#as in like. people claim he’s not real.

[hoshifighting]

Can you pleaseeee do staff joshua?

staff!joshua

WARNINGS: smut, figurine malfuncion, getting caught fingering, mentions of penetrative sex, limping after sex, dirty talk.

staff!joshua who was basically an angel in a designer hoodie, swooping in like he was born to save the day. he’d been recommended by an artist friend who was finally leaving the chaos of tour life behind, and, honestly, you’d had your doubts. you weren’t looking for another “helpful” stranger who’d end up tangled in the cables backstage or handing you the wrong mic.

you remember him showing up that first day, eyes bright and wide like he was taking in every damn inch of the chaos with some kinda awe. it was… annoying, actually, because who the hell has that much enthusiasm? the whole team couldn’t stop talking about him, whispering like he was some savior sent from above. you’d watch from across the dressing room, pretending not to notice, like, “oh sure, he’s cute or whatever,” but then he’d catch your eye and smile.

staff!joshua who somehow found himself in the middle of the most last-minute disaster ever. the accessories box—the one holding all your necklaces, rings, and that one choker that practically defines your stage look—got left at the hotel across town, hours away. designers scrambling, panic in the air, your manager about to lose it. you’re standing there, just praying that the team doesn’t fully spiral, and then joshua steps in, calm as you like. he asks for a spare box of beads, like it’s no big deal.

he actually sits on the floor, in the mddle of the dressing room, legs crossed like he’s chilling at some park, and starts putting together these bracelets. fast. you remember being half-stunned, watching him loop bead after bead with ridiculous speed, like he’s been doing it his whole life. and they weren’t just some random bracelets either—they actually looked good. he handed them over, “here you go, should work in a pinch.” like, who does that?

staff!joshua who ended up with half the crew wanting to know where he learned to make accessories like that, and he just shrugged, all humble, “oh, just a thing i used to do in high school.” as if that made sense.

next show, next country, you look out and see rows and rows of fans with identical bracelets. like, those beads? they’ve become a thing. suddenly, everyone wants one, and your socials are blowing up with people asking where they can get cute and colorful bracelets. you’d joked with him after, “might as well start selling these on the merch table,” and he’d laughed, soft and shy, scratching the back of his neck like he wasn’t used to the attention.

staff!joshua who, honestly, makes you wonder if he’s real, he’s always got everything covered, it’s late nights and early mornings, but somehow, he’s always there, making sure you have your coffee just the way you like it, that your schedule isn’t packed to the point of breaking. he’s the one who keeps track of your favorite snacks and stashes them in your backpack, knowing you’ll dig around for them at some ungodly hour.

staff!joshua who insists on walks when there’s downtime to make you less tense, taking you through narrow city streets, where he points out little cafes he researched beforehand, claiming it was just “a lucky find.” he laughs off your suspicions, saying, “it’s just a coincidence,” but you know he’s been studying maps like a tour guide, making sure you get to see more than just hotel lobbies and dressing rooms. he’ll hold your things so you can snap photos or just take in the sights, occasionally stepping back to give you a moment. always there, hovering just close enough to shield you if a crowd forms or if you need a break from everything.

staff!joshua who’s not just watching out for you but keeping an eye on every single person who shows up at airports or outside venues. he scans the crowd with that gentle look in his eyes, like he’s really seeing each one of them, making sure no one’s fainting or overheating. if he notices someone looking a bit off, he doesn’t hesitate, signaling to security or even paramedics to help them out, all while giving them this reassuring smile that somehow calms them down.

staff!joshua who knows when fans come up to you during your downtime and sees that look in your eyes, the tiny hesitation. he’ll lean over, voice soft, asking, “do you want to?” like it’s totally up to you, and it’s cool either way. if you’re not feeling it, he’s got the most polite, warm way of explaining, “i’m so sorry, but it’s y/n’s break right now.” no harshness, no impatience—just enough kindness that no one feels brushed off. but if you nod and say yes, he’s right there, practically crouching to make sure the angles are perfect, even telling the fan how to hold the camera for the best lighting. he gets the shots that’ll probably be framed on some bedroom wall or locked screens forever.

staff!joshua who goes from quietly fussing over your needs to casually slipping into a role that makes every fan interaction feel like the best one of their life. he’s got this way of making them feel comfortable, throwing in a gentle “don’t be nervous,” or even laughing softly to ease the anxiety.

staff!joshua who, without you even realizing it, has gone from that fresh-faced kid with the soft smile to a full-on bodyguard. he’s bulked up over time, muscles straining against the sleeves of his shirts, and when he’s guiding you through a crowded airport or weaving through backstage chaos, you catch more than a few fans sneaking glances his way. he doesn’t seem to notice—or maybe he does, but he brushes it off.

staff!joshua who makes it a point to be in the hotel gym at whatever strange hour you decide to work out. he’s on his own schedule, of course, but he’s catching your attention even mid-workout. he doesn’t say much about it, but you know he’s thinking about your safety, wanting to be strong enough to keep you shielded with his... big chest.

staff!joshua who tries to stay professional when your hand naturally drifts to his arm. it’s like a habit now; his biceps have become your security blanket, something to hold onto when you’re being rushed through a crowd or stepping out of a car in sky-high heels. he’ll give you a quiet amused look, lips pressing together like he’s trying not to smile, but he never says anything about it.

staff!joshua who feels the burn of your touch whenever you steady yourself by pressing your hand against his muscular chest. maybe it’s to fix a shoe strap or straighten your skirt, his breath hitches every time, it’s like a test of his equilibrium, and you can tell he’s struggling to keep himself in check, especially when he catches your smirk.

staff!joshua who’s always one step ahead, guiding you with a gentle but firm hand on the small of your back when you’re navigating a crowded room.

staff!joshua who instinctively stands between you and the flash of cameras, positioning himself just enough to cover you from the harsh lights and endless stares. he doesn’t need to ask; he just knows when to move, leaning close “just stay behind me”

staff!joshua who never complains when you tug at his sleeve for attention, even if it’s the fifth time that hour. attentive look, ready to listen to whatever you need, whether it’s fixing a wardrobe mishap or finding the perfect hiding spot when the crowds get overwhelming.

staff!joshua who’s confused when you grab him and pull him into the wardrobe corner, pointing at the zipper like it’s some life-or-death situation. his face goes a little pink as he takes in the view—your tits all squished up, struggling against the fabric, and his hands practically itching to fix it. “are you sure?” he mumbles, glancing from you to the zipper and back, but there’s no time to pause; you’re due on stage any second.

staff!joshua who keeps his eyes fixed on that zipper, swallowing hard as he tries to get a grip on himself and on the stubborn thing trapping you. his fingers brush against your skin, and you feel him tense up, his breath quickening just slightly. he’s so close you can smell his cologne, fresh and warm, mixing with the backstage chaos, and it’s making it way harder for you to focus on anything else. “just… stay still..” he mutters, his voice a little shaky.

staff!joshua who practically loses it when the stylist finally throws up her hands and says, “just rip it off, joshua! we don’t have time.” his eyes go wide, panic flickering over his face, but then he nods, taking a deep breath. he plants his hands on either side of the fabric, his biceps flexing under his shirt as he grabs hold and gives one solid yank. there’s a loud rrrriiip, and the zipper splits apart, fabric tearing away like it’s nothing under his grip.

staff!joshua who is definitely not prepared for the way the fabric slips, your tits practically jumping in his face, leaving him blinking, wide-eyed, desperately trying to look anywhere else while you scramble to pull on your next outfit. he’s frozen for a second, like he’s processing what just happened, then quickly steps back.

staff!joshua who always insists on separate rooms whenever you’re on tour, like it’s some line in the sand he won’t cross, because he’s all about “boundaries.” but thank god for that, honestly, because the last thing you need is him realizing just how often your mind wanders to him in the quiet of your room after a show, the adrenaline still in your veins. nights like that, when you’re alone and all you can think about is the way he’s looked at you backstage, muscles tense as he keeps everything under control—never fails on making you horny.

staff!joshua who doesn’t know how many times you’ve slipped into your bed and imagined him there with you, his big hands choking you, slapping your face, his mouth kissing you, sucking you, that quiet and respectful control of his breaking just for you. you let yourself get lost in the thought of him, and in the safety of your own room, you give in to all those bottled-up feelings, whispering his name under your breath, touching yourself, feeling your pulse race as you imagine him actually being there.

staff!joshua who has no clue that some nights, you’re too far gone to even muffle the sounds you make, pressing a hand to your mouth as you cum, breathy little sighs slipping out, like he’s actually there. you always tell yourself you’ll be quieter next time, but every show seems to make it worse, every touch from him leaving a trail of him that lasts long after he’s gone.

staff!joshua who probably wouldn’t know what to do if he ever caught you like that—caught you in the middle of one of those late-night moments, your head thrown back, his name slipping from your lips, no shame. the thought alone is almost too much to handle, but you keep going back to it, night after night, letting yourself imagine just a little more.

staff!joshua who, one night, knocks on your door to deliver something you left behind in the venue dressing room, completely oblivious to the fact that you’re in there, already lost in thoughts of him. you dont even hear the knock over the sounds of your own pussy, and you don’t realize he’s actually come in, quietly calling your name, until you see his shadow across the wall.

staff!joshua who stands there frozen for a second, just staring, his fingers fumbling with the doorknob like he’s trying to make a quick exit but forgot how doors work.

when he finally remembers to turn the handle, ends up pulling it the wrong way, the door making this awkward little squeak as he fumbles to open it again. he’s all flushed and stuttering out apologies, but he’s rooted in place, eyes darting back to you like he’s trying to process what he just walked in on and failing miserably.

your heart its almost jumping from your chest, but you let the duvet slip just a little, the fabric falling away from your legs, exposing the curve of your thigh, the soft line of your hip. his eyes follow it, widening just slightly, his fingers gripping the door handle even tighter.

staff!joshua who, when you tug his wrist gently, doesn’t resist, he lets you pull him closer until he sits by your side, as you whine “joshua… come here,” in that low, inviting way, and something shines in his eyes, like you’ve struck a nerve he’s tried so hard to keep hidden.

staff!joshua who finally presses his lips to your neck, his hand moves up your thigh, fingers fastly pushing the duvet away, leaving you naked. when he finally slides his hand over you, through your damp folds, the feel of his fingers brushing your swollen clit, making your nipples harden.

his thumb presses the clit savoring the reaction he’s getting from you. you can tell he’s testing every little gesture, finding what makes you pant, what makes your hips move toward him.

staff!joshua who presses his fingers in, slipping past the wet folds, to the gummy walls, the first slide inside so warm, so deep, and you let out a moan—that you don't have to hold anymore, afraid that he would hear from the next room—your pussy already clenching around him. he groans softly, leaning over you, his arm flexing as he presses deeper, his other hand coming up to grip one of your wrist up your head, holding you steady as his fingers curl impossibly tight. you can feel the tension in him, the restraint, but the way his fingers move, lets you know he’s not holding back with his touch, at least.

“like that?” he asks, and you nod, swallowing down a shaky breath as he picks up the pace.

staff!joshua who starts to move his fingers a little deeper, making a funny wet sound, until you’re gripping the duvet, your head tipping back.

staff!joshua who, lets out a low chuckle everytime you moan a little louder. “what was that hm? a moan? for me? tell me..”

staff!joshua when he notices you squirming under his touch, about to cum he teases more “so needy... you don’t even have to say it.” he pauses, letting the fingers sink in, as you feel his other hand come up to grip your thigh, holding you as he continues. “what would they all say if they saw you right now?” he muses. “you know, you make it so hard for me to be professional sometimes.”

staff!joshua who, when he notices you clenching your fists in the duvet, laughs softly, a low, wicked sound. “go on,” he whispers, his fingers curling just right. “let me hear everything.”

staff!joshua that after every single time you thought you’d caught your breath, would lean down, “not done yet, sweetheart,” before sending you spiraling right back. destroying your poor swollen cunt after cumming multiple times..

staff!joshua next morning, is already at the hotel breakfast with the crew, sitting perfectly, like he didn’t just ruin you the night before. he watches you walk in, eyes glinting as he sees the way you’re moving—trying to walk normally, but the subtle limp gives it all away.

staff!joshua who has the audacity to pat the empty chair next to him, tilting his head with an innocent expression as if he’s not the reason you’re struggling to walk. “sleep well?” he asks, but you know he's holding back a laugh. you shoot him a glare, but he just raises an eyebro.

staff!joshua who leans in, voice quiet enough that only you can hear, and whispers, “if you need me to help you up to your room after this, just say the word,” his fingers brush against your knee under the table, so subtle that no one else would notice, but it’s enough to remind you of every. single. thing. he did to you last night.

staff!joshua who has no problem keeping that perfect poker face as the morning goes on, answering questions, making small talk with the crew, all while casting you the occasional glance. every time he catches you shifting in your seat, trying to get comfortable, he hides a smirk behind his coffee mug, thoroughly enjoying the sight of you flustered and sore, his own private victory.

[fromchaostocosmos]

The law firm hired by Mr. Beast to investigate internally cleared the company of wrongdoing after a 3 month investigation and 39 interviews. I don't know how these things work, but that doesn't feel like enough time to me to do a proper job and 39 interviews doesn't feel like enough interviews.

I find it very suspect, but again this is not an arena I know enough about.

A law firm that investigated accusations of sexual misconduct and grooming within the organization of the YouTube star MrBeast said on Friday that it found no evidence to support those claims. The investigation came after allegations surfaced against Ava Tyson, a frequent collaborator with MrBeast, whose name is Jimmy Donaldson. Public accusations were made that Ms. Tyson had used inappropriate language and had engaged in grooming behavior with a minor. The law firm, Quinn Emanuel Urquhart & Sullivan, which was hired by Mr. Donaldson’s company, said in its report that over three months it had conducted 39 interviews of current and former employees and reviewed more than four million documents collected from phones, emails and other messaging platforms. “Allegations of sexual misconduct (e.g., pedophilia, grooming, child pornography, etc.) between company employees and minors are without basis,” the report said. “The allegations were soundly rejected, including by alleged victims.” Online accusations began this year after social media users scrutinized interactions between Ms. Tyson and the minor, who goes by the online handle LavaGS, when Ms. Tyson was 20 and he was 13. At the time, both Ms. Tyson and LavaGS denied any predatory behavior. In July, as public outcry grew, Ms. Tyson denied any wrongdoing but apologized for any “past behavior or comments if it hurt or offended anyone,” and said that she would step away from MrBeast’s company and social media. The next day, Mr. Donaldson, whose YouTube channel has 326 million subscribers, and who has turned the venture into a marketing juggernaut, announced that he would part ways with Ms. Tyson. In a post on X, he also said that he had hired an independent investigator. “I’ve seen enough online and taken immediate action to remove Ava from the company, my channel, and any association with MrBeast,” he wrote on social media. “I do not condone or support any of the inappropriate actions.” On Friday, LavaGS responded to the law firm’s findings, writing on social media that he had been interviewed. “I was not groomed, these were false allegations made up by other people with my name thrown in them,” he wrote on X. “This investigation was conducted by real investigators and not internet detectives. They reviewed everything.” The findings came during a tumultuous year for Mr. Donaldson’s channel, which is known for elaborate stunts, including real-life “Squid Game” re-creations and huge cash giveaways. This summer, an older video circulated online of Mr. Donaldson making comments about buying Black people. A representative said at the time that “after making some bad jokes and other mistakes when he was younger, as an adult he has focused on engaging with the MrBeast community to work together on making a positive impact around the world.” And in September, a group of contestants who had taken part in a competitive series put on by Mr. Donaldson called “Beast Games” filed a lawsuit that accused the production companies behind the show of exposing them to dangerous conditions. The contestants claimed, in part, that they had not received adequate food or medical care, and that they had not been appropriately compensated. Although the law firm’s report did not find evidence of sexual misconduct, it did identify several unspecified “isolated instances of workplace harassment and misconduct.” It said the company quickly worked to remedy those concerns. “The company has already implemented or is in the process of implementing changes to ensure a safe and professional corporate culture today and moving forward,” the report said.

Reading articles about MrBeast's dominance of YouTube is fucking bizarre because, from my perspective, the dude isn't even on YouTube. I've never watched one of his videos. YouTube has, to the best of my knowledge, never recommended one of his videos to me. Every thumbnail screenshot of his looks like something you could tell me was a photoshopped parody of YouTube culture, and I'd believe you. No one I follow on YouTube ever mentions him, even negatively or in passing. The first time I ever heard his name was in regards to the quality of his ghost kitchens. The only way I know he isn't a mass, shared hallucination is that I've witnessed the thoroughly mid-looking chocolate bars he sells at Walmart for some reason

[smitten-miqitten]

Post-Veilguard Solavellan and Rook headcanons:

Because Lavellan is directly in the Fade with no Veil to separate her from it, it becomes a (relatively) simple matter for Solas to reconnect her to the lost immortality of the Elves. It only works while she's physically present in the Fade however, and at first he has to function as a go-between until that connection is strong enough on its own(like an unused muscle).

Lavellan no longer NEEDS food or drink as a result but being without it is extremely uncomfortable. Feeling like you're starving constantly sucks, even if it might not kill you.

This is fine though, because Rook teams up with Dorian to make a plan. The Sending Crystal Dorian gave Lavellan is infamously always on her person, so can act as a beacon to her location. Dorian gets things sent to the Lighthouse, and Rook facilitates the delivery of the goods via helpful spirits with the Sending Crystal being their guide.

Rook works with Archon Dorian Pavus to crush any black market slave trading that they uncover. The Lighthouse is used to ferry the freed people to safety, as it was in the past.

Rook becomes the new master of the Lighthouse. They end up getting a Sending Crystal pair of their own to share with Solas, and he and they collaborate on things as needed. It's an odd friendship. Bitch to bitch communication. It's scathing but heartfelt. They both know he needs a buddy.

Eventually Rook also is reconnected enough to the Fade to the point they also stop aging, but anytime they enter Thedas proper it resumes for the duration they are there. As a result, they will likely either eventually die like normal, or choose to work via proxies while remaining in the Lighthouse physically.

Lavellan and Solas, wherever their vague-ass destination actually is, end up creating a fairly comfortable home despite how 'terrible' wherever they're at is supposed to be.

Cole warns her when Dorian is about to pass away of age, and she says her heartwrenching farewells in his final dream. Dorian wills his Sending Crystal to Rook, with the stipulation that Rook find Lavellan someone equally charming to chat with so she doesn't lose her connection to the real world. It's...a tall order 😔 Dorian is no less dear to Lavellan than Mythal was to Solas, for perspective.

As the one who accompanied the Dread Wolf into exile, Lavellan becomes a mythological figure amongst the few Dalish who still keep to some of their ways, more or less against her will. Her name, Ellenere, means nothing in Elvish originally but becomes the name of the goddess who serves as the heart and guide that endears The People to the trickster Fen'Harel. Statues of a female wolf are placed outside of camps next to those of Fen'Harel, so that she will placate him and he will not trouble the clan. She and he guard or stalk the dreams of the world... depending on the story.

Clan Lavellan is an awkward guest at the Arlathvhen because of their former-First's new deific status. Members of the clan also no longer choose to receive Vallaslin as adults.

In the far, far future Solas and Lavellan have children. This follows the spinning of myths by the Dalish that claimed they already had, which flustered Lavellan greatly and prompted a conversation about whether such a thing would even be possible, let alone advisable. Being born in the Fade, these children do not lack the connection their cousins in Thedas would and are therefore immortal like their parents, at least until they leave it (they do).

Solas and Lavellan fuck like...a lot. There are Dalish myths about that too, eventually 😂 Like when a thunderstorm is happening, they're being too rowdy. The person who started these myths may or may not be The Iron Bull.

[hvnyrt]

Request/idea: Jason pining for reader, although he’ll never admit it

Voice in the Wind

Hi Anon! Thank you so much for submitting a request! Luckily for you I have no class or work today and was able to get this out same-day for you. :) I went angsty for this request, I hope it's to your liking!

SUMMARY: You have been in love with Jason Todd for a while now, and he had been too, yet he was too trapped in his mind to even take your relationship into consideration.

WARNINGS: Angst, non happy ending :(

WC: 1.9k

The rooftop of a Gotham skyscraper was cold beneath Jason Todd’s boots. His breath formed small clouds in the air, the city’s ever-present hum a background noise to his thoughts. He stood facing the edge, arms crossed, eyes scanning the streets below. It was late — or early, depending on how you looked at it — and the city was bathed in a sickly orange glow from the streetlights. Gotham was always awake, like a predator that never rested, and Jason… Jason was just another hunter in its maze of shadows.

He was trying to focus. ‘Focus, Todd,’ he told himself. ‘Don’t be weak. Stay sharp.’ But there was a problem. Your face kept slipping into his mind. No matter how hard he tried to shove it away, there you were again, with that crooked smile and those damn eyes that could cut straight through his walls.

Your voice rang in his ears. He hated your voice because it followed him everywhere, like an earworm he couldn’t get rid of. And your name. He hated your name because it made him feel like he could say it, like he could speak it aloud and claim it, and he didn’t want to claim anything. Not You. 

"She’s just a distraction," he muttered under his breath, the words lost in the wind. "Just a damn distraction." 

Except you werent. He knew it. 

He didn’t know how you had got under his skin, but you had. It had started innocently enough: a few random meetings while he was on patrol, a conversation here and there. But then something shifted. Something he couldn’t control, couldn’t shake. It wasn’t that he wanted to care about you; he didn’t. He couldn’t. Not when he knew better, when he was haunted by the ghosts of his past mistakes. People like him didn’t get to have things like that. People like him didn’t get to have… normal.

It was so fucking frustrating. 

"Stupid." Jason spat the word out as if it could wash away the thoughts, the feelings he didn’t want to deal with. There was no place for feelings in the world he lived in. It was all blood and violence, adrenaline and fear, and you… you were none of that. You were calm. Grounded. Real. You made him feel like he wasn’t constantly running from something.

Nope. Not happening.

"Jason?"

The voice broke through his internal tirade, familiar and warm, cutting through the cold like a blade. Jason didn’t turn around. Didn’t even flinch. But his heart did a strange little lurch. He hated that it did, but it did.

There you were, standing a few feet away, your arms wrapped around yourself to shield against the Gotham night. You didn’t even seem to notice how out of place you were up here — on this rooftop, so far above the city you loved but could never truly understand. You weren't like him. Never would be.

"You shouldn’t be here," he said, his tone as dismissive as he could manage. "Go home, It’s dangerous up here."

Your eyes flickered with that same mixture of concern and defiance he was growing all too familiar with. "And I’m guessing you’re worried about me?" you said, your voice laced with quiet amusement.

Jason’s lip curled slightly, though it wasn’t a smile. More like a reflex. “I worry about everyone, you're no different.” He said flatly, his back still turned.

But even as he said it, the doubt crept in. You had a way of doing that — making him second-guess every cynical, hardened part of himself that wanted to pretend he didn’t care. But he didn’t let it show. He never did.

"I’m not helpless." you said softly, stepping a little closer, close enough that he could feel the heat radiating off you. "You don’t need to protect me. You don't have to worry me. Just please, tell me what's on your mind. Talk to me. Let me in." You wanted him so bad to just admit that he wanted you as much as you wanted him. You tried too hard to get him to open up to you, to get him to see what your relationship could be. He never listened.

The words hit him harder than they should have. He wanted to argue, to push you away again. You didn’t understand. You didn’t get what the world was really like, what it could do to someone like him. Someone who had already been destroyed once, who didn’t want to give it a second chance.

Instead, he just shrugged, trying to appear indifferent. "I’m not your protector. Just someone who knows better."

You raised an eyebrow, that familiar smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. "So you’re telling me I shouldn’t be out here, too, but you’re not protecting me?" 

Jason didn’t answer. His gaze drifted away from her, back to the city lights, to the shadows below. But he didn’t walk away. He never did.

"You really think I can’t handle myself?" Your voice was quieter now, and for a moment, it almost sounded like you were teasing. Almost. 

Jason let out a breath, unable to keep the edge out of his voice. "You think you’re the only one who can handle themselves?" He turned his head just enough to catch her gaze. "This place doesn’t make you stronger. It makes you smarter. And if you’re not smart enough to get the hell out of it, you’ll get crushed. And that’s not something I’m willing to let happen."

The words left his mouth sharper than he’d intended, but he couldn’t stop them now. He never could when it came to you. 

You didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at him with those damn eyes that felt like they saw straight through his bullshit. Then, slowly, you took a step closer, not intimidated, but calm.

"Jason, you don’t have to pretend with me. I’m not going anywhere."

The words hit him like a punch to the gut, though he’d never admit it. "I’m not pretending," he muttered, too quickly, and too defensively. 

The city stretched out beneath them, vast and indifferent, like a black sea dotted with the flickering lights of a thousand lives he would never touch. Jason stood there, his shoulders tense, his fists clenched. You were still beside him, too close for comfort, your presence a constant reminder of everything he couldn’t afford to feel. 

Focus, he told himself. Don’t let her in. Don’t let her do this to you.

But it was already too late.

You were right. He was pretending. 

Jason’s jaw tightened at the thought, and he could feel the familiar coldness creeping in — the walls he had built so carefully around himself, the ones that were starting to crack and crumble under your quiet, persistent gaze. The feeling of wanting to reach for you, of wanting to say the things that scared him more than anything else in this broken city, gnawed at him like a sickness. 

But no. He couldn’t do it. Not to you. Not again.

"You don’t get it," Jason said, his voice rougher than he meant it to be. He didn’t look at you, but he could feel you staring at him, that soft gaze that always seemed to see straight through him. "This isn’t… this isn’t some fairy tale. You can’t just waltz in here and fix me. I’m not… I’m not someone you can save. You don’t know what it’s like, and you never will."

He finally turned to face you, his eyes burning with something he couldn’t even name. "I’m dangerous. And you think you can handle me? You think you can be around me and still come out unscathed? You have no idea what this world does to people like us."

You didn’t back down. Of course you didn’t. You never did. Instead, you stepped closer, her voice low but steady. "I know enough, Jason. I know you’re scared. You don’t have to push me away—"

"Stop," Jason cut you off, his voice sharp, almost desperate. He took a step back, as if your proximity was suffocating him. "Stop pretending like you know me. Like you understand anything about me."

Your brows furrowed in confusion. "Jason, I—"

"I’m not the guy you think I am!" He didn’t shout, but his voice trembled with the raw emotion he refused to show. "I’m not the guy you can fix. You think I don’t care about you? That I don’t—" He stopped himself, the words lodged in his throat like broken glass. He could already feel the heat in his chest, the thumping of his heart, the same damn pain that had been there since he came back from the dead. 

His fists clenched tighter. "I’m not your fucking hero. I’m a killer. A broken, fucked-up, damaged thing, and you don’t want to get close to that."

The words came out in a rush, desperate, but also… final. His eyes were wild now, the storm inside him too strong to ignore, the war he’d been fighting with himself spilling out in a way he hadn’t intended. 

You stood there, silent for a moment, your face unreadable. Then your expression softened, a mixture of hurt and understanding flickering behind your eyes.

"I’m not trying to fix you," you said quietly, your voice steady despite the tension crackling in the air between them. "I’m just trying to be here. I’m trying to be someone you don’t have to push away."

Jason didn’t respond right away. He couldn’t. The words felt too raw, too close to something real. And that scared him more than anything. 

"You don’t understand," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "You can’t understand. I can’t let you in. Not like this. Not after everything."

He took another step back, further into the shadows, his heart pounding in his chest. Every instinct in him screamed to get away from you, to run, to push you out of his life before you were swallowed up by the darkness he carried with him.

"Jason," your voice was quiet now, soft, like you were trying to reach him through the thick walls he had built. "Please."

But he couldn’t do it. Not for you.

Jason shook his head, more to himself than to you. He turned his back on you, the weight of his decision heavy in the pit of his stomach. His feet moved automatically, the thought of staying with you—of letting you see him, really see him—was too much to bear. 

Before he could even reach the edge of the rooftop, he heard your voice again, fragile but clear.

"You don’t have to do this alone."

He froze. For a second, everything inside him wanted to turn around, to reach for you, to tell you how much he wanted to believe that. How much he wanted to let you in. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t let anyone in.

Because when you let someone in, you gave them the power to break you. And Jason was already broken. He couldn’t let anyone else be hurt because of him. Not again.

Without another word, he jumped off the rooftop, vanishing into the night, leaving only the sound of his footsteps echoing in the cold air.

You stood there for a long time, staring into the empty space he had left behind. Your heart felt like it had been crushed under the weight of everything unsaid, everything unacknowledged.

You weren't stupid. You knew what had happened. 

Jason had chosen the darkness. He’d chosen it over you. Over them.

And the worst part was, you didn’t know if you could ever change his mind. 

But one thing was certain: you weren't going to forget him. Not now. Not ever.

Jason thinks people who reblog/like the fics they enjoy deserve a good time :)

[tkwrites]

Can I make it up to you? - Nico Hischier x ofc

gif by kawhh

Title: Can I make it up to you? 

Part V in the It Doesn’t Matter AU

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Playlist

Author: Tory / @tkwrites 

Relationship: Nico Hischier x Lena (ofc)

Summary: When Lena is hit on at a Devils event and Nico responds by staking his claim rather than checking in to make sure she's okay, she’s understandably pissed. Though their ensuing fight is resolved, Nico still wants to make it up to her. 

Warnings: Sexism and unwelcome advances followed by angst and then a lot of makeup sex. Smut (18+ only!): Fingering (f receiving), oral (f receiving), face sitting, squirting, unprotected p in v (wrap it up unless you’re in a consenting relationship!), spanking, and a bit of exhibitionism if you squint.

Word count: 8,000

Comments: Well, Nico and Lena are back. This piece is out of order (shocking for me, I know), but the missing piece will be written to fill in their story. 

I had this idea of them having makeup sex that I just couldn’t shake. Which, of course, meant they had to get into a fight first. I’m sorry for the angst and all the sexism, but it gets better, I promise. 

It's been so fun writing Nico into the feminist, romance hero of my dreams. I hope he might be yours, too. 

If you did enjoy it, please consider letting me know by commenting, reblogging, or sending in an ask. Your encouragement and comments truly inspire me to keep writing. 

Can I make it up to you? 

Part V in the It Doesn’t Matter AU

Lena walked out of the bedroom, and Nico felt his eyes widen. He just stood there, slack jawed and blinking like a fish. 

He couldn’t get over the fact that Lena was his date. His date. He got to take her out and have other people know she was with him. The feeling exploded in his stomach.

When she smiled and twirled, his tongue nearly fell out of his mouth. 

The back of her dress was daringly open, held together by two thin ropes that criss crossed over her shoulder blades. A cowl of the smooth, dark fabric pooled at the small of her back. She wasn’t wearing a bra — at least not that he could see. 

Her hair was down, just brushing her shoulders in soft, beachy waves. She’d refreshed the color the night before, so it was beautifully pastel pink, bringing out the green in her eyes and setting off the color of her skin. Her makeup was just enough to make her look bright and doe eyed.

He was going to have to look at her all night and still be expected to talk to people like a sane person? Fuck. Fuck fuck, fuck.

He finally managed to croak her name, and she giggled. 

“You like it?” 

Like it? He wanted to stay home and worship her in this dress. His mind filled with visions of tracing his lips from the drape of fabric all the way up her spine. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he said, minding not to tell her she looked beautiful. She did, but Nina’s lectures about how to compliment women rang in his head. 

“Thank you.” 

Lena knew he would like this dress. She saw the way his eyes lingered when women on TV wore backless dresses like this. 

Even still — even knowing — an enormous blast of pride ignited inside her when he was reduced to staring at her open mouthed. She’d chosen right. 

She’d never worn anything like it before. Thankfully, Nicole had helped her pick it out and get the right bra to wear with it. The smooth, delicate fabric felt like a breath of fresh air on her skin.

Walking into the party, Nico couldn’t help feeling smug. When people turned to look at him this time, he was finally in a couple. Not only that, he was in a couple with the person he’d dreamed about coupling with since he was seventeen. He wanted everyone to know she’d chosen him. 

While he went about his schmoozing duties, Lena hung around with the other partners, talking and gossiping and sharing notes on each others outfits before their conversation finally gave way to real life. How people's kids were doing. How hard motherhood was when your partner was only there some of the time. What a weird thing it was to find yourself dating the boy you always dreamed you would. It was a bigger adjustment than she would have thought. 

When she stepped away to order a drink, staying close to the bar to watch it being made, someone stepped up close to her. She figured it was Nico. He was the only one that stood this close. The illusion shattered as masculine voice asked, “so what’s your name?” in a strong Jersey accent. 

Glancing over at him, she took stock. He was wearing a green suit that, on top of clashing against the olive undertones in his skin, was half a size too big for him. He needed a better tailor. And a better hair stylist. The garishly dark combover he was rocking was doing him no favors.

“Alaina,” she said. It wasn’t her name, but it had almost been. Her mother’s mother’s mother was named Alaina, but everyone in her life called her Lena. When it was time for her parents to name their first daughter, they decided to shorten it from the get go. She was named after great-grandma Lena after all. No need to make it complicated. 

“That’s a beautiful name.” He reached forward slightly to brush the backs of his fingers up her arm. 

She stiffened against his touch.

“I’m Reggie,” he said, confirming her suspicion that he might just be her fathers age. Lena felt her skin crawl. Why was a man his age even talking to a girl in her twenties, let alone flirting with her? 

“It’s nice to meet you, Reggie,” she said, giving him a tight smile, “but I really should be getting back…” her words trailed off when she looked over her shoulder to find the other partners had moved on to a different part of the party. 

Damn. There went her easy out. 

“You know,” Reggie said, continuing as if he hadn’t noticed her looking for someone. “My company owns a box for the season if you’d like to catch a game.” 

“I can get tickets.”

“In a box? I doubt it.”

Pursing her lips, Lena took a step back only to have him step forward to keep her from putting too much distance between them. Where was Nico when she needed him? Where was anyone? It was looking more and more like Reggie was the kind of guy who she’d either have to punch or run away from. Possibly both. She hoped she wouldn't have to resort to shouting. 

He smiled as he seemed to realize no one was coming to her aid. 

Lena gulped, feeling her heart begin to flutter in her throat. She pushed her drink aside just in case, grateful that, at least, they were in public.

Nico’s eyes found Lena again. That big guy was still looming over her at the bar. Through the open back of her dress, he could see how tightly her posture muscles were wound. 

Excusing himself from his conversation, he made his way to her. She shouldn’t have to put up with this shit, and this dude needed to know she wasn’t here alone. 

Spotting his forest green suit, Lena relaxed slightly, realizing Nico was walking toward them. She was going to be free of this douche at last. 

Instead of turning his attention on her, though, Nico addressed Reggie as he walked up to them. “Hey man,” he said, slipping his arm possessively around her, his hand cradling her hip.

Reggies eyes darted between them, wide with recognition. The shock wore off quickly though, replaced by a kind of conspiratorial grin, “I should have known a girl like this was with one of you,” he said. “Though I didn't think they took kindly to you dating such rebels.”

Nicos eyebrows raised. Lena wasn't what he would call rebellious. 

Instead of telling Reggie pink hair and a nose ring didn't make a rebel, or saying something about how he and Lena had known each other for years, or anything else, really, Nico took her completely by surprise when he said, “yeah, she’s not single.”

Her posture stiffened. She never saw this kind of cock slinging from Nico. He was usually so much kinder than that, not so concerned with being the bigger man. 

With the Captain standing right in front of him, Reggie immediately launched into a discussion about how the team was doing. 

Nico stood there and kept the conversation going, his hand still at her hip, forearm warm against her bare back. Were they in any other circumstance, she would have relished the feeling of his luxurious suit against her skin.

“Your scoring has really dropped off since the start of the season. Is something wrong you're not telling us?”

He said it with concern in his voice, but Lena knew it was a sentence crafted for maximum impact. She saw the shadow of guilt pass through Nico's eyes before he launched into a media-trained, rehearsed response about how he was trying his best, but sometimes, pucks just didn’t go in the net. 

“You’ve got some —”

Nico cut her off. Even if it meant he was being insulted, he preferred it to this asshole leering at her again. He was trying to keep this creep's eyes off her.

She let out an affronted little snort, and he tried not to smile, touched that she was still willing to go to bat for him. 

It was a solid five minutes of clipped, polite conversation before the guy finally got the hint and left. 

 Nico turned to her only to find her glaring. The triumphant smile slipped from his face. 

“Let’s go get some air,” she said, turning on her heel and walking toward the balcony, breaking his grip in the process. Her tone was icy, and Nico braced for impact as he followed her, his bottle of beer clutched in his hand. 

“What the fuck, Nico?” Lena asked quietly as soon as they were tucked into a dark alcove of the balcony, out of earshot from the other guests. 

“Wha—” 

“What the fuck was that?” 

“I came to rescue you.”

“To rescue me?” she repeated, voice incredulous. “You didn’t even acknowledge me! You hardly even looked at me! I’ve never felt like such a possession.”

“I know men like that,” he tried to explain, “I was trying to get his attention off of you,”

“And in the process, you made me feel like some kind of dumb trophy.”

“A trophy?” he repeated. 

“Yes! An ornament there to do nothing but make you look better,” she said. Her words and tone had maximum impact, smacking into him as if she’d hit him with her open palm. 

Shit. He had done that. His first instinct had been to check on her, but he’d pushed it aside, wanting to let that guy know she wasn’t here alone. He knew he shouldn't have second guessed his gut reaction. 

Goosebumps were rising on her arms in the cold night air. He slipped his jacket off and held it out to her. 

His offering was met with a fierce glare. “I’m trying to have a serious conversation here, Nico.” 

“I know, and I want to, but I can tell you're freezing,” he held the suit coat out again, “please.”

She took it from him and threw it on the ground. “Will you listen to me, now?” 

Chastened, he nodded. “I’m sorry.”

God, why did he have to have those eyes? Those earnest, puppy dog, always wanting to do better, brown eyes. 

“Nico, I needed rescuing, and instead, you came over and started dick measuring with that guy. Who, by the way, I’m pretty sure was old enough to be my father, but still hit on me.”

His jaw hardened. “He was hitting on you?”

“Yes.” Her voice took on a sarcastic tone, “what did you think he was doing? Telling me about his kids?” 

“I don’t know…”

“For some reason, men of a certain age always think that having tattoos or piercings means you’re a slut.” 

Wincing, he asked, “what did he do?” 

“Well, he touched me for one.” 

His jaw went hard, and a protective kind of anger flashed in his eyes. 

“What?” Nico was going to kill him.

“Not like totally inappropriately,” she amended angrily. “He touched my arm, but it still made my skin crawl.”

What the fuck? Hadn’t there been enough media and enough talk for men to know they couldn't touch women without their permission? Even when someone asked for a picture, Nico never put his arm around them unless they did it first or they gave permission. 

“Then he told me I should come watch a game in his company owned box,” she scoffed. “He totally ignored me when I said I had access to tickets.”

Anger flared in his chest. Not only was this dude a creep, he hadn’t even listened to her. “How can I be better?” he asked. Not only in this instance, but to be a better man.

“I wish you had checked in with me before you started engaging or telling him I’m not single. I don't belong to you.” 

“I don't think you belong to me, Lena,” he said, hurt she would even think that.

“Really? The whole ‘yeah, she's not single’ thing,” she threw her voice into a distorted imitation of his own, accent and all, “coulda fooled me.” 

“I didn't…” fuck. He had said that. “I was just trying to get him to focus on me instead. I don’t think you belong to me. You’re my girlfriend, I know that’s different.” 

The really annoying thing was that Lena knew he was telling the truth. It wasn’t an empty pronouncement. He really was sorry. And everything she knew of him told her he would learn from this and try to get better. All the same, she wondered if he really got where she was coming from.

“Do you even understand why I'm upset?” she asked, arms dropping to her sides. 

He'd royally fucked up if she was asking that. “Yes!” He schooled his voice into a less frantic tone and continued, “I understand.” 

“What do you understand?” 

“That you felt disrespected when I went straight into trying to solve the problem instead of checking to see if you were okay first.” It was something he often talked about with Nina and his mother. Women rarely wanted a solution to a problem. Most of the time, they just wanted someone to listen. And instead of doing that, he’d just barreled straight into fixing it. He knew better. He was a fucking idiot. 

“Oh.” It was a more succinct explanation than she'd been expecting. 

“I won’t ever do that again, Lena. I’m sorry,” he said, reaching out for her. 

Thankfully, she came into his arms willingly, even tucking her cold nose under his jaw. He swallowed against the sensation and slid his hands over her back. 

“Lena, you're like ice,” he chastised, trying to cover as much of her as he could. 

Now that the adrenaline of anger was ebbing away, the cold seeped in — and it seeped in fast. She stepped closer to Nico to try to absorb some of his body heat. 

“Can we get you inside?” he asked, rubbing her back. His hands were cold too, so he was sure it wasn’t doing any good, but it was better than nothing.  

“Thank you for being willing to understand,” she said, ignoring his question. 

It was such strange phrasing that Nico pulled back to look into her face. “Of course I’m willing.”

“Not all men are,” she said, tugging him back so their chests were once again flush. 

The fact that she’d had to put up with assholes who didn’t even try to understand where she was coming from ate at him. She deserved better than that. He wanted to be better than that. 

 Holding her, out in the cold, he dared to look at the pieces of himself he didn’t like to. The ones that were jealous and overly eager to prove that Lena was with him. That guy hadn’t posed any competition, and he knew it. In his heart of hearts, he knew she would never do that to him. He had no reason to get defensive of their relationship and should have checked in with her first. She should have been his top priority, not how others saw him. 

“I’m sorry, Lena,” he said, his voice quiet against her ear. “I let my pride come before how you were feeling.” 

Damn him. This was why she could never stay mad at him. “Thank you.” 

Her lips brushed against his neck when she said it, and it caused a shiver of a different kind to ripple over his skin. 

“I love you,” he said. 

She pulled back to look into those big brown eyes. “I love you, too.”

“Can I take you back inside now?” he asked. “I really don’t want you to get frostbite.”

“It’s not cold enough to get frostbite,” she said even as she broke away and bent to pick up his jacket. 

He was momentarily mesmerized by her bare back in the winter moonlight and was still staring when she held his jacket out to him. 

“I’m sorry I threw it on the ground,” she said, attempting to knock some of the dust off. It had been a childish thing to do, and she wished she could take it back. He’d just been trying to care for her, and she’d been so hellbent on making her point, she’d thrown his very sweet gesture into the dirt. 

A half smile lifted the corner of his mouth. “I deserved it.”

“It was sweet, and I’m sorry I threw it back in your face.” 

“It’s okay,” he assured, taking it from her and settling it on her shoulders. 

The silk lining was cold against her skin, and she shivered. 

“Let’s go inside,” he said, gently turning her around so he could lead her back to the party, his arm draped around her shoulders. 

Snuggling into his side, Lena took a deep breath, readying herself to face the crowd of people again. At least no one had heard them arguing. 

“Do you want to leave?” 

“You need to stay, don’t you?” 

“Well, yeah, but…” 

The warm air in the ballroom stung as it collided with the chill on her skin. “I’ll stay with you,” she said, shrugging his jacket off and handing it back to him. She didn’t want to go home alone. She’d just be sitting there waiting for him anyway. 

“Okay,” he said, leaning in to press a kiss to her temple. 

“There you are!” Nicole exclaimed. “Were you two sneaking off? Naughty, naughty,” she teased, winking at Nico. “Though, I can’t really blame you with how good she looks in this dress.”

He gave her a bashful smile. 

“Come on, Lena. Kristen was just about to tell us the funniest story.” 

Allowing herself to be pulled into the party, Lena glanced back at Nico. She sent him a smile and a little wave. The last thing she saw before the crowd closed around them was his cheeky wink, as he mouthed, ‘I love you.’

An hour later, they were tucked into the back of an Uber on the way home. Lena was playing with Nico’s fingers as she recounted Kristen’s story about Eric trying and failing to make dinner while caring for their kids and dogs. 

He laughed, glad that after the night they’d had, she was still willing to share these silly stories with him. 

“We’re okay, right?” he asked, entwining his fingers with hers.

“Yeah,” she said, lifting her face so their eyes met. Her anger had faded almost completely. “Of course we’re okay.”

A sigh let go in his chest. 

“Nico,” she raised a hand to cradle his jaw, “I know you weren’t trying to hurt me or anything. I know you better than that. It just kind of struck a nerve, and I lost my temper.”

Shooting her a rueful smile, he corrected, “you had every right to be upset with me. I was an ass.” 

She laughed, “you kind of were.” 

Leaning over, he pressed a kiss to her temple and let his voice drop low, “can I make it up to you?” 

“Make it up to me?” she repeated, eyes darting to his. Was he implying what she thought he was? 

His brown eyes smoldered as he nodded.

“What did you have in mind?”

“Whatever you want,” he murmured, dipping his lips to her neck.  

Tipping her head to give him more access, she found her voice suddenly much breathier than it had been. “I think we can arrange for that.”

He pulled away only when the car pulled up to their building. 

The smug little smile on her face as they rode the elevator nearly made him start to pant. He knew what that smile meant. 

Pausing as they passed through the kitchen, Nico asked, “do you mind if I grab something to eat before?” The food at those parties was never quite enough.

She shook her head. “I’ll meet you in your room.”

Although she hadn’t slept in her own bed in weeks, she hadn’t really moved anything into his room, so it didn’t quite feel like theirs. 

A few minutes later, perched on the end of the bed, she watched him come in, admiring the way he moved in his beautiful, dark green suit. The vest hugged his torso in a way that made him look deliciously thick. That had certainly changed since they were seventeen. 

Nico stopped in front of her, swallowing the last bite of apple.

“What do you want?” he asked. God, his accent was already thick, and he hadn't even touched her. 

She leaned back and swept her hair from her face before bracing with that arm, too. “I want to watch you undress.”

Nodding, he swallowed hard. “Do you want it a certain way?”

Shaking her head, she said, “just go slow.”

He started with his tie. The slip of the silk under his shirt collar was a hypnotic whisper. 

Watching her watch him made him breathless with anticipation. It was an incredible turn on, knowing she didn’t want him to be anything but who he already was. He knew she didn’t want a performance.

“Can I hang this up?” he asked, holding up the suit coat. 

 She nodded.

He walked into the closet and came back with a hanger. He removed his vest and hung it up before covering it with the coat. 

“Your hands are so sexy,” she breathed, watching him work the buttons of his shirt, top to bottom. 

His dimple winked at her. 

Glancing up, he asked, “do you want me to get you off with them?”

“Uh hu,” she breathed. She was still reclined on the bed, but her legs were now crossed, attempting to get some friction between her thighs. Just the thought of it, of his casual offer to bring her pleasure, had desire singing through her veins, ending hot and heavy between her legs.

He worked on the buttons of his cuffs, watching her. Her face was flushed, eyes blown dark with lust. Finally, he shouldered off the button down and tossed it behind him to be added to the hamper later. 

“Undershirt first,” she said when he reached for the button of his pants. 

Not bothering to hide her need, she drank in the movement of his arms and chest as he worked the shirt over his head. She squeezed her legs a little tighter together. 

He paused for a moment then, letting her drink in the sight of him shirtless in those incredibly well tailored trousers. 

“Turn around,” she said. 

“Why?” 

“Because I want to admire your ass in those pants.”

He blushed but did as she requested, adding in a little shake.

She laughed, then let out a groan as he stilled and flexed slightly, showing off his toned back.

When he looked over his shoulder, she’d collapsed back on the bed. 

“I can’t wait.”

“Wait for what?” he asked, turning back around. 

“I can’t wait for you to touch me.” 

He took a step forward. When she didn’t stop him, he took another and another until he was standing right in front of her. Reaching down, he slid one of his hands up her smooth calf. The soft fabric of her dress bunched around his wrist as his hand slid onto her thigh. 

Lena moaned, and it shot straight to his groin. He loved that sound more than any other in the world. “This is good?” he asked. 

“Yes.” 

He tried to push the skirt up over her hips, but her hand caught his forearm, halting the movement. “Need it now,” she said, guiding his hand between her legs. 

The smile he gave her was wicked. Moving her underwear out of the way, he dipped his fingers into her sweet, wet heat. “You’re dripping.”  

Her back arched, trying to get her clit closer to his hand. “Yeah. I’ve had to look at you in that fucking suit all night.” 

It was always a pleasant surprise when she said things like this. When it became evident that she wanted him just as much as he wanted her. “I’ve been half hard looking at you in this dress all night,” he admitted, finally adjusting so the heel of his hand pressed into her. 

She made a keening noise and ground against him. “Bought it just for you.” 

As her admission pulled even more blood from his brain, his entire body froze.

“Nico!” she complained. 

He snapped back to himself and started moving again, curling his fingers inside her and following the wave of her hips. 

“Oh,” she moaned, head thrown back. “Just like that.” 

He hadn’t been able to touch her like this for very long, but in the short amount of time he had, he’d been an attentive student. He seemed to remember everything she told him about what she liked. 

“Nico.” The way she said his name while they were making love was a symphony in his ears. What had he ever done in his life to deserve to be in this moment? Especially after fucking up so terribly that evening.

“What do you need?” he asked, pressing a little harder. 

Breath rushed from her mouth, “kiss me.” 

Fingers still buried inside her, he covered her body with his and captured her mouth. He swallowed every noise she made until she broke away, panting. 

“Right there,” she moaned, hips rolling. Something about the way he was touching her, fingers crooked just so, had fire licking through her veins. “Keep your fingers right there.” 

Working the spongey spot inside her, he breathlessly awaited her climax. 

“I —” The words she was going to say fell right out of her brain. They came crashing back with sudden force as Nico continued his magic. “I’m gonna come.”

“Yes. I love it when you come for me.”

Pleasure, more intense than she’d ever felt before, broke open inside her and, clutching the comforter, Lena cried out.

Nico watched her face, fascinated, as he felt her release slick his fingers .

“Fuck,” he groaned, “you’re so sexy.”

The pleasure kept coming until sensitivity turned his touch into a branding iron. Squirming away, she croaked, “too much. Too much.”

Slipping his hand from her and out from under her dress, Nico watched her chest rise and fall in sharp little gasps as he brought it to his mouth. 

“Oh my god,” she said, eyes fixed on the ceiling. 

She could practically feel Nico’s wide smile. 

“I’ve never felt anything like that.” 

“Really?” 

“What did you do?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“You were doing that,” she held up her hand, crooking her fingers as if beckoning him to her. 

“Someone told me it was the best way,” he said, a blush darkening his cheeks. 

“Someone?” 

“Courtney,” he admitted. 

Courtney had been a girl he’d hooked up with on and off whenever he was in New Jersey. One of them would snap the other, and they’d meet up, usually every few weeks. When Lena had moved in, he’d stopped responding to her, and she’d eventually stopped asking. 

Lena only met her once but instantly disliked her, later telling him, “I don’t know, she’s just so obsessed with herself. She hardly even acknowledged I was there.”

It had been awkward to watch the two of them interact. Courtney, who Nico knew liked him more than he liked her, and Lena, who at the time, he thought didn’t like him the way he liked her. It had put them in an awkward triangle of disproportionate feelings. When Courtney had left to go home, she told him, “you’re so full of shit, Nico. When you two figure out what the hell is going on between you, let me know.” 

He’d been affronted at the time, hurt she would insinuate he and Lena had anything together. Now, looking back, he could understand how uncomfortable it must have been for her to be stuck between two people so in love with each other. She must have felt like he was playing games with her. She’d still spent the night in his bed when he asked her to come over three weeks later, though. 

“Hu,” Lena said, holding herself back from continuing, at least she was good for one thing. 

“Have you never…” he trailed off. 

“Never what?” 

His blush was back, “Have you never…I mean, wasn’t that your…” he had to pause, trying to remember the word, “your g-spot?” 

A series of puzzle pieces clicked into place all at once. “I wasn’t sure I had one,” she admitted, turning her head to look into his face. “I’ve never been able to find it.”

Half of his mouth curved in an amused smile. “None of your boyfriends tried?” he asked, tracing the edge of her dress, where it curved around her shoulder. He’d daydreamed of making Lena come like that for years — ever since Courtney taught him what the g-spot was and how to find it. 

“No,” she snorted. “Milo gave decent head, but none of them were as invested as you are.” 

His vision flared red for a moment before fading back to normal. Most of him was smug that he’d been the first one to find hers, but a part of him was angry she’d wasted so much time on losers who didn’t deserve her. 

Lena sighed. No wonder she’d never felt anything like that. She never had. 

“What do you want?” Nico asked, his hand slipping down her side, sliding over the slippery fabric with ease. 

“Hm?” 

“What do you want?” he repeated, “I’m making it up to you, remember?”

“I want to sit on your face,” she said, not missing a beat. 

Nico grinned. He loved getting her off with his mouth, but the prospect of getting her off with his mouth while she was above him and he could see her beautiful face? What a dream. 

“You’ll have to help me get this dress off,” she said, standing from the bed. “It’s taped.”

“Taped?” he repeated, sitting up. 

She turned her back to him, and before she could explain what she meant, he made good on his earlier promise to himself, trailing his lips from the cowl pooled at her low back up to the little ropes holding the dress on.

Lena hummed, a shiver running through her body. If he was going to have this reaction all the time, she was never covering her back again.  

“What did you need?” he asked, lips whispering over the top of her spine, just under her short hair. 

“Nicole helped me tape it,” she said, running a hand under one of the sides until it caught, “so it wouldn’t fall off, or accidentally expose something.”

His fingers followed hers, easing the tape from her skin before repeating on the other side.  

She turned around, grasping the fabric at her hips so she could lift the dress over her head. 

Nico drank in each movement, his dick twitching when the black lace of her underwear was exposed. 

She thought about hanging it up, but there was a wet spot from her orgasm that would need to be cleaned off before she could wear it again. Instead, she tossed it aside, so it draped artfully across the floor. 

He made a low noise in his throat. 

She stood before him in black pumps, a tiny pair of black lace underwear and a bra that was some kind of free-standing contraption. No straps and no band. As she went about removing it, he realized it was stuck to her skin. It must not have been that uncomfortable, though. The red marks had already mostly faded when she discarded it with the dress. 

After easing her thong off, Lena held it out to him, hooked on one finger. She’d bought it, wanting to see it tucked into his pocket by the end of the night. While she’d been getting dressed, she’d wondered if it might end up there before they left the gala, but that hadn’t worked out. Good thing, too. Everyone would have known. That dress really didn’t hide anything.

“God, you’re perfect,” he breathed, taking the underwear from her and tucking it into his pants pocket. 

Preening, she motioned for him to lay back. 

He did, scooting up to the pillows to get in a comfortable position. 

Lena waited for him to get settled before straddling him. 

Watching her crawl up his body, knowing where she was going to end up, was perhaps the hottest thing he’d ever experienced in his life.

“After this,” she said, hovering over him, just close enough that the only thing he could smell was her sweet, humid heat, “I want you to bend me over the bed and fuck me.”

“Okay.”

Like he could say no to anything she wanted while they were in this position. 

She made a satisfied humming noise and lowered to his mouth. 

He groaned, hands coming up to grasp her hips, fingers digging into the flesh to keep her on top of him. He wanted to keep her here as long as possible.

He played with her clit, then licked through her, savoring the juices that gathered on his tongue. He hummed just to see her squirm and her nipples tighten. 

When he tried to pull away, and she followed him with a whine, he couldn't help but laugh. 

“Touch yourself for me,” he urged before latching his mouth back onto her. 

Clutching the headboard with one hand for balance, she toyed with her nipple with the other. 

The sight of it made his dick jump in his pants. “Das ist es,” he murmured, purposefully not bothering to translate. She always seemed to like it when he used his native language in bed, especially if it was praise.

Her head tipped back with a groaned, “oh fuck,” as she moved to the other breast. 

The need to get her off, to make sure she had the best orgasm possible, was a palpable itch he needed to scratch. It felt like he might just die without it. Keeping his left hand at her hip for balance, he brought the other to her center. 

Feeling his fingers tease her entrance, Lena popped her hips back to facilitate him. She was rewarded with a low hum of appreciation and a wink. 

Reveling in her expression — eyes rolled back, lashes fluttering and jaw slack — Nico continued his pursuit, easing two fingers into her, determined to find her g-spot. He’d done it before, he could surely do it again. 

He knew he'd found it, not only from the slightly different, spongey texture but also from the stuttered moan of pleasure that crawled up her throat. 

Her left hand smacked back onto the headboard, grasping desperately for balance as her hips rolled atop his face.

Milking her clit with his mouth, he worked his fingers in and out and up and down until she was trembling above him, chanting, “Yes! Nico, yes!”

He hummed back, moaning as a fresh wave of her arousal slicked over his chin. If this wasn’t about him making up for being such a prat, he would beg her to turn around so he could feel her mouth at the same time.

This was a whole new feeling. The combination of Nico’s extraordinary mouth, along with his magic fingers, was the catalyst for a series of reactions Lena had never felt together before. First, there was the intense heat that shimmered over her skin, then the pleasure that zinged from her core all the way up to her brain, and through her legs, right to her toes, still tucked into her pumps. Finally, there was the swirl of emotion and sensation that took up residence in her low belly. All together, they resulted in an orgasm so intense, she didn’t even have words to describe it. 

Color and sound and heat rushing through her until they swelled to bursting, unleashing all over Nico’s face. 

Choking out a groan of surprise as Lena’s orgasm gushed over his hand and flooded his mouth, he tried to commit every detail of this night to memory. He’d never made a woman squirt before and was bound and determined to remember everything so he could recreate it. He wanted to experience this over and over again.

She practically fell off of him, and they lay there, gasping. 

“Jesus Christ,” he murmured, swiping at the liquid dripping off his neck. He had no idea if it was her release or his own sweat. He didn’t care. 

“Fuck me,” Lena breathed, her hand coming up to her forehead in disbelief. “You’re just bringing all sorts of things out of me today.” 

Nico started to giggle, and Lena couldn't help but join in. They soon found themselves rolling toward each other, overtaken with laughter. It ended up being both of their favorite memories of the night. Yes, Nico had just made her come so hard she saw stars, but this — this laughing together in the middle of it all felt so…comfortable. It was a reminder that at it’s core, their relationship hadn’t changed all that much. 

“I love you so much,” Nico laughed against her mouth. 

“I love you, too,” she said before silencing him with a kiss. 

He moaned and pulled her on top of him.

After a few more minutes of passionate kissing, chests still occasionally shaking with laughter, Lena pulled away. Grinding her core against his stomach - knowing it drove him wild - she said, “well, I think I’m plenty prepped.” 

He grinned and managed to tamp down most of his laughter. 

Helping her off of him, he watched her stand and brace her hands on the mattress before hauling himself out of the bed and shoving his pants down. When he’d pulled the hanger from the closet, he’d intended to hang them up, but the prospect of fucking her stole too much of his brain power to care anymore. So they stayed heaped on the floor as he took his place behind her, rutting his hard cock against her. 

She moaned and popped her hips back to grind on him. If she kept that up, he was going to come before he even got inside her. 

What was it she’d said? I want you to bend me over the bed and fuck me. Bringing a hand to the back of her neck, he pushed her forward until her chest pressed flush to his mussed comforter. 

Her heels were still on, and even though they pitched her legs forward at an awkward angle, forcing her to grasp for balance with her toes, she was glad she hadn’t kicked them off. She would have been too short without them, and there was something so hot about having to rely on him for her balance.

Lena moaned. She’d dreamed of this so many times. Of him coming into her room, pressing her down to the bed, or sweeping everything off her desk to bend her over the hard surface, and using those powerful legs and hips to fuck her brain into mush. When he told her, however you want me, she knew she had to take advantage. 

 Fuck, she was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen in his life. Seeing her bent over like this, with her beautiful back and the ample curves of her ass and hips on full display, was the fulfillment of a fantasy he hadn’t even known he had. He felt like the luckiest man on the planet. 

“You like that?” he asked, sliding his erection through her wet center.

Shifting her hips back, trying to entice him inside her, she breathed, “yes.” 

He took the bate, but only teased her entrance with the thick head of his cock. 

“Nico,” she whined. 

“Hm?” he asked, enjoying this far more than he ever thought he would. 

“Fuck me.” 

Something occurred to him suddenly, “do we need a safe word?” 

She was too busy trying to get more of him inside her without falling over to respond. 

Easing back as he lifted his hand off her neck, he asked, “what’s your safe word? I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“You won’t hurt me.”

“Lena,” he admonished. 

“Fine,” she huffed, mind whirring, “cantaloupe.” She’d bought one just the day before, and it was the the first thing that popped into her mind that didn’t sound too close to something she might yell out naturally, like puck, which was the first word she’d thought of. “Now fuck me.” 

A deep groan let go in his chest, and Nico pressed her back down, hand now resting between her shoulder blades. “This is okay?” he asked. 

“Yes,” she huffed, frustration evident in her voice, “come on.” 

His only response was to trace his thumb over her skin. 

“Please,” she whined, not caring that she sounded desperate and needy. She felt desperate and needy. 

Chuckling, he gave her no warning before burring his cock in her sweet, tight center. 

Hands fisting the comforter, Lena’s back swayed like a snake as an animalistic cry flew from her mouth. 

This kind of standing doggy, which she found allowed for stronger thrusting than kneeling, had always been one of her favorite positions. It felt new with Nico, though, who was thicker than any of her previous partners. He hit spots in her she never knew she had and filled her in a way she didn’t think was possible. 

Panting, she moved with him. The solid feel of him behind and inside her made her desperate for more. “Nico,” she moaned. Whatever else she was going to say jumbled in her mouth as he withdrew to the tip before burying himself back in her warmth. 

God, she was the most amazing woman he’d ever met. Her head was turned, so he got a view of her blissful expression in profile as she moaned and panted for him. The sight of her ass bouncing off his hips had him desperate to do things he’d never imagined himself doing before. Good thing they had a safe word. She might just need to use it. 

His free hand came down on her ass with a sharp slap before he grabbed the globe of it, kneading the muscle. 

She cried out. 

“That’s good?” he asked, wanting to make sure it wasn’t a cry of pain. 

“Yes,” she moaned, “so good, Nico.” She’d never liked getting spanked before. Then again, she’d never trusted someone like she trusted Nico. She knew he wouldn’t push it too far, which had always been her hesitation with the guys who tried it before. When Nico did it, it sent so much unexpected electricity rocketing through her system, she couldn't let go of the idea of him doing it again. 

He switched hands, so his right pressed into her back, and his left was free to smack her other cheek until it was red enough to match its partner. There was something incredibly arousing about knowing she trusted him to do this. That she found it hot, too. 

Back arching with the pleasurable pain, Lena begged, “harder.” 

“You want me to spank you harder?” he asked, a little surprised. He hadn’t exactly been gentle about it. 

Her head shook, just slightly, “Fuck me. Fuck me harder, Nico.” 

Sliding his hands over her curves and onto her hips to get a good grip, he got into a more grounded stance and snapped his hips to hers. 

The fulfillment of this fantasy nearly drove Lena out of her mind.  

Her face turned slightly, so her shout was muffled by the comforter. Which was a shame, really. He wouldn’t mind his neighbors overhearing this. Especially that dick next door who checked her out every time they passed by each other in the hall. 

Unable to hold it in, he moaned, “You’re so perfect for me, Lena.” 

“Yes,” she chanted, “for you, Nico. Only for you.” 

He wanted to make her come around his cock, but her declaration had a surge of heat streaking through him, so hot that his resolve crumbled in one fell swoop.

“Fuck, gonna come,” he groaned, his rhythm turning sloppy and swift. 

“Yes,” her hips tipped, just so, making her even tighter. 

The sensations became too much, and her name burst from his mouth in a shout. 

Feeling his hot release spill into her, Lena moaned.

Joints liquified by his orgasm, Nico collapsed, his chest pressing into her sweaty back. 

It took a few moments before he could get his mouth to work right. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled into her hair. 

“For what?” she laughed.

Feeling came back into his legs, and he eased out. “Didn't last long enough for you to get off.” 

With his weight off her. Lena crawled onto the bed, desperate to give her legs a rest. Her heels clunked to the floor, one after the other.

He climbed on beside her, pulling her against him. 

“You know,” she said as she turned over so they were face to face, “just because I didn't get off that one time doesn't mean I didn't thoroughly enjoy myself.” 

“You deserve to get off whenever I do,” he argued. 

“That's really sweet, Nico,” she assured, a hand coming up to caress his cheek and push his hair from his face. She knew he had a tendency to be too hard on himself, wanting everything to be perfect every time. “But don't forget you just made me come so hard I squirted.” 

He scoffed, “like I could ever forget that.” 

“And it's not like you came without getting me off,” she assured, tracing soft patterns on his scalp. “It evens out in the end.”

He made a discontented noise but didn't argue. 

She let it drop. “Let's go clean up, yeah? If you're really worried about it, you can get me off in the shower.” 

Pulling her even closer and burying his face in her neck, he told her, “I love you.” 

“I love you, too,” she said, fingers carding through his hair. “Now, come on. I need to shower. You've made a right mess of me.” 

Laughing, he slid off the bed and lifted her into his arms. 

He deposited her onto the bathroom counter and started the shower. 

“You’re sure you’re okay?” he asked, concern in his eyes as he studied her face.

“With what?” 

“I didn’t hurt you?” 

She shook her head, “no. I would have told you if you did. I know you would have stopped if I told you to.” 

A relieved sigh let go in his chest. 

He lifted her off the counter and followed her into the shower. 

After soaping each other up, Nico did spend some time on his knees, getting her off not just once but several more times. He was too taken with her shaking legs and panting mouth as her hands sunk into his hair to stop at one.

“I did enough?” he asked a while later, after pajamas had been donned, and they’d crawled into bed.

“Enough what?”

“I made it up to you?” 

“Mmmhmmm…” she mumbled sleepily.

Tucking himself against her, he relished the warmth of her body pressed against his. 

“I forgave you long before I got naked, though,” she said, feeling it was important to clarify. “The awesome sex was just a bonus.” 

He chuckled softly, pressing a few soft kisses to her shoulder. 

“I love you,” she said, voice slow with fatigue. 

“I love you, too. Thank you for believing in me.” 

“You’re the best man I’ve ever known, Nico.”

Heart swelling in his chest, he pulled her a bit closer and settled in to fall asleep.  

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Playlist

To read all my fics, check out the Fanfiction Masterlist

[forgedfromlove]

As a Trini who’s mixed with literally every ethnic group on the island (aside from Syrian and Lebanese) but who looks East Indian, this!!! When I was studying in the UK I had to explain to people soooo many times how I could look Indian but be from the Caribbean. I remember this one time I was talking to a Punjabi guy at a Diwali function, and he was adamant that I “didn’t look Trinidadian.” The conversation went as follows:

Him: Are you Indian?

Me: No, I’m Trinidadian! But I’m part Indian because we’re a very diverse country and we have a lot of South Asians there.

Him: But you do not look Trinidadian.

Me: Yeah, well, it’s a long story but- the British brought Indians to Trinidad when India was still ruled by Britain, to replace the former enslaved Africans. That’s why.

Him: You don’t look Trinidadian.

Me: Again, we’re a very diverse country because of our history!

Him: You don’t look Trinidadian.

I’m serious, he literally just repeated “You don’t look Trinidadian” with a confused look until we parted ways. Wild.

And then there’s the times when I had my own “Caribbeanness” contested by Brits who claim West Indian heritage because their grandfather was born there but left to move to the UK when he was three. Have they ever gone to the Caribbean? Once when they were a baby. Do they still have family + a family home there? No, most times not. Why am I not a real Caribbean person compared to them? Because I’m Indian and not Black hurrr durrrr!!!

Look, I love it when Caribbean descendants around the world are proud of their culture, but gosh man, actually research your own heritage before jumping to such dotish conclusions!

And then yeah, as bossymarmalade said, Indo-Caribbean just isn’t a recognized ethnic category outside of the Caribbean- this includes the UK. Not just in terms of census info, but culturally as well. I’ve been in contact with Indo-Caribbean Windrush descendants to highlight their stories and good lord, the amount of resistance and sheer anger (from other people) I get when the idea of highlighting Indo-Caribbean identity and culture is brought up.

People like shoving “the other” into neat little categories and get annoyed when human identity and heritage is much more complex than tick boxes.

Long story short, but this is why I made this blog- a love letter to the homeland that birthed me in all my cultural complexity. I want fellow Trinis to feel proud of how far we’ve come as a rainbow people, regardless of whether you’re African, Indian, Indigenous, Chinese, etc.

the european quest for indian riches changed the world so irrevocably, and it leaves these terrible echoes, for those that live in the caribbean now are deemed west and east indians and the native americans deemed indians too and when india is finally opened up inevitably the forms of immiseration evolve. but the plunder continues.

[webanglikethat]

to every single queer person out there—trans, gay, bi, pan, ace, nonbinary, however you identify—let me just say this: I am so, so fucking sorry. SO, SO, SO FUCKING SORRY. I am furious. I’m pissed off beyond words. english seems like a forgotten skill as I'm typing this. I am so sorry.

we never deserved this. we never fucking deserved this.

I am sorry that you’ve been betrayed like this, that we’ve all been betrayed like this. I’m sorry that SO MANY of our damn votes weren’t counted, like we don’t even matter. like we’re just numbers on a page that they can toss out without a thought. like we can just be erased, as if we do not exist, like we’re puzzle pieces that don’t fit into their perfect picture, so they just throw us out, discarded, like we were never there in the first place. I’m sorry she just conceded, just gave up. left us hanging. just handed us over like we’re some afterthought, like we’re collateral damage in this disgusting twisted fucking game. as if our lives, our rights, everything we fought for, meant nothing. she just rolled over and let us get steamrolled, like we’re just noise, just numbers on a page, just nothing worth fighting for. do they even care that real people, people who trusted her, who put their hopes in her, are being crushed by this? and not only in the US. we ALL believed in her. and ... she ... just ... she was gone. just like that. and we’re the ones who have to pay the price. we’re the ones left with our futures on the line, wondering what rights we’ll have tomorrow, if we’ll even be safe tomorrow. and she just… gave it all up. handed us over to people who are hell-bent on erasing us, who’ve been clear from day one about what they think of us, what they want to take away. how do we even make sense of that? how do we believe in ANYONE? how can you abandon us in the lion's den and yet demand compassion and trust? to trust in the very hands that have left us to bleed, to burn, to fight alone?

we deserve better. we deserved someone who would stand with us when it mattered, who wouldn’t just throw in the towel and walk away when things got tough. we’re not just collateral. we’re not disposable. we’re human beings with lives, with love, with the right to exist without fear. we aren't statistics, diagrams, names forgotten on a wall. we are queer, and we are real. and she ... just left us to face down a nightmare she knows damn well is coming. so how dare they tell us to “keep faith” when they’ve shown us that our lives were never worth the fight to them. we needed someone who would dig in and say, “no, you can’t have them. not now, not ever.” and instead? we were left out in the cold to fend for ourselves. like always. like fucking always. and this isn’t just some political setback for us. this is our lives, our right to exist. we’ve fought and bled and stood through hell just to claim an inch of ground to live openly, to love who we love, and to be who we are. we deserved so much more than empty promises. and we won’t forget this.

right now, it feels like every warning, every fear we’ve had has come to life in the worst way. and let’s be real—what’s next is terrifying. I will not sugarcoat it. rights are going to be stripped away, our existence denied, our safety threatened. trump hasn’t hidden it; he’s promised it. this was supposed to be our home too. but they’re pushing us out, forcing us to hide. so please, if you need to, go back into the closet. change states if that’s what it takes. hell, think about leaving the country if you can, because it’s becoming clear that staying might mean risking everything. you do not owe anyone anything, just think of yourself first. you are your own priority.

and god .. Love. Love—something so pure, something so simple—has been twisted into a reason for others to hate us, to fear us, to hurt us. we were never supposed to be the ones people saw as a “threat.” that label should belong to hatred, to racism, to homophobia, to everything that has poisoned this world. but instead, somehow we are the ones they call dangerous. we are the ones they want to erase. and it’s maddening. what kind of world are we living in, where the fight to just exist is an endless battle? was it not love that led Eve to take that fateful bite, trusting in the bond she shared with Adam? and if love is the foundation upon which humanity was built, how can we be faulted for following its lead? of all the things we could hate, and we chose love.

if this moment feels like it’s too much, if it feels like everything you’ve fought for, every piece of yourself you’ve worked to own, every right, every dream, every bit of safety is collapsing around you -- I get it. I feel it in my bones. it feels like drowning, like being swallowed whole by a storm that never ends. the shore seems so far away. but listen to me: don’t you fucking dare let them break you. don’t let them get that satisfaction. don’t give them that power. we are not here to let monsters erase us. we’re here to outlast every single one of them. we’re here to survive and thrive. we are queer, we are real, we exist, we will continue to exist.

their power, their hatred, their cruelty—it won’t last forever. I know it's difficult to see the light at the end of this tunnel. but they are the ones who don’t belong in a world built on compassion, on love, on freedom. You are the real thing. You are here. You deserve to be here, and you deserve to feel safe, loved, and free.

if you’re feeling like there’s no point anymore, if this all feels like it’s too damn much to take, please just hang on. this fight is brutal, and sometimes it feels like it never ends. but I’m begging you—don’t give up. don’t let them have that final victory. don’t let them silence your voice, your light, your life. scream, cry, punch walls, call someone, reach out, hold on to whatever will keep you here another day, another hour. do whatever you have to do to survive this moment. because you’re needed. we need you. the world needs you.

you might not see it now, but you are a part of something big, something powerful, something they wish they could destroy but never will. you’re part of a legacy of resilience, of love, of defiance against hatred. every queer person, every person who has ever had to stand up against a world that told them they shouldn’t exist, that they should be crucified, erased, beaten up, has carried that legacy forward, passed it down so we could be here. so you could be here. and they did not survive all they did, did not fight, did not sacrifice so much just for us to lose hope. we’re still here because others fought and held on. now, it’s our turn. we owe it to them, to ourselves, to hold on with everything we have, to fight with everything in us.

and one day, I promise you, I truly pinkie promise you, that you’re going to wake up in a world that has moved beyond these hateful voices. one day, you will wake up in a world that sees you, that values you, where you don’t have to fight just to exist. you deserve to live in it, to walk in the sunlight without fear, without shame. they don’t get to take that from you. they don’t get to erase you. they don’t get to win.

this moment is hard. it’s beyond hard. but you, every single one of you, are worth it. you are not alone in this fight. you are surrounded by countless others who feel this too, who know this pain, who are holding on right alongside you.

so please, hold on. you belong, and nothing they do can change that. they cannot snuff out your light. they cannot erase your legacy. they cannot undo the love you were born to spread.

stay. fight like hell. be louder, be prouder, be everything they tell you not to be. because you are worth every ounce of this battle. and we will see the day they’re gone. we will make it through.

we too shall rise from the ashes.

to my queer family, my phoenix.

[sprites4ever]

Since I'm A Solution-Oriented Person, Instead Of Crying, Here's What I'll I Advise Every American And Everyone Else, Who Wants To Hear It

GET TOGETHER AND STAY TOGETHER

The Right and Fascists thrive on division of their opposition. Don't preocuppy yourself with infighting.

You never wanted politics to be a fight, but they've made it one. So remember who your enemies are, and what people can achieve when they have a common threat.

If you're in a red state and are fearing for the life and well-being of you and/or people you know, GET OUT NOW. You have a month until inauguration, so, if you can't leave the country, move to a blue state.

While it is, of course, no guarantee for safety against the MAGA cult, the comparatively limited power of the US federal government over citizens and state governments should buy you some time to prepare for a Trump Nazi Regime and/or WWIII or a second US Civil War.

DON'T DENY THE ELECTION RESULT

I know it's comfortable to think that most Americans wouldn't be so insane to re-elect Trump, but that's not true. The race was pretty much 50/50 and winning over the battleground states put Trump over the edge. There's also the fact that, while a ~65% voter turnout is pretty good for a democratic country, that still means that half of eligible American voters did not vote. So, whatever their ideals are, they did not participate in the choice that impacts them, every other American and, due to the US' status, the rest of the world.

Remember, Hitler too was democratically elected. None of the reasons with which Hitler and Trump convinced voters are real things, but still, those voters believed them and made their choice. May they shamefully rot in the worst pages of future history books, but they made their choice.

This is the inherent risk of democracy: That people can always choose to ruin it.

I'M NOT GOING TO MINCE WORDS:

CORRECTION: I previously claimed that the voter turnout was ~50%, when, in reality, it was around 65%. This is strong for a genuine democracy (fake democracies can obviously force people to vote at gunpoint, or just make up voter statistics), but this still means that a third of the country did not vote and that Trump was elected by a third of the country, not even 50% of the population. By that logic, any election with a voter turnout below 100% would not represent the genuine majority, but you get my point. The reality is that both a lot of American non-voters and Trump voters live in rural areas where the rest of the world, outside their community, might as well not exist. So, of course, they can, for example, take Trump's word on the LGBTQ+ community, because they know so little about the world that they can be told anything and also won't vote responsibly, as, if, for example, there's no LGBTQ+ person in their community, they have no way of knowing what these people, their issues and the threats they face actually are like. A lot of voters also don't care about politics and just vote for the guy everyone else is voting for, or the guy who's face they like better. (I'm not making this up, people from multiple countries have legitimately stated that they vote based on politician hotness.) It's strange, because this type of rural unknowingness is usually typical for countries that are undeveloped and autocratic, so one wouldn't expect it from the richest country where the elections define so much. I guess it's the US' federal system and libertarian economy that have led to this extreme compartmentalization of society, where communities are essentially as different from each other as Stone Age-villages.

WITH TRUMP RE-ELECTED, DEPENDING ON HIS CHOICES, THERE WILL BE WORLD WAR III OR A SECOND AMERICAN CIVIL WAR

I'm not paranoid for saying this, as former US Armed Forces Chief of Staff General Mark Milley, who served two years under Trump and Biden, has stated in an interview with The Atlantic that he and others had to stop Trump from launching nuclear missiles at North Korea multiple times in 2018.

ON A POTENTIAL WORLD WAR III

WWIII means a nuclear holocaust, meaning hundreds of millions of deaths around the entire world within half an hour of the war turning nuclear and billions of deaths in the years following, no way around it.

Cities and areas near government and military instalations in nuclear-armed countries (USA, russia, China, Israel, Iran, India, Pakistan, North Korea, United Kingdom and France) will be most affected, but that doesn't mean those will be the only places to be nuked or affected.

Decades of many nations' strategists' deliberations during the Cold War, the period of tension between the US-led NATO and Soviet russian-led Warsaw Pact after the end of WWII in 1945, which in and for itself ended with the collapse of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics in 1991, came to the same conclusion - If another World War occurs, it will be nuclear and it will be global. It can't even really be called a war, as the world's nuclear powers have had the capacity to annihilate each other's militaries and economies within half an hour ever since 1950.

Since then, WWIII hasn't happened due to powerful people being aware of this and due to multiple courageous individuals who chose right in close calls. For example, President Kennedy maintained a cool head during the Cuban Missile Crisis in 1962, during which, for the uninitiated, NATO and the USSR got extremely close to a nuclear war, as they both deployed nuclear missiles right at each others' doorsteps. In that crisis, too, Soviet Naval Officer Vasili Arkhipov prevented his submarine from launching nuclear weapons at the US when the submarine lost contact with Moscow and other officers thought a nuclear war had started and Moscow had been destroyed. In 1983, when the Soviet Politburo had become so paranoid that they believed their own propaganda about an impending attack by NATO, their nuclear forces were on such high alert that a malfunctioning Soviet spy satellite sending a false alarm about an American nuclear launch nearly caused them to launch in what they thought would be retaliation. At that time, the Soviet Command Officer Stanislav Petrov however figured that the computer at his base, which displayed the warning and which had been installed just the day before, was malfunctioning and chose not to relay the alarm to the rest of Soviet command.

Now, much misinformation has been spread around atomic energy and nuclear weapons. Here's the reality about nukes:

Almost all of the aforementioned nuclear powers have the capacity to launch a nuke at any target in the world within minutes, as nuclear missiles, especially Intercontinental Ballistic Missiles (ICBMs) can reach insane hypersonic speeds, faster than anything that could shoot them down before the nuclear warheads start the detonation sequence.

While we're talking about the US, the aforementioned decades of deliberation have concluded that is impossible for any country to fire a nuke without it soon turning into a war between all nuclear powers with their nukes. Nukes are just too destructive for decision-makers to not panic in that event.

The currently existing nukes are spread as follows:

USA: ~5500 nuclear warheads total, how many of those are ready-to-launch is classified, launch means are silo-launched Intercontinental Ballistic Missiles with Multiple Independent Reentry Vehicle (MIRV) warheads (meaning one missile can drop nukes on multiple targets), Intermediate-Range Ballistic Missiles (IRBMs), Short-Range Ballistic Missiles (SRBMs), Ground-, Air- and Sea-launched Cruise Missiles, Air-dropped bombs, Submarine-Launched Ballistic Missiles (SLBMs) with MIRV warheads

russia: ~6000 nuclear warheads total, readiness same as above, launch means are silo- and truck-launched ICBMs with MIRV warheads, IRBMs, SRBMs, Ground-, Air- and Sea-launched Cruise Missiles, Air-dropped bombs, SLBMs with MIRV warheads

China: ~250 nuclear warheads total, readiness same as above, launch means are ICBMs, cruise missiles and SLBMs

Israel: ~100 nuclear warheads total, readiness same as above, launch means are cruise missiles and SLBMs

India: ~100 nuclear warheads total, readiness same as above, launch means are ICBMs, cruise missiles and SLBMs

Pakistan: ~100 nuclear warheads total, readiness same as above, launch means unknown

United Kingdom: ~200 nuclear warheads total, readiness same as above, launch means are cruise missiles and SLBMs

France: ~100 nuclear warheads total, readiness same as above, launch means are cruise missiles and SLBMs

Iran: Does officially not have nuclear weapons, can factually assemble some nuclear warheads within weeks, launch means unknown

North Korea: Official number of nuclear warheads classified, most likely ~30, readiness unknown, launch means are ICBMs, IRBMs, SRBMs and cruise missiles

Nukes cause unrivaled destruction over tens of kilometers with their explosion, emit a flash of Gamma radiation in the moment of their explosion, cause massive shockwaves and fires, can blind people with the brightness of the flash of Gamma radiation and cause long-lasting contamination with dangerous radiation via fallout.

Gamma radiation caused by the initial nuclear fission of a nuke last extremely short. This radiation is quickly lethal, but so fast that is gone within milliseconds. Anyone too close to the source will, however, be hit by so much of said radiation, that they will get extreme Accute Radiation Syndrome (ARS), also known as radiation poisoning, and die within hours, as Gamma radiation is so strong that, in high enough concentration, it passes through the human body and rips out the electrons from the atoms which cellular tissue is made of, degrading them to Ions. (Hence the term 'Ionizing Radiation')

Ions, unlike atoms, are way less stable, meaning that cellular tissue that has been ionized can't uphold itself and falls apart.

The other type of ionizing radiation from nuclear bombs, Neutron radiation, works the same way, but lasts much longer than Gamma radiation. Unlike Gamma radiation, it sticks to most materials, causing them to give off Neutron radiation for years. This is the radiation hazard that comes from fallout. Fallout is the soot kicked up by the explosion, which originates from everything it pulverized. The immense heat causes it to first be carried upwards, forming the characteristic mushroom cloud, before the air cools and allows the now irradiated soot to fall out (hence the name) and back onto the ground. It is affected by wind and weather.

To avoid both types of radiation, the first factor is distance. Any amount of radiation still consists of individual particles that race through the cosmos, so the further away you are from the source, the less likely for its rays to hit you, as they travel in a straight line.

The second factor is cover. Like everything else, ionizing rays can get through certain things and can't get through others. Gamma rays get through everything with a lower density than multiple centimeters of lead and Neutron rays get through anything with a lower density than multiple meters of concrete. So, being underground or in the center of extremely thick buildings, as well as having resources necessary for survival, is key to surviving radiation after a nuke explodes.

The third factor is time. The human body can withstand different levels of radiation for different amounts of time. The easiest way to figure out how long you can stay exposed to how much, is with a dosimeter.

SO, YES, I AM TELLING YOU TO START DOOMSDAY PREPPING

The essentials, of which you should amass a stock that will last you multiple years in a secure location:

Non-perishable canned food

ABSURD amounts of drinking water

Distilled water for hygiene

Nonperishable Grain-based food

Long-lasting milk

Dried fruit and nuts

Eggs

Flour

Sugar

Honey

Salt

Black pepper (hurts like hell, but can be used as a coagulant to stop wounds from bleeding)

Paper towels

Trash bags

Hygiene gloves

Breathing masks

As much replacement clothing, especially outdoors and warm clothing, as you can get

Water treatment tools

Camping cooking equipment

Easily useable heat sources

Tools (Wrench, File, Screwdriver, Crowbar, Fire extinguisher, Knives, Compass, Hammer, Shovel, Pickaxe)

Physical maps

Hand crank-powered radio

Many spare batteries

Many spare rechargeable batteries

Battery charger

Means of power generation (hand crank, solar)

Flashlight

Radio phone

Backpacks

All the medicines you need

Bandages

Hygiene products

Antibiotics

Medicines against cold

Medicines against diarrhea

Disinfectant

Pastes against insect bites

Pastes against sunburn

Soap

Dosimeter

Geiger counter

Hazardous enviroments clothing

Helmets

Gloves

Cups

Buckets

Canisters for water

History books

Important works

A laptop

A smartphone

A camera (don't need it if you have a smartphone)

Print out important documents on put them in a folder

Analog data storage

Physical data storage (hard drives, flash drives, CDs, SD cards)

Devices to read data storage

Means for self-defense

Emergency plans with people you know

Similarly, a second American Civil War would also need Americans to prepare, in order to survive.

IF YOU LIVE ANYWHERE THAT'S NOT THE US, YOU WILL BE AFFECTED, TOO

Don't think the US are far enough away. Of course, the aforementioned nuclear war would affect you, but a second American Civil War and just Trump being re-elected will, too.

Even without WWIII or a second American Civil War, it's pretty clear that:

In Europe, this will invigorate the similar far-Right movements to bring about similar destructive changes as those Trump wants.

Trump will most likely abandon Ukraine like Afghanistan, meaning russia taking it over and attacking Western European countries afterward. Trump is completely on Putin's side and will also destroy NATO, meaning all of the US' allies, including those in Europe, will be abandoned. I live in Germany, which is seeing a rise in popularity by the far-Right AfD party, and which does not have the military means to defend itself against russian expansionism without the US.

With russia's war against Ukraine, China will feel invigorated to annex Taiwan, and just like with Ukraine, nationalist and authoritarian Trump will not do anything to stop it.

South Korea could be abandoned in the face of North Korea.

Trump will continue to support Israel in the Western Right's extremely hypocritical manner, most likely ordering more US military action in the Middle East.

ULTIMATELY, GIVE THEM THE FIGHT THEY WANT

I know that we liberals, progressives, people who don't care about politics and just want to build their own life and even former conservatives who deemed far-Righters like Trump too radical, never wanted a fight. We never wanted to fight for our values in Western society, against the values of those who demonize us. We were always ready to coexist with them, if only each side kept to themselves with living out its values and didn't impair the other.

But the far-Right fascists and religious zealots, with their leaders who don't mean a word of what they say and say anything they want to get power, have made this a fight. By electing a US President who promised to destroy democracy, eliminate women's and LGBTQ+ rights, oppress non-white ethnicities, censor media, give churches and capitalists unprecedented power and abandon all allied nations, the far-Right has declared war on everyone and everything that's true, moral or even just acceptable. Let's remember that they hate diversity, and that we are from many more groups and walks of life than them. Let's use this to our advantage and show to the fascists what happens when you give different people a common enemy.

[korya-elana]

Your doctor isn't always right.

This'll be a long one. No tl;dr

I see a lot of rhetoric about "doctor shopping" and "your doctor is obviously right, quit trying to claim an illness that isn't yours" and other such nonsense. So I'm here to tell you why these guys suck and why they're wrong.

I'd like everyone to keep in mind that I am studying brain science, I readily admit that, due to my health issues, I could have died without my doctors. I am firmly pro-science and pro-medicine. However.

I was actually going to type up this post a few weeks back and then the universe smacked me with a relevant situation. For some context, I recently moved back to Ohio. I had lived in NY for the past few years due to traumatic circumstances and had not received any care for my disabilities at the time. Considering one of my issues is Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome (my joints and connective tissue are loosey-goosey and don't work right) and EDS causes me severe pain from constant rib dislocations/subluxations, I went to go get pain management from a specialist as soon as I was back.

This "specialist" (literally the head of the relevant department) told me there was no way that I had EDS despite my relevant testing and family history, started testing me for the WRONG illness (Marfan's, which you can tell by looking at me I do not have) and then, despite his admittance he doesn't know much about EDS, proclaimed I don't have it and it wasn't worth seeking any help. And he obviously did shit for my pain. He also said this about my proven autoimmunity.

Fast forward to two weeks ago. At the ripe old age of 30 and relatively good health despite my disabilities, I had a real stroke. Not only is this highly unusual for my age and health, it was a very, very specific type of stroke that is highly indicative of a much more dangerous type of EDS than my previous specialists had ever thought. And now I need extremely expensive and hard-to-get approved genetic testing. I have therapies several times a week and in a month I see a neurologist. Specifically, a stroke specialist where I will likely be the youngest person in the waiting room by at least 20 years.

This doctor could have killed me. He could have permanently crippled me beyond repair due to his advice. I legitimately thought I was dying. I have lost parts of my life and activities vital to my sense of self that I will never get back and I am very early on a very long road to recovery. Because my doctor was wrong. And I'll sure as shit be suing him.

So if you think your doctor is wrong, I want you to ignore every single asshole tumblerite telling you that your doctor knows best and knows better than you do. Seek that second opinion. Or your third! Or your fourth! I went through five doctors before I found one that actually knew what he was talking about and could help my dysautonomia symptoms for real. There is merit to talking about diagnosis hunting and being more sure than you should be. But doctors are not perfect. Malpractice kills people. Follow your gut feeling and find someone who knows how to talk about it. Shutting up and ignoring that feeling could get you hurt.

[opencommunion]

this is what you said:

backpedaling isn’t cute.

most of the world doesn't have time to waste. the longer privileged "leftists" idle in their comfort, the more people will die in the meatgrinder of capitalism, starting with the most vulnerable — like Gazans, like Congolese, like indigenous Sudanese, like the victims of climate disasters in places this empire has drained of resources, like street homeless migrants in the good old US of A. begging the democratic party for crumbs might keep you alive for longer, but it will only make others die faster. to save not only individual lives but entire cultures, we need to move against the empire, not with it.

you are not talking about taking concrete action that would materially move us closer to liberation for anyone. you're talking about rewarding genociders with promotions. you are talking about making sure the party that orchestrated the extermination phase of the Palestinian genocide still get seats in congress. that's not good. like, idk what else to say at this point. I don't like to rely on the cliche of "the right side of history," because I think we should keep our eyes on what's happening now, and because as a historian I know my field is not immune to genocide denial/minimization. but I can't imagine that decent people in the future will look kindly on those who voted for a genocider and claimed they did it for the sake of the victims. please zoom out from your myopic pov and see how depraved your attitude looks.

"US presidential candidate Kamala Harris has denied she considers Israel's assault on Gaza as a genocide, after she appeared to back this view during a speech over the weekend, leading to a massive Israeli backlash. Harris's campaign responded to Israeli criticism over her perceived backing for a comment made by a pro-Palestine activist over the weekend about the ongoing genocide in Gaza. 'That is not the view of the Biden administration or the Vice President,' a Harris aide told The Jerusalem Post."

that was literally a gaffe that she had to immediately disavow. you're grasping at straws to comfort yourself about your decision to vote for a genocider.

"how on earth is removing trump not the obvious choice"? that's what the op is about.

it's patently absurd to say that Trump would be worse for Palestinians because he wants to eradicate them, when Harris is eradicating them right now. right now. it does not get worse than what's happening in Gaza today, now, as I write this and as you read it.

please listen to what Gazans have to say about this.

when both candidates are genocidal, we must turn to actions other than voting for and ever-so-gently "pushing" these genocidal politicians. it's not credible to me that most Harris voters would take any substantive action to "hold her accountable" after the election, when you failed to even threaten to withhold your votes, which is the most basic and easy way to pressure an elected official. it's our responsibility as human beings to do whatever it takes to stop this as quickly as possible, and I don't understand wtf you're waiting for

looking back on how liberal political analysts talked about donald trump during his 2016 campaign, I notice two very important insights that have vanished from the conversation this time around.

1: the dire warnings about the rise of fascism were really centered on trump's followers, not the man himself. what concerned scholars of fascism in particular was that the already well-established neonazi presence in the US was openly rallying around a presidential candidate. trump's campaign emboldened neonazis, but the neonazis were already there — this is why we saw an astronomical rise in hate crimes against many marginalized groups during trump's campaign, before he was elected. trump himself was understood as an opportunist riding the wave of rising fascist sentiment — the wave itself was a bigger concern than the surfer. trump was replaceable. liberals now seem to have forgotten that trump's followers won't disappear if harris wins. the heritage foundation (originators of 'project 2025,' blue maga's favorite boogeyman) won't disappear if harris wins. extreme right politicians — many of whom I would argue are even further right than trump, and more embedded in the establishment — won't disappear. even if you mistakenly see the republican party as the sole provenance of usamerican fascism, republicans won't disappear if harris is elected.

2: the people centered in the crosshairs of trump's agenda were migrants and asylum seekers; chiefly those from south of the US border and from majority muslim countries. the intensified demonization of these groups led analysts to draw parallels with fascist parties that were on the rise in europe. hatred of migrants and muslims is indisputably the primary driver of 21st century fascism, from the UK to India. so tell me why the conversation in the US has shifted to revolve around white trans people? yes, trump supporters are obviously transphobic, but you have to trace this particular manifestation of transphobia to its source, which still comes down to white supremacy and anti-migrant sentiment. when you actually look at the way fascists talk about trans people, it all comes back to the idea that hostile foreign elements invading the country have degraded white christian values. trans people of color have already been targeted for a long time, because we're seen as a sort of vanguard of non-white perversion; this isn't new to us. white trans people are now experiencing increased persecution because transness is seen as infiltrating white families/communities and corrupting their whiteness. I'm not saying we shouldn't talk about the rise of transphobic policies; of course we should. what disturbs me is that anti-migrant sentiment has been shunted to the sidelines of discussions of 'trumpism,' when it is still very much the center of his platform. and that's the part of his platform that the harris campaign has adopted to try and pull voters from him! that's the part of the republican platform that the biden administration advanced with the excuse of 'reaching across the aisle.' and what more extreme manifestation of an anti-migrant anti-muslim platform is there than committing genocide in gaza and then refusing to let gazan asylum seekers (or even gazans with US citizenship!) into the US?

the entire US government, red and blue, is unified around the anti-migrant, white supremacist crux of so-called 'trumpism.' large swathes of the american public, whether they vote red or blue, are enthusiastic about genocidal foreign and domestic policies. none of this stops when trump is gone

[f0point5]

"Max's comments about British bias is so weird. I really like Max, and I think he is a talented driver, but his behaviour over the past few weeks hasn't been okay. You'd think, from the way he's acting, that the points gap between him and Lando was only a few points. Yes, mathematically, Lando still has a chance to win the wdc, but realistically, we all know it's a stretch- even lando admits this.

For Max and red bull to feel so threatened that they're talking about landos mental health, claiming Oscar dosen't deserve to be second driver (discussion already heated as it is without Maxs comments on it) and even admitting to crashing Lando out to prevent him from winning ... for what?

I get that to win, you need to be ruthless, but this feels unnecessary and unprovoked because Max driving alone would be enough and also he has his whole team helping him to win wdc without a doubt. It's not like Lando is out there in the media claiming he's the best in the world. In fact, the media often uses every opportunity to criticise him or protray him in a negative light.

Contrary to max's comments about the media and FIA being biased towards British drivers like Lando, this just isn't true. maybe after Miami there was optimism, but with all the missed opportunities, the media narrative shifted quickly, focusing on Lando's bad starts.

After Hungary, every media outlet was discussing how Oscar doesn't deserve to be second driver and how good he is compared to Lando, and how mclaren is refusing to prioritise lando. they questioned his championship mentality, despite his consistent performances. And aside from Zandvoort and Singapore, there was more talk about his mistakes and narratives being used for clickbaits.

media bias in sports isn't new. durch media will focus on Max, Australian media on their drivers, and british media on theirs. this is expected. you could argue that British media has a larger international reach, but thats beyond any athletes control.

example: sky Germany constantly talks about Nico Hülkenberg, or the chances of Mick Schuhmacher, and sometimes even missing race action to cover him.

However, using "british bias" as a defence when he was clearly in the wrong, and in the same breath throwing lando to the wolves and disregarding real bias against other poc driver on the grid, is just not okay. Not all drivers have the privilege of being white male with a dutch passport. maybe I'm exaggerating, but as poc myself, it really weird that Max used this as a clap back for something he himself admitted to doing - trying to prevent Lando from winning.

everyone talks about British bias and how "unfair" it is for Max and it is, the British media talked bad about him especially in the being of his career and him winning and Im not denying that but a few acknowledge the racism and bias faced by other drivers. I don't think these comments are funny or make a good clapback. and for a fact I know that if Lando said a similar thing, the reaction would have been entirely different.

Because Max is a little bitch who lashes out every time he's under pressure. As is a staple of his career. But since his "lashing out" is being overtly aggressive and an arrogant asshole, it's viewed as "woooo that's why he's a champion" instead of weakness."

I honestly do not understand how people cannot see that there is a clear bias towards Max. For a fan base that says the hate towards Lando needs to stop but has absolutely no issue throwing it towards Max the hypocrisy at its finest.

Oh lorddd.

First, no one talked about Lando’s mental health. Your competitive mentality is NOT the same thing as your all around mental health. You can be the happiest most well adjusted person in the world and a competitive environment and pressure can just get to you. Sure, your psychology influences and impacts how you deal with stress and failure and success and all that. But saying Lando cracks under pressure is not the same as ragging on his mental health.

Oscar is a good driver…what was the harm in recognising that? Also, Max doesn’t owe it to McLaren not to share his opinion so as not to upset whatever disaster they have potentially simmering over there?

And Max did not admit he crashed Lando out because he didn’t crash Lando out. They did not make contact. Lando finished second. So…that just straight up didn’t happen. But that “for what” 😂 for…the championship? Please god open the schools.

British bias is real, every single driver who is not British and winning has talked about it. The fact that everyone just accepts it as standard because the brits have basically a monopoly on broadcasting rights is actually mental. And yes it’s the same in every country and in my opinion it’s moronic in every fucking language. But it’s exponentially worse when Sky Sports is the main broadcaster, and when the F1TV pundits are all incredibly biased. F1TV is not a National channel, no it should not be “expected” that they border on unprofessional in the way they talk about certain drivers. they should not be allowed to be biased, in my opinion. I should not know that Jenson Button wants to lick the soles of Lando’s shoes. And mind you, I think both Sky Sports and F1TV presenters have been unprofessional even when they talk about British drivers, at some points, but to nowhere near the extent of the way they talk about Max. That’s why the only one I respect is Nico Rosberg because he is genuinely an equal opportunity hater.

Also, Max can talk about whatever the fuck he wants. The microphone is in front of him, not anyone else, so while you don’t have to agree with his opinion, it’s a take it or leave it thing, there is no third option to demand he say something different.

And in conclusion, yeah when Max is Max people say “he’s a champion” because he fucking is. In 2016/17/18 they were calling dangerous and crazy. And then it turned out what he does works for him. See how when you succeed you earn the right to do what you want, because people trust your process? (Brits don’t get it because for some reason they think their way will always prevail in the face of reason and results that say otherwise) “lashing out under pressure is a staple of his career”…so is performing under pressure. Not everyone can say the same.

He requires no defence, just look at the record book.

Maybe it’s just me, but despite the hate against Max being awful and just as uncalled for as the hate towards Lando…I kind of find it so much less impactful. You can’t really gain ground hating on a guy who has done exactly what he wants to do in the sport. So you think he’s an asshole…and what? Is that a crime? Is that relevant? Who even cares? Certainly not him. They just look so bizarre to me. I can’t fathom thinking someone should care what I think about their behaviour any more than I can fathom caring what someone thinks about mine.

Lol that quote was a deep dive into the mind of a parasocial for sure.

[rey-jake-therapist]

There's a lot of discourse around shipping lately, treating the concept of shipping a female character (in this case, Galadriel) with a male character as "sexist". Those who say this kind of thing will argue that shipping is equal to treating the female character as "a side character" for a male character, who would be considered by the shipper as the most important character of the two. For the record, this post is inspired particularly by a Reddit post, but I've read these takes many times.

Excerpt of said Reddit post :

People in this fandom center Galadriels entire character around the men she interacts with. Every time she speaks to a man, there is a group of people who start shipping her with that man. It's not even funny anymore how some people here can't talk about her character without bringing up some guy who she interacted with. And this is especially frustrating because a lot of these discussions push her into the wife role. She is "married to Sauron" she is "married to Adar" the ring she wears is totally an "engagement ring". Even though there are two men who also received rings and I don't see anyone calling their rings engagement rings. And then there are some discussions that are downright disgusting, especially the "the stab she received from Sauron is a metaphor for penetration," and I don't mind discussing that. What I have an issue with is the romanticizing of that moment. Because Sauron also stabbed Celebrimbor, but people don't have an issue calling out how fucked up that scene was. It's almost like people are treating her like an accessory to men, when the show doesn't even do that. One of the strongest relationships in season one in my opinion was her relationship to Miriel. But I barely see people talk about that.

Notice how this person says with their whole chest that they're all for the kinky stuff, but not for the romantic stuff; this screams like a person who reads Saurondriel smut in secret, but clutches their pearls as soon as there are feelings involved because "uh, he's evil !".

To see the whole thread, click here. Notice that there are some very intelligent reactions to this claim, proving once again that Reddit is not completely lost. At least, this sub in particular isn't.

I won't start dwelling on the fact that this trend which consists in claiming that romance somehow diminishes a female character is getting very old, it won't be the subject of this post. Others have already breached this subject in a much more articulate way than I could ever do.

When people say they don't like that people ship Galadriel, it almost always means, "we don't like her being shipped with Sauron, yikes". I mean, let's be real : the most popular ship, is, by far, Haladriel. We're the ones being "sexist" here . Tbf with this person, they mentioned other ships as well so I will give them the benefice of doubts. It's also clear that they can't take a joke, because I never saw any shipper, being Haladriel or else, who was serious when they called Galadriel "X's wife", but whatever.

But even if we were serious, what's sexist about that, exactly ? If she's "Sauron's wife", for example, doesn't that make Sauron "Galadriel's husband" as well ? Why is shipping always called out for making the female character "an accessory to the male character", and never as making the male character an accessory to the female character ?Why is it considered reducing towards Galadriel, but not towards Sauron/Adar/Elrond ? Do the male characters gain somehow more than female characters at being shipped ?

The same question can be asked about the sexualization of the characters : it's always considered "outrageous" and "sexist" to sexualize female characters, even when it's done by women (which is almost always the case, in the context of shipping), but generally okay to sexualize male characters, why ? Because male characters supposedly have "the power" in the dynamics, based on their gender ?

I mean, I just find these ideas very reductive.

Now on the subject of Galadriel always being "connected to male characters". Well, first, sorry, but Galadriel doesn't get to spend much time around other female characters, in the show. And even in the books written by Tolkien, errrrr...?? This person mentions Galadriel's relationship with Miriel, that no one talks about. Well, I would love for Galadriel and Miriel to have interacted more, but the fact is that most of her interactions were with Halbrand/Sauron, in season 1. She indeed had an interesting connection with Miriel, but the show dedicated so little time on it that it leaves not much to discuss, really.

And in season 2, it's even more simple: she doesn't interact with any other female character. There's a female Elf in the company who leaves Lindon for Eregion, but the writers didn't even give her a line until episode 7, and when they did they killed her off 10 sec after she opens her mouth for the first time. If she had a good relationship with Galadriel, we have no other choice but imagining it. So, yes, we discuss Galadriel's relationship with men, because this show is very male-centric. And Tolkien's world itself is very male-centric, as a matter of fact. That the fans, and the shippers in particular, are blamed for that is really something.

I would LOVE for other female characters, albeit non canon characters, to be introduced in the show and to interact with Galadriel. I would LOVE Galadriel to have a female best friend, or even a female rivale, an enemy, a colleague, whatever ! And if I hope that Galadriel will return to Numenor, and I think she will because it was hinted more than once (her vision in the Palantir identical to Miriel's, and Miriel's promise to Galadriel that Numenor will return, which could imply Galadriel's involvement), it's also because I want Miriel and Galadriel to resume their relationship. They'd have much to talk about, it'd be great !

Now I'd like to discuss Haladriel in particular, or more generally, Galadriel's relationship with Sauron. Another thing that bothers me with this discourse is that according to this person and many others, too much importance is given to this relationship, wether it's considered romantic or not. "Too much importance" ? Hello ? It's literally this relationship that led to all the events that followed ! In show!canon, I mean, not in the Tolkien lore. From now on, everything I'll write will be related to the show!canon, unless I specify otherwise.

I find very strange, to say the least, to feel criticized because I talk about Galadriel and Sauron, while the entirety of season was built around their relationship : even before they meet, she's obsessede with him. They meet on the sea, she saves him, they are brought to Numenor, they're thrown in jail together, Galadriel insists he's a lost king, he says nay, then he changes his mind, they fight together in the Southlands, she stops him from killing Adar, he does the same with her, they share a moment in the forest, she brings him to Eregion to heal him, then boom, she learns he's Sauron, they fight, and he leaves. And yes, Galadriel gets to interact with other characters, including Miriel, but c'mon now : the first season of this show has made Galadriel and Sauron's relationship the center of it all. Not just Galadriel, no ! Almost everything she does and says is related to Sauron. Is it our fault ? Is it the shippers fault, if the story was written this way ?

And don't get me started on all the sexual and romantic innuendos, that the tenants of this discourse are always prone to deny. "There was nothing romantic in their interactions !", "They were just friends !", "they were just political partners !". Sure, Jan. These innuendos were definitely present, the sexual tension was always present (and for God's sake, no, it wasn't the actors who wanted to jump each other, it was A-C-T-I-N-G). The writers and the directors wanted the audience to think there was, at the very least, a mutual attraction.

In season 2, Galadriel and Sauron barely interacted but they were constantly thinking of each other, especially Galadriel. Again, is it the fans' fault if they saw that and commented on a relationship that was broken, and yet still very present within the narrative ? Is it the shippers' fault if the writers decided to picture Galadriel as an ex lover in pain because her lover deceived her (or a friend deceibed by a fake friend, if that's how you interpret it !) ? Was it the shippers' decision to doll up an Elf woman as a discount Galadriel, so Sauron wouldn't take a break in his obsession for Galadriel ? No, again, it was the writing.

And actually, it makes sense that the writing spent so much time on this relationship in season 2, and will probably continue in season 3, 4 and 5 even if some of you firmly believe that Galadriel "shut the door" for good on him and will never see him or speak to him again. Because we know, this time from the Tolkien lore, that Sauron never stopped trying to grope to see her and her thought :

“I say to you Frodo that even as I speak to you I perceive the Dark Lord and know his mind, or all of his mind that concerns elves, and he gropes ever to see me and my thought but still the door is closed.”

It was literally the showrunners idea that Galadriel and Sauron must have had a sort of a relationship, based on this quote. Putting Galadriel and Sauron in a situationship was never a second thought !

It was meant to be important in the show, and it will remain important, because if it was what started this particular story told by the show, and it will probably be what will finish it as well.

To conclude : I understand why people don't all like Saurondriel... I understand why these same people don't understand why they are shipped, it's perfectly valid. But blaming the fans, and the shippers in particular, for talking so much about Galadriel's connection with Sauron, is speaking in bad faith, or being media illeterate because the writers WANT us to talk about it.

[spacebarbarianweird]

Baldur’s Gate Modern AU (1990s Russia edition)

In 1990s Saint Petersburg mafia, KGB, oligarchs and deathly cults strive to control the "northern capital". Six people find themselves in the midst of events — who shall they become, puppets or revolutionaries?

Astarion

Looks much younger than he is, native to Leningrad. His family are a part of old soviet intellectual elite (educated and classist). Graduated from the Leningrad State University (degree in Law). Astarion was making a political career but alas perestroika started and the crime rate increased — got almost killed by gang members and was saved by a mysterious figure who used his fragile state to kidnap him and force into sex work (also put Astarion on drugs). Now, ten years later Astarion has no fucking clue what to do with his life and how to obtain freedom after years of abuse, drugs and prostitution.

Gale

Until recently Gale was a teacher in a private boarding school for the oligarchs' kids. Was groomed by an older woman who was also a wife of a politician. The lady infected Gale with AIDS and also blackmailed him. Now his life and health are in ruins and he is being hunted by goons hired by Mystra's husband.

Wyll

Transmasc and native to Northern Caucas. Disowned by his clan and family, he comes to what is now Saint Petersburg snd becomes a hitman for a local authority, a cruel woman called Diavolitsa (she-devil). Wyll doesn't give up and is always in a good mood tho it seems like you can't run from russian mafia even if you go straight to hell.

Shadowheart

Raised in one of many cults that grow abundant in the country, Shadowheart remembers neither her real name nor childhood. She believes in the cult leader, the Dark Lady, who claims herself a goddess, and suffers from chronic pains. Her beliefs will be challenge as she starts rememebering more and more. Who kidnapped her? Where are her real parents? And where does the line lie between a hippie commune and a totalitarian cult?

Laezel

An illegal immigrant, she is at least dissapointed with the current state of events in post-soviet Russia. She is on a secret mission and actually a a spy. But considering her age she has never truly experienced life and all its opportunities.

Karlach

A former child sportstar. Perestroika and the collapse of the USSR took her future and life opportunities. Worked as a bodyguard for an oligarch Enver Gortash but he sold her to mafia who tortured Karlach relentlessly. Her health is ruined and she needs drugs that aren't sold in Russia so she has to ask drugdealers for help. Many people think she works for mafia but it isn't true

Minthara

A KGB agent (was and is). Believes in whatever the state tells her to believe but misses good old communism. Very loyal and doesn't forget betrayals. Knows sambo, comes from a big all-women family, despises men.

Halsin

Eco-activist and a protester. He is the oldest in the group. Much more educated than he looks like but doesn't think intelligence is a merit of a good person. "Lenin was educated, look where it all took us". His full passport name is Serebryakov-Vetkin Mikhail Dobroslavovich. Probably comes from some tzar time nobility but he will never tell.

Bonus:

- Oligarch Enver Gortash (Gortashev Enver Igorevich), heavily involved with military

- Mafia leader Raphael (everyone calls him Rafik and he hates it, has a mansion built on his dad's money)

- Dammon, people call him Dimon. A talented inventor, has little to no ambition. If he emigrates, will probably become a millionaire

- Elminster (Emil). Once a member of science academy he is downgraded to a personal tutor of a greedy politician whose wife Mystra seduced Gale. The only reason why Gale is still alive is because Elminster managed to persuade the powerful couple to let Gale go for now

- Volo (Vova). A bard and a menestrel, he is heavily involved into fantasy RPG subculture. Meanwhile he is a huge Tolkien fan and makes ballads based on Silmarillion, he mostly cosplays Jaskier from the popular Witcher series. Once performed a lobotomy in a communal flat

- Jaheira (Yana). She was against USSR when it wasn't trendy. Spent some time in prison for anti-communistic ideas. Was pardoned in 1992.

- Minsc (yes, he is from the capital of Belarus). Jaheira's friend he was put into mental facility in the 1970s. Everyone thought he died but he is here with us, ready to fight for freedom and peace (though years in the ward affected his mental health). Has a pet hamster.

- Cazador ("why spanish name, fancy yourself Pablo Escobar?"). Well, in his head he is the scariest man in Saint Petersburg (Leningrad). In reality, no one knows him. Literally. He is no one. He isn't even rich. Kidnaps people and makes them slaves in his mansion. Has a deal with Rafael's father. Sadist and pervert, makes money by forcing his slaves into sex work. Basically just a greedy pimp.

- Ketheric Thorm. Oh this man, a victim of relentless history. He witnesses the October revolution and civil war, dedicated his life to the USSR and communism and then it collapsed leaving Ketheric old and miserable. He works for Enver and has no hope for the future.

- Isobel. Ketheric's daughter and a talented surgeon. Was considered dead.

- Lady Aylin. Isobel's gf and a professional fighter. Was held hostage by Ketheric who didn't want his daughter to be a lesbian.

- Araj Oblodra. A psycho pyromaniac and that person who will poison you if you cross paths with KGB. Obsessed with vampires (Twilight fan before Twilight).

- Orin. Professional ballet dancer, she will perform Swan Lake on your enemies bodies. Everyone thinks Enver sleeps with her but he is too afraid.

- Mystra. A politician's wife, grooms her lovers from young age. Into spirituality.

- Karniss. Hell no. Don't ask what was done to him in a secret KGB lab

- Petras (Piotr), Dalyria (Daria), Leon, Yossen (Esya), Violet (Violetta) - Astarion's siblings and Cazador’s victims. The relationship between them are rocky at the very least

Hope you enjoyed it! If i forgot someone, let me know!

[homiro]

It was okay before. It was okay when Bush was elected twice. Yes, more people will die again but when has that stopped happening especially in Muslim countries? It will be okay. It won't be good but it will be okay. Humanity has been fighting and killing each other for millennia. There was I think maybe less than month of peace since 1945.

Remember all the times it was hard and it was okay. Not good, the word really is 'okay'. Remember boarding schools and assimilation. Remember slavery. Remember segregation. Remember Emmett Till. Remember the Civil Rights Movements. Remember that the Native-American Self-determination Act only dates back to 1975. It will be okay. Take this time to reconnect with nature and spirituality. I'm not saying 'go to church' but by all means if that's your creed, go for it. It helps. Even if you're a minority or marginalised and that creed says you're going to hell, I know there are ways to see the original intentions of love and kindness. "Fazer o bem sem olhar a quem" (do good without caring to whom). But now more than ever it's a time to connect with nature and see that there's more than money and greed and the 1% that keep the 99% looking down. Fuck, find strength for an uprising in the power of connecting with nature and your ancestral roots. Even if you're white. White people were indigenous once and that's still in the genes and people forget that. It feels like most people are so removed from the natural ways of human existence that they don't remember anything anymore. Maybe that's why people are so tired and lost and the energy of the world feels so gloom and heavy.

Just some thoughts and more in the tags because I'm a goofy kinda weird tree hugger.

Take care of yourselves. Take care of others. Remember your ancestors. Read about history. Read about spirituality and how good it can be. Don't take my word for it, check Durkheim's theories on the importance of belief in well-being. It doesn't have to be Jesus. It can be that one tree you like to look at. It can be a rainy day or a sunny day. It can be the smell of coffee or something like that. I guess what I'm on about is that for it to be okay you need to find what makes it worthwhile for you.

It will be okay.

it will be okay.

[ladysomething]

hi! i was wondering, why does max love charles so much to the point where he would sacrifice his assets and alter his whole life for him? how did he get to that point, i mean they were never close and they never really got to know each other, charles hated him too. it was more of an admiring from afar kind of thing no? will we get flashbacks to that process of max falling for him?

er well. I suspect you're kind of wanting a definitive answer, but it's kind of hard to give one, because why does anyone fall in love with anyone?

I also suspect your actual question is: how does somebody fall in love with someone they've never spoken to/don't actually know, and honestly, that is Charles' point completely. how can Max claim to love somebody he doesn't know anything about?

but to me the answer is this: Max doesn't know anything superficial about Charles (unless he's heard it in interviews) because they've never been able to have a talk about things like their favourite colours or their favourite movies.

but what he does know is the core of Charles, distance or not.

He knows Charles is stubborn, spiteful, manipulative, aggressive, and terrible with understanding his own emotions; he knows Charles is kind, generous, loving, ambitious, forgiving, and so terribly sad.

And he knows all this because he's seen it all through their karting years, and into F1.

he's seen Charles push people off track and then bat his eyes after to get out of trouble.

he's seen Charles present as an omega and be so scared he felt the need to effectively cut out an entire part of himself.

he's seen Charles lie to his friends, to Ferrari, to the entire world, just so he has the chance to achieve his dreams.

he's seen Charles be so scared of him, because of Max's own presentation and how aggressive and cruel he was.

he's seen Charles be so brave despite all of that.

he's seen Charles be kind to other kids, seen him help them, laugh with them.

now, he gets to see all that kindness directed at him, which is certainly making everything much worse for him feelings wise. Max has always felt so much for Charles, but now that he's actually getting to know him, it's become so much more pure and real and true.

also, another real big thing is: Max was willing to change his entire life for Charles, and of course that is partly attributed to how much he loves him, but a large part of it is also attributed to Max's desire to be a protector and a helper for omegas/people who need it.

he effectively feels as though he's paying a penance, and that he has a duty to help omegas that need it. he did it with his mother (who he also loved), kelly (who he came to love as a friend, but she was just a stranger at the beginning), and I've also recently written a scene where he does it again for another stranger.

it's just a core part of who he is.

I hope this kind of answers it for you!

[hvnyrt]

Voice in the Wind - ALTERNATE ENDING

JASON TODD X READER

I have never really written angst before, and I was really happy with the way my last work came out, but I couldn't help but want the reader and Jason to end up together in the end ;’) So I wrote a quick alternate ending to the same work, a happy ending this time, enjoy!

SUMMARY: Jason has been struggling with the idea of a relationship, fighting inner battles with himself constantly, you convince him to open up.

The rooftop of a Gotham skyscraper was cold beneath Jason Todd’s boots. His breath formed small clouds in the air, the city’s ever-present hum a background noise to his thoughts. He stood facing the edge, arms crossed, eyes scanning the streets below. It was late — or early, depending on how you looked at it — and the city was bathed in a sickly orange glow from the streetlights. Gotham was always awake, like a predator that never rested, and Jason… Jason was just another hunter in its maze of shadows.

He was trying to focus. ‘Focus, Todd,’ he told himself. ‘Don’t be weak. Stay sharp.’ But there was a problem. Your face kept slipping into his mind. No matter how hard he tried to shove it away, there you were again, with that crooked smile and those damn eyes that could cut straight through his walls.

Your voice rang in his ears. He hated your voice because it followed him everywhere, like an earworm he couldn’t get rid of. And your name. He hated your name because it made him feel like he could say it, like he could speak it aloud and claim it, and he didn’t want to claim anything. Not You. 

"She’s just a distraction," he muttered under his breath, the words lost in the wind. "Just a damn distraction." 

Except you werent. He knew it. 

He didn’t know how you had got under his skin, but you had. It had started innocently enough: a few random meetings while he was on patrol, a conversation here and there. But then something shifted. Something he couldn’t control, couldn’t shake. It wasn’t that he wanted to care about you; he didn’t. He couldn’t. Not when he knew better, when he was haunted by the ghosts of his past mistakes. People like him didn’t get to have things like that. People like him didn’t get to have… normal.

It was so fucking frustrating. 

"Stupid." Jason spat the word out as if it could wash away the thoughts, the feelings he didn’t want to deal with. There was no place for feelings in the world he lived in. It was all blood and violence, adrenaline and fear, and you… you were none of that. You were calm. Grounded. Real. You made him feel like he wasn’t constantly running from something.

Nope. Not happening.

"Jason?"

The voice broke through his internal tirade, familiar and warm, cutting through the cold like a blade. Jason didn’t turn around. Didn’t even flinch. But his heart did a strange little lurch. He hated that it did, but it did.

There you were, standing a few feet away, your arms wrapped around yourself to shield against the Gotham night. You didn’t even seem to notice how out of place you were up here — on this rooftop, so far above the city you loved but could never truly understand. You weren't like him. Never would be.

"You shouldn’t be here," he said, his tone as dismissive as he could manage. "Go home, It’s dangerous up here."

Your eyes flickered with that same mixture of concern and defiance he was growing all too familiar with. "And I’m guessing you’re worried about me?" you said, your voice laced with quiet amusement.

Jason’s lip curled slightly, though it wasn’t a smile. More like a reflex. “I worry about everyone, you're no different.” He said flatly, his back still turned.

But even as he said it, the doubt crept in. You had a way of doing that — making him second-guess every cynical, hardened part of himself that wanted to pretend he didn’t care. But he didn’t let it show. He never did.

"I’m not helpless." you said softly, stepping a little closer, close enough that he could feel the heat radiating off you. "You don’t need to protect me. You don't have to worry me. Just please, tell me what's on your mind. Talk to me. Let me in." You wanted him so bad to just admit that he wanted you as much as you wanted him. You tried too hard to get him to open up to you, to get him to see what your relationship could be. He never listened.

The words hit him harder than they should have. He wanted to argue, to push you away again. You didn’t understand. You didn’t get what the world was really like, what it could do to someone like him. Someone who had already been destroyed once, who didn’t want to give it a second chance.

Instead, he just shrugged, trying to appear indifferent. "I’m not your protector. Just someone who knows better."

You raised an eyebrow, that familiar smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. "So you’re telling me I shouldn’t be out here, too, but you’re not protecting me?" 

Jason didn’t answer. His gaze drifted away from her, back to the city lights, to the shadows below. But he didn’t walk away. He never did.

"You really think I can’t handle myself?" Your voice was quieter now, and for a moment, it almost sounded like you were teasing. Almost. 

Jason let out a breath, unable to keep the edge out of his voice. "You think you’re the only one who can handle themselves?" He turned his head just enough to catch her gaze. "This place doesn’t make you stronger. It makes you smarter. And if you’re not smart enough to get the hell out of it, you’ll get crushed. And that’s not something I’m willing to let happen."

The words left his mouth sharper than he’d intended, but he couldn’t stop them now. He never could when it came to you. 

You didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at him with those damn eyes that felt like they saw straight through his bullshit. Then, slowly, you took a step closer, not intimidated, but calm.

"Jason, you don’t have to pretend with me. I’m not going anywhere."

The words hit him like a punch to the gut, though he’d never admit it. "I’m not pretending," he muttered, too quickly, and too defensively. 

The city stretched out beneath them, vast and indifferent, like a black sea dotted with the flickering lights of a thousand lives he would never touch. Jason stood there, his shoulders tense, his fists clenched. You were still beside him, too close for comfort, your presence a constant reminder of everything he couldn’t afford to feel. 

Focus, he told himself. Don’t let her in. Don’t let her do this to you.

But it was already too late.

You were right. He was pretending. 

Jason’s jaw tightened at the thought, and he could feel the familiar coldness creeping in — the walls he had built so carefully around himself, the ones that were starting to crack and crumble under your quiet, persistent gaze. The feeling of wanting to reach for you, of wanting to say the things that scared him more than anything else in this broken city, gnawed at him like a sickness. 

But no. He couldn’t do it. Not to you. Not again.

"You don’t get it," Jason said, his voice rougher than he meant it to be. He didn’t look at you, but he could feel you staring at him, that soft gaze that always seemed to see straight through him. "This isn’t… this isn’t some fairy tale. You can’t just waltz in here and fix me. I’m not… I’m not someone you can save. You don’t know what it’s like, and you never will."

He finally turned to face you, his eyes burning with something he couldn’t even name. "I’m dangerous. And you think you can handle me? You think you can be around me and still come out unscathed? You have no idea what this world does to people like us."

You didn’t back down. Of course you didn’t. You never did. Instead, you stepped closer, her voice low but steady. "I know enough, Jason. I know you’re scared. You don’t have to push me away—"

"Stop," Jason cut you off, his voice sharp, almost desperate. He took a step back, as if your proximity was suffocating him. "Stop pretending like you know me. Like you understand anything about me."

Your brows furrowed in confusion. "Jason, I—"

"I’m not the guy you think I am!" He didn’t shout, but his voice trembled with the raw emotion he refused to show. "I’m not the guy you can fix. You think I don’t care about you? That I don’t—" He stopped himself, the words lodged in his throat like broken glass. He could already feel the heat in his chest, the thumping of his heart, the same damn pain that had been there since he came back from the dead. 

His fists clenched tighter. "I’m not your fucking hero. I’m a killer. A broken, fucked-up, damaged thing, and you don’t want to get close to that."

The words came out in a rush, desperate, but also… final. His eyes were wild now, the storm inside him too strong to ignore, the war he’d been fighting with himself spilling out in a way he hadn’t intended. 

You stood there, silent for a moment, your face unreadable. Then your expression softened, a mixture of hurt and understanding flickering behind your eyes.

"I’m not trying to fix you," you said quietly, your voice steady despite the tension crackling in the air between them. "I’m just trying to be here. I’m trying to be someone you don’t have to push away."

Jason didn’t respond right away. He couldn’t. The words felt too raw, too close to something real. And that scared him more than anything. 

"You don’t understand," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "You can’t understand. I can’t let you in. Not like this. Not after everything."

He took another step back, further into the shadows, his heart pounding in his chest. Every instinct in him screamed to get away from you, to run, to push you out of his life before you were swallowed up by the darkness he carried with him.

"Jason," your voice was quiet now, soft, like you were trying to reach him through the thick walls he had built. "Please."

But he couldn’t do it. Not for you.

Jason shook his head, more to himself than to you. He turned his back on you, the weight of his decision heavy in the pit of his stomach. His feet moved automatically, the thought of staying with you—of letting you see him, really see him—was too much to bear. 

Before he could even reach the edge of the rooftop, he heard your voice again, fragile but clear.

"You don’t have to do this alone."

He froze. For a second, everything inside him wanted to turn around, to reach for you, to tell you how much he wanted to believe that. How much he wanted to let you in. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t let anyone in.

Jason's gaze lingered on the skyline, the weight of the city pressing down on him. His fists were still clenched, his jaw set tight, but inside, a storm was brewing, one that was just as chaotic as the one in the streets below. His heart was a mess of confusion and fear, and even though he wanted to push you away — needed to push you away — something about your quiet presence beside him made it feel impossible.

When you spoke again, your voice was gentle, almost like a whisper, yet it cut through the thick air between you with the clarity of truth. "You don't have to do this alone, Jason."

His eyes flickered to yours, and for a moment, he could barely breathe. He’d heard those words before, but never with the kind of sincerity that made him feel like he wasn’t alone in the universe. That maybe, just maybe, there was someone who saw through his walls, someone who wasn’t afraid of the darkness he carried.

He shook his head, his voice rough, trying to hold onto the hardness that kept him safe. "I told you, you don’t get it. You don’t know what it’s like."

"I don’t need to," you replied softly. "I just need you to know that I’m not going anywhere. Not if you let me stay."

Jason’s heart pounded in his chest, the words stirring something deep inside of him, something that scared him more than anything. He wanted to say something — push you away, explain why this couldn’t happen, why he couldn’t let you in.

But the words stuck in his throat.

You took a step closer, not backing down, but not rushing him either. And for the first time, in the midst of all the noise inside his head, he realized that you weren’t asking him to fix himself. You were just asking him to be real. To stop pretending. To let you in.

Without thinking, without even fully knowing what he was doing, Jason reached out, his hand hovering just inches from yours. The proximity felt like a tug, a pull he couldn’t ignore. You didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away. Instead, you stood there, looking at him with those eyes that had always been so damn patient, so damn sure.

And in that moment, something inside Jason broke open — a crack in the walls that had kept him safe for so long. He didn’t need to pretend anymore.

He moved before he could stop himself.

One step, then two, and suddenly, he was close enough to feel your breath against his skin, close enough that he could see the way your lips parted slightly, as though you were holding your own breath, waiting for him to make the next move.

And then, like the world had shrunk down to just the two of you, Jason closed the gap.

His lips brushed against yours in a slow, tentative kiss, like he was afraid you’d disappear if he pressed any harder. But you didn’t pull away. Instead, your hand reached up, cupping the side of his face, and you kissed him back, steady and sure.

Jason’s heart skipped a beat, his mind racing, but in that moment, it didn’t matter. The tension that had held him captive for so long unraveled, piece by piece, until all that was left was this — you, here with him, unafraid.

He kissed you deeper this time, a soft but desperate need in the way his mouth met yours. The world felt a little less heavy, like maybe, just maybe, he didn’t have to carry the weight of it all on his own anymore.

When the kiss finally broke, Jason’s forehead rested against yours, both of you breathing in the same air, your hearts syncing in a way that made everything else fade into the background. He didn’t say anything at first. He couldn’t. But the words he didn’t have to speak were already there — in the way his hands found your waist, in the way his body relaxed against yours.

“I’m scared,” he whispered, his voice rough with the admission. "Scared I’m not… enough. That I’m too broken for anyone to be here. To be what you need."

You leaned into him, your arms wrapping around him, grounding him with the warmth of your touch. “You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to be you. And that’s enough for me, Jason. That’s more than enough.”

His chest tightened at your words, the sincerity of them striking deep. He wasn’t used to hearing that — wasn’t used to anyone seeing him for who he really was, not the mask he wore to survive, not the monster he sometimes thought he was.

But you did.

He let out a breath, the weight of everything in him finally beginning to lift. “I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

You smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair from his face. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”

Jason closed his eyes, his heart a little lighter than before. Maybe he didn’t have to have all the answers. Maybe he didn’t have to be the hero, or the villain, or the broken man he always saw in the mirror.

Maybe he just needed to be someone who didn’t have to face the world alone.

As you stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms, Jason realized that he wasn’t as lost as he thought. Not anymore.

For the first time in a long time, he was ready to face whatever came next.

And he was ready to face it with you.