thought of you and Jason living together, and this time not because of some half-baked superhero team. But by choice. This time because you were… what? Friends? Lovers?

You armed yourself with humor as you replied. 

Robin’s Ice Machine: ‘Jason, that’s downtown Gotham. It’s a shithole.’ 

The Flightless Bird: ‘Oh, living with rich grandmama has you getting used to the fancy pants lifestyle now? Shall I start looking at mansions with 500 acres and golden swimming pools?’ 

You let out a small chuckle at his joke. You could practically hear him reciting the words with a fake snooty accent to drive home his point, but you eagerly felt the need to correct him. 

Robin’s Ice Machine: ‘Hey, I grew up in shitholes too. You know a lot of the time I didn’t even have a roof, Jay.’ 

The Flightless Bird: ‘Yes, and you slept on a bed of bricks and ate dirt for dinner. Oliver Twist ass. You’re the only person I know who grew up more poor than I did.’ 

Robin’s Ice Machine: ‘The correct tense is: poorer.’ 

The Flightless Bird: ‘Yet you could afford grammar lessons? Damn.’ 

You couldn’t hold back a small bit of laughter at this. One of the things he hated most was you correcting his grammar, and you still found it highly amusing.

Robin’s Ice Machine: ‘My point is that all this fancy shit makes me uncomfortable. I feel like I can’t even sit down on the furniture at my grandmother’s properly.’ 

The Flightless Bird: ‘Grandmama will probably have it steam cleaned when you leave. To get the street rat smell out.’ 

The Flightless Bird: ‘Anyway, do you like the apartment or not?’ 

Robin’s Ice Machine: ‘I don’t know. It looks… sketchy.’ 

The Flightless Bird: ‘It is. It’s a sketchy ass neighborhood.’ 

You started typing out a reply full of protests against this, wondering why he would want the two of you to live in a place that was full of drug dealers and other crime, but he beat you to it with another message - and when you read it, your heart warmed. 

The Flightless Bird: ‘But - I thought me and you could help keep it safer.’ 

You grinned widely at this again. 

You resisted the urge to correct his grammar again, wanting to tell him the tense was ‘you and I’. He was truly onto something here and you didn’t want to ruin the moment for him. 

Robin’s Ice Machine: ‘I’ll have to see it in person first.’ 

Robin’s Ice Machine: ‘When I come to Gotham.’ 

You had no clue what stupid love bug had bitten you - but you were seriously agreeing to go view an apartment with Jason Todd. And you were more excited than anything else.

You finally resigned to the idea, feeling a certain kind of joy in making plans with him. You were entirely unfamiliar with the feeling of looking forward to the future. It was delightfully strange. 

For the first time in your entire life, you felt giddy and optimistic for the future. 

On the other end, Jason pumped an arm and cheered quietly to himself, knowing that he would hold you to the promise of coming to Gotham to visit him. Knowing that once he had you in town, he would somehow talk you into getting an apartment with him. 

This was just the start of your life together. In his mind, this was just the first of many plans. 

The Flightless Bird: ‘You could be on a plane tomorrow.’ 

The Flightless Bird: ‘I’ll pay for your ticket.’ 

Robin’s Ice Machine: ‘You mean Daddy would?’ 

You knew Jason was rolling his eyes at this, and while he rushed to type out protests about Bruce being his ‘Daddy’, you corrected his initial thought. 

Robin’s Ice Machine: ‘I can’t come tomorrow, anyway. My trip isn’t supposed to end for another week, at least.’ 

You didn’t want to tell him that you were getting attached to your grandmother, and you didn’t want to leave her yet. You thought he might mock you for developing those vulnerable familial attachments too quickly. And he would have been right. 

The Flightless Bird: ‘Well, don’t take too long. I miss your stupid face.’ 

In your mind, the only proper response to this was to open your camera and take a picture of yourself - one crudely sticking your tongue out and flipping him off.

You sent it to him and received back several heart emojis. 

The Flightless Bird: ‘Gorgeous as always, babe.’ 

Right then, Jason made that picture into his lockscreen. 

You rolled your eyes, and bit your lip to suppress another stupid giddy smile. 

Robin’s Ice Machine: ‘And you’re a charming asshole, as always.’

Robin’s Ice Machine: ‘But I guess you’re mine.’ 

You sent the last part without much thought, feeling a twist in your gut when Jason read it and didn’t immediately reply. You stared at the screen for several long moments, waiting for something, wondering how he would react - 

But then your attention was snapped away from your conversation with Jason when your grandmother let out a loud snort and woke from her nap. 

“Playing with that brick again?” She said, sounding quite displeased. 

Though you felt anxious, wondering if you had scared Jason away with your affection, you locked the screen and put the phone back into your pocket.

“Sometimes these ‘bricks’ can be useful.” You told her. “Maybe you should get one.” 

You suggested it on the idea that you could communicate with her more easily once your trip was over, though you knew what her stance on the matter was. It didn’t hurt to try. 

“Oh deary. I’d never want to strain my eyes looking at that. You know what they say - old dogs, and such.” She let out a small yawn. “Besides, I have heard they can give you cancer.” 

You let out a snort of laughter. At least it was nice to know where your sense of dark humor came from. 

… 

Jason wasn’t sure why he did it. 

Bruce told him not to. It should have been obvious that it was a trap. If history had anything to say about it - the Joker never made himself that obvious unless he wanted to get caught. Unless he was planning something and he wanted a lot of people to get caught up in the smoke. 

Unless the Joker blatantly wanted attention, then he stayed hidden. 

Maybe it was the Anti-Fear Gas. Maybe Jason needed to prove that he was brave. That he was good enough to take up the mantle of Robin again - even if he didn’t necessarily want it. Deep down, he needed to prove to himself that he was good enough for you. That he wasn’t just some broken bird that you needed to fix.

Jason thought the drug made him brave, but it probably just made him stupid. He thought this would be a good field test for it. But it just made his senses dull and useless to everything around him. It made him less aware of his surroundings, it blurred out all his fight or flight that nature intended. 

When Bruce said that fear served him, he had no clue that this is what the old man meant. 

The Anti-Fear Gas made perfect conditions for someone to sneak up on him. 

He heard the cackling laughter - a sound coming from one of those stupid carnival machines, or from the Joker himself, he wasn’t sure - before he even realized what was going on. There was a bag over his head and some heavy, hazy drug forced under his nose. 

He was stupid. 

He thought he learned something from the incident with Doctor Light. 

But it turns out that he was just as stupid as everyone accused him of being. 

Because when he woke up, he was right back there. Tied to a chair. Confused. And when the Anti-Fear Gas started to wear off - he was scared. Utterly terrified. Just like he had been on that night. 

Bruce was at some investors’ meeting halfway around the world. When Jason didn’t pick up his calls, didn’t answer his texts - he thought that Jason was still pissed off about the fight they had before he left. Bruce tried to give him distance. Without Alfred around to keep an eye on him, nobody reported Jason missing. 

Nobody even noticed that he was gone. 

… 

When Jason stopped answering your texts, you got a horrible feeling in your gut. 

The next time you looked at your phone, he had left you on read, and you had an utterly horrible feeling about it. Your stomach twisted over on itself, you became ripe with worry. You immediately wanted to cry to Dick about it, beg him to go searching for Jason’s tracker, or at the very least, call Bruce and ask to confirm where Jason was. 

But technically - you had nothing to cry about. 

Jason wasn’t your boyfriend. He didn’t owe you anything. Especially not his time. He didn’t owe you an immediate reply to your messages. He wasn’t supposed to be at your beckoned call like a loyal dog. 

You had to guess that he got busy training. That he was angry with Bruce, so he was spending extra hours at the gym, working off that anger. Maybe he had doubled down on the apartment search and he was somewhere in downtown Gotham, looking at more shitholes where he didn’t have any service. 

At the very worst, you thought maybe you had scared him off with your affection. You thought maybe he was finally realizing that he didn’t want that big, scary thing with you, and he was getting ready to run away from it. Maybe he was debating blocking your number so that he didn’t have to break-off this non-relationship with you. 

Maybe he had met someone else. 

You went over the possibilities - made yourself sick, wondering why he wasn’t answering you. 

But you had never considered the most sickening possibility of them all. 

… 

As usual, the Joker had seemingly no aim with his chaos. 

He took Jason to some random location. Tied him up, hit him. Some of the Joker’s goons came and went. The Joker talked about potentially setting Jason out as ‘bait’ for the Bat to come and get. Jason wanted to tell him that his precious Bat was out of town, but he couldn’t risk revealing Bruce’s identity if he divulged that information. 

If that was the Joker’s plan - using Jason as bait - he waited a long time to get on with it. 

He spent the interim torturing Jason in increasingly creative ways. 

Jason watched the sun rise and fall three different times - through a tiny window in whatever place they were keeping him. When darkness fell on the fourth day, his eyes were becoming too swollen to see light anymore. 

Jason tried not to flinch when he heard footsteps approaching. 

Every single inch of Jason’s body ached - he was sure that he had fingers broken, an arm broken. Broken ribs. He had several missing teeth, and he was leaking blood freely into his mouth. If he did get out of this, he would be severely fucked up for the rest of his life. 

But he had a feeling that the Joker wasn’t going to let him out of this. 

A cold hand moved across his forehead, and instinctively, he flinched away from it. The Joker tutted his tongue, and other voices came - echoes of laughter in the room, goons he had brought along with him. 

“So shy, Little Birdie.” The Joker’s voice mocked him. “You weren’t so shy when you came looking for me… in fact, you were eager then. Eager, eager, eager. Eager to play my games. But you don’t wanna play now, do you?”

Jason was exhausted. But he knew that he couldn’t give up. If he stopped fighting, then the Joker had won. 

“Fuck you.” Jason said, fighting past blood flowing in his mouth, deflated, clearly tired. 

But he was still fighting. 

The Joker laughed. 

Cruel. Harsh. 

“Well, I’ll take that as a sign - game on!” 

The Joker clapped his hands together above Jason’s head, loudly. Jason hated that he flinched. There was another round of laughter from the goons. 

Jason expected that the ‘game’ would be something violent. Removing his fingers, having the goons take turns to hit him harder. Perhaps they would strap him to some kind of target and make up point values for his different limbs and then have a knife throwing contest around him. 

But no. 

It seemed that they were growing bored of physical violence. 

Something that Jason hadn’t even thought of - an utterly terrifying possibility. 

With his eyes out of commission, he was relying on his ears more. He heard a small click, a button being pushed - if he wasn’t mistaken, it was someone trying to wake the lockscreen of a phone. It was very close to his head. 

“My, my, that is a pretty one.” The Joker teased. 

Jason sucked in a sharp breath, causing a painful sting in his likely broken ribs as an even more painful realization hit him. 

They had taken his phone. The Joker was talking about you. 

He should never have made that picture of you into his lockscreen, you were too important, he had put you in danger - 

“Tell me, does this pretty thing have a name?” 

The Joker chuckled - Jason thought maybe the phone with your picture was being waved in front of his face, but he couldn’t quite see it. 

“Oh wait! You can’t see it, can you?” The Joker seemed amused to remember this, his voice light and jaunty as the thought crossed his mind. 

“Fuck you!” Jason spat out, much more energized now, refreshed with the might of protecting you - quite literally spitting blood, hopefully getting some on the clown. 

The Joker simply let out another cackling laugh. 

There was a ping. A text message coming in. 

Let it be Bruce. Let it be Dick. Let it be Gar, for fuck’s sake. Anybody but you. 

“You know, this friend of yours sends an awful lot of text messages.” 

The Joker chuckled, putting emphasis on that word, clearly mocking Jason’s relationship status with you. Even with his psychotic mind, he could see that Jason loved you more than he cared to admit, and he was terrified to speak it aloud. 

“‘Jason, I’m worried about you. Please text me back when you can. I know it’s stupid to be worried just cause I haven’t heard from you in a few days, but Gotham is a stupid shithole and I wanna know that you haven’t been eaten by a giant mutant crocodile or something.’” 

Jason’s skin crawled when the Joker read a text from you aloud. 

You were worried. 

Jason was beaten, dying because of the consequences of his own stupid actions, and you were worried. 

“Well, that’s almost sweet.” The Joker sniggered. “You’ve been ignoring these for days now! That’s rude!” 

Another round of laughter from the goons. 

Jason was then struck with the realization that because of his current situation - idiotically kidnapped, tied to a chair, beaten - he had been ignoring you for days. He had unintentionally caused you to worry, on top of everything else. He had hurt you. 

Had you sent someone looking for him? Would he actually somehow get out of this? Was there a chance that he might actually be rescued? 

“I think we should answer. Your sweet little friend deserves some closure - a load off the mind, you know.” 

The Joker’s voice took on a menacing dark tone as he said this. 

Jason’s insides clenched with horror. They had tortured him in almost every way imaginable - taken it as far as they could without actually killing him. They had inflicted all kinds of pain on his body. Now they were going to torture his mind. 

They were pulling you into their game as a fucked up pawn. 

“No!” Jason tried to weakly protest, but then, entirely against his will, came the sound of his phone unlocking. “Fuck you!” 

He hadn’t put a password on it yet. It was relatively new - a present Bruce had gotten him when he had come back to Gotham. A bid to buy his affection. He hadn’t gotten around to putting a password on it yet. 

Another stupid mistake. 

Jason nearly lost his breath when he heard ringing. The Joker wasn’t just going to reply to your text messages - he was calling you. 

Whatever happened to Jason next - whatever torture, whatever pain they inflicted upon him - they were going to make you listen. 

… 

One thing you had come to learn over the past week: rich people have a lot of peculiar habits. 

Your grandmother would insist that you be there for afternoon tea at three o’clock sharp, and apparently having too much sugar in your tea was considered rude, because it was a reflection of the quality of the tea that the host had presented you with. She insisted that you ‘dress for dinner’ - which meant that you weren’t allowed to wear sweatpants at her formal dining table, and even ripped jeans were frowned upon. Also, sitting with your feet curled underneath you at the dining table caused her glare at you - a lot. 

But as much as she had scolded you for your brutish, poor people ways - you had managed to bring her around to some of your ways of life. You showed her how binging reality shows could be fun, and that not all types of processed junk food were terribly beyond her taste. 

It was probably why you were putting up with this now. The garden party. 

You were surprised that she had been able to put together a party this elaborate so quickly. But she said that it was necessary because she had insisted that she wanted you to meet all of her friends. 

You thought that it would be just a few people; no more than would fill up the dozen chairs that she had at her exceedingly large fancy dining table. But you grew more anxious as cars filled the long driveway and more people filled the ‘garden’ out back, picking at tables that had been set up with expensive catered food and sipping on drinks that were being poured by a bartender that had been highered last minute. 

Of course - your grandmother insisted on picking an outfit for you. She didn’t bring herself to care where exactly on the gender spectrum you fell - she didn’t even bring up your birth gender at all, which surprised you, since she had known you as a baby. She simply took it at face value when you introduced yourself to her by name and the two of you easily rolled with things from there. It was strange for an old woman, especially one so caught up in the history of all the objects in her home. But you supposed that those deathbed regrets ran deep and she preferred to spend this time with you actually embracing you instead of arguing with you and potentially driving you away. 

She insisted on picking your clothes because she simply hated your graphic band tee shirts and your ripped jeans, and insisted that you wear something ‘light and airy’ worthy of a garden party. All she had asked before she consulted her personal shopper was if you had a preference of pants or a skirt. And you couldn’t bring yourself to protest, even when you saw the pastel colours that you normally would have utterly hated. 

You weren’t sure why you were trying so hard to impress someone that you barely knew - someone you could barely even call family. Perhaps it was because your mother had treated you so poorly - she had never cared if you were clothed or fed, so having someone buy you expensive new clothes after caring to have ‘family dinner’ with you every night, it was touching. Especially considering that she was throwing an entire party in your honor when your mother hadn’t even wished you ‘happy birthday’ most years - often forgot the day and let it pass without acknowledgment at all. 

Everything your grandmother was going for you, it made you feel like you truly mattered for the first time in your young life. 

Perhaps for the first time since Jason had insisted on stitching up your wound - after he had told you that you being hurt on his behalf in the first place was such a terrible crime. But you didn’t want to think about that too much because you missed him so terribly. 

You did find yourself picky at the itchy, slightly too tight collar as you went downstairs to join the other guests. Your grandmother paraded you around, introduced you to different people. And soon, she abandoned you near one of the snack tables when she was called over by some ‘business associate’. 

You couldn’t resist the urge to pull out your phone and check - your stomach sank when you saw that there was still nothing from Jason. 

Entirely against your own will, you began typing. 

‘Jason, I’m worried about you. Please text me back when you can. I know it’s stupid to be worried just cause I haven’t heard from you in a few days, but Gotham is a stupid shithole and I wanna know that you haven’t been eaten by a giant mutant crocodile or something.’

You hoped that he would reply soon. Even if it was telling you to fuck off. 

You hated when you got sucked into another conversation with more people you didn’t know. You quickly found yourself mentally begging to be released from the hell as more and more people asked you questions that you couldn’t even begin to form the answers to. 

“What are your top three?” One of the women asked you, looking at you with precise, dissecting eyes. 

‘Top three what?’ You wanted to shriek. 

“My Brandon is going to Dartmouth after summering in Metropolis. Doing a lot of volunteer work there - an angel, he is.” 

The other women standing around you all nodded, giving approving looks with strangely fake smiles, and all you could do was nod and smile along with them. 

‘Summering? Since when is that a verb?’ 

You wished more than anything that Jason was there with you. Not only would he pull you aside and relentlessly laugh at these plastic-y women with you, but you knew that he would be able to save you from this. He did have a bit more experience being around rich people because of Bruce, and he would actually be able to tell you what the hell they were saying. He would be able to translate all this shit to ‘Oliver Twist’ for you so that you wouldn’t feel like you were suddenly living on some alien planet. 

“Where do you usually summer? When you’re not with your grandmother, that is?” 

You felt more panic rise in you as another question was directed at you, desperately racking your brain for an answer that wouldn’t make you sound stupidly out of place to them. 

Luckily, before you had to stumble your way through the interaction, your phone began to vibrate in the pocket of the overly expensive blazer that your grandmother had made you wear. You wanted to breathe a sigh of relief at the chance for distraction - even though it was probably a spam call, or Gar, calling to complain that he was lonely because Rachel wasn’t back from her trip yet. (Without you and Jason there, and with Rachel extending her stay on Themyscira, he near constantly complained to you that he was lonely, and that he hated everyone leaving.) 

But still, you jumped at the chance to escape the many pairs of eyes, staring at you, studying your every move like you were a very fascinating bug. Looking at you like you were something that didn’t belong there. 

“I have to take this.” You grinned at them, reaching to grab your phone out of your pocket. 

You moved away from the group of clucking hens, hoping for some privacy in the conversation. Even if it was just Gar, you would use this opportunity to stall for as long as possible before being pulled back into the party. 

When you took your phone out and saw Jason’s contact photo lighting up the screen, you couldn’t hold back the smile that broke across your cheeks. It was a picture of him sticking his tongue out that you had taken using the front facing camera when he had been annoying you over your shoulder one day.

Pure, unadulterated joy. That stupid teenager crush igniting your insides yet again. 

You moved toward the refreshment table, knowing that you looked like an idiot as you stared down at your phone, smiling so widely. 

You knew that you were in too deep. That you probably felt far more deeply for him than he did for you - that you would have dared to call it that deep, ‘tied together forever’ thing, and he probably wouldn’t. 

But you were caring less and less each day. You were beginning not to care if he broke your heart. 

At this point, you were just along for the ride. 

A very small voice in the back of your head told you that maybe he was calling to break things off with you. Maybe, all this time that he had gone without speaking to you, he had been waiting, working up the courage, finding the right words to tell you that he was truly done with you. 

But no. That wouldn’t be the case. 

He had simply been busy. And now, he was calling to tell you what a hectic, shitty few days it had been, how much he had missed you - 

“Hey, asshole. I don’t know if you leeched some of Rach’s psychic powers, but you called just in time to save me.” 

You breathed into the receiver as soon as you picked up, throwing out a casual greeting, knowing that Jason wouldn’t be offended by the words. 

“I always hesitate to say that you were right, but I am beginning to regret not taking you up on that offer to come with me. You should see some of these rich, stuck-up snobs - you would be laughing your ass off if you were here right now.” 

There was a long silence. 

Your stomach dropped. 

On the other end, you had no clue that Jason felt that exact same sting of regret about not coming with you. If he had - the two of you could have been safe and happy together. 

Fear clutched at your throat. 

It was a basic instinct, but you knew that the silence wasn’t a good thing. You thought that all of your worst fears were about to come true. That Jason was about to tell you that he was truly done with you, that he never actually felt anything for you in the first place, and he was just working up the courage to speak the words aloud. 

But it was so much worse than that. It was worse than anything you could have imagined. 

A single, ragged breath. 

Air struggling to get in and out of his lungs past broken bone - pain. 

Standing in the radiance of a warm, pleasant afternoon, with people mingling happily all around you - all the life drained from you. All the happiness sucked out of the world in a matter of seconds. 

You wanted to scream at the top of your lungs, wanted to cry out for help. 

There was a unique cruelty in the fact that everyone else in the garden simply went on, chatting, laughing, engaging in merriment. The fact that they went about their stupid party, having no clue that a world away, in Gotham - a great tragedy was taking place. 

All of those rich assholes sipped their drinks and carried on with their day, having no clue that your world was about to end. 

“Jason?” 

You knew that your voice was so utterly wounded, small and terrified. You made no effort to hide it. 

There was a harsh sound - a collision of flesh, a groan. A hit. It was a sound that somehow made your guts twist in on themselves even more. 

“Go on, Robin.” 

That voice wasn’t Jason. It wasn’t someone you knew. It was wicked and harsh and made you want to scream. All you could do was swallow around a thick dryness that had formed in your throat - like sandpaper had been put there. 

You didn’t know what to do. You couldn’t do anything more than listen. 

“Go on, answer your pretty friend.” 

Jason sucked in another harsh breath, and sputtered out a cough. 

“I - I fucked up.” Jason said, his voice ragged. “I fucked up big time.” 

You felt a hot, wet tear run down your face before you realized that you were crying. Your legs were filled with concrete and you felt the world spinning on its axis. It was a miracle that you managed to stay standing upright. 

You couldn’t even comprehend how you might have looked to someone else in those moments, and truthfully it didn’t matter. No one else at the party even noticed the terrible grief that had struck you. They simply carried on, absorbed in their own little world. 

“Jason?” 

It hadn’t even occurred to you that you had given up Jason’s secret identity - the name behind the Robin mask. You were too busy quaking with fear, your chest tight as you considered: this might actually be the end of his life. 

And you couldn’t do anything about it. 

What the fuck could you do about it? 

“What happened?” You rushed to ask, your voice full of breath, full of fear. “What’s happening?” 

More tears poured down your face, and you swallowed around the tightness of your throat, forcing a clearness to be able to speak. 

“I made a mistake.” Jason said, his voice coming out in a tight wheeze as he struggled to breathe. “I - I never should have gotten you involved in this.” 

You knew what he really wanted to say. He wanted to apologize for letting you get close to him. For giving you the potential to get hurt. 

“No!” You easily argued back. “Don’t you fucking dare.” 

You decided right then and there - maybe you had decided a long time ago - if he broke your heart by leaving you alone, by dying, you didn’t care. You didn’t care if he left you fucked up and broken. All of the time the two of you had spent together - it had all been worth it. 

You needed him to know that. You needed him to know. 

“Jason, I-” 

You hesitated for a moment before you said it. Before you crossed that line into the abyss. Your voice clouded with the thickness of your tears when you finally said the words. 

“I love you.” 

When he heard it, Jason let out a wounded howl. 

You thought that he had been stabbed. You let out a sob of your own, echoing his pain. 

You did not know that it was these words alone that damned him. It was something that hurt him more than any baseball bat crashing down over his knees or any brass knuckles against his jaw ever could have. 

Moments before his death, you sentenced him to the worst crime of all - breaking your heart. Now, with his own foolish choices, he had damned you to a life without the one you loved. You had sentenced him to dying with the knowledge that he was the worst piece of shit to ever touch your life. That he truly had rotted everything good about you - just like he had promised. 

You could have chosen anyone else, and you chose to love the stupid, fucked up, idiotic Jason Todd. The man who was about to die due to his own incompetence. 

“Aww, isn’t that sweet?” The stranger’s voice was there again, mocking you. 

You weren’t surprised that Jason didn’t say it back - but you hoped that your words, that you saying it brought some comfort to him. 

You were about to open your mouth again, about to promise that you would find him and rescue him in time. 

And then another pillar of hell struck you. 

“Now, it’s time for the little birdie to go bye-bye.” 

You couldn’t even muster your voice again, couldn’t scream out against this. Your throat was swollen shut, like an allergic reaction to the tragedy as it happened. 

There was a silence - a second of your life that swallowed you whole like an abyss of fifty endless years. 

And then, that silence was cut through by the worst sound you had ever been forced to hear. 

A gunshot. 

The sound was distinctive, clear as day. 

“Jason?!” 

You screamed his name at the top of your lungs - this time, undeniably drawing attention to yourself. Even the plastic party goers couldn’t ignore a tragedy of this magnitude. You couldn’t bring yourself to care as multiple of their heads snapped toward you, taking in the now utterly disheveled sight of you, crying, clutching at your phone like it was the most precious thing in the world. 

“Jason?!” You screamed again, your voice nagging into a hopelessly dead line. 

You didn’t know that they had smashed Jason’s phone, disposing of it now that they were done with their game. 

Upon instinct, you ran. Your legs were heavy and felt stupid and you stumbled into multiple people on your way into the house, causing murmurs as the crowd stared at you. You didn’t care. You were panicked, shaking, confused. You made your way up to the guest bedroom that you had been staying in and began frantically shoving your things back into your bag, half-packed when you finally realized that you had no clue where you were going. 

And you collapsed onto the floor, then. Your whole body was weak, overtaken by shock. Clueless and terrified, your chest was barely taking in breath and your own phone slipped out of your shaking hand when you tried to think of your next move. 

For a long time - what felt like endless hours, days - you could do nothing but sit there and desperately try to suck air into your lungs, playing the gunshot sound over and over again in your mind. 

They shot Jason. They shot Jason. They had shot Jason. 

Your brain could hardly process it. 

One of your grandmother’s caretakers knocked on the bedroom door and you couldn’t gather words to answer. When she asked you what had happened, you couldn’t even begin to explain. That was when you realized that you had needed concrete answers yourself. So as she left the room to make you some peppermint tea ‘for your nerves’, you forced your shaking hands to work, and you grabbed up your phone again. 

You needed to call Dick. 

He didn’t pick up. Then you called Kory. No dice. Then you called Gar - you could hear the bustle of a crime scene in the background, but he sounded okay. He was talking in his usual bright, excited voice. The Titans had likely just made a bust. He was excited to be making a difference, helping people. 

You sucked down breath and tripped over your own words trying to explain it. Jason was in trouble - a gunshot, he was hurt. He was dead. Gar barely understood, tried arguing against you because you sounded hysterical. But he passed the phone to Dick at your insistence. Dick made sense of your words, and made you wait fifteen long painful minutes until he was back in front of the computer at Titans Tower to give you some kind of answer. 

Jason’s tracker was online. It was in Gotham. It was at the Amusement Mile. 

It wasn’t picking up any heat signature from Jason’s body. That only meant one thing: his body was cold. 

“I’m - I’m so sorry, Y/N. Jason’s - he’s gone.”

...

A/N: This is part one of two, and I do have the second part ready to go in my drafts.

Based on the original, Emergency Contact, having around 400 notes, and based on the fact that Jason Todd is a popular character:

I would like to see around 50 reblogs and around 50 comments on this before I post the next part.

Which I do think is a modest ask - if the same amount of people who enjoyed the original show up to read this sequel, then I will be asking one quarter of those people to comment or reblog. And I say 'around' because if I see a good amount of people commenting and reblogging, even if we don't meet the goal, then I will post the next part more quickly.

(I just don't want another incident to happen where people stop commenting immediately as the goal is met and then I end up with 30 comments and 900 likes, clearly showing that people don't care to support a fic even if they clearly enjoyed it.)

However, if you are going to comment, please do not just comment asking for the next part or asking when the next part will be posted, please comment about the body of work that has already been written and posted. I find it inconsiderate and stressful when people only ask for updates. I much prefer to spark a discussion about the existing work that has been written.

Anyway - I am just insanely proud of this fic and I really want to hear what you guys think of it so far!! So please do comment, reblog and rant in the tags, or come to my inbox and chat with me on anon if you're shy. I always wanna hear from fellow Jason Todd lovers and fellow Titans enjoyers.

[carlotaflaneur]

#5 september 2023

EVERY WORD I SAY COULD BE THE LAST ONE

hooooOooooola !

My newsletter has turned into that text from a friend you love dearly but you can hardly ever see each other, so there is no practical end to keeping the chat alive, which leads to you not putting it first and letting it die, and then your heart aches more and more as months go by, because you love them and wanted to share what live has brought to you both. I do think that it's never too late to answer a text... because who wouldn't like to receive a text or a letter that wasn't expected ??? that said, I apologize for not writing; I said my newsletter would be a monthly thing and I broke my commitment.

Now that I'm finally writing, I take this chance to let you know that my email address is hola@carlotaflaneur.com :-) I'll be more than happy to receive letters filled with musical recommendations or impressions on my record, which turned 1 YEAR yesterday !!!

All this time I haven't stopped ruminating on the various reasons why I haven't been sending this newsletter. I've been questioning myself a lot: have I acted lazy ?? I don't think so. I actually think I've been too hard on myself. It's a mental process I'm quite familiar with: a part of me feels what I'm writing to you has to be highly excellent and interesting... so much that I end up not writing, feeling like it wouldn't be enough. It's the same with content for social media (I've been struggling recording videos) and even with songs. I think it's not healthy that perfectionism holds the power behind creativity... I clearly get creative because I need to; but I want to learn to do so from a place of playfulness, passion... rather than high self-demand standards.

june 2023 - with my dad benito going to Primavera Sound in Barcelona (foto: núria gascón)

This last year has been crazy amazing; I've played my album many places, including Primavera Sound (the biggest festival in Spain) and Wales !!!!! my first international gig !!!!! I actually sold some vinyls to english couples who were incredibly supportive, I get emotional when I recall it. A spanish girl -who discovered me thanks to the spanish national radio- who lives in Cambridge drove all along to Wales (3 hours) just to see me play. I hugged her so tight !!! I can retire now.

What a beautiful and hard year !!! I have to admit I've felt overwhelmed every single day and I have a fatigue sensation I cannot get rid of. It's partly because I still don't know how to get rest; even when I push myself to unwind, I end up thinking about my project. And I can't seem to separate Carlota Flâneur from my personal life (I guess it's because I AM Carlota Flâneur hahah). I've learnt a lot about managing my time, but I still have loads to learn in that sense. Vivid proof: I haven't been sending newsletters this last year.

I'm still learning to live with the implications of being my own boss... and that's also beautiful and exhausting. I've been constantly wishing that I had a normal job, where I'm told what to do and how to do it, with very defined responsibilities and getting paid on a regular basis lol. I acknowledge I'd feel empty inside if that was my life, and I'd still need to write songs... maybe a good solution is finding the right balance between being an artist and having a job that pays. I'll tell you how this goes in the future !

Many hugs to you all and I hope that I can see you soon !!

ps: have you seen my website ??? my friend Ayman designed it and programmed it :-)

Carlota

[sevensided]

so with so much confusion what are your predictions for v2?

Oh, excellent question! Thanks for this! I have a few ideas...

I feel like a lot of what I suspected during the hiatus came to fruition, so I'll admit I'm still crowing about a lot of my predictions, especially the Peter/001/Vecna/Creel son twist, which I guessed a while ago. As for new predictions:

I do think 'Vecna's Upside Down' is actually a 'mindscape' e.g. we're in his mind, which is one layer of the broader Upside Down. That there are multiple layers to the UD makes complete sense and explains a lot of the distinctions in how different characters experience the UD. Inception was also listed as inspiration for S04, and that has the whole 'dream layer' thing, so I think that tracks.

I think Joyce, Hopper, and Murray will escape Russia via the UD tunnels back to Hawkins. It's established that the only way they can get out is to 'go under', so that works. I'm also wondering if the Demogorgon Hopper sort of defeated ends up hunting them and following them into the tunnels, where Dimitri sacrifices himself to save the rest of them. Hopper will get an emotional moment and it'll be a good way to galvanise him into action. I haven't seen anyone else suggest that Dimitri is the one to die, so there you go.

As for the teenagers, I think that Robin will get sort of Vecna'd in that she'll get wrapped up in the freaky vines and Nancy and Steve will save her, thus rectifying Nancy's lack of action in S01 when Barb was taken. Rather than Steve and Nancy falling back into each other's arms, I actually think this will act as closure as Barb's death and the events in S01 have not yet been addressed, and it's remained unresolved between them for three years. This acts as the perfect segue for them to become friends, or at least to heal that relationship and move on. Plus, they save Robin, so.

Eddie causing a distraction with the guitar - something a lot of people have discussed and something I'm on board with. Love the idea of there being a storm of demo-bats around him, very Transylvania: The Crimson Crown, I love it.

Will being Vecna'd - not much to say here other than what has already been said. I think it was foreshadowed since S03 that Will would become a focal point again, despite the current discourse that he's been 'forgotten'. I don't think he's been forgotten at all. I believe it's deliberate that he's been continually isolated (visually, from a cinematic point of view; and narratively). Part of that is due to his sexuality, yes, but there's something bigger at play. I've spoken before about how it's become a pattern that the Party focus on Will only when he's in danger/capable of signaling the danger, and there's no reason that theme wouldn't continue in the second half of this season.

As for El... I do wonder if she'll have to decide between killing Brenner or letting him live. This brings us full circle in her Kali/Peter 'am I a monster' morality conundrum, but there's also some validity here, because now she knows - with the value of being older - just how much Brenner has manipulated and controlled her. He's quite literally the gatekeeper of her memories (see: Nina machine). So for her to kill him would be cathartic. Perhaps it's not even her killing him, but making the decision to save him or let him die. Just a thought, but I don't think Brenner is making it out alive.

Edit: Oh, and I should say that in the context of Mike and Will, I definitely think they're setting it up for S05!

Tl;dr Brenner and Dimitri are dying, bet you anything.

[dameronology]

the one with all the yelling {obi-wan x reader}

summary: after making a stupid decision in battle and having an argument with your best friend, a confession slips out that surprises both of you (or maybe it doesn’t)

this is a reupload bc i took it down for editing. as usual, this has lots of swearing in, just a pre-warning. enjoy!!

- jazz

They say that time slows down when you’re about to die - that your life flashes before your very eyes. You’re supposed to see the thing you love most, the people you value most. It was meant to be a final moment filled with a lifetime of emotions, of memories; regrets and mistakes; unfulfilled wishes and incomplete to do lists. The way it was described was hauntingly poetic, the sort of thing almost made you want to to experience it just so that you could understand what it felt like.

And, having witnessed a near-death experience in recent hours, you could safely conclude that everything in the aforementioned paragraph was a steaming pile of horse shit.

There was nothing graceful or cinematic about the way you had yeeted yourself across the battle-field, mud unceremoniously flying up around your ass as you kicked Obi-Wan Kenobi out of the line of fire. The blaster fire was inches away from your face - mere inches - and that, of all things, was when you figured the final moments might have come.

Instead, all you got was a hit to the shoulder and a mouth full of dirt. You were very much alive - but after coughing up an unflattering amount of earth and clambering back to your feet with all the grace of a beached whale, the same could not be said for your dignity.

At the forefront of things, you’d been trying to save your best friend’s life. That was all you could think about when you’d launched yourself discourteously towards Obi-Wan; he couldn’t die. Too many people - yourself included - needed him. And, you were certain that if you hadn’t been killed saving his ass, the sudden lack of reason from his presence in your life would have killed you anyways. The man stopped you from walking into traffic on the daily.

You weren’t entirely sure what to say to Obi-Wan. You were sitting on the end of his bed, fresh out of the shower and bundled up in an oversized tunic that belonged to the man pacing in front of you. For a man of many words, he was disturbingly quiet as he stitched you up and even more so when he helped you undress and get into the shower.

What sort of thing were you supposed to say in this situation? Sorry that I booted you up the arse and sent you flying six foot through the air? I had your best interests at heart, I promise.

‘Personally, I am rather pleased with the fact I am still alive.’ You broke the icy silence that had befallen you. Obi-Wan immediately stopped in his pacing tracks, head turning to face you with a bewildered look. Maybe that wasn’t the best conversation opener.

‘How could you…’ Obi-Wan went to say something but his words were lost. He’d witnessed you do a lot of stupid things but this one took the cake. This was stupid thing to end all stupid things. ‘Why would you - actually, I don’t even know what to say.’

‘I mean a thank you would probably suffice.’ You muttered. ‘I did just take a bullet for you.’

‘How could you have been so stupid?!’ He snapped. ‘You could have died!’

‘I was trying to save you!’ You reminded him.

Right. There was that - the alarmingly obvious thing that he’d been trying not to think about.

Obi-Wan couldn’t deny his feelings for you; you’d always been his slightly kooky best friend but maker, he adored you. Life as a Jedi could be dark but you were his nightlight - a soft glow to guide him to brighter things, to remind him that not all was lost.

He’d spent hours convincing himself that you didn’t feel the same. You were too busy running around with what Obi-Wan was certain was a singular brain cell, getting yourself into trouble and making questionable decisions. But, now that you’d quite literally thrown yourself into the line of fire for him? It was certainly a compelling piece of evidence to the contrary.

(Of course, you loved him too. You’d been in love with him since the day you’d met. That was a minor detail you’d chosen not to mention to him - avoiding the truth wasn’t the same as lying, right?)

‘I don’t need saving.’ Obi-Wan said.

‘Oh, please.’ You snorted. ‘You might be Jedi Master Kenobi of the High Jedi Council, Best Jedi To Ever Jedi and Regular Shagger of the Jedi Code-’

‘- you used the word Jedi a few too many times there-’

‘- but you are not bulletproof!’

‘Neither are you!’

‘But I’m alive, aren’t I?’ Your tone was suddenly soft. ‘I’m in one piece.’

‘Barely.’ He murmured. ‘You can’t do things like that.’

‘Well, I did.’ You would have raised your voice louder had your shoulder not been screaming in pain. ‘And stomping around like a pissy toddler isn’t going to change it.’

The most terrifying part - for both of you, truthfully speaking - was how quickly you had done it. You hadn’t even thought about it; you saw red and you launched yourself into the blaster’s path without even considering the consequences. The most important thing to you in that moment had been that Obi-Wan’s life was at risk and it had led to a sudden disregard for your own.

‘I’ll get better.’ You continued. ‘I’m only signed off for a few weeks and as soon as I’m on the mend I will be back in the field. It’ll be like nothing ever happened-’

‘- but it did happen.’ Obi-Wan cut you off. ‘I’m always going to remember that you risked your life for me without even having to think about it.’

Grabbing onto the poster of his bed, you pulled yourself up and slowly approached him. Obi-Wan almost backed away when his robe inched off your shoulders, revealing the nasty red gash just by your collarbone. The idea quickly slipped away, however, when you rested your hands on his forearms, hands slipping under his sleeves and intertwining your fingers.

‘What else would I do?’ You softly laughed. ‘It’s you, Obi.’

‘Would you have done the same for someone else?’ He asked. ‘For Anakin? Or for Ahsoka?’

You faltered slightly, grip on him loosening a tiny bit. ‘Of course.’

‘Y/N.’

‘What?’

‘Don’t lie.’ He suddenly jerked his hands away from you, spinning around on his heel so that you were suddenly facing his back.

‘Fine.’ You grumbled. ‘I would only do it for you. I would only blindly throw myself in front of a bullet for you. Not anyone else. Not a single soul. Does that make you happy? Does that inflate your ego enough, Kenobi-’

‘- that’s not what this is about.’

‘Then tell me!’ You let out a small groan of pain as you grabbed him by the material of his shirt, using every last ounce of energy to make him look at you again. ‘Tell me what it’s about because you are not making sense and I am the world’s leading expert in that field.’

‘It’s not about anything.’

‘Oh, bullshit!’ You whacked his arm, adrenaline worming its way into your tired body and finally allowing you to raise your voice. ‘I just saved your fucking life and you’re acting like a moody son of a bitch and accusing me of lying!’

‘It’s because I love you!’

‘Well, I love you too!’

‘Great!’

‘Fine!’

‘Wonderful!’

‘Brilliant!’

‘Well I’m glad we cleared that up!’

‘Me too!’

‘We should probably stop shouting!’

‘Good idea!’

You unballed your fists just in time to catch the material of Obi-Wan’s shirt as he stepped towards you, taking you by the waist and pulling you towards him. He crashed his lips into yours, knocking the air from your lungs as he did. You’d thought about kissing him many times - more than you were willing to admit, actually - but now that you were actually here, with a handle tangled in his soft hair and his warm lips moving against yours?

Nothing could have prepared you for this moment - for the declaration of love or the kiss or the way he was holding onto you, hands desperately gripping to your waist as though you were about to slip away into the darkness of the galaxy and leave him alone forever. Just a few hours ago, that had been a very real possibility.

You’d admitted to yourself earlier that you probably couldn’t have survived in a world without Obi-Wan Kenobi. Little did you know that he’d admitted to himself years before that he couldn’t have survived without you.

‘I love you.’ His words were softer now, barely a whisper against your lips as pressed his forehead to yours.

‘If I’d known that almost dying was all it took to make you tell me, I would have done it years-’

‘-Y/N.’ He groaned.

‘Sorry.’ You smiled softly. ‘I love you too.’