#fair warning on that too

[gingermintpepper]

I think, perhaps one of the funniest things to come from EPIC popularising the Odyssey is that now a ton of people think Poseidon wanted to kill Odysseus.

In the Odyssey, Poseidon has no intention of killing Odysseus. In fact, part of the whole reason Zeus lets Poseidon do whatever he wants even though he thinks Odysseus is rad and should get to kiss his wife is explicitly because Poseidon had no intentions of killing Odysseus. Poseidon wanted to pay back the suffering/inconvenience blinding Polyphemus would have caused. It's a really abstract thing tbh. How do you pay back someone permanently disabling your son? Poseidon's solution was just to amputate Odysseus from his other half; i.e. Penelope. The end game was never murder, it was always an endurance race.

(Od. Book 1: Zeus reassuring Athena that he is not, in fact, a part of Odysseus Hater-Nation. Trans. Robert Fagles)

Also, for those wondering if there's any sort of in text reason for why Poseidon wasn't around in God Games - at the time in the Odyssey when Athena petitions Zeus to let Odysseus leave Calypso's island, Poseidon was -checks notes- on vacation in Ethiopia. Yep. He left to Ethiopia for a festival and thusly was very much absent for Athena's whole "please let Ody go? Please? 🥺" request.

(Od. Book 1: While Odysseus was suffering, Poseidon went to party in the east)

I am begging y'all to read the Odyssey. It's a comedy for everyone except Odysseus and Penelope who are, in fact, suffering 24/7 365.

[shieldedsouls]

psa im gonna do a draft dump probably sunday evening or monday.

this is ur last headsup to avoid it.

this blog is an archive.

none of it will be tagged.

[sp0o0kylights]

Part One / Part Two (You are Here) / Part Three 

A03

Hopper had undersold Harrington's condition. 

Wayne hadn't expected anything pretty, but the face that turned to them as they walked through the door almost had him freezing in place. 

Black eye, bruised chin, split lip. 

More and more bruises, some faded and some very new, trailing down the kids neck. 

 The rest was hidden by his preppy little polo shirt, but Wayne didn't doubt that there were more.

Harrington tried to stand when they entered the room and the way he moved--entirely unbalanced, clearly in a lot of pain--made Wayne think the only thing the kid really needed was a hospital. 

Because Steve Harrington hadn't just been beaten. 

He'd been tortured--and very recently strangled. 

(Abruptly, Wayne realized that Hopper had implied the boy had been in the mall fire--just as much as he implied the mall fire was anything but. 

He also hadn't stated how Harrington had escaped the Suites trying to break into his house.) 

"Sit down." Hopper commanded, and Wayne expected Harrington to do anything but listen. 

Say something cocky, or act the part of a demanding little shit maybe, despite the condition he was in.

Instead the kid just sighed in relief and dropped like a stone, right back into the chair. 

Hopper came around his desk, talking all the while. "Steve, this is Wayne. Wayne, Steve."

"Hello Sir." Steve croaked politely. His voice was wrecked, no doubt from the necklace of finger shaped bruises around his neck.

"You're going to stay with him for a while, and you're gonna pay him for the privilege." Hopper informed him, as he began digging around his desk. "Money, chores, whatever Wayne wants." 

Wayne held his gaze as Steve turned to appraise him. 

Would Harrington pitch a fit? 

Would he look at Wayne's work clothes, streaked with dirt and sweat, with the name of the warehouse embroidered in the corner and crinkle up his nose, just like his daddy did? 

Hopper didn't lie, but a part of Wayne wanted to see just how different this Harrington was. If the respectful demeanor was an act done for Hopper. 

Or perhaps, Hopper had mentioned Steve's father for a reason, instead of his mother. Did he adopt her ice-like approach to life? 

Micro managing and long-held grudges were Stella Harrington’s game, and she excelled at it. 

Steve however, did nothing of the sort, instead settling with the situation in a way that reminded Wayne far too strongly of the men and women who'd come home from war.

"Okay." The kid said simply, after a long moment of consideration. He turned back to Hopper. "But we need to tell the rest of the Par--" 

Here he cut a look back to Wayne, correcting himself. "the kids. I don't want them showing up at my house trying to find me and freaking out." 

"They wouldn't--" Jim paused, fingers freezing from the rummaging they'd been doing. "they absolutely would, goddammit." He muttered darkly.  

"I'll tell the kids. The only thing I want you doing right now is laying low. I need to get a hold of Owens, but it's gonna take time to do that, and more time to fix this, so as of right now, Harrington? You're on vacation." He pointed sternly, as if Steve might argue.

The kid looked too tired and messed up to bother trying. 

"I mean it. You're out of the country, where is anybody's guess. No one's seen you and no one better be seeing you, got it?" His voice held firm, and Wayne had to blink because the tone here wasn't one of a police chief warning a teenager--but of a father talking to his son.

He knew, because his own voice did that now. Took on a worried tone that masqueraded as something more like annoyance and seriousness. 

"Yes, Sir." Harrington said, remaining weirdly compliant. "Consider me gone." 

A hand came up to briefly press above one eye, and Wayne wondered if the kid had been looked over, or if they had just crammed him into Hopper's office without offering so much as a tissue box. 

How many painkillers did they have back at the house? Wayne usually kept a good bottle around, but Steve was going to need more than that…

He found himself once again cataloging Steve's wounds, this time comparing them to the medicine cabinet he had at home. 

"I expect you to be a damn good house guest, you hear me?" Hopper continued, trying to cut a menacing figure. He finally found what he was looking for; pulling out a large, padded envelope. 

He handed it over to Harrington, who took it without looking, shoving it into the duffle bag he'd had sitting at his feet. 

There was a smudge of red on the handle of said bag, that matched perfectly up to a shittily done wrap on Steve's right hand. 

Wayne mentally added 'buy more bandages' to his list. 

Steve nodded at Hopper again. "Yes, Sir."

Jim’s eyes narrowed. "Quite that, you know I hate that." 

The briefest glimmer of mischief crossed Harrington's face. "Sorry, Sir. Won't happen again, Sir."

'Ahh.' Wayne thought. 'So there's a teenager in there after all.'

Jim rolled his eyes. "Get out of my office."

"Thanks Hop." Harrington said, finally dropping that odd obedience, a hint of a smile on his battered face. 

He stood, and Wayne had to stop himself from offering an arm out as Steve reached for his bag and limped towards him. 

He paused right before he left Hopper's office, hand on the doorframe.

 "You'll check up on Robin too, right?"  He asked, and for the first time his tone took on something more alive--and filled with worry. "And Dustin? Erica?" 

"Dustin and his mom are finally taking me up on my suggestion to see their family in Florida for a while, and the Sinclairs are taking a sabbatical from Hawkins. I'm working on the Buckley's." Hopper drummed his fingers on the desk. "So far, no one else besides you and El have been targeted, and we're going to keep it that way."

Steve let out a breath, and while Wayne could tell the worry hadn't left him, he could almost physically see Steve force himself to put it away.

Another act that was far beyond the kid's years. 

A different officer popped up as they walked down the hall towards the exit, waving his hand madly. "Harrington! Chief says you forgot this!" He barked.

(Or tried to anyway. Callahan wasn’t the most aggressive of officers and frankly, never would be.)

A slim sports bag was held in his hands, and Steve nearly tripped over his own feet when he tried to turn and claim it.

"I'll get it." Wayne said, knowing his tone sounded gruff.

No use for it. He could either sound gruff or sound sad, and Wayne knew better than to start off the relationship with yet another hurt young man by acting sad.

Pity wasn't gonna win him any favors here. 

He took the bag, slinging it over his shoulder, uncaring of the wince on Harrington's face until something sharp poked at his shoulder. 

Several somethings, in fact. 

"What the hell do you got in this thing?" He asked once they hit the parking lot, voice low as he escorted Steve to his truck. 

"Just a baseball bat, sir." Steve said, in the exact same tone Eddie used every time he thought he was bein’ slick. 

Considering the thing in the bag could have passed for a baseball bat if not for the sharp pokey bits, it wasn’t a bad attempt. Steve just hadn’t accounted for the fact that Wayne lived with Eddie. 

An unfair advantage, really. 

‘Least there can’t be any baby racoons in the damn bag.’ Wayne thought idly. 

Went on to gently put the bat in the backseat, watching as the kid struggled to lift himself into the truck.

"You can drop that, I take too being called Sir about as well as Hop does." He said, keeping his tone nice and calm, hoping to ease into calling Steve out on his lie. 

Fussed with a few dials on the stereo, giving Steve an excuse to take his time before starting the engine and taking the long way home.

Wayne wanted to talk a little-- without the chance of Ed’s interrupting. 

"Son,” He started off. “I was born in the morning, but not this morning. I'm hoping to make the next few weeks as easy as I can for both of us, and I can't do that if you're starting off with a lie." 

Steve blinked, turning to face him in a matter that was too fast for his injuries. He didn't bother hiding the hurt it caused him, but his voice stayed even as he spoke.

 "What do you mean Si--Wayne." 

"Nice catch.”  Wayne said. “We’ll get you there yet.” 

It was a trick he'd learned with Eddie--little tidbits of praise went a long way when it came to gaining trust.

Especially with kids who hadn't ever been given much. 

Harrington seemed smart to it, or perhaps was just hesitant to speak in general because he remained quiet, not offering up any info. No further lies, but nothing towards the truth, neither. 

Which was fine. Wayne didn’t think a little pushing would hurt.

"That bat of yours was digging into my shoulder like a bee swarm." Wayne continued, when it became clear Steve wasn't talking. "I'm more a fan of football than baseball, but last I checked they hadn't changed the design of a bat." 

"What teams?" Steve asked, perking up a touch. "Of football. Which ones are yours?"

Wayne could ignore it of course, or demand Steve give him an answer to the question he asked. 

He did neither. "I’m liking the Colts since they got moved here. You?" 

"Green Bay Packers, though I like the Colts too--that trade in 84’ was crazy." Steve said. After a second he proved that answering instead of pushing was the right move because he added; "What did Hopper tell you? About…" He trailed off, making a gesture Wayne didn't bother trying to interpret. 

"He said some things. I've guessed a few others." Wayne admitted. Cut a little look out of the corner of his eye as he came to a stop sign. "I know the feds are real interested in you after Starcourt." 

Steve took that in, hands tightening on the handle. 

"It really is a baseball bat." He said, a little fast and with the tiniest hint of that challenge Wayne had been looking for. "It just also has nails hammered into one end." 

Wayne took that in with one nice, slow blink. 

"A bat with nails in it." He said, and it made a hell of a lot of sense compared to the sensation he'd felt carrying the case. "You use it against anyone?" 

"Some of the feds." Steve admitted, and even with his eyes on the road Wayne could tell he was being stared at.

Judged.

Not in the way one expected a rich kid to judge, but in the way Eddie had, those first few months he'd lived here. The times when  he'd push, just a little, to see what Wayne's reaction would be. 

Eddie hadn't done it in a damn long time, but Wayne recognized the behavior nonetheless. 

"Anybody else?" He asked. 

"Nobody human." Steve replied. 

"Alright." Wayne said, and made a mental note to drop all questions related to that. 

He didn't need to know, definitely didn't want to know, and had a feeling if he did know he'd find himself being watched by the same spooks after Steve.

"I've got a few deck boxes that lock on my porch. Think you'd be agreeable to leaving the bat in one?" 

Steve paused, hand clenching tighter around the strap of his duffel bag. "If you gave me a key so I could get it in an emergency,  I'd be happy to." 

He tried to sound calm, even a little charming in that sort of upper-class businessman sort of way, but the fear bled through. 

The kid wasn't happy separating from the bat, and given it sounded like it might have saved his life recently, Wayne understood the hesitation. 

With an internal apology to Eddie, he promptly threw his nephew under the proverbial bus.  "I've got my nephew at home and he'd be far too interested in it, is all. Blades and weapons and such tend to attract him, and I don't need to be rushing anyone to the ER." 

All of which were very true facts (one Wayne learned the time he'd allowed Eddie to bring a sword  home, only for him to nearly cut his own nose off winging the thing around) but he figured it might make Steve more amenable to separating from it. 

Sure enough, some of the tenseness bled out of Steve's shoulders. "Yeah that's fair." 

The truck hit a few potholes as they finally turned into the trailer park, and the kid hissed, a quiet sound. 

Judging by the uncomfortable wince, and hands clenched into his jeans something painwise was giving him trouble. 

"When was the last time you took a pain pill?" Wayne asked, doing his best to weave around the other holes that dotted the gravel roads.

Steve blinked. "Uh…" 

"You take any today son?" 

Steve his head. 

"Didn't have time to grab it." He said, offering a sad look to his pack. 

Course he hadn't. 

"Let's get you inside then and get you some." Wayne said with a sigh. Thankfully Eddie's van wasn't here--Wayne was fairly certain he had band practice today but knowing him it could be a million other things.

Just meant he had to acclimate Steve as fast as he could, to try and get the poor guy settled before Ed’s came in. 

He just hoped life and lady luck would work with him, for once. 

[spielzeugkaiser]

I am back for a hot second with the baby! Let's be real, Geralt gets a lot of heat in this au, but I do think he was very clear about what he could and couldn't be for Jaskier when they started this thing. Listening to this song later, and realizing that Jaskier was already in love with him at this point ... uff. Also a song about sacrifices in this au, from Jaskier??? *chef's kiss* also let's not think about essi in this au let's not let's just ignore this

[tosuckmyweenis]

Bee's fic inspired me to finally get this one out of the drafts😵‍💫

On a day of freedom, Leon takes you to a donut shop, one that has your missing posters.

CW Yan!Leon, Smut, PinV, kidnapping, non/dub-con, Leon being a dick.

Two months of monotonous hell and not a chance of escape.

Waking up, the sun began filtering through the blinds, painting the room a soft, orange hue.

Carefully steadying your breath, you lift your head off Leon's chest to glance at the clock.

Too early, don't wake him up.

You slowly lay back down, gazing at him. His features were so peaceful in the golden morning light, highlighted by sunbeams that danced through the window and made him look almost angelic. A small smile touched your lips as you let yourself imagine a different possibility that was much sweeter than this one.

If only you had met him normally. If only he had just asked you out on a small coffee date, you would have said yes in a heartbeat; he was everything you were looking for.

Your body tenses as his hand rubs your back, pulling you out of your musings.

So close

"Good morning" his sleepy voice croaked.

"Good morning; how'd you sleep?" 

"The best in a while, thanks to you."

His hand continues to leave feather-light touches; as much as you want to hate him for what he's done to you, a part of you is drawn to him. Maybe it's his charm because he made sure he's the only person you have left, and you craved interaction.

He pulls you in for a kiss; His lips are soft and warm.

You know that you have to play along in order to survive. You wrap your arms around his neck, and he deepens the kiss you can taste last night's alcohol on his breath but ignore it. It's better to pretend that you're enjoying this, better to keep up the façade that you're falling for him. 

Gently rolling into the soft mattress, you pull him over you; he stares into your eyes, laced with slight confusion, waiting for the resistance he was sure to come like it always did; when it didn't, a small smile creeps across his face.

Cupping his face, you pull him in for another kiss, heart pounding in your chest as his hands move to your hips; he deepens the embrace, the warmth of his breath sending shivers down your spine as your fingers entwined in his hair.

You lean into his touch as his fingers glide to your thighs with an electrifying tenderness, teasing you with the barest graze.

He runs a finger along your slit, drinking in the quiet moan that leaves you as he dips into your already soaked slit, your hips rolling into his hand.

"Please..."

"Shh...Be a good girl and take this for me."

He pumps another finger inside you, curling it rhythmically. His thumb rubs circles against your clit.

You throw your head back, pushing over the edge, bucking against his hand. He works you through your orgasm, slowing the pace of his fingers, bringing you down gently.

Groaning at the divine sight of your head pushed into the pillows, mouth opening in a silent cry, he pulls his fingers free before shoving them into your mouth.

"Suck."

You hazily comply, closing your lips around his digits and swirling your tongue over them sloppily. His breath shudders, cock twitching against you as his fingers thrust between your lips, fucking them into your mouth.

He pulls them free, pulling your lip down as he grins. "Good girl."

You whimper as his fingers knead your thighs again, parting them wide before settling himself in between them.

His cock slips up against your dripping cunt, slicking along your folds. His hand settles on your hip, pressing down firmly as he guides himself inside you.

You whine, toes curling as he pushes in

His eyes focused on his cock disappearing into you again and again.

"Fuck- you feel so good"

His words are mumbled, his head coming down to rest on your shoulder as his hips thrust into you, moving your fingertips to slide over his shoulder and down his back, feeling his muscles tense as he moves.

His hips snap forward, your lips parting in a breathy moan as his cock drags over your walls, and you clench around him.

"I'm not gonna last if you keep that up"

You feel his hand on your cheek, tilting your head to look up, sweat dripping from his temple. You kiss him softly and he groans, his thrusting picking up again.

"Gonna make me cum acting all sweet like that" nipping at your skin as he drives into you.

You wrap your legs around him, pulling him deeper as you grip the bedsheets beneath you. You can feel the tightening in your abdomen, your core clenching around him.

His cock twitches, dragging over you in thick, pulsing thrusts as his moans grow louder and louder in your ear.

His voice cracks as you feel his cock throb, a groan muffled into your skin as he pumps you full.

You tremble, arching your back as his fingers dig into the soft flesh of your hips, his mouth on your neck as his thrusts slow. His soft moans in your ear are muffled by his teeth scraping your skin.

"Fuck" his hips stop as he falls against you; you can feel the thud of his steady heartbeat against your chest.

You let out a shaky breath, letting yourself sink further into the pillows as your eyes close.

The room falls quiet, you both taking the time to catch your breaths. His head shifts, nuzzling to your shoulder before he lifts himself up onto his hands, kissing you softly as he pulls himself free from you. You shudder at the feeling.

"Come on, let's go shower," he murmurs, his voice low.

Letting him help you out of bed before he leads you into the bathroom, running the hot water before stepping in with you.

Pulling you close as the hot water pours down over both of you. You sink against him, leaning into his chest as his hands slide down your back to your hips.

"Isn't it much more enjoyable when you behave?" he teases, pressing a kiss to your temple.

Finishing the shower, you turn off the water and step out, handing him a towel as you do. He dries himself, then helps dry you, letting his hands wander over your body again.

"I have to go to work now, but I'll let you stay up here, alright?."

you nod

He waits a second, expecting you to continue talking. He's slightly annoyedby your lack of response

"I have a special plan for tonight as a reward." He pulls you in for a final hug; then he lets go.

You watch him get dressed, admiring how the suit hugs his form. You've seen him wear it a few times now, and it looks good on him. When he's finished, he looks over at you.

"Don't disappoint me."

You wave him goodbye as he leaves. 

The thought of escaping crossed your mind, but you hardly think you could make it very far considering you had no idea where you were. so you tuck the idea away for now, not wanting to dwell on hopelessness of your situation on your free day.

You get dressed in one of the outfits he laid on the dresser for you.

The day was long, so you do the next best thing and explore.

You sit on the couch, flipping through channel after channel, not finding anything you really want to watch, you make your way to the bedroom and start looking through everything, theres bound to be something for you to do

you find books and magazines, but nothing worth wile.

You opt to just lay in bed, maybe he'll bring you something to do next time if you'd ask him nicely.

You wake up to light pushing on your shoulder, in your groggy state you slap it away alot harder than you intended to

"That wasn't very nice of you."

his dark voice ripped you from your sleep, shooting up, you apologize profusely not wanting to end up on his bad side when you did so well all day.

"Fix yourself up and meet me at the door."

His was being short, which meant he wasn't happy. the nasty feeling of dread sinks in the pit of your stomach and stays there like a stone.

The car ride was awkward, the silence hung heavy and it wasn't going to be you that brakes it, the running air conditioning being the only grace.

He takes you to a small donut shop you've never heard of; he ushers you to a small booth in the corner. 

Shuffling into the seat facing the wall, you glance around; it is cozy.

Without giving you much time to adjust, he pushes the newspaper towards you, his expression unchanging.

"Look under there."

Furrowing your brows, you pull the newspaper to the side

It takes you a second to process what you're looking at.

You stand transfixed on the poster, eyes widening as you absorb its vivid red and black colour

you know the face is supposed to be you, but the person that stares back looks nothing like what stands in front of the mirror anymore; it's a haunting reminder of the life taken from you, a life he took in a matter of seconds.

The rage boiling within your veins sears your skin from the inside out.

No wonder he let you come with him today; he wanted you to realize just how unrecognizable you had become. The fight was over.

Your eyes sting with tears; you don't even care enough to try and wipe them away, the tear splashing onto the paper, seeping into it so the ink bleeds slightly when you run your thumb over your printed-out face.

"Be good" his voice heavy with expectation

It wasn't a choice; it was a demand.

He expected obedience: not an answer or a sound out of you.

Sliding out of the booth, he makes his way to the counter.

Clutching the poster to your chest, you slump into yourself; the once spacious room feels like it's suffocating you. You take a deep breath, just wishing there was some way you could wake up from this nightmare.

Pushing the poster back under the paper and shoving it as far away from you as possible, you can't stand to look at it anymore. 

"That bad, huh?"

his voice breaks through your misery, along with the clanging of the tray on the table and clinking of the glass as he sets yours in front of you

Looking at the tray, a donut. You haven't had sweets in a while, so you should be excited, especially since he kept you on the bare minimum to keep you complacent.

Grabbing one of the donuts, he takes a bite before speaking, pulling the poster back into your view and taunting you.

"It's so sad, isn't it? A poor helpless girl, just up and gone with no one to find her" his faux 'concern' dripped with sarcasm

"I wonder what happened to her. Cut up on the side of the road, perhaps? Or maybe floating down some river with weights attached to her ankles."

He took a sip of his drink with an overtly faked smile

He kept going

"Or maybe, she just ran away to live a happy life with her loving husband, so he can protect her from all the dangers in the world; I like that option much more. Now eat your donut."

Staring at him unblinking as he shoved the donut closer to you,

you felt a deep sense of disgust for the man sitting across from you.

"Eat, or we're cutting our little date short."

You know that disobedience never ends well. So you reluctantly take a bite of the donut; normally, it would be a welcome taste, but this time it makes your stomach churn, the sweetness of the pastry contrasts heavily with the bitterness of your thoughts

can you live a life where you are constantly under the control of a monster?

You take a deep breath, trying to push away these negative thoughts.

Finishing the donut, you put the plate back on the tray; he finishes the last of his coffee and places the cup down.

"It's time to go now."

You trailed behind him like the loyal pet he had trained to listen and respond. You wished you could defy him, but you knew that any resistance would only lead to more hurt and after today, there's no fight left in you, nothing but a gnawing emptiness of a life you can never live.

[pizzpizzapizzo]

the saga continues, 2/?, < Previous --- Next >

btw it's been brought to my attention that himbo may not be the optimal descriptor for Pizzahead and yeah, i'll have to concede. So this AU shall be henceforth known as Hanlon's Razor (aka "Never attribute to malice that which is adequately explained by stupidity") AU

[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.

[buwheal]

Ah, the Addisons. One of them was trying to sell a dress sewed to a mannequin (I think the orange one?) and the other was selling footwear samples. As food. Uh… they’re… not very smart, are they?

[tj-crochets]

Beetle bag! Bag of beetles!!!

This might be my favorite one yet, I love how these fabrics look together and this beetle print is just fantastic

[randaccidents]

WELCOME ONE AND ALL. TO THE STAGE WHERE ACTORS PLAY UNFITTING ROLES. WHERE THE ENDING IS NEVER REACHED AND THE TRUTH REMAINS VEILED TO THE EYES. IS CONCORD EVEN POSSIBLE WHEN THE SOVEREIGN IS TYRANNICAL? WHEN THE ROLES SUFFOCATE AND WARP ITS ACTORS AGAINST THEM? WHEN THE TROPES ARE CRUEL AND WRONG YET ENFORCED?

WELCOME. TO THE LIE OF CONCORD AU.

<Im being cheesy about this :3. TWS for this AU will be in another post>

<FAIR WARNING: this au was initially written as a CRITICISM of fanon tropes I disliked. which means that you should expect some nasty tropes to show up, such as infantilization. expect it from this au, and expect to see it be broken down as well>

OUR ACTORS <warning: they are all unreliable. they do not truly know the script>

Heart (Juno)

He is the love, the hate, the emotional side. (he is tired of having to exaggerate his emotions for Host. having to observe and determine whether Host is satisfied with the amount of emotion he expresses and adjusting accordingly is exhausting. and troublesome. he has none left to give for others when Host isnt around. he'd rather sit in silence and think)

He is weak and vile, but unfortunately needed for survival. (being looked down upon for acting as expected of him to avoid punishment is, frankly, annoying. Juno cant tell if Host wants him to be emotional or not when both options may lead to harm. is he to be a child or is he to be mature?)

Resident Heart has to be kept in check, lest his impulse drives him to the wrong actions. (he and Ruler know that, if Host ever shows weakness, they would usurp him without thought. he doesn't want to be the screaming child Host wants. he wants to be quiet and allowed to think for once.)

Mind (Ruler)

He is the reason, the thought, the logical side. [he has not been allowed to express himself in the slightest if he cannot justify it with something Host deems logical. it is easier to bottle up entirely. it is also a lot harder to keep himself sane.]

He is cruel and cold and callous, but that is just how he is. [acting an unfeeling machine is suffocating. the emotions in his chest beg to be let out, but he is only allowed to do things if he is able to justify them, and he is not always able to justify them when he cant just say he is angry, yet he is expected to retaliate against Juno still. is he to be unfeeling or is he to be angry?]

Resident Mind has to be kept in check, lest he thinks of the wrong conclusion. [he and Juno know that, if Host ever shows weakness, they would usurp him in a heartbeat. he doesn't want to be the unfeeling machine Host wants. he wants to rage and break his fists against a wall]

Soul (Host)

He is the Soul Sovereign. {he cannot allow his Heart and Mind to have any power. he must control them at all costs. he knows knows knows they will usurp him the first chance they get. it has happened every single loop}

He intends to guide his Heart and Mind to becoming Whole, by any means necessary. {they all have roles to play. he will make sure that Heart and Mind follow their roles to a t. they are the Host, Juno and Ruler. that is what they must be, and he will punish insubordination}

He has been hardened by his loops and is dead set on finally becoming Whole. {he has never seen Concord. he does not know what it is. it has been ten thousand loops and counting. but he knows he is doing the right thing.}

{he is Sovereign. he is in control. he is not crazy. he is simply playing his role. he knows he is fated to die. he has died every loop one way or another. he swears that becoming Whole is possible if they Just. Play. Their. Roles. Right.}

[neonhellscape]

new rt everyone shes a freak whos pretty sure shes been been given the role of rogue trader as an act of divine intervention to eventually replace the godemperor and bring new glory to the imperium which she thinks is dull and stagnant. dont worry about why she keeps marazhai caged in her trophy room like he's bait its not important and completely irrelevant to the fact ive joke nicknamed her simon thresh. has anyone noticed a lot of slaaneshi demons during warp jumps lately

[anonymouspuzzler]

Do you know what bugsnax is if so what are your thoughts :P

here is the bugsnax tag on my blog and here is a link to my vods where me and friends 100%-ed bugsnax LMAO

[flowerakatsuka]

denki!kuroba has plagued my mind for the past 24 hours so it's time to drop their design & lore. ( bonus + more lore under the cut! )

( ya'll knew i had to find a way to shoehorn kurokara into this au SOMEHOW. )

while they don't meet during the events of six idol statues of taboo, kuroha does eventually get to meet chorosuke's recently reunited brothers afterwards. strangely enough, it seems that karatsugu knows who they are. kuroha's life before the accident was much like the one kuroba lives ; having attended college for horticulture and working at their grandfather's floral shop. karatsugu and kuroha had known each other for a long time, having become friends in high school and staying quite close into adulthood. because of this, he was absolutely devastated when they suddenly disappeared a year and a half ago while on the way to visit family in yokohama. there were no reports of any crashes or deaths, no missing people found, nothing. it was as if they were spirited away, never to be heard of again. upon learning this, kuroha is rather distraught. even though his face is so familiar to them, the past he recounts to them refuses to come back to them. something they had been keeping a secret from the others at the midorito estate was that they had begun to recollect some things, but what they remembered seemed more like strange dreams than any memories they should have. memories of traveling with mononoke, fighting in gang wars, fending off youkai, a life much like what karatsugu described but not exactly the same... and in all of those memories, the six same faces, so eerily similar yet unsettling different. the most prominent of them all being the faces just like karatsugu's. they aren't sure why these strange memories are all they can recall, perhaps they're finally losing it, but with the brothers' help, kuroha might be able to figure out the true meaning behind them and even remember their life in this universe along the way.

ALSO, a quick explanation of denki!kuroba's name!

( fair warning : my understanding of japanese is very rudimentary so i may have made some mistakes in my translation or how names are written. please let me know if that's the case and i'll correct anything i've gotten wrong! )

kuroba / クロバ -> kuroha / 黒葉 ( くろは )

kuroba's name is written in katakana while kuroha's is written in kanji ( with furigana written in hiragana. )

kuroba's first name comes from クローバー ( kurōbā ) meaning clover. when the dakuten from バ ( ba ) is removed, it becomes ハ ( ha. ) the equivalent of ハ in hiragana is は, which is used in the furigana for kuroha's name. the kanji used for kuroha is 黒 ( kuro ) meaning black and 葉 ( ha ) meaning leaf.

yotsubana / 四つ花 ( ヨツバナ ) -> shinigusa / 死に草 ( しにグサ )

yotsubana comes from 四つ葉 ( yotsuba ) meaning four-leaved, notably used in the japanese for four-leaved clover / 四つ葉のクローバー ( yotsuba no kurōbā. ) the kanji for ba in youtsuba is swapped for 花 ( hana, ) which can be read has bana like in the surname tachibana. as a result, their surname can be read as " four flowers. "

the 四 ( yo ) from yotsubana, which can also be read as shi, becomes 死 ( shi, ) meaning death. the adverbializer に ( ni ) replaces つ ( tsu. ) the kanji for hana is replaced with 花 ( kusa, ) which is lifted from a synonym for clover, 詰草 ( tsumekusa. ) kusa becomes gusa as an instance of rendaku. their surname can be roughly read as " dead(ly) grass. "

[lemon-drop-soup]

I really want a DC moot to just talk everything DC with. Like I’ll do anything pls I’ll take volunteers and everyone who volunteers will now be a moot pls let me talk DC with someone

One requirement though you have to be a nice person

[goldiipond]

BLAST IT TO THE BACK ROW!!

[stellastra-scribbles]

Doodled my endgame party from Arcanum: of Steamworks and Magick Obscura~

Individual images and identities below the cut.

THIS IS YOUR SPOILER WARNING!!! but seriously play this game if you like isometric cRPGs like the classic Fallout games :D

Rí'an Mal'los, “The Living One” (aka my custom protagonist). She's just a jolly elf seeking adventure and got caught in a bunch of nonsense when the airship she was a passenger on was attacked by ogre-piloted biplanes.

Virgil Brummond, the first companion. Enlightened by his experience with death, Virgil became Rí'an's best friend and trusted confidant throughout their long journey across Arcanum.

Magnus Shale Fist real name: Malcolm Schulefest, originally a city dwarf from Caladon, he is now the heritor of the Iron Clan's legacy, gladly donning the once-lost clan's armor.

'Raven,' princess of Qintarra, the home of the elves of the Glimmering Forest. She's not too fond of being around Z'an, but Raven's willing to overlook her presence to help save the fate of Arcanum.

Z'an Al'urin, seer of T'sen-Ang's dark elves. Her visions are vague and often leave her confused, but she saw something in them that made her start questioning the elven supremacist beliefs she grew up with. As such, she joined Rí'an's crew in the hope of finding answers.

Arronax, the Destroyer. Son of the great Nasrudin, he was given deferential treatment and offered a seat on the Elven Council during the Age of Legends, although he was quite young (for an elf) and it showed in his aggressive temperament. Arronax's destructive actions caused him to be banished to the Void by his own father. The past two millennia imprisoned in the Void have given him much to contemplate about his mistakes, hence why he tags along with Rí'an's party in the end.

Torian Kel, former Warlord in the Gray Legions of the Derian-Ka. Originally an ancient reanimated skeleton on the verge of crumbling into dust, Rí'an heeded Torian's request to find dragon blood to restore his body and mortality. Now, he joins her out of gratitude and in hopes of finding the answers to free his fellow Gray Legionnaires, who have long since crumbled to dust but cannot pass into the afterlife.

Dog, the best boy~ Just a regular dog, but he doesn't need to be anything more than that. He's strong, fast, and loyal. What else could one want from a dog?

Loghaire Thunder Stone, king of Arcanum's dwarves and lord of the Wheel Clan. After Rí'an convinced him to leave exile, Loghaire returned to the throne. He got his vengeance on M'in Gorad.