#but i enjoy writing them a lot !!!

[lazylittledragon]

ok someone please correct me if i'm wrong but am i weird for thinking those 'audiobooks don't count as reading' posts are ableist as fuck????

[detectiveposting]

my stages of watching columbo

1: hahah hes just a silly detective ;)

2: columbo is actually a cunning manipulative liar that hides his true persona behind the facade of a slow and clumsy middle class detective

3: hahah hes just a silly detective ;)

[seiwas]

sellllllll it's meeeeee. hehehehehehehehehhehe

so for ur writing exercises.... deku + light? please? pretty please?

:3c

heheh heheh hehe niku. this will be the death of me. me writing izuku for the first time 🥲 i will only do this for you </3

contains: established relationship, spoilers for the end of the manga, aged up deku but sometime in between the final outcome (he doesn't get the h*** s*** from bakugo yet), mentions of sex and scars

deku + light

izuku only sleeps with the lights off.

it isn't uncommon; many people you know can't sleep with even just a sliver of light turned on somewhere in the room. but the difference with izuku, you learn, is not that he's unable to stand the light―it's that he refuses to.

you quickly pick up on it the first few times he sleeps over.

he fidgets in bed, pretty badly, actually. the nightlight you sleep with glows a warm yellow, illuminating the side of your face and coating him in its afterglow. you chalk it up to nerves, how he pulls at his sleeves and adjusts his position constantly; he is, after all, one of the most anxious people you know.

and this relationship―it's new. heck, even you feel a little jittery with his arm wrapped around you.

the rhythmic tapping on your hip only increases pace. you don't think he realizes it, so your hand gently reaches for his, intertwining your fingers as you turn around in his arms.

he's close, nearly touching you nose-to-nose; the proximity leaves you fuzzy, a little ticklish, so you giggle, a soft "oops," as the freckles dusting his face almost glisten under the warm light.

"hi," you whisper, meeting his eyes; they stare back at you wide in surprise, "can't sleep?"

he looks almost guilty at your question, as if you’ve caught him with the one thing he's been trying to keep from you.

"just—" his voice comes out louder than intended, prompting him to chuckle nervously as he readjusts his volume, "just winding down, sorry."

you inch closer, nuzzling his nose lightly, "it's okay."

"did i wake you?" he asks, cheeks flushing pink as his eyebrows furrow in immediate concern. his expression is something caught between stifling a grin and feeling sorry.

you shake your head against the pillow you share, strands of your hair tangling with his. "just winding down," you tease, watching as his gaze turns softer, eyelids drooping heavier.

sometimes, you think, izuku holds the world in his eyes―a deep, dark green, the color of life. most times, they look at you with wonderment, bright and alive; photos from inko tell you they're the eyes of his inner child.

on nights like this one, however, they hide a depth in them weighted by what you can only assume is time, and all that has happened to him in such a short span of it.

you try your best to understand what lies beneath them, knowing full well he'll never tell you outright what truly bothers him.

"is it the light?" you bring up, some time after laying in silence.

"hm?" he clarifies.

"do you have a hard time sleeping with the nightlight?"

his eyes widen briefly once more, as if shocked that you've caught him again. these split second reactions are ones you've learned to be attentive to when it comes to izuku.

"no," he tries to lie, but you know better as you turn to your nightstand and reach for its switch, "you don't–"

"it was hurting my eyes," you quickly make up an excuse, tucking yourself closer under his chin as you cut off his attempt to deny it again.

finding out that the light was the problem was the easy part—

you'd begun to notice much earlier on that izuku was barely rested on the nights he'd spend at your place. it was only when your old nightlight broke that you began to notice him waking up much later than you did, groggily rousing from a deep sleep.

—what was hard, was figuring out why.

at first, you suspected it was his scars.

"s-sorry, it's not—" he'd warned you, right as your hands gripped the hem of his shirt the first time you were about to have sex, "—it's not nice."

you didn't care though; you still don't care, and you've made that abundantly clear to him since. you love izuku and all his parts―all the nicks and jaggedy pieces of skin that make up who he is.

when you eventually ask him about it, with a request that he be honest with you for once, he tells you that it is and it isn't―the reason why he exclusively sleeps with the lights off, that is.

it's an odd, comforting relationship he has with his body—that he is simultaneously grateful and sorry for how its become a canvas, both painted and marred to symbolize japan’s historic last stand.

you find out the real reason when you catch him staring at his hands.

he does it often, when he thinks you aren't looking—his fists bunched up in the same way he used to watch the power of one for all course through his fingertips; the same way he used to prepare them in battle.

there’s a faraway look in his eyes that lingers, you notice—a little wistful if anything.

“do you miss it?” you finally ask. he gives you the same shocked look he does every time, as if he’s been caught with a secret he’s been trying to hide.

he’s learned a fair bit about you now, too, though—lying to you is futile when you’ve perfected reading his truth. he stares at his fists again as you take a seat beside him, moving to give you space. you rest your head on his shoulder gently, waiting.

“sometimes,” he admits, but you know it’s an understatement.

“i think about the vestiges a lot. i miss them the most, i think,” he continues, clenching his fists tightly, “i always try to reach out to them, but i guess it doesn’t work that way.”

“i… i try to replicate the right conditions every night, but…” then he lets go, stretching his fingers out wide. the scars on the surface ripple through his skin, telling its own story.

you hum, acknowledging what he means. silence sits with the two of you as you take his hand in yours, slowly unfurling his fingers until his palm reveals itself to you. it’s rough to the touch, seasoned with hard work and all that he’s been through.

“is that why you prefer the dark?” you ask softly, after some time.

it's not often that you stay up later than izuku does. when you do though, you catch him shifting in bed, moving from side-to-side. you pretend you aren't awake, but you hear him mumble their names, dwindling in volume as he dozes off to sleep.

he stares at his palm for a moment before he admits quietly, "yeah." his brows furrow as if contemplating whether to say more, but he shakes his head, dark green strands swaying to the beat of his embarrassed chuckle, "nevermind, it's silly."

"it's not."

you intertwine your fingers, sandwiching his hand between yours. a slight sheen glosses over his eyes as he tilts his head up to look at you. he draws in a breath, before it spills over.

"it's..." he finds the words, and you squeeze his hand in comfort, "it's easier to believe it was all real when the lights are out, and that maybe it can happen again."

[secrescaryat]

// pentiment spoilers (implied ig but still there)

more of these because i was inspired

[northern-passage]

clementine

[pitchcom]

carcar survivor au, 2.2k

When Oscar received his new tribe buff, he knew that this was a chance for a fresh start.

The last vote had been…messy, to say the least. Daniel had approached him and Zhou with an idol and a plan to take out Pierre before he and Yuki could reach the merge and gain more control over the game. Oscar wasn’t naive enough to think that this meant any sort of alliance between them, but he had promised his sisters that he would do anything to try and win.

Yuki stood resolutely away from the rest of the tribe on the boat ride over. Oscar catches a glimpse of his hands, knuckles clenching white against the boat railing. He feels Daniel push past him, towards Yuki and raises an eyebrow at him questioningly.

Daniel turns back towards him. “Yuki’s scared of sharks.” he offers, as if they all hadn’t caused his face to crumple a couple nights ago as Pierre’s name was read over and over.

Oscar watches him walk next to Yuki, slinging an arm over his shoulder. Too soft, he thinks as he watches Yuki loosen his grip on the railing and lean into Daniel’s hold. He looks away towards the horizon as they travel to their new beach.

——

Oscar quickly finds himself escaping to the water well less than an hour after arriving on the new beach.

Strategically, he knows he should be at camp with everyone else. Should be talking to everyone, scouting out tribe dynamics, making first impressions that aren’t a stilted introduction before disappearing. But Oscar was never quite a social butterfly; still awkward at office parties despite working there for 2 years by now, never mind trying to ingratiate himself with 10 other strangers he had just seen briefly at challenges.

A voice interrupts his thoughts. “Huh. I guess you really were getting water. I bet George half a coconut that you were out idol searching already.”

Oscar startles and whirls around to come face to face with a shorter man with curly hair, crooked grin stuck on his face from tribe 1. Ah. He vaguely remembers him from the last challenge.

“Oh. Um. You’re the guy who kept falling off the balance beam, right?” Oscar kicked himself mentally. For all that first impressions mattered in the game, Oscar was failing miserably at them so far.

Balance Beam Guy’s mouth falls into a pout. “Alex already made fun of me for that at camp for three days! I thought that people would be over it by now.” he grumbles, moving next to Oscar to grab the water ladle from him.

“Sorry.” Oscar says, not particularly sorry. “I didn’t have a name for you, so.”

Balance Beam Guy sniffs. “It's Lando, so get that memory out of your head. I don’t need reminders that all of America saw me fail to walk in a straight line. You came over from tribe 3, right? Any deets on alliances, idols, advantages?”

Oscar shakes his head. “Nah, we’re kind of a mess. Daniel burned our idol at the last tribal, so if anyone was able to find it before we got on the boat I wouldn’t know. I’m uh, actually looking for some potential connections here.” And maybe it's a little desperate, a little shameless, but Oscar needed some kind of lifeline. So, even if he had to reveal his hand a little earlier then he would’ve liked, he was hoping the information would be interesting enough to make him worth keeping.

Luckily, Lando’s face breaks into a wide grin as he finishes filling his canteen. “Well, you’re in luck! Don’t tell anyone, but-“ Lando ducks closer, voice dropping to a whisper. “I do happen to be a part of quite a strong alliance with George and Alex. We’re trying to keep it on the downlow for now, but we’re looking for a solid fourth to help us swing a majority. You want in, um-?” Lando trails off, hand reaching out.

“Oscar,” he finishes as he takes Lando’s hand. “And I’d be happy to work with you.”

Lando’s grin slides back into its crooked default. “Great! I’ll tell them about it, and in a little bit we’ll go down to the water and chat. See you back at camp, Osc!”

Oscar’s face twitches a little at the nickname, but he doesn’t say anything as Lando walks away. We’re not friends, he wants to call after Lando. It's just strategy.

Oscar waits 5 minutes after Lando leaves before returning to camp. He gives an awkward half smile when Lando winks at him. Possible strategic liability, he notes to himself.

——

Oscar already considered himself particularly lucky to have fumbled his way through the premerge after losing Logan, not to mention Lando choosing to approach him with the offer of an alliance. In all honesty, he was waiting for the other shoe to drop and hoping it wouldn’t affect his game too badly.

That should’ve been warning already when Carlos decided to approach him on the beach.

Oscar was stretched across the sand, letting the suns rays lull him into a sleep. Half the tribe was out getting a reward (Lando included) leaving the rest of them to sulk around camp and try not to think of all the food the others were eating. Oscar chose to ignore the gnawing disappointment by getting some peace and quiet. Unfortunately, Carlos had other ideas.

“Oscar.” Carlos called from across the sand

Oscar squeezed his eyes closed. Maybe, he reasoned, if he pretended to be asleep already Carlos would get the hint and leave him alone.

“Oscar! Hello?” The voice got closer.

Oscar groaned internally before rolling back over and opening his eyes. He was immediately met with an extreme close up of Carlos, frown painted on his face.

“Why are you sleeping in the sun? Your skin, it will burn no?” were the first words Carlos spoke to him, voice too loud and face still too close.

Oscar blinked at him. “What?”

Carlos’ frown deepens. “Your skin. You will not tan, like this.”

“Well, sorry that not all of us were born with perfect genetics.” Oscar wants to drown this guy and his stupid island beauty in the ocean. “Why are you here anyways? Aren’t you supposed to be plotting the next vote with Max or something?”

Carlos’ face lights up. “Ah! That is what I have come to talk to you about!” He says, ignoring the obvious dismissal as he takes a seat next to Oscar on the sand. “You see, I have noticed that you sit alone at camp quite a lot. So, I assume that you do not have an alliance yet!”

Oscar raises an eyebrow. “And what if I have a secret alliance with somebody else? Like Daniel, or Zhou?”

Carlos laughs, a cackle that sounds almost painful. “I have already talked to both of them, and they both say they have no tribe loyalty.”

“They might be lying, you know. Trying to lull you into a false sense of security and all that.”

Carlos grins, a big dopey thing. “Between you and them I think I believe them more. No offense, Oscar.”

Oscar wills back the growing irritation beneath his skin. He’s dealt with annoying over-confident and underestimating assholes before. He knows how to play this game. “You got me. Totally friendless and ally-less on this island. Probably the most boring castaway ever.” He drones, almost completely monotone.

Carlos frowns. “Do not say that, Oscar.” Ozz-car. “I am sure you are a very wonderful person. If you were not, I would not be here asking you to join my alliance.”

“You’re here to ask me to join your alliance?”

Carlos blinks, then snaps his fingers. “Ah! Yes! I have come here to ask you to join me, Charles, and Max at the next vote!” Carlos looks at Oscar eagerly, as if he should be jumping at his generous offer. “Since you have said yourself that you have no allies, we could help carry you farther in the game. It is a mutually beneficial partnership, no?”

Oscar snorts internally. “Beneficial for you, yes. For me? What happens when it comes down to me or Charles? Me or Max? Mate, I’m not stupid. I know there are hierarchies in alliances, and I’d be at the bottom. I don’t want to be just some fucking sheep you bring with you until the time is right.”

Carlos looks a little lost at this. Clearly, his plan to swoop in and grab a vote didn’t go as smoothly as he thought. Serves him right, Oscar thinks bitterly. It’d probably be the first time his stupid cow eyes and smooth accent didn’t get him what he wanted.

Oscar watches him wiggle his jaw for a couple of seconds, lost in thought. He sighs internally, before turning back over and closing his eyes again. “Look mate, I appreciate the offer, but I’ve got my own alliance. Find somebody else to be your number.”

Oscar doesn’t hear anything for a moment, then feels sand being kicked against his skin as Carlos gets up. “Fine. But I will not be so nice later after Tribal Council, when my alliance controls the vote. See you later, Oscar.”

Fuck that guy, Oscar thinks. He ends up staying out on the sand to spite him. He ignores the smirk Carlos gives him later as Lando laughs and pokes at his sunburned back.

——

Later, after Max wins the immunity challenge, George asks him who he’s thinking of voting tonight.

“I dunno, but I think Carlos is a good choice. Breaking up that alliance before they get a foothold in the game is probably a good idea. “ Oscar says, feigning nonchalance. It’s purely strategic, he tells himself.

George nods. “And you’re sure you can get Daniel and Zhou to vote with us?”

“Course he can!” Alex says, laying an arm around Oscars shoulder with an easy smile. “And even if he can’t, I think we’ll survive to another day. I mean, nobody even knows we’re allied. There's no way they think that a bunch of lanky and short guys are bigger threats than someone like Valterri or Fernando.”

Oscar nods along, a smile growing despite himself as he watches Lando shove Alex for calling him short. This is my endgame, he thinks to himself.

——

George is trembling on the way back from tribal. From rage or shock, Oscar doesn’t know. Lando is silent for once, white-knuckled grip on his pack and lips pursed into a sharp line.

Alex going home tonight was not part of the plan. They were supposed to have the numbers, with Lewis, Valterri, Zhou, and Daniel voting with them. I guess they found their number, Oscar thought bitterly and he watched Daniel and Max whisper to each other up ahead.

It was a good move. If Oscar were at home watching, he would be applauding them for identifying the threat within the tribe and dealing a significant blow to them. But now, as he was forced to trudge back to camp minus Alex, Oscar just feels a sort of sourness in his stomach.

This feeling is only amplified when they arrive back at camp, and Carlos turns to him with a big smile on his face. Oscar doesn’t think it's dopey anymore.

“I told you, Oscar!” Carlos sings to him as Oscar is trying to dig for his jacket in his pack. “I told you we would control the vote. Are you rethinking my offer now? Though, I think we are less in need of ‘sheep’ now.”

Oscar rethinks every post he’s ever made on Twitter calling out contestants for being butthurt for being on the wrong side of the vote. Tries to school his expression, tries to steady his breathing and refrain himself from punching Carlos straight in the face.

“Fuck off.” Is what he settles for instead, a shove that barely makes Carlos stumble. Oscar can hear his cackling laugh echo through the night air as he stomps down to the beach to meet with George and Lando.

“What the fuck just happened.” George starts. “We were supposed to be safe- We were not supposed to be the targets! It was supposed to be Fernando, or Valterri, or even fucking Lewis-“

”I just don’t understand how they knew,” Lando stresses, hand pulling through his curls. “We were keeping it a secret and everything!”

Oscar doesn’t say anything, because the sour feeling in his stomach has just curdled. Nobody said anything about an alliance, he realises, except for him. Except for that stupid throwaway line to Carlos on the beach. A throwaway line that he then latched onto, analyzed, and deduced a potential member from.

The guilt eats at him, in the silence. Nobody speaks for a bit. Oscar is about to open his mouth and apologize when Lando says “Franco.”

They both turn to look at him. ”Franco was in our old tribe, he voted with them tonight. He must’ve figured it out.” Lando continues.

And it’s an out. An easy way to avoid blame, to explain away the sudden target of Alex. Oscar only feels slightly bad when he nods along. After all, it makes perfect sense.

They talk for a little more, discuss further plans of action. But there is only one fact repeating in Oscars head by the time they get back to camp:

Carlos Sainz is bad for his game.

[lucaswarmhotchocolate]

Harry Potter can cook. tbh. He deserves it. Also I headcanon that voldemort has made it so he does not need to sleep or eat much in order to thrive, physically and mentally, but he still eats anything Harry cooks and offers to him. A love language, of sorts.

[celtrist]

I really want to see a more fucked up version of Charlie in canon. Like, okay, I am a die-hard for sweet bubbly girls in media. But I always see how some people make Charlie actually, oh I dunno... demonic? And it's so refreshing for her type of character. I could honestly see her having low empathy (and we kinda see this with how she handled Angel's situation or even Vaggie's nervousness about taking control on an activity). An exploration of that trait (if it was intended) would be interesting to see for a protagonist, especially when her main goal is about helping others. I would love to see her actually have a level of difficulty in understanding others' feelings from the other residents, sinners, and even her father.

But give her a fucked up side. Not a "she gets more power when she's angey uwu", but a "oh, she's a little fucked in the head". It would give so much to her character that she just doesn't have.

@/murmurmurena (don't wanna bother them so slash there we go) has some fun ideas with Charlie. I highly encourage people to check their stuff out! So many fun dark ideas with her character while also still keeping to her canon personality pretty well! Personally, I think Charlie being a bit more naive to her own messed up traits would work best but her also being aware of these traits can make for some interesting character for her.

THIS FIC, "A Game Between You and I". RIGHT HERE WITH THE FIRST CHAPTER. A bit of spoil for the fic here: but I love how they handled Charlie’s absolute ignorance as to why the idea of Russian roulette is horrifying to Angel Dust. It doesn't feel like her being intentionally malicious or aware that she's the odd man out here. This is also a pretty old fic going by only the pilot, but the point still stands that it was such a fun take for her character!

Charlie is one of my favorite characters in the show in part of the POTENTIAL she could have as being the most bubbly sweetheart character while also being the most messed up character in the show. I can't say I have strong confidence with the show's writing and fully expect them to stick with Charlie being the "nice girl but oh no, don't get her angry or she gets scarwy". Which isn't bad for a character mind you, there's just so much more potential to Charlie outside of that trope, especially when you get into the theories of her either being a doll, Roo's biological daughter, or what have you. And for the MAIN CHARACTER of the show, it would be not only interesting but also bring the spotlight back to her.

There's really no question that the side characters steal the show, particularly all the male characters. If I'm honest, Charlie does not feel like she gets a lot of love from the show itself when she's supposed to be the main character. She feels far more flat compared to the rest of the characters (again, the male cast in this "female-lead" show has more depth than most of the female cast currently. I wouldn't be pointing this tidbit concerning the genders of characters if it weren't for the fact Viv defended Helluva's lack of development with their female cast by saying "Hazbin is a female-lead show and Helluva is a male-lead" and Hazbin ended up with it not feeling female lead (to me) and the male cast just completely stealing the show. I don't normally care about gender stuff, especially since I do personally lean interest towards male characters. But using one show as a defense for poor development of the female characters, and then that show not really holding up with no very interesting well-developed feeling female characters irritates me. It's just very clear that these shows don't seem to care much about the female cast :/)

If you like how Charlie is written that's totally fine. PERSONALLY, I just think they're missing so much opportunity with her character by just making her the standard female character type. I honestly don't have a lot of faith they'll actually do something with Charlie's character though. She's a pretty static character in S1 being the same from start to end. Not changing or learning anything to create any development. What does the end of season Charlie do that start of season Charlie wouldn't do? Fight back? Because we see with the pilot (which is the “first episode”) that Charlie does fight people if pushed like with Katie Killjoy and even Valentino. Static characters can work in media depending on the show or their role. But Charlie is the MC of a show about “bettering one's self”. So to have her as a static with not a lot of strong dilemmas for herself (like we see with Angel Husk Al and even Vox) seems silly. Plus, considering Hazbin is telling a whole story and it's not a fun episodic thing, characters are expected to grow on some level. Or else, what was the point of their hero's journey?

[luna-the-cretar]

What if…Marius makes a comment about how pretty Lethica’s ear jewelry is (bc idk what that thing on the tip of her ears are called), and wonders out loud if he could ever pull off jewelry like that, and Lethica offers to help him pierce his ears and give him some of her extra earrings and such. Perhaps nothing too feminine, but something elegant that fits his vibe.

Am I just saying this bc i decided to draw Marius in casual wear (bc there’s no way in the Nine Hells he’s sleeping in all that armor, even in his less bulky rose armor), and decided last minute to give him earrings that are vaguely similar to Lethica’s?

…mayhaps

[marbledpython]

many thoughts about these guys

[leviiackrman]

THE ULTIMATE ORIGINAL CHARACTER STAT SHEET

download || soundtrack template || more edits

Annnnnd she actually delivers for once!! Here's the completed stat sheet, free to use by anyone! I wanted a dnd esq sheet but for non dnd characters, so here you go. Drop me a tag so I can see what y'all do with it if ya want, and happy editing!

Typefaces Used: headings = "Blackout", general text = "Mimi"

tag list (ask to be added or removed): @bbrocklesnar @carrionsflower  @risingsh0t @statichvm  @marivenah @confidentandgood  @unholymilf @florbelles @thedeadthree @simonxriley @shellibisshe @roofgeese @aezyrraeshh @faerune @tekehu @arklay @jackiesarch @zevlor @minaharkers @captmactavish @carlosoliveiraa @rosenfey @queennymeria @shadowglens @nokstella @nightbloodbix @heroofpenamstan @fenharel @alexxmason @malefiicarum @rolangf @gwynbleidd @delzinrowe

[demonslayedher]

I finished posting the unabashedly educational Sword Fic.

It includes a detailed (but hopefully beginner-friendly) explanation of all the steps of making a Nichirin blade from a sunny mountain like Mt. Youkou, a touch of swordsmith and metalworker folk lore (including demons), meta about what must make Kimetsu no Yaiba's swordsmithing methods different from real life methods, some character exploration for Haganezuka and his polishing method, vocabulary and additional resources in the chapter notes, and hopefully, an endearing, silly POV character to learn this all through.

[mammoth-clangen]

Do you have any source websites about mesozoic wildlife/ecosystems? I want to make a clangen or just comic thing about some form of dinosaur (either the microraptor, velociraptor, or kulindadromeus) and I'd like to figure out what other species were a part of their life

Nope sorry, research is rarely that easy buuuuut...

*cracks knuckles*

H'okay I have some advice but it'll probably be long and rambly.

Disclaimer:

I am a professional Nothing and am not an authority on anything. There is no right or wrong, this is just how I Personally do research.

Short answer:

Work out what geological formation(s) your chosen main-character-species is found in and Wikipedia it. (E.g. Kulindadromeus is fron the Russian Ukureyskaya Formation). Then go to Wikipedia's sources and skim at least the abstracts of scientific papers to get an idea if things.

If the Formation is lacking info, try searching the Epoch they're from. By that I mean "middle Jurassic" not just "Jurassic" 'cause each of these is already Huge, you want a decent idea of the overallworld they lived in! (Better yet, get it to stage, like Callovian or Maastrichian)

Also learn to draw ferns, lots of ferns, there's no grass in the Mesozoic so the groundcover is Weird cx

Long answer

(to be considered before even getting to the above step):

When choosing a setting for a story, particularly a paleo one, I find it useful to decide on what kind of story I want to tell first, then pick a species that compliments that.

A clangen, for example, relies heavily on the species being very social (such as herding hadrosaurs or sauropods). Telling a story about a lone traveller might be better with a large pterosaur or wandering ceratopsian. A story about warring factions would be better set a high competition environment like the Kem Kem or Morison, with several fighting predator guilds. Conversely a story about working through personal differences may be better with different species of herbivores living in symbiosis; hadrosaurs and ornithomimids acting like modern gazelles and zebras.

Etc etc

Choosing a species first is fine, but you'll likely have to work the story around what makes sense within that! Otherwise you end up with the aforementioned social tigers and patriarchal hyenas.

Also don't shrink-wrap your dinosaurs im begging on my hands and knees

tl;dr: research everything, choosing a species before a story is climbing ass-first up a tree, Wikipedia is your friend because they compile and summarise primary sources

[seiwas]

for writing game, iwaizumi + assistance <3

hope this sparks some inspo and thank you in advancee

hi there!! thanks for sending in a prompt 🫶

contains: friends to lovers (ish), halloween parties, reader is dressed as catwoman, expletives, iwaizumi is thiiiiis 🤏 close to murdering seijoh4 (jk)

iwaizumi + assistance

this is a set-up.

iwaizumi knows he shouldn't have fucking believed anything the boys "promised" him back when they assigned him this costume.

the suit is fucking tight, spandex digging into his groins and all other crevices that definitely should be aired out after after a few hours. he's had to constantly readjust his stance almost every few minutes, the black fabric compressing his thighs and torso, significantly constricting the range of motion his shoulders and arms are typically used to. if anything else, it could double up as a back brace from how rigidly straight it's kept his posture all night.

he'll give it to makki though; he did outdo himself sourcing this year's costumes―this batman set looks pretty damn legit.

except for one tiny problem.

there's no fucking pee hole. it's a zip-up, zip-down one-piece situation. and that normally wouldn't be a problem, except that oikawa "accidentally" knocked over a cocktail straight into his pants, the sickeningly sweet liquid now seeping straight into the fabric and past his boxers―cold and sticky as it touches his skin.

and so, the problem: his pants are wet, it makes him want to fucking pee, and coincidentally, the only vacant bathroom is across the hall, at your apartment.

this is why he believes this is a set up. that, and the fact that you're dressed in an outfit strikingly similar―just with cat ears.

he's been asked five times in this party if you're in matching couple outfits.

it catches him off guard, flusters him because of how badly he wants to say yes. but, you're just friends, and he doesn't even think you like him that way (despite mattsun and oikawa practically begging him to confess. makki tells him he thinks you're going to do it first).

so he politely smiles and says no, but you look good, your costume clinging to you in all the right places. thank fucking god he has a cape because he's pretty sure he spent the first 30 minutes in the party hiding his boner.

"hajime, it's fine, i swear," you stand beside him in front of the conveniently locked bathroom in oikawa's apartment. from the other side of the door, he's pretty sure he hears mattsun and his girlfriend mumbling. maybe fucking? who knows. "you can just use the bathroom in my apartment."

he glances at you before closing his eyes, contemplating, before finally agreeing to you.

"okay."

if he's being honest with himself, friends is definitely an incomplete label to what you are. as oikawa's neighbor, you are conveniently around all the time; and oikawa being oikawa, the ever-social butterfly, he's somehow managed to carve a space for you in the friend group.

(never mind the fact that oikawa's sniffed him out from the moment he first introduced you.)

you were a crush, then a friend, and now you're someone he picks up from work and drives back home three times a week, because he "has to train oikawa." you don't question it, even when you both know he stays over for dinner way past the gym's open hours.

"you know where it is," you open your apartment and urge him in.

"sorry again," he turns to face you.

"yeah, yeah, just pee!" you laugh, shoving him towards the bathroom door.

getting out of the suit is manageable, and he's able to wipe off a bit of the cocktail that's leaked to the suit and his boxers just to make sure it isn't gross and sticky when he gets home later. peeing is a big relief once he gets it over with, but it's when he has to suit up again that things become difficult.

stretching out the spandex one body part at a time is a workout in itself―the hardest task being when he has to pull it over his shoulders, adjusting it to fit properly over his arms and chest.

but then the zipper breaks.

and he truly thinks makki has fucked him over.

iwaizumi contemplates what to do next for a good, good while. he tries calling oikawa, only to no success every time; no way in hell is he calling mattsun in the middle of having sex. and calling makki isn't even an option; he'd never hear the end of it.

then you knock on the door, your voice soft and concerned as you ask, "hajime? you good in there?" you hit it spot on, too, "do you need help with your suit?"

iwaizumi presses his palms to his eyes. he's a rational man, straightforward and logical in thinking. there is literally no other option for him right now but to ask help from you. again.

fuck.

.

it's 30 minutes later when oikawa barges in your door, and the sight that greets him is iwaizumi in nothing but a hoodie (the hoodie you borrowed some time ago) and his boxers, with his hands on your waist as you hover your hairdryer over the crotch of his batman costume―cat headpiece off and all.

"you finally got together?!"

[necrotic-nephilim]

bftc jaytim fuck nasty in their batman suits🩷

CORRECT THEY DO. it's like you live in my brain, anon. and for that, you get a full fic bc i've wanted to write this anyway and you gave me an excuse to. have 6k words worth of dirtybadwrong JayTim. rough sex, blood play, pain play, degradation, consensual but not safe or sane, dead dove vibes so be warned. but also enjoy bc ily for this thought anon 🩷

“You look ridiculous in that get-up. Like a kid out for trick-or-treats.” The words were just as brutal as the fight was. Jason had the bodyweight and training to easily pin Tim, now that he was done toying around. 

Of course, toying around for Jason Todd looked like bloody slashes across Tim’s back, base of his skull, and his forehead. Picking one of Bruce’s older suits may have been a bad idea on Tim’s part. The armor was thinner and easier for Jason to slash through with a batarang in a clenched fist. 

Tim had managed to knock the batarang out of Jason’s hand, but that also seemed like a bad idea now, with Jason on top of Tim. His fists were even more brutal, blunt weapons and he’d reinforced the gloves to make his punches hit harder across Tim’s face. 

There was blood pouring from Tim’s nose and mouth. With all the pain flaring across his body, it was hard for him to get a good read on if anything was broken or not. 

All he knew was it hurt. His head spun from slamming against the concrete. It was hard for Tim to blink his eyes into focus. And when he did, he wished he hadn’t. Jason was leaning in so close, his mask was all Tim could see. Tim dizzily wondered how the glowing eyes didn’t impede Jason’s vision. 

“Look at me,” Jason demanded. His voice was robotic behind the thick metal mouthpiece. One of his fists pulled back for another punch. “Do you see terror? Do you see fear? Or is it just your own reflection?”

By some miracle, Tim managed to catch the punch before it connected with his face. The muscles in his wrist and forearm screamed at the animalistic strength Jason pushed back with, inching his fist closer and closer to connecting. If it did manage to connect, Tim knew his own hand in the way wouldn’t do much to soften the blow. If anything, Jason would shatter Tim’s knuckles against his own nose.

Not a pretty thought.

“That mad I said no to being your Robin?” Tim wheezed. It was hard to get air in his lungs, with Jason perched on his chest, putting all his weight on Tim’s midsection. 

Jason scoffed with cruel amusement. “You’re a second choice, Drake. It doesn’t matter to me if you say no, I can always ask the original. He’d at least put up a better fight than you’re managing.”

Tim couldn’t argue that. He thought he’d have some kind of chance in a fight against Jason, but it was a losing game to confront Jason on his turf, in a suit Tim wasn’t comfortable in. He was too stupid to even bring his bo staff.

A great Batman he was turning out to be.

With bloody teeth, Tim smiled. “You’re right. Is that why I’m your reflection, Jason? Two second rate Robins who will never be the original?” He managed a laugh against protesting ribs. “For what it’s worth, I still think I’m better than you. Least I didn’t die.”

He couldn’t see the look on Jason’s face, but he didn’t need to. The feral yell that came out of Jason spoke for itself at how well Tim got under his skin. Jason’s other fist came barreling toward Tim’s face, but he managed to move his head out of the way, making it only connect with the ground. Jason’s punch was hard enough to make the concrete crack.

Even with the reinforced gloves, that had to hurt. Maybe a couple cracked bones, if Tim was lucky. Jason couldn’t hit as hard if he injured himself. 

That was a solid plan. If he’d actually planned it in the first place. 

“Can’t believe I ever liked you, Drake,” Jason snarled, pulling his hand free from the concrete. He flexed his fingers just a bit too slow. He definitely hurt himself, even if he was trying to hide it. Jason went for his utility belt, grabbing another batarang. 

“Flattering,” Tim deadpanned. He tried to elbow Jason in the neck, but Jason easily twisted away from the blow. 

“I really did you know,” Jason said. Maybe it was the mask, but Tim could’ve sworn Jason’s tone changed slightly. “If Bruce hadn’t corrupted you, you really could’ve been something.”

Tim ignored the comment about Bruce. Bruce’s death was too raw for Tim to be able to look at his grief about it head-on. “Can’t say the feeling was mutual,” Tim grunted. He tried to slash his glove fins across Jason’s face. But Jason was smarter. He had a more durable suit that made the blow easily glance off. 

Damn Tim for picking this suit. He idealized Bruce’s image too much and forwent practicality. He was paying for it now. A new suit would’ve had proper weapons worked into the wrists for Tim to easily flick out. 

“I don’t know about that,” Jason mocked with a cold laugh. “Remind me again Drake, who broke me out of prison?”

He had a point. 

“Real great job you’ve done repaying that kindness,” Tim muttered. He avoided addressing it directly. He didn’t owe Jason his reasons. Especially not with how they’d all blown up in his face. 

“I never needed your kindness,” Jason growled. He wrapped a hand around Tim’s throat and pressed down just enough to make it uncomfortable for Tim to breathe. “That’s what all you Bats could never get through your skulls. I didn’t need to be Bruce’s pity project, and I definitely didn’t need to be yours.”

“Trust me,” Tim fought to get the words out, trying to worm his fingers under Jason’s grip. “You don’t have my pity.”

“What do I have, then?”

“My contempt.” The more Tim struggled, the tighter Jason’s grip got. The sharp points of his claws were starting to dig into Tim’s skin and draw blood. Blood flow was cut off from Tim’s brain and he fought to keep hold of his consciousness. 

“Liar,” Jason hissed. “No one else is here, Tim. You don’t have to pretend and hide things from me I already know.”

Maybe passing out would be a good thing. Then, Tim would have a convenient reason for not answering Jason. A reason to not face the truth Jason wanted him to bare.

Tim knew that Jason probably knew. The way they’d looked at each other through the prison safety glass when Jason was locked up had a thousand unspoken words in just a shared smile. A promise, that maybe, if Jason cleaned himself up with this second chance, there could be something between them.

But Jason didn’t clean up. He flung himself in the opposite direction, if anything. A growing body count and an ugly reign of terror that was Tim’s job to stop.

He started this. He put misplaced faith in Jason. Tim’s bad judgment jeopardized Gotham. 

And now Jason wanted the unspoken part said out loud. Something a part of Tim would rather die than admit after all this. They both already knew. Making Tim say it was just an obvious attempt to humiliate him and Tim refused to sink to Jason’s level.

All this over a stupid crush. 

“Fine,” Jason continued when Tim didn’t say anything. “I’ll say it for you. You loved me.”

Tim made a face and twisted, finally forcing Jason’s hand free from his neck with a hard strike to his inner elbow. “It wasn’t love,” he insisted through grit teeth.

“What was it then?”

Tim didn’t say a word. He wasn’t going to give in to Jason’s cruelty.

“Tell you what,” Jason’s voice dropped low and almost sultry. “If you say it out loud, I’ll give you a free pass. No one will know.”

“A free pass?”

There was no way Jason was implying what Tim thought he was.

“Right here, right now.” Jason nodded. “Can’t say I’ll make it sweet, but something tells me you’re not the vanilla type anyway.”

Shit. He was implying that. Tim’s breath caught in his throat.

The answer should’ve been obvious. 

The answer was obvious. Tim was laying in a growing pool of his own blood because of Jason. Countless people were dead because of Jason. Bruce’s legacy was being destroyed because of Jason. Whatever little crush Tim had once had was long gone and replaced with disgust and hatred.

Most of it was. 

But some small piece of Tim clung to the way Jason grinned at him. And that small piece of him seemed to be steering the rest of him, making him hesitate on what should’ve been an easy answer. An easy chance to catch Jason off guard and get the upper hand in the fight.

Tim hoped the cowl hid enough of his face that his expression wasn’t readable. 

“Over my dead body,” Tim forced the words out, pulling himself back into reality. Praying Jason wouldn’t read into the pause. 

Jason’s body shifted. He was quiet for a moment, then he shrugged and brought the batarang clenched in his fist to Tim’s neck, easily finding the jugular. “So be it. I agree anyway. Killing you is the best way to cut this goddamn feeling out of me.”

“What feeling?” Tim frowned, fingers twitching as he stalled, trying to think of a real plan. 

“No, no.” Jason shook his head and laughed. It was a hollow sound, this time. “You don’t get to have your cake and eat it too. If you won’t say it, then I won’t either.”

Oh.

“You…” Tim sucked in a breath. He was on death’s edge, a blade to his neck, but somehow it was the furthest thing from his spinning mind. “You like me? Like that?” He said it like a stupid high schooler, too shy to even look their crush in the eye. 

“What difference does it make now?” Jason shifted his weight on Tim, bearing down more. “This was always how it was going to end, between us.”

“It makes all the difference,” Tim said. He didn’t know why it did. But he knew it did. Tim reached a hand up, but instead of going for Jason’s batarang, he went further. His fingers reached under his own cowl and tugged it off, baring his face to Jason. 

Vulnerability. A metaphorical white flag, surrendering to Jason. 

Tim was dangerously close to getting himself killed. He could feel it, in his beating heart and overflowing adrenaline. 

“I would’ve come at this from a different angle if I knew…” Tim started, before trailing off. They were still dancing around saying it directly.

Jason barked out another laugh. “Oh, would you? What, you would’ve come to talk instead of fight? You really think that would’ve worked?”

“Maybe-“

“I told you,” Jason’s grip on the batarang tightened, “I don’t need your fucking pity.”

“And you don’t have it,” Tim snapped back. Too angry. This angle was quickly slipping away from him. Shit. “You’re a psychopathic killer and I don’t know if you can ever been redeemed after what you’ve done. But I would’ve tried out of love, not pity, you sanctimonious asshole.”

Jason stuttered. He leaned back and breathed hard. Tim really wished he wasn’t wearing that stupid mask. “You said it wasn’t love.”

Tim took in a deep breath, and let himself fall over the ledge he’d been trying so hard to cling to since Jason pinned him. “I lied.”

For a moment, Tim was convinced he’d just sealed his own coffin. Whatever Jason’s feelings were, it didn’t seem like they were any particular deterrent to hurting Tim. He was inches away from killing Tim and leaving his body for someone else to find.

If they found Tim’s body at all.

But instead. Instead, Jason reached up and ripped the metal part of his mask off, tossing it aside to skitter off into the darkness.

And he kissed Tim.

Tim let out the breath he was holding against Jason’s mouth. And in turn, Jason breathed him in, greedy with his kiss. The batarang was kept firm against Tim’s throat, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Jason was kissing him. 

There was still the logical side of him screaming just how bad of an idea this was. All the reasons he could think of to not tangle with Jason were running circles across his mind. 

Tim ignored them and kissed Jason back. 

Jason tasted like metal and he smelled like gunpowder. Both of those things made sense and made Tim want more. He wanted every single part of Jason he could drink up, even from a single kiss. Jason’s tongue was in his mouth, licking and opening Tim up. They shared each other’s blood through the kiss, until Tim couldn’t tell whose was whose. 

The kiss was broken by Jason just as suddenly as it was started. Jason pulled back and raised the batarang. Panic flashed through Tim and he instinctively threw his hands up to cover his face and neck. 

The batarang slashed through Tim’s suit though, thankfully not giving him what might’ve been the stupidest death in the history of vigilantism. Jason didn’t seem to care about making sure the cut didn’t get Tim’s skin, though. Shallow wounds sprang across Tim’s skin and he hissed, watching Jason turn the suit to ribbons. The batarang was then tossed aside so Jason could rip off the suit as he leaned back. 

The bat symbol on Tim’s chest stayed in tact, but everything below it was ripped away, exposing him from his abs down to his thighs. Jason knew exactly how to unclip the utility belt and throw that aside, with the shreds of fabric. 

Cold air hit Tim’s most private areas. He wanted to cover himself, but he couldn’t get his hands to obey. His entire body was paralyzed under Jason’s gaze.

“Take off your mask,” Tim found his voice, rough and not sounding like himself.

Jason wore a cruel smirk. “No.” He did take off his gloves, though. Tim didn’t hide his sigh of relief. He didn’t want those claws on his skin. He was bleeding enough as it was.

The moment Jason’s hands were bare, he ran them over Tim’s skin. Tim hissed and flinched, but didn’t pull away. He let Jason’s warm hands claim his skin. Jason wasn’t kind or gentle. He smeared Tim’s blood around, exploring every bare inch. Tim’s stomach, his hips, his back, his legs. 

Jason curled a hand around Tim’s dick and Tim’s back arched. 

To be fair, this wasn’t exactly how he’d pictured sleeping with Jason. Still, he couldn’t find it in him to complain. 

Jason jerked Tim off rough and fast. The blood on his hand was slick enough to make a smooth glide over the callouses of his palm. Tim groaned, eyes fluttering shut. He bucked into Jason’s hand. As much pain as his body was in, the pleasure was too distracting for him to care. Tim choked on every breath he managed to take in, unable to stop himself from crying out and whining.

His body was screaming at him because of what Jason had done to him. And now, he was letting himself fall apart to Jason’s hands in a different way. 

“If Grayson found us, he’d think I was fucking torturing you from all the pathetic noises you’re making,” Jason growled. He barely sounded human. He slid his other hand up Tim’s chest and grabbed Tim’s face, stroking his cheek. 

Tim groaned at the thought. He forced his eyes to open just so he could look at Jason. He really wished Jason would take the cowl off. Tim wanted to see Jason’s face more than anything. 

“Don’t bring him up,” Tim gasped, practically humping Jason’s hand for more delirious pleasure. “I don’t want to think about him now.”

At least he could see Jason’s smirk. “Why? Because you know he’d disapprove?”

“Because I want to think about you.” Tim tried to grab at Jason’s suit to pull it off. His hands were clumsy and shaky though, probably from blood loss. All he could do was uselessly press them against Jason’s chest and feel the warmth through layers of armor.

“Fuck,” Jason groaned. His whole body shuddered, affected by Tim’s words alone. Jason stopped jerking Tim off so he could unclip his belt. He kept his other hand against Tim’s face though. Stroking it. “Least I know why you broke me out of prison, now.”

Tim made an aghast noise. “This is not why I broke you out of prison.”

Jason leaned in close, resting his face against Tim’s. “You still broke me out. So all my blood is on your hands too, Tim.” He pressed a kiss against Tim’s temple. “Bruce wouldn’t have been stupid enough to do that. Hell of a Batman you make.” It was like he had crawled into Tim’s brain just to voice all the awful little thoughts that Tim tried to bury. 

“You-“ Tim tried to snap back, but he was distracted by the sound of Jason undoing a clasp, then a zipper. Tim looked down and watched, breath caught in his throat, as Jason pulled his cock out of his pants.

He was already hard. 

Jason’s hand smeared blood across his member. Tim swallowed at the sight. Jason had pushed his pants down just enough to expose a sliver of pale skin. He had a sharp v-line and toned muscles just from the bit Tim could see. An embarrassing noise came out of Tim’s throat.

“Pathetic,” Jason said, but he groaned on the word, working his hand over himself. It was filthy. Both of them, covered in blood, and Jason jerking off on top of Tim. 

Tim wrapped an arm around Jason. He wanted to sink his fingers into Jason’s hair, but he settled for wrapping them around the back of Jason’s cowl. Tim seriously considered trying to pull the cowl off himself, but he doubted Jason would take kindly to it. 

The noises Jason made as he pleasured himself were beautiful. Tim’s sounds were animalistic and, in Jason’s own words, pathetic. Barely human sounding. But Jason. Jason sounded practically divine, low and smooth as he moaned in Tim’s ear. 

“Please,” Tim gasped. He wasn’t sure what he was asking for.

“That desperate?” Jason downright purred. 

Tim didn’t hold himself back from nodding. He swallowed down his dignity. 

If he had any dignity left.

“I’m not going to be gentle,” Jason warned. Like he was giving Tim one last chance to back out.

Tim just laughed. “If you think I want you to be gentle, you really don’t know a thing about me.”

A guttural groan came out of Jason. He pulled back and lifted one of Tim’s legs, bending it as far back as he could. Tim wasn’t quite as flexible as Dick was, but Jason got pretty far before Tim’s muscles protested and he winced. 

“Of course you shave down there,” Jason commented. He slid a hand over Tim’s smooth skin around his cock and balls.

“I don’t like pubes getting caught in my suit,” Tim huffed, trying not to let his cheeks go red.

“Don’t worry,” Jason hummed, “I think it’s cute. Makes you look like a fucking virgin.”

“I’m not.” Like it mattered.

Jason paused, just staring at Tim. Was he disappointed? It was hard to tell. “I’m going to ruin you for anyone else, so it doesn’t matter either way.” Whether or not he was disappointed was masked with a rough, possessive anger that made Tim gasp.

Rough fingers ran over the shallow cuts on Tim’s stomach and he hissed at the sudden sharp pain. It wasn’t easy to ignore the dull throbbing when Jason was practically fingering the open wounds. Tim almost asked what the hell he was doing, before he realized Jason was smearing blood across his fingers, getting them slick and coated.

“Seriously? You’re going to use my own blood to fuck me?” Tim asked, like just the thought of it wasn’t making him spread his legs wider. Still, the idea of cleaning tacky blood out of himself did make Tim internally cringe.

“You got a better idea?” Jason shot back. 

“I think there’s lube in-“

“No.” Jason cut him off, pressing harder into the cuts just to make Tim wince. “We’re doing it my way, or I just leave you in a pool of your own blood with a hard-on.”

“Okay.” Tim caved instantly with a hushed whisper at the rough dominance. 

It was so easy, for Jason to take complete control of Tim. He was putty in Jason’s hands, content to be manipulated however Jason wanted, so long as Tim got his own pleasure out of it. If Jason wanted Tim to bleed, he would bleed. If he wanted Tim to be spread open and ready to be fucked, then Tim would give him that too.

Christ. He needed to be checked out mentally after this. 

Jason gave Tim a pleased hum, probably the closest thing to praise Tim was going to get out of him. He’d take it. Blood slick fingers pressed against Tim’s hole. Two fingers were forced in at once, hard and fast.

Tim screamed.

He didn’t expect Jason to be gentle, but it seemed like Jason was going out of his way to be rough. Scrapping his nails against Tim’s insides and brutally twisting his fingers around. He didn’t try to hit Tim’s prostate to bring any kind of pleasure. The brushes of his fingers over that spot were more painful than pleasurably, if anything. Fast and rough, giving Tim no chance to soak up the sparks of sensation from the bundle of nerves.

“Oh god,” Tim groaned, throwing his head back. His hips twitched violently, like they weren’t sure to press into Jason’s fingers for more, or to try to pull away from the horrible assault.

It’d been a while since Tim had been in this much pain. So battered from a fight that every movement of his body was weak and shaky. He grabbed onto Jason’s arm, desperate for an anchor. He couldn’t have pulled Jason off of him, even if he wanted to.

He didn’t, though. Tim wanted this to last as long as it possibly could. 

He never got to drown himself in the pain. Pain was something that had to be compartmentalized and ignored, for the sake of the mission. Getting back on his feet and ignoring the way his body screamed at him was one of the first things Bruce taught him. 

Now, Tim didn’t have to fight it. He could just give in. The half-hearted instincts from his body trying to fight back were ignored by Jason. Like Jason knew that Tim wanted this. 

Needed this. 

At some point, Jason must’ve worked a third finger inside of Tim. He didn’t notice. The burning stretch swirled with every other point of pain on his body. 

He did noticed when Jason finally decided to purposefully press against Tim’s prostate.

This pleasure was new. Foreign and overstimulating with how aggressively Jason pressed down on the spot, rubbing into it to pull all kinds of noises out of Tim he didn’t know he was capable of making. 

“Jason!” Tim cried out. “Fuck, too much, I can’t-“ Tim’s stomach was cramping from how hard his muscles clenched. He was falling, losing his grip on sensible reality. His head was full of cotton, foggy and unable to get a solid grip on coherent thought.

There were only three things that existed to Tim: pain, pleasure, and Jason. 

“You can’t what? Use your fucking words,” Jason mocked, vicious and uncaring. He rested Tim’s leg over his shoulder to free up his other hand. His fingers wrapped around Tim’s balls and tugged. Tim screamed and arched like a jack knife. He hadn’t noticed how close his orgasm was creeping up on him until Jason pulled it away with a brutal, carnal pain. When Tim lost control of his body, Jason found it and snatched it up, holding Tim’s pleasure in his palm. Tim wanted to curl in on himself, but he couldn’t force his limbs to obey. 

“Hurts,” was all Tim could groan out. He might’ve been crying. It was hard to tell, with his face so wet with blood. 

“Good.”

“Jason,” Tim tried to beg. He was lost to subspace, something he barely realized until now. “I can’t take anymore.” He wanted more. More than want, god, he needed more, but his body was wired so tight Tim was convinced he was going to snap if Jason kept going. 

He wanted that too.

“That’s not for you to decide.” Jason’s rough voice was a light at the end of a tunnel Tim was struggling toward to ground himself. To focus on something besides the agony crashing over his body in brutal waves. “Do you really think you’re in the fucking state to know what you can take?”

Jason was right. Tim just whined, a noise that turned into a choked sob when Jason pulled his fingers out just enough to slam them into Tim’s sweet spot again, overwhelming him with more awful pleasure. 

“Give yourself over to me,” Jason demanded. He leaned in close again. Tim’s vision was blurred, but he could smell the gunpowder and leather. “Say it. Say I own you.”

Tim wanted to. He tried, opening his mouth and struggling to get the words out. He could only make more pathetic noises.

“Say it, or I’ll stab you and leave you to fucking bleed out.”

He probably wasn’t lying.

“You-“ Tim choked on the word, shaking so hard his muscles were spasming. “You own me.” Three little words, and they were the hardest words Tim had ever tried to say. Each one fought against him, getting stuck in his throat. 

But he said them. Because right now, they were the only religion Tim believed in. 

“Look at that,” Jason cooed. So patronizing. “You’re not completely brainless and worthless. Yet, anyway.” He pulled his fingers out of Tim. One second those fingers had been driving Tim mad because they were inside of him, and now they were driving him mad because they left him empty and wanting. 

His body needed more. More pain, more pleasure. Until he broke and Jason fucked the shattered pieces left of Tim. 

Jason got a hand underneath Tim, using the blood from the gash on Tim’s back to slick his fingers this time. That gash was far deeper. Something that probably needed stitches. It had started trying to clot but Jason agitated it enough for fresh blood to pour out. He was able to actually work his fingers under Tim’s bloody skin, making Tim shriek and try to pull away. 

There was nowhere for him to escape from the mind-numbing pain. When he pulled away, he just crashed into Jason’s chest, forehead bumping against the bat symbol of Jason’s suit. 

“So fucking easy to push your buttons,” Jason laughed. He moved his fingers around a bit more just to make his point and pull more wounded noises out of Tim. Then he finally pulled them free and let Tim fall back to the hard ground. It knocked the wind out of Tim.

He didn’t have a chance to try to get air into his lungs. Because Jason slicked himself up with a disturbing speed and lined up. The warning of blunt pressure against Tim’s hole lasted a fraction of a second and then Jason snapped his hips. Buried to the hilt.

Tim almost passed out.

He didn’t know if it was from the pain, the blood loss, or his body’s inability to get oxygen into his lungs. Everything exploded inside of Tim. He was full, so full so fast. Jason’s fingers hadn’t been nearly kind enough to properly stretch Tim for Jason’s size. It almost felt like being stabbed.

Over and over, as Jason fucked into Tim with no kindness. 

A hard slap across Tim’s face forced him off of the edge of unconsciousness. He gasped, eyes snapping open to find Jason’s face right above his, the glowing eyes of the mask taking over Tim’s field of vision. 

Jason was smiling. Blood on his teeth, dripping out of his mouth. Was it his blood or Tim’s?

Tim hoped it was both. 

“I don’t know which Bruce would find more pathetic,” Jason groaned as he fucked into Tim, pulling small screams out of Tim with each punch of his cock, “you putting on that suit, or you letting me fuck you in it.” He brought his lips to Tim’s ear. “Who’s ruining his legacy now?”

If the physical pain wasn’t bad enough, Jason knew exactly how to rip open the wounds of Tim’s emotional pain alongside it. Tim cried out at the thought. 

What would Bruce think of him, like this? Pathetic and barely human underneath Jason Todd?

“And they call me the failed Robin,” Jason just kept talking, like he wasn’t destroying Tim from the inside out. “At least I know how to be something other than Robin. Are you really delusional enough to think you’re going to be the next Batman?” A long moan came out of him and he thrust even harder until Tim screamed loud enough to make himself dizzy. “Answer me.”

Tim just shook his head. “No.” His voice was broken. His throat was sore from screaming, but the word still came out. He’d never thought he really could be Batman. So what the hell was he thinking, putting this suit on?

“Good.” Jason slid his fingers under the bat symbol on Tim’s chest, one of the only parts of the suit in tact. He ripped it off, the fabric tearing loudly in Tim’s ears. “It’s good you know your fucking place.” Jason changed his angle, finding Tim’s battered prostate again. Tim didn’t have the air in his lungs to scream anymore. All he could do was weakly mewl and whimper.

He could die like this. He honestly might. Tim had no idea how his body was holding on, in this state. Maybe it was the pain and pleasure alone keeping him alive. Just so he could soak up every touch from Jason.

Tim was never going to allow himself to do this again. So he had to enjoy it while it lasted.

This time, Tim felt his orgasm creeping up on him. His fingers dug into Jason’s arm and he pressed up into Jason’s warmth. The material of Jason’s suit was rough and unforgiving. It didn’t feel particularly good for Tim to grind his cock against, but he didn’t care. He needed any kind of friction, whether it brought him pleasure or road rash. 

“I won’t stop if you come,” Jason warned, still hammering into Tim at a pace that should’ve been impossible for a normal human to manage. “This isn’t to make you feel good. It’s to put you in your fucking place.”

Tim could only whine, managing a nod of understanding. This was his place. He knew that. He never wanted to leave it. 

The threat of being fucked into overstimulation hung over Tim’s head, but he couldn’t stop himself from chasing the high of his orgasm. He almost wanted to feel the overstimulation. Like his orgasm was just something to get over with so Tim could completely give himself over to Jason. To be used just for Jason’s pleasure, even if it brought him nothing but more pain. 

That thought made Tim’s balls tighten. The only warning he could give Jason was a high pitched keen that barely sounded like Tim’s own voice. His eyes rolled back.

The pleasure of his orgasm didn’t overtake the screaming pain in the rest of his body. It just mixed with the pain, swirling into one intense feeling Tim didn’t have a name for. He screamed until his throat gave out. His back arched and he clenched around Jason, who kept driving into him. Jason growled in Tim’s ear. He was holding Tim’s hip so tight there would be bruises that would end up indistinguishable from the rest of Tim’s injuries.

All injuries that Jason gave Tim. Tim’s body was a canvass, and Jason’s favorite color to paint with was the red that poured out of Tim. 

It was the best orgasm Tim had ever felt. No feeling was ever going to match this intensity. 

Tim came down from his high with an awful wheeze, shuddering. He clung to Jason, like a guard dog laying at the feet of his master. 

“Fuck,” Jason moaned. A shudder ran down his spine and his pace faltered, just for a moment. “You’re really something else, Drake.” From Jason, that was practically a compliment for Tim to soak up and preen under. 

Tim’s body tipped over the edge of overstimulation. His survival instincts kicked in, trying to fight Jason. There was no strength behind his kicks and hits. They just made Jason laugh as Tim made a fool of himself.

“I own you,” Jason reminded Tim. He caught Tim’s wrist and pinned it against the cold concrete, squeezing tight enough to cut off circulation to Tim’s fingers. “I can do whatever I want to your useless body. Don’t try to fight it now.” He leaned down and found an exposed part of Tim’s neck to sink his teeth into. It wasn’t a hickey, but a proper bite, breaking Tim’s skin. 

Tim cried out, but still tilted his head to the side to give Jason better access to his neck. Even when his body wanted to fight, Tim managed to submit. Like the submission was natural to him. 

The pain took over. Tim just floated in it, forcing himself to go limp. Submit. No more fighting. He gave in to Jason and stopping thinking. All Tim needed to do was feel. Feel every point of agony scattered across his body. Feel Jason fucking him. Using him, like Tim was nothing more than a toy. The sparks from Jason slamming into his sweet spot couldn’t be called pleasure anymore, with Tim’s cock spent and limp. It was more pain. 

Better that way. Tim liked the pain more. Delicious and mind-numbing. 

Jason was swearing against Tim’s skin. He mumbled something Tim didn’t catch. Three syllables. Short and rushed out. Tim was almost convinced the second word was love. Maybe he was making it up in his head though, finally lost in utter delirium.

Tim didn’t care.

More insults fell from Jason’s lips. Calling Tim nothing, worthless, pathetic. A cheap pretender who deserved this. Tim agreed with all of it, feverishly nodding. The words were practically sweet nothings in Tim’s ears. 

Jason yelled Tim’s name when he came. His hips stuttered to a stop, buried deep inside of Tim. He knew Jason was coming inside of him, but his body was too battered to feel Jason’s cum filling his insides. Shame that was. Tim wanted to know how it felt, to be claimed by Jason in this carnal way.

They were both so perfectly still, for two people who had been shaking and clawing at each other just moments ago. The only noise was heavy breathing that echoed through the night.

Tim swallowed. He tried to find himself through the pain. He worked through the body checklist that Bruce gave him. Vision. Smell. Taste. Feel. Sound. All the sensations clashed against each other, out of focus and pounding against Tim’s skull.

It was so hard to think.

Tim groaned. Focus. 

Like cold water thrown on his face, he clawed his way out of subspace. Tim got a good look at Jason’s face.

“Are you crying?” Tim voiced the thought as soon as it crossed his mind. 

With the mask, it was hard to tell. Jason’s breathing was shuddered, hitching on every inhale. Tim wouldn’t call it sobbing, but it was close enough for Tim to study Jason’s face. The wetness coming out from under Jason’s mask wasn’t red. It streaked through the blood. 

Tear tracks. 

Jason’s completely rational response was to punch Tim in the face.

Tim swore and curled in on himself, cupping his nose. If it wasn’t broken before, it was now. Jason pulled out of Tim without any care and stood up, leaving him curled up on the ground, trying to set the broken bone and manage the bleeding.

Tim tried to sit up. His arms and legs gave out under him and he slammed back to the ground with a pained noise. He looked up at Jason, squinting. Watching as Jason tucked himself back into his pants, then snatched his gloves off the ground to put them back on.

Despite clearly losing the fight, Tim had done a number on Jason. Jason’s face was bloody and his suit was ripped and torn in some places. He looked like he had been mauled by a wild animal.

If that was how Jason looked, Tim couldn’t imagine what the sight of his own body was.

His second attempt to sit up worked. Now, he compartmentalized. Forced the pain deep into the corners of his mind and locked it up. 

Tim had to be functional now. He couldn’t let the regret and shame get to him.

“I-“ Jason started to say something. It was only one word, but it sounded uncharacteristically soft, making Tim straighten his back and hold his breath. But Jason cleared his throat and folded his arms, stamping down whatever kindness had almost come out. “I’ll throw you a bone. If any of the Bats find you like this you can just tell them I raped you,” he said it like some kind of mean joke.

Tim didn’t say anything. That wasn’t true. They both knew it.

“Preserve your precious dignity you care so much about, huh?” Jason continued. He sounded unsure of himself and he turned away from Tim. 

“Jason-“ Tim reached out for him. “We can still-“ he struggled for the words. “It doesn’t have to end like this. You can still change. I’ll-“

“Don’t,” Jason snapped. He kicked away Tim’s hand. “We both know it’s too late for that.” He started to walk away. “Never wear that suit again, Drake. I’d hate to see you die to someone that isn’t me.” He almost sounded… protective? Tim wouldn’t call it fondness, but maybe something close to that. Tim refused to allow himself to read into it. Whoever Jason Todd had become, he was someone that Tim couldn’t save. He was someone who didn’t want to be saved, no matter how Tim felt about him. Tim had to accept that, even with Jason’s cum deep inside him. Some truths were immutable. 

Then, Jason was gone. Vanishing into the shadows and leaving Tim there.

Tim tilted his head back. He allowed himself thirty seconds. He counted them. Thirty seconds to sit in his own filth and feel the pain for just a little longer, before he had to move and figure out how he was going to get home in one piece without anyone finding out what happened here.

Just ten more seconds.

Five. 

Three.

One.

With grit teeth and a deep breath, Tim stood up.

[shannonsketches]

Why is the anime so weird, it's not even the same series dude?? It's like,

Anime:

GOKU: I have a great idea to bring peace to the universe, and my leadership and compassion alone will unite us all. I have No Flaws and am A True Relatable Everyman :)

VEGETA: NO! I AM THE BEST AND I WILL CAUSE PROBLEMS UNTIL I AM RECOGNIZED AS SUCH!!!!

Manga:

GOKU: Vegeta what's cornmeal made of? I know it's what the corn eats, but what's it made of? VEGETA: Hey Kakarot let's play the quiet game until one of us dies.