#i think it would be so. different. the entire world

[pochaccoups]

facetime — choi seungcheol & yoon jeonghan

pairing — choi seungcheol x yoon jeonghan x f!reader

summary — when three people in a relationship want to fuck but one of them is in a different country, facetime comes in pretty handy.

wc — 4k

warnings — nsfw content minors dni! smut, established polyamorous relationship, threesome (technically), phone sex, butt plugs, anal and vaginal fingering, oral (m and f receiving), masturbation, so much dirty talk, soft dom!seungcheol, brat tamer!seungcheol, prone bone, creampie, slight daddy kink, reader referred to as a girl, a lot of ‘cheollie’ and ‘hannie’ sorry but i think they sound cute

author’s note — umm hi can u tell i had so much fun writing this …… this will be part of a poly jeongcheol series i have in the works so pls stay tuned and enjoy !!! :>

seungcheol: just finished up the show, what are you up to?

jeonghan: busy.

Attached is a photo that’s slightly shaky and dimly lit, but Seungcheol can make out every detail of you with Jeonghan’s cock halfway down your throat. 

It takes less than a second for Seungcheol’s caller ID to pop up on Jeonghan’s phone screen, and Jeonghan doesn’t hesitate to answer. 

“Yah… You know I hate being left out,” is the first thing Seungcheol says. The sound of his deep voice makes you draw your mouth off of Jeonghan.

“Cheollie?” you ask, beaming as you snatch your boyfriend’s phone from his hands so that you can see your other boyfriend through the screen. 

“Hi, pretty,” Seungcheol says, waving. He looks hot, but that’s a perpetual characteristic of his. He hasn’t removed his makeup yet, and his hair, getting longer, is still styled from the show. “Miss me?”

“So much. We both do,” you say with a grin. You make a show of mouthing at Jeonghan’s cock for the camera, sticking out your tongue so you can slap the tip on it, swirling it around, all with a faint mischievous gleam in your eyes at the sound of one boyfriend’s whines and the other’s sulking.

“Yeah? Doesn’t really seem like you do,” Seungcheol says, laying back on a bed that’s way too soft, too cold, too far away. 

“Seungcheollie, you know how needy our girl is-ah,” Jeonghan pipes up, moaning as you wrap your lips around him and bob your head up and down. 

“I do know, and you’re not innocent either, Jeonghan. You miss getting your pretty little ass fucked, don’t you?” 

You worry Jeonghan will bust then and there from the way his cock twitches in your mouth, but fuck was Seungcheol right. It’s why you all prefer to have sex with all three of you present, because at this point having someone missing feels… weird. Not bad. Definitely not. But the absence of a third lover becomes far too apparent.

Right now, you and Jeonghan don’t have much of a choice though. Duty calls, meaning Seungcheol is touring on the other side of the world—has been for the last two weeks and will be for another two weeks. Jeonghan would be with him if it weren’t for his enlistment. Alas, you have Seungcheol’s voice to do what it does best: tell you two exactly what to do. 

“Take all of him, baby, you know you can,” he says, soft and slightly commanding in a way that makes you want to do good just for him, make him proud. And you’ve taken Seungcheol, who’s a little longer and far thicker, all the way down your throat many, many times before that swallowing Jeonghan’s entire length feels like a mere warmup. 

Pride swells through you when your two boyfriends curse above you, filling you with an eagerness to give them more. So while one of your hands holds the phone, albeit shakingly, your other hand pumps the base of Jeonghan’s cock, in rhythm with your mouth as you bob up and down. It’s wet and obscene, the way you lap up the precum that leaks from your boyfriend’s tip only to let it spill from your lips and drool all over him, all over your fingertips. 

Your eyes never break away from Seungcheol, who’s chewing on his bottom lip and staring at you with eyes that are both clouded over with desire and dark with concentration. If you know your boyfriend then he’s thinking of all the things he would do if he was in the same room as you two.

Jeonghan doesn’t expect it when one of your spit-slick fingers creeps down to his ass and traces his hole, and he squirms and cries as you prod at his opening before pushing inside. He’s taken Seungcheol many, many times, too, that your finger should feel like a warmup, but two weeks without his boyfriend’s cock stretching him out is torture, so the slide of your digit in and out is a sweet relief that he’s forgotten. 

You pull your mouth away from him, sitting up on your knees so that you can angle the camera for Seungcheol to watch as your finger dips in, all the way to your knuckle, then back out of Jeonghan’s hole. 

“He’s so whiny today, Cheollie.”

“Mm, more than usual, huh?” he replies, licking his lips, his hand reaching to his crotch to palm at it just a little. He thinks about how his fingers are twice as thick as yours, how Jeonghan would sob if it was his hands inside him. 

“He misses your fat cock,” you say, and Seungcheol feels his sanity jump straight out of his hotel window. You’ve always proven detrimental to his patience and self-control, taking years off of your poor boyfriend’s life with your bratty ways. “Right, Hannie?” you say, right as you pull your finger out of him, grinning as he squirms and curses under his breath as a reply.

You only stop fingering him because you have an idea. With the phone still in hand, you dangle yourself off the side of the king bed to open one of the bedside table drawers, grab the silver heart-shaped plug and bottle of lube, then clamber back between your boyfriend’s legs. Jeonghan watches with glistening eyes as you drizzle the plug with lube. Once it’s drenched, you flip the phone camera around, letting Seungcheol watch as you press the tapered end of the plug against Jeonghan’s hole. The cold toy makes him flinch at first, and he shudders as you circle his rim with it until he’s thoroughly smeared with the sticky liquid. 

The sound Jeonghan makes when you push the plug inside of him is pitiful, and it’s in harmony with a deep groan of approval from Seungcheol. You’re the furthest one from dominant among the three of you, and yet you have these men dangerously wrapped around your finger. Your men.

“There,” you say, content, like you’ve just painted a masterpiece—and your boyfriend’s pretty ass with a cute heart-shaped butt plug nestled inside comes pretty close. 

“That’s my girl. So thoughtful,” says Seungcheol, and his praise ignites you with a sense of accomplishment that rivals the highest of promotions. 

“Can I make him eat me out now?” you ask, because it’s Cheol who does this best; sets the pace, tells you what to do, lets you sit in the palm of his hand while he does all the thinking for the three of you. A true leader, through and through. 

“Keep sucking Hannie off, baby, just for a bit,” is his instruction. It would be easy to disobey him, yes, to disconnect the call and turn off the phone if you so pleased, but the thing about Seungcheol is that even when his voice is soft, it still commands. 

You pout only for the sake of pouting because, really, having Jeonghan’s cock in your mouth is one of your favourite pastimes. You waste no time swallowing him all the way down to his base again, only to pop right back off him just to hear a tortured moan from him. You fall back into an up and down bobbing rhythm then, steadily, lips wrapped tight around your boyfriend’s length in the way that you know won’t make him last long. 

“Jeonghannie,” Seungcheol calls out, but the man in question is too busy whining and whimpering to hear him. When he’s close his brain all but shuts off and the only thing he can do is take whatever he’s getting with pretty, pretty moans. 

“Baby, don’t let him cum yet,” Seungcheol urges you instead. 

Jeonghan nearly sobs this time when you pop your mouth off his cock, but there’s a force in Seungcheol’s voice that compels you to listen. “Yes, daddy,” you say—the cherry on top.

Seungcheol drags a hand over his face, groaning. “Fuck, you two want me dead, huh?”

“Yeah, well, you two are disgusting… and annoying,” says Jeonghan, who sounds thoroughly irritated as a cute frown knits his brows together. 

Poor, poor you, with not one but two needy, jealous boyfriends who can’t stand not being the subjects of all your affection. If it was you in Seungcheol’s position, alone on the other side of the world, you would never get this sulky. You’d be completely rational about it. Obviously.

The urge to soothe Jeonghan comes as an instinct, one that makes you crawl up from between his legs so that you can straddle his slender waist and kiss his pouting lips. He melts into you when you do, mouth moulding against yours so sweetly, his hands falling to your waist and the tips of his fingers dancing softly against your skin. The Facetime call is forgotten, much to Seungcheol’s dismay, as you drop the phone to the bed in favour of cradling Jeonghan’s cheeks in your hands so that you can kiss him harder. Your crotch, still clothed, rocks back and forth over his erection and soon you’re moaning into one another’s mouths, muffled by your tongues that are swirling together. 

Jeonghan doesn’t have half of Seungcheol’s strength to manhandle you around, so he opts to gently guide you off his lap and onto the bed until you’re underneath him. He kisses you once, twice, thrice, leaves you reeling as he moves on to pepper your neck with soft nibbles and scrapes of his teeth. He pulls away for a moment only to drag your t-shirt (one of Seungcheol’s, of course) up and over your head. 

Now that you’re less occupied with Jeonghan’s lips, you pick up the phone again and bring the camera up to your face, grinning at Seungcheol’s small pout on the screen. If you could only hop through the phone and into his lap, you would do it in a heartbeat. 

“Cheollie, wanna see your cock, please,” you say, shivering as Jeonghan mouths at one of your nipples. He flicks it with the tip of his tongue as his hands reach up to grasp your tits delicately, and you sigh when his warm, wet mouth envelops one of your hardened buds. 

“Not yet, baby, I’ll take it out when Jeonghan fucks you, okay?” 

Seungcheol chuckles fondly at your unhappy hum, so he adds, “I wanna cum with you two, yeah?”

“Okay, fine- wait, Hannie,” you whine. “My boobs.”

He peers up, already between your legs, having decided he was done giving attention to your tits. You see right through it—your boyfriend is nothing if not vengeful. 

“You’re too spoiled,” he quips, peeling your shorts and panties down your legs, exposing your drooling pussy to him. 

“And you’re used to Cheollie doing everythi-ahh!” Jeonghan cuts you off when he licks your cunt without warning, sending your eyes rolling back into your head and your hand grabbing a fistful of his now-short hair. He’s far from rough and aggressive, but it’s precisely the patient softness of his touch that leaves you keening for more. 

“Baby, can you do me a favour?” Seungcheol asks, practically cooing as he watches your eyes glaze over with pleasure.

But all you can focus on is the way that Jeonghan’s warm tongue flicks lazily over your clit as well as the grip of his fingers on your thighs. 

“Baby?” Seungcheol tries again, only a little louder. This time your eyes flick to him on the screen and you make a little affirmative noise. “Will you flip the phone screen around for me, please? I wanna watch Hannie eat your pretty pussy.”

You do as he asks, pointing the camera to give Seungcheol a view of his boyfriend between his girlfriend’s thighs. 

“Good girl,” he says, breathier now, his tone darker. It’s deliberate; malicious, you would say—his praise makes you a whiny, needy mess. His voice alone turns you into a slut and he knows that because you’d told him that, word for word. “And since I’m not there, can you play with your tits for me, baby? The way that I would do it? I know it’s not the same, but it’ll still feel good.” 

“Mhm,” you moan. You find yourself closing your eyes as you let go of Jeonghan’s hair and bring your hand to cup your own breast, to squeeze and grope at it, to tweak and tug at your nipple, all while imagining that you’re leaned against your boyfriend’s sturdy, broad body and that it’s his big, unrelenting hand cupping your tits and not your own. 

At the same time, Jeonghan eats your pussy like the fiend that he is. Unlike Seungcheol, who lacks the control to stop himself from ravaging you like an animal until your pussy is raw and puffy, Jeonghan is much more, as he is in all aspects of his life, calculated. He’ll string you along with swipes of his tongue that seem coy until he’s making passes through your folds, prodding at your dripping, awaiting entrance. He licks into your hole and sips at your arousal like it’s honey, intent on making you fall apart slowly.

“How does his mouth feel, angel? Tell him,” says Seungcheol, whose lips have gotten swollen from his relentless chewing on them.

“God, Hannie, feels so good,” you squeak, your eyes still screwed shut as if that’ll help soothe the heat that burns through your body from Jeonghan’s mouth. Your fingers keep pinching at your nipple, and then Jeonghan slips two of his fingers into your heat, sending your hips bucking against his face and leaving you whining desperately, shamelessly. 

While his mouth makes out with your cunt, Jeonghan’s fingers dip in and out of you, massaging at your most sensitive spot over and over. He finds it with practiced ease, and he knows by now exactly what kind of vigour it needs to have you crying. He’s practically petting at your insides, your walls clamping around his fingers as your moans start to grow louder.

“H-hannie, I’m close, please, right there,” you squirm as your walls attempt to suck his fingers in.

You don’t see it, but his eyes flash with something devilish. Your other boyfriend sees it, though. 

“Jeonghan, don’t even think about edging her.”

Jeonghan smirks with mischief, letting his fingers do the work as he pulls his mouth away from your pussy. 

“Let me have my fun, Seungcheollie.” 

“If I did that neither you nor her would cum at all,” is your other boyfriend’s response. 

There’s silence as Jeonghan ponders whether he should obey or disobey. All the while, you’re mere inches away from your edge, hot with frustration because it’s so close; you’re so close. You just need a little bit more. It’s not too much to ask.

“Hannie, please…”

And he can’t find it in himself to deprive you any longer, so he crooks his fingers and works them as fast as he possibly can until you’re clenching, gushing, writhing all around his hand, wailing his name as you grab at his wrist but he still won’t stop. 

“Such a good boy, huh, Jeonghannie? Making her cum so good,” comes Seungcheol’s voice, sounding more breathless with each time he speaks. “Now we’re all happy.”

It’s only once your walls have stopped spasming around his fingers that Jeonghan finally slips them out of you and pops them straight into his mouth, licking them clean of every drop of your sugary arousal. He makes sure to gaze directly into the camera as his tongue laves and swirls over each one of his digits, knowing Seungcheol’s dick is twitching at the sight.

“I haven’t cum yet though. So I’m not happy yet,” he says, dragging a finger out of his mouth with a pop.

You sit up on your elbows with your cute, blissed out features, your eyes falling to his red-hard cock. 

“Come here and fuck me, then,” you say, impatient, like he didn’t just give you an orgasm. You paw at the hem of his shirt (also Seungcheol’s) and bite your lip as he pulls it over his head, letting your hands roam over his pale torso.

“Ride me?” he asks. How predictable. If it’s not Seungcheol taking him from behind then it’s you on top of him. God forbid Yoon Jeonghan does the work.

“Actually, I have a better idea. And this way Cheollie can see us both,” you say with a grin. 

With the phone on the front-facing camera, you prop it up against the headboard and roll onto your stomach, craning your head to look at him over your shoulder. 

“Like this?” Jeonghan asks, straddling the backs of your thighs.

“Yeah,” you say, parting your legs a little, arching your back and raising your hips—presenting your soaked, messy hole to him. “Try not to get tired.”

He responds with a half-hearted smack to your ass and Cheol scoffs out a chuckle. Jeonghan slides his cock between your folds, coating it with your slick, revelling in your tiny gasps every time it catches on your entrance. You’re prepared to whine and nag at your boyfriend to hurry up, but you suppose he’s feeling just as impatient as you are because he’s pushing in before you can even speak up. You look at Seungcheol, mouth dropping as you’re stuffed full with Jeonghan’s cock until he’s buried to the hilt inside you. His hands land on either side of your elbows so that he can hover over you, reel his hips back, and fuck himself into you like that. 

In this position, Jeonghan’s length brushes right against your gummy, sensitive spot with every stroke, making you keen for more even though he’s just started. 

“Harder, Hannie,” you sigh, pushing your ass up against his hips.

Instead of listening, he drops his head to the crook of your shoulder and kisses your skin. His breath tickles your ear when he whispers to you: “ah, what’s the rush, angel?”

You turn your head to catch his gaze, to drink in the sight of his face as he takes what he needs from you; his cheeks pink, his eyes tired and full of hunger. His lips, plump and enticing, evoke an unrivalled craving within you and he reads you well, brings his mouth to yours to give you as much satiation as he can muster. 

Seungcheol sits, silent, waiting. His patience is mere embers as he watches you two, his boyfriend and his girlfriend, tangled within one another. The wet slap of Jeonghan’s balls against the back of your thighs; the smacking of your lips, teeth, and tongues. He misses it. Fuck, he could go insane. 

“Cheollie,” you whine, when Jeonghan’s lips are no longer enough. “Want you to feel good too.” 

“Yeah, okay,” he replies, abandoning all semblance of the self-control he’d displayed up until now. It’s time, anyway, he thinks. He’s held off long enough. He puts his phone down and there’s shuffling as he strips himself of his sweat-soaked outfit from the show and settles upon the bed sheets once more. 

Saliva pools from the sides of your mouth when he angles his camera to show you his hand wrapped around his thick, erect dick and God, what you’d do to have it bruising the back of your throat until you’re gagging, letting him defile you all while he coos the sweetest of praises at you. 

“Daddy, I miss your cock so bad,” you admit in a weak whimper, shivering when Jeonghan angles himself deeper inside you.

“Yeah? Miss how I’d fuck your pretty little mouth?”

“Fuck, she’s clenching so hard around me, Seungcheollie,” Jeonghan grits. “Greedy little thing.”

“I mean, it’s our fault one cock’s not enough to make her happy anymore,” says Seungcheol, sighing with relief as he thumbs at his leaking tip, squeezing his fist around it, reminiscent of the way that you and Jeonghan like to tease him.

“Like I said,” says Jeonghan as he pushes two of his fingers between your parted lips. “Spoiled.”

You moan around them, staring straight into the camera as you suck on them, staring at Seungcheol, who starts to pump his hand up and down his cock. He wants to shut his eyes and pretend it’s your hand, or Jeonghan’s hand, or one of your tight, warm holes, but he can’t take his eyes off of his phone screen no matter how hard he wants to, and, well, he doesn’t want to.

He jerks himself off to the same rhythm that Jeonghan’s hips grind into yours. Seungcheol likes things a little faster, usually, more rough, but it’s Jeonghan who’s inside you right now, not him, so he matches his boyfriend’s lazy but not too slow pace, one that’s just enough to give you a gradual stimulation. 

There’s something about the whole thing—being fucked on camera, being teased with Seungcheol’s cock when you can’t have it—it has you way more excited than you expected. Way more turned on than you expected. It shows in the floods of arousal that drip from your pussy and dampen yours and Jeonghan’s thighs, in the way you’re whinier and more sensitive than usual.

Jeonghan and Seungcheol’s own noises don’t help. In fact they spur you on, coax you closer to your edge, urge the heat in your belly to grow. When Seungcheol isn’t giving deep, rasped curses, he’s letting out pretty, breathy, borderline whimpering moans. Jeonghan’s sounds are as angelic as he is. His voice is a holy choir in your ear, heavenly and soft as he gasps with exertion and pleasure; as he does things to you that any God would frown upon.

Jeonghan, too, is more sensitive. With the plug constantly brushing at his prostate, he can’t help but screw his eyes shut and pretend it’s his big, buff boyfriend fucking his girth into him. It makes his thrusts grow raggedy, like he’s more heavy. His body weight presses into you as his arms start to ache just a little. He’s impossibly deep in your guts like this and it feels so fucking good that your brain starts to melt. 

Seungcheol recognises the look in your eye—absent, like you’re starting to tap out and letting yourself become consumed by bliss.

“Is she getting close, angel?” he questions, punctuating it with a moan, the slick glide of his hand up and down his cock like music in your ears.

Jeonghan hums affirmatively. “Pretty pussy’s choking me,” he says, his voice cracking, his composure with it. He tries to put more vigour in his thrusts, more determination. The sooner you cum, the sooner he cums. 

“Cum for Jeonghannie, baby,” Seungcheol urges softly. 

“Cum for me,” Jeonghan echoes. You don’t stand a chance.

The heat inside you coils up, then erupts. Jeonghan fucks you through your climax as you tremble beneath him, crying his name and clawing at the sheets below you. 

“There it is, my good girl,” Seungcheol coos, tightening his grip on his cock as he tugs at it harshly as though it could ever replicate the feeling of your warm walls clamping down on him as you cum. 

“Ah, fuck,” Jeonghan gasps, dropping his head to your shoulder, cock twitching. His next request is a broken, pathetic moan. “Ch-cheollie, cum with me.”

Jeonghan stills inside you, whimpering softly with every rope of cum that he spills inside you, letting you milk him of every last drop. At the same time, Seungcheol gives a resounding groan as he brings himself to his own release, cum splattering over his toned stomach. 

There’s a moment of silence, or, rather, nothing but a harmony of laboured breaths as the three of you come down from your orgasms. You give a noise of protest as Jeonghan suddenly rolls off of you, but his stamina is always drained after sex—especially when he’s doing the work. You shiver, both from the emptiness in your cunt and the cold air that hits you now that you no longer have your boyfriend’s body as a shield from it. 

“Seungcheollie’s gonna wanna see your cum leak out of me, you know,” you say. 

“You know me so well, baby,” is Seungcheol’s reply. 

Jeonghan rolls his eyes. He makes no effort to move from his spot, opting to stretch his arm above his head and pat around until he finds the phone. He sits up next to you, points the camera between your legs as he grips one of your ass cheeks and spreads you apart. 

There’s a screenshot sound as white drools from your spent hole.

“Seungcheol!” you shriek. “You pervert.”

“Coups-ya, send that to me.”

thank you for reading! reblogs and feedback are highly appreciated <3

tags — @svtiddiess @ylangelegy @simpxxstan @caibeauchicfashion

[brightening-the-stars]

I was going to try to yap in the tags but it was too many characters, so for a bit of irrelevant commentary-- I'm personally fascinated by stories that follow semi-utopian societies in which a group of people has solved a bunch of problems caused by life under capitalism, but also thrown out a few desirable aspects of our current system as they built something entirely different. I think Ursula LaGuin's "The Disposessed" and Lois Lowry's "The Giver" do this especially well. (I've linked the Wikipedia synopses in case anyone is interested, though I would absolutely recommend reading both books!)

My tastes are partially driven by my politics (I really love stories that try to create realistic anarchist societies that maintain a level of technological sophistication similar to our own) but I think these stories are also just really engaging literature, because we get to explore the world through characters that take for granted things that we dream about, and dream about things that we take for granted. Because of this, they can avoid being prescriptive or preachy, and there's a pretty clear route to an interesting plotline as the characters dive into the non-ideal aspects of their organizational systems and try to rebel against or improve them.

I think solarpunk would lend itself really well to this sort of thing! What would it take, to unify people to create this sort of a future? What would we lose along the way? Even if we think these losses would be worth it, what would our great-great-grandchildren think as they are growing up in the world we've created? They should be allowed to complain about their world in a nuanced manner that recognizes that a broken utopia doesn't have to be cartoonishly oppressive. Work that criticizes aspects of a possible solarpunk future without reducing it to something monatonically bad would allow us to more clearly examine the flaws in our ideas and envision a realistic future.

(as a disclaimer, I'm not all that familiar with solarpunk so im not sure if this is coherent?? Also tagging @guutzprojects bc we were discussing similar ideas recently!)

I think a lot of the reason there's not been a ton of big solarpunk-style media is because it's inherently utopian and that leads to a real lack of conflict. Which is a shame that there's not a lot, because I LOVE how Solarpunk looks! But A lot of it is very big-scale from what I've seen; theorizing about ways man can integrate technology with nature, but not really what man is actually doing after that. What are the kinds of lives people would live in a solarpunk city? Surely actual human stories don't simply end because a lot of our needs are met. There's gotta be something!!

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

So I'm putting together an In Defence of Cassie PowerPoint for a PowerPoint night with friends. Do you have any arguments for or against her? I trust your opinion and am curious.

Let's see.

"She's too powerful, too unique, too far-seeing, and not good enough for Jake! What a Mary Sue!"

Counterpoint: May I introduce you to the reigning champion fan favorite, Sad White Boy Tobias?

Only nothlit ever to regain the ability to morph

Only known human-andalite hybrid ever to exist

Regarded as savior by entire hork-bajir species

Entire existence is a time paradox the war hinges upon

Pulls the canonically "most beautiful girl in our grade", who turns down 6 or 7 other offers in favor of Bird Boy

Correctly predicted planetary ecology 65 million years in advance

Believed to be immune to 2-hour limit

In conclusion: y'all wouldn't be crying "Mary Sue" if Cassie was a sad white boy, and I can prove it.

"She's too weak and hand-wringing, and she never helps the war effort!"

Counterpoint: First of all, the fact that the same people say this in the same breath as "she's too powerful" is... telling. Secondly:

She saved the entire team's lives in #24, in #29, in #44, and in MM1, among others.

Specifically calling out #44 — that ending shows she is willing and able to be ruthless when her friends are in need. She doesn't like slaughtering human-controllers, but if the alternative is everyone she loves dying, then she'll fucking well do it.

Much like Jake (see: Sad White Boy), she's more willing to risk herself than her friends, hence the end of MM1

Her medical knowledge saves Marco from rabies, Ax from brain!appendicitis, and Tobias from bird flu.

Her survivalist knowledge saves everyone in #25 (the Arctic), MM2 (Cretaceous Era), #11 (rainforest), and #14 (desert).

In conclusion: Cassie's only idealistic-looking by the standards of this extremely morally gray team.

"She's so unfair to Jake!"

Counterpoint: Jake? The Jake who refused to speak with her for weeks? Jake who proposes marriage while they're still broken up? Jake who announces he'll never trust Cassie again because she [checks notes] saved his brother's life? That Jake?

Also:

She gives him tons of emotional support in #16, #21, #47, and other times he's feeling low.

They have a healthy argument where they air differences and come to an understanding in #9.

Did I mention he doesn't just dump her but ghosts her in the middle of the war's endgame?

They're teenagers. Their relationship isn't perfect, but it is built on open communication and mutual respect which is more than Rachel and Tobias can say

She's fighting a war, and PTSD for that matter. No, she doesn't have infinite emotional bandwidth.

In conclusion: Their relationship is fine, their breakup is mutual, and her behavior only looks bad if, once again, you're holding Cassie to a different standard than you are Jake.

"She shouldn't have trusted Aftran!"

Counterpoint: friendly reminder that the alternative was killing a 6-year-old for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. If that's what you think Cassie should've done, that tells us more about you than about her.

"She spends too much time moralizing!"

Counterpoint: this is a book series about war, not a friggin' video game. If you want moral pornography, go play Call of Duty. If you want sci fi realism, then you're going to have to accept that a majority of humans prefer not to kill their fellow humans if at all possible.

"She's a ripoff of [insert character here]!"

Counterpoint: literally every single one of these says more about the commenter than about the source work. "Every dystopia is set in the U.S." is the kind of thing only people who only read books by American authors would think. "All epic fantasy is Eurocentric" => tell me you only read books by white people without telling me. I'm glad you think Cassie is too similar to Willow Rosenberg, but there are at least 6 other stories in the known world, and I hear some of them even feature sweet/dorky/caring characters who are secretly ultra-powerful.

In conclusion: You don't have to like Cassie as a (fictional) person, but 85% of criticisms directed at her are bad-faith attacks on one of the 1990s' only fat Black female gnc ultra-powerful superheroes.

[celestiamour]

Hello can you please do hcs for su-bong x sweet fem reader? By sweet I mean nice to everyone and loved/liked by almost everyone so people are shocked he pulled 😭 (sorry if it’s a bit specific!) Thank you!

ft. choi su-bong x f! reader — squid game

╰₊✧ sweetheart! reader┊0.5k words

contains: established relationship, mentioned drug use

➤ author's note: another short one served but they are so cute omg

╰₊✧ most people in the games don’t like thanos, even his fans who survived the first games are learning why “never meet your heroes” is such a popular saying. he’s obnoxious, arrogant, temperamental, unpredictable in dangerous ways (especially when high) with how he dances with death, and rarely ever considers the well-being of others unless they are part of his team. they prefer to steer clear of them as nothing good could ever come from associating with a hooligan like him, and they tell you to do the same because he would only be a bad influence.

╰₊✧ when they find out a sweetheart like you is actually his girlfriend, their jaws go slack and their eyes go round in shock. not a fling to pass the time, not a situationship, his real girlfriend whom he’s very committed to. you, the darling girl everyone loves who gives massages to the elderly and always gives her milk away to anyone who needs it, dating some fuckass rapper who is a menace to society. 

╰₊✧ while your boyfriend frequently flexes you as his partner, truth be told, he’s not sure how he pulled you either but is too scared to ask just in case you realize you can do better than him. 

╰₊✧ he’s so smitten with you, by the way, it’s almost pathetic. his personality turns a complete 180 degrees and gives kang dae-ho a run for his money in the contest of golden retriever personality, a complete and utter simp (do people even still use that word anymore) for you— you say “jump,” he asks “how high.” he would probably quit using drugs if you asked him to and supported him through withdrawals, which is probably why he’s a bit more sneaky about it and you haven’t noticed yet.

╰₊✧ never says sorry first after arguments because of how stubborn he is, but he feels so guilty when you sputter a string of apologies through tears seconds after that he might start crying too because you’re just too sweet for him. 

╰₊✧ deviates from his usual style of songwriting to write more romantic stuff dedicated to you with lots of motifs about heavenly angels and saccharine sugar. he finds the final product a little embarrassing because of just how different it is to his raps, but you always love it and listen to it at least a hundred times before adding it to your favorites. also, he has so many playlists with you in mind, he probably has a separate account for them. he puts a little too much thought into curating the perfect background music for dates, for dancing around the house, or just to listen to with headphones when he’s thinking about you in any instance.

╰₊✧ matching icons on your social media with half a heart frame so when you put them together it’s a heart around the two of you because he’ll be damned if the entire world doesn’t know that you’re his and he’s yours.

[aspenmissing]

ᴀʀᴄᴀɴᴇ: ʀᴇɢʀᴇᴛꜰᴜʟ ᴍᴏᴍᴇɴᴛꜱ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴ��ᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ/ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ-ɪꜱʜ

6115 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ᴀᴄᴄɪᴅᴇɴᴛᴀʟ ʜᴀʀᴍ

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ᴏᴜʀ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ ᴀɴᴅ/ᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ʀᴇɢʀᴇᴛꜰᴜʟ. ʜᴏᴡ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ʀᴇꜱᴘᴏɴᴅ.

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx/ᴘᴏᴡᴅᴇʀ

JAYCE

The dim glow of the workshop’s lanterns flickered softly, casting long shadows over the polished metal surfaces of Jayce’s creations. His hands moved with precision, the soft hum of machines and the rhythmic tapping of his tools filling the space as he focused intensely on his latest project. His mind was consumed by his work, as it often was during times of pressure, and for the moment, everything else in his world faded into the background.

Except for one thing: Y/N.

She stood at the entrance to the workshop, watching him in silence. He didn’t even notice her standing there for several moments. The light music that played softly from the small speaker on the corner of his workbench filled the space, but it only highlighted the growing distance between them.

“Jayce…” Y/N finally spoke, her voice tentative, almost hesitant. She hadn’t meant to interrupt, but the silence had stretched on for far too long.

Jayce didn’t look up from his work, his brow furrowed in concentration. “Hmm?” His response was curt, distracted.

Y/N’s heart sank. She had grown accustomed to the intensity of Jayce’s dedication to his research and inventions, but it seemed lately like there was always something pulling him away from her. She stood there, waiting for him to acknowledge her, to invite her into his world like he used to, but nothing came.

“I was thinking… maybe we could spend some time together tonight?” Y/N suggested softly, stepping a little closer to the workbench. Her voice was gentle, not wanting to push him, but wanting to feel that connection again—the one they used to share so effortlessly.

Jayce finally looked up, his eyes tired but focused. He hesitated, glancing back at the project in front of him, then back at Y/N. His expression softened for a brief moment, but then the weight of his responsibilities seemed to pull him back.

“I can’t right now,” he said, his voice quieter than before, almost apologetic. “There’s too much I need to finish. I’m close… so close to figuring it out.”

Y/N nodded, understanding the passion in his voice, but it did little to ease the ache in her chest. She had seen this before—the way Jayce would lose himself in his work, pushing everything else aside until he felt he had done enough. But this time felt different. This time, it wasn’t just his work pulling him away. It was as though he had built an invisible wall between them, one that no amount of pleading or patience could break.

“I get it, Jayce,” Y/N said, trying to keep her voice steady. “But when was the last time we actually spent time together? Just the two of us? It’s been weeks… months, even.”

Jayce looked at her, and for a moment, there was a flicker of guilt in his eyes. But it quickly vanished, replaced by a weariness that seemed to settle deep in his bones. “I don’t have time for that right now, Y/N. I need to focus.”

Y/N felt her stomach twist, a sharp pang of hurt cutting through her. “I’m not asking for much, Jayce. Just… a little of your time. It doesn’t have to be anything big, just—”

“I said I don’t have time!” Jayce interrupted, his voice rising before he could catch himself. He immediately regretted the sharpness, but the damage was done. He saw the hurt flash across Y/N’s face, and something inside him crumbled.

Y/N stood there for a long moment, her lips pressed together tightly as she held back the tears that threatened to spill. She didn’t know what to say anymore. Jayce’s work had always been important to him, but it had never felt like it came before her. But now, in this moment, she wasn’t sure if she was even part of his world anymore. His ambition, his goals, seemed to consume him entirely.

“Fine,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I get it. I’ll leave you to your work.”

She turned to walk away, but before she could make it to the door, Jayce called out her name.

“Y/N… wait.”

She paused, but didn’t turn around. She didn’t want to see the look in his eyes right now, didn’t want to see the guilt or the frustration. He had already made his choice, and it wasn’t her.

Jayce’s voice softened as he stepped toward her. “I didn’t mean to snap at you. I just… I’m close to something big. You know how important this is to me. I can’t stop now.”

Y/N slowly turned to face him, her arms crossed over her chest as if to protect herself from the weight of his words. “I know, Jayce. I know how important it is. But don’t you see? You’re pushing me away”

Jayce swallowed, the words hitting him harder than he expected. He had always prided himself on his work, but he had never meant to let it overshadow the one person who had stood by him through everything. But now, as he looked at Y/N’s hurt expression, he realized the truth: he had been so focused on proving himself, on achieving greatness, that he had forgotten to nurture the relationship that mattered the most to him.

“I’m sorry,” Jayce said softly, taking a step closer. “I don’t want to push you away. You mean everything to me.”

Y/N shook her head, her eyes filled with unshed tears. “It doesn’t feel like it right now, Jayce.”

The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy. Jayce reached out, gently taking her hand, his thumb brushing over her skin as if trying to convey everything he couldn’t say. “I don’t want to lose you, Y/N. I’m just… afraid I’ll never be enough.”

Y/N’s heart twisted. She could see the vulnerability in his eyes, the fear that had driven him to bury himself in his work. She stepped forward, pulling him into a gentle embrace.

“You’re already enough,” she whispered into his ear. “But you can’t keep pushing me away. I need you too, Jayce. Not just as someone who can fix the world, but as the person you are. The person I love.”

Jayce’s arms tightened around her, the weight of his regret heavy on his chest. He held her close, savouring the feeling of her warmth, but knowing that he had a long way to go to make things right.

“I promise,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ll do better. I’ll make time for us. I swear it.”

And in that moment, Jayce realized that he couldn’t afford to lose her—not for his work, not for his ambitions. Y/N had always been his anchor, and he couldn’t let go of the one person who truly understood him.

It was time to rebuild what had been broken. And he would do whatever it took to make it right.

VIKTOR

Viktor’s lab was a quiet, sterile environment, lit only by the soft glow of arcane machinery and the faint hum of the chemical reactors working in the background. The air always smelled faintly of oil and metal, a testament to the ambitious scientist's unyielding drive to push the boundaries of his experiments. Tonight, however, the atmosphere was different. Tonight, it was filled with an undercurrent of tension as Viktor prepared for his latest, most daring experiment yet.

“Y/N, you don’t have to do this,” Viktor said softly, turning to look at her with a mixture of concern and determination in his eyes. He stood tall despite the cane he leaned on, the weight of his past decisions and ailments making his movements a little slower, but still purposeful. “I can run the experiment alone. It’s too risky.”

Y/N, however, stood resolutely next to him, her hand resting gently on the table where the prototype of the new device sat. It was a marvel of engineering and alchemy, a machine designed to unlock the potential of Hextech technology in ways that had never been done before. She had always admired Viktor’s genius, his drive, and his unflinching pursuit of progress. And while she understood the dangers, she trusted him completely.

“I’m not afraid, Viktor,” she said with a small, reassuring smile. “I want to help. You’ve been working on this for so long, and I’m right here. I trust you.”

Her words seemed to settle some of the unease within Viktor, but a part of him still hesitated. He had always put progress above all else, but with Y/N by his side, it had become more difficult to keep his heart and mind from conflicting. She had become so much more than just an assistant to him, so much more than someone who helped him. She had become his partner, and the thought of risking her well-being gnawed at him in ways he wasn’t used to.

But she was persistent. Her faith in him was unwavering, and with a soft sigh, he nodded. “Alright. But you promise me, if something feels wrong, you’ll stop, yes? Don’t be reckless for my sake.”

Y/N’s smile widened. “I promise.”

The two of them worked together in synchrony. Viktor carefully adjusted the settings on the device, while Y/N followed his instructions to the letter, her focus sharp. The energy in the lab seemed to vibrate with anticipation, as though the world itself was holding its breath, waiting for the experiment to begin.

Viktor’s fingers hovered over the final switch, and he glanced at Y/N one last time. “Are you ready?” he asked.

She nodded. “Let’s do this.”

Viktor flipped the switch.

For a moment, everything was still. The machine hummed to life, its core glowing brightly, and streams of energy surged through the air. Viktor’s heart raced as he watched the device’s progress on the monitors, his breath caught in his chest. But then—just as quickly—something went wrong. A burst of energy erupted from the machine, more intense than he had anticipated. The surge knocked both of them backward.

Y/N lost her footing, her body tumbling toward the ground. Viktor reached out, but his cane slipped in the chaos, and he couldn’t catch her in time. The floor was cold against Y/N’s back as her head hit the hard surface with a sickening thud. The world around her spun in a blur, and a sharp pain flared across her skull.

“Miláčku!” Viktor shouted, his voice laced with panic as he rushed to her side, his cane discarded on the floor. His hands trembled as he cupped her face, his eyes frantic as he checked for any signs of serious injury. (Darling)

Y/N blinked slowly, her vision still blurry, but she tried to focus on his face. “I’m okay, Viktor,” she mumbled, her voice groggy. “Just a little dizzy… nothing serious.”

He breathed a sigh of relief, though his face was still drawn with concern. “I should have never let you do this” he whispered, more to himself than to her. His hands shook as he gently helped her sit up, his voice tight with guilt. “I put you in danger. I... I should’ve been more careful.”

“Viktor,” Y/N whispered, reaching up to place a hand over his. She could feel the tension in his fingertips, the weight of his regret. “This wasn’t your fault. I agreed to help you, remember? I knew the risks. This isn’t on you.”

But Viktor couldn’t shake the overwhelming sense of responsibility he felt for her safety. She had trusted him completely, and in that moment, he realized how much he had taken for granted. His pursuit of science, his desire to change the world, had come at a price. A price that could have cost him the person he cared most about.

JAYVIK

Y/N had always admired the dynamic between Jayce and Viktor—their partnership, their unyielding dedication to their work, and the bond they shared despite their differences. She had tried to be supportive, stepping into their world of Hextech whenever she could, even though she wasn’t a scientist herself.

But tonight, everything had unraveled.

It started with a simple misunderstanding. Jayce had been pacing the workshop, his frustration palpable as he ranted about deadlines, council meetings, and the pressures of Hextech’s growing influence. Viktor, meanwhile, was hunched over his workbench, tools in hand as he adjusted some intricate device with the precision only he could manage.

Y/N had tried to help in her own way. She suggested taking a break, maybe grabbing something to eat, or just stepping away from the lab for a while. But the suggestion was met with resistance. Jayce waved her off, muttering something about needing to stay focused, while Viktor barely acknowledged her, too engrossed in his work to respond.

Feeling dismissed, Y/N’s patience snapped. “You two are going to run yourselves into the ground!” she exclaimed, her voice sharper than she intended. “You’re so obsessed with your inventions that you’re forgetting everything else—including the people who care about you.”

The words hung in the air like a heavy weight, and for a moment, the room fell silent.

Jayce was the first to react, his brow furrowing as he turned to face her. “We’re doing this for everyone, Y/N. For Piltover. For Zaun. You know that.”

“And you think that excuses shutting people out?” Y/N shot back, her frustration bubbling over. She turned to Viktor, who still hadn’t looked up from his work. “And you—do you even realize how much you’ve been pushing yourself? You’re not a machine, Viktor. You need rest too.”

Viktor finally looked up, his golden eyes narrowing slightly. “This work isn’t about convenience, Y/N. It’s about progress. Sacrifices must be made.”

The words stung more than she expected. “Sacrifices?” she repeated, her voice faltering. “Is that all I am to you? A sacrifice?”

Jayce stepped forward, his expression softening as he reached out to her. “Y/N, that’s not what he meant—”

But Y/N pulled away, shaking her head. “I’m trying to help, but it feels like I’m just in the way. Maybe you don’t need me here at all.”

The moment the words left her mouth, she regretted them. Jayce’s face fell, hurt flickering in his eyes, while Viktor’s expression hardened into something unreadable.

“Miláčku…” Viktor began, his tone quieter now, almost pleading. (Darling)

But she was already backing toward the door. “I’ll leave you to your progress,” she muttered, her voice shaking as she turned and walked out of the workshop.

=

As the door clicked shut behind her, the silence in the shared apartment was suffocating. Y/N’s chest felt heavy as she retreated to the guest room, a place she rarely used but tonight felt necessary. She couldn’t face Jayce and Viktor—not after the way she’d lashed out at them.

Lying awake in the unfamiliar bed, Y/N replayed the argument over and over. She’d let her frustration get the better of her, and now all she felt was regret. Jayce and Viktor were trying their best to change the world, balancing immense pressure with their passion for Hextech. Instead of supporting them, she’d only added to their stress.

Eventually, exhaustion claimed her, though her sleep was restless and shallow.

The next morning, the faint scent of something warm and savory roused her. Y/N blinked against the soft light filtering through the curtains, her senses slowly sharpening. It smelled like… eggs? And toast? Was that coffee, too?

Curiosity outweighed her lingering guilt as she slipped out of bed and padded down the hallway toward the kitchen. Her heart clenched at the sight before her.

Jayce was at the stove, his broad shoulders hunched slightly as he flipped something in a pan. Viktor stood beside him, a bit awkward with his movements but focused as he carefully poured coffee into a mug. The kitchen table was already set with plates of food—scrambled eggs, toast, and a small bowl of fruit.

“Morning,” Jayce said, glancing over his shoulder with a sheepish smile. His voice was soft, hesitant. “We, uh, made breakfast.”

Viktor turned to her as well, his golden eyes scanning her face for a reaction. “It’s not perfect,” he said, gesturing to the table, “but we wanted to… apologize. For last night.”

Y/N’s throat tightened, and she had to blink back the sudden sting of tears. “You don’t have to apologize,” she murmured, stepping closer. “I’m the one who—”

“No,” Jayce interrupted gently, turning off the stove and placing the pan on the counter. He faced her fully, his expression earnest. “You were right, Y/N. We’ve been so caught up in our work that we’ve been neglecting everything else. Including you.”

Viktor nodded, his voice quieter but just as sincere. “Your concerns weren’t unwarranted. We… forget sometimes that there’s more to life than progress and deadlines. You were only trying to help.”

Y/N felt a tear slip down her cheek, and she quickly wiped it away, smiling despite herself. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like you weren’t doing enough. I just worry about you two. You’re both so driven, and I don’t want you to burn out.”

Jayce approached her, his arms opening slightly in invitation. “We’ll try to do better. For you. For us.”

Without hesitation, Y/N stepped into his embrace, feeling the tension from the night before melt away. Viktor joined them after a moment, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder. The three of them stood there in the warmth of the kitchen, a quiet understanding passing between them.

When they finally broke apart, Jayce gestured to the table. “Come on, before the food gets cold. Viktor even made coffee.”

Y/N chuckled, taking a seat and letting herself relax as they sat down together. The food wasn’t perfect—Jayce had overcooked the eggs slightly, and Viktor’s toast was a little burnt—but it didn’t matter. What mattered was the effort, the thought behind it.

In that moment, surrounded by the people she cared about most, Y/N realized that no argument, no misunderstanding, could break the bond they shared. Together, they’d figure out how to balance their passions with their lives. And together, they’d always find a way back to each other.

VANDER

The Last Drop was unusually quiet for a change, with the patrons gone and the dim lantern light casting a warm glow over the upstairs room. Y/N and Vander sat at the small table, a nearly empty bottle of whiskey between them. Laughter spilled from their lips as they reminisced about the past, their cheeks flushed from the alcohol they’d both indulged in.

“You’re slurring your words, big guy,” Y/N teased, pointing at Vander with a playful smirk. “Can’t handle your drink anymore?”

Vander let out a hearty laugh, shaking his head as he poured the last bit of whiskey into their glasses. “Says the one who’s giggling like a schoolgirl,” he shot back, his grin widening. “You’ve had just as much as I have.”

They clinked their glasses, the sound ringing out like a toast to their shared camaraderie. Y/N couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed so much, her sides aching from their banter. But as the whiskey settled into their systems, the laughter turned into something lighter, more carefree.

It was Vander who suggested the tickling match, his mischievous side coming out in a way it rarely did. “Bet you can’t take me down,” he said, leaning back in his chair with a cocky grin.

Y/N narrowed her eyes, rising to the challenge. “Oh, you’re on.”

The playful scuffle started as harmless fun, with Y/N darting around Vander’s large hands, trying to tickle his sides while dodging his counterattacks. Their laughter filled the room as they stumbled around, their movements slightly clumsy from the alcohol.

But then, in one uncoordinated motion, Vander’s hand swung a little too wide, catching Y/N squarely on the nose.

The room seemed to freeze.

Y/N gasped, stumbling back as her hand flew to her face. A warm, wet sensation met her fingertips, and when she pulled her hand away, she saw the telltale red of blood.

“Oh, no,” Vander muttered, his voice low and panicked. The buzz from the whiskey evaporated in an instant, replaced by a wave of guilt and worry. “Sweetheart—”

“I’m fine,” Y/N interrupted, her voice muffled as she pinched her nose to stop the bleeding. But her words didn’t stop Vander from rushing over, his large hands hovering near her face, unsure of what to do without making things worse.

“Let me see,” he insisted, his voice steadier now but still heavy with concern.

Y/N relented, tilting her head back slightly as Vander gently cupped her face, examining her nose with a care that belied his size. “It’s just a bloody nose,” she said, offering him a small smile despite the situation. “No big deal.”

But Vander didn’t smile back. He grabbed a clean cloth from the table and carefully pressed it to her nose, his brow furrowed deeply. “No big deal? I hit you, Y/N,” he said, his voice tight. “That’s a big deal.”

“It was an accident,” Y/N said softly, placing a hand on his arm. “You didn’t mean to, Vander. We were messing around. It happens.”

“Still,” Vander muttered, his jaw clenched. “I should’ve been more careful. I could’ve really hurt you.”

The sight of him so distraught tugged at Y/N’s heart. She reached up, resting her hand on his cheek and forcing him to meet her eyes. “Hey,” she said gently, her voice steady despite the lingering sting in her nose. “I’m okay. Really. Accidents happen. But if it makes you feel better, I’ll let you pamper me for the rest of the night.”

Vander huffed a small laugh, though his eyes were still clouded with guilt. “Pamper you, huh?”

“Yup,” Y/N replied with a grin, her usual humour returning. “I expect a warm drink, a blanket, and maybe a foot rub.”

That finally earned a chuckle from Vander, though it was tinged with a hint of sadness. “You’ve got a deal,” he said, his voice soft.

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close as they sat back down at the table. “I’m still sorry, Y/N,” he murmured. “You mean too much to me to let something like this happen.”

“I know,” Y/N said, resting her head against his chest. “But you don’t have to beat yourself up over it. I’m not mad, Vander. Just maybe… let’s save the tickle matches for when we’re sober next time.”

Vander let out a low laugh, his grip tightening around her in a protective embrace. “Deal,” he said, his voice warm and full of gratitude.

And as the night went on, the incident became just another memory to laugh about later—a reminder of how much they cared for each other, even when things got a little out of hand.

SILCO

The room was dim, the only light coming from the faint glow of the neon signs outside filtering through the cracked windows. Silco and Y/N stood across from each other, the tension in the air palpable. The weight of their argument pressed down on both of them—words had been thrown like daggers, each cutting deeper than the last.

"You don't understand!" Silco's voice was low, tinged with frustration, but his usual coldness was absent. He was angry, yes, but there was something else—fear, desperation—that lingered beneath his words.

Y/N’s face was flushed with anger, her voice quivering as she retorted, "I understand perfectly, Silco! You think you're the only one who’s sacrificed? The only one who’s had to make hard choices?" Her hands were clenched into fists at her sides. "You’ve built this empire, but what have you really gained? Power? Control? At what cost?"

Silco’s jaw tightened, his fists trembling at his sides. The scorn in her words stung more than he cared to admit. He opened his mouth to respond, but instead, a primal instinct surged through him. He raised his hand, palm open, as if to gesture angrily, but the movement was much too sharp, too quick. It was a motion born out of years of frustration, a gesture that, in his mind, had always been a warning.

But it wasn’t the hand that struck her—his intention never was. It was the movement itself that made Y/N flinch, her body jerking back as if she expected a blow.

The sight of her flinching—of seeing the fear in her eyes—stopped Silco dead in his tracks. The realization hit him like a sledgehammer, his heart sinking into the pit of his stomach. He never meant for it to go this far. He’d raised his hand out of pure instinct, a lifetime of anger and hurt flooding to the surface, but Y/N—Y/N, the one person he allowed into his world—had flinched.

Her eyes were wide, her expression one of shock, her breath catching in her throat as she looked at him. It wasn’t fear of him—he realized that in a split second—but fear of the violence he represented. It was a look he’d seen in so many others throughout his life, but never from Y/N. The thought that he had made her feel this way broke something deep within him.

"Y/N..." Silco’s voice faltered, the anger draining from him. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest as he slowly lowered his hand, the weight of his regret crashing down on him. He hadn’t meant to scare her. He had never meant to make her feel small, weak, or vulnerable in front of him. And yet, that’s exactly what he had done.

She didn’t move, her body tense, as though still bracing herself for something worse. Her wide eyes met his, searching for an explanation that he could not provide, and that broke him even more.

"I didn’t... I didn’t mean it," he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. He took a cautious step toward her, his hands trembling as they hovered in the air, unsure of what to do, how to fix what had just been shattered. "I... I'm sorry. I’m sorry."

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence between them felt suffocating, heavy with the realization of what he had almost done. He could see the tear that had formed in the corner of Y/N’s eye, a silent testament to the pain he had caused her.

Before he could say another word, Y/N spoke, her voice barely audible. "You scared me, Silco." Her words were simple, but they cut through him like a blade.

A broken sigh escaped him, and in that moment, all the walls he had built around himself—walls he had so carefully crafted to protect him from weakness—crumbled.

"I never wanted to hurt you," he said, his voice strained with emotion, each word feeling like it came from the very depth of his soul. "I swear to you, I never wanted to make you feel like that."

The cold exterior he had always worn—his calculated control, his ruthless demeanour—began to crack. He couldn’t stand the thought that he had made the one person who mattered to him feel this way. Y/N was more than just someone to him; she was the only person who saw past the monster he’d become. She saw the man beneath the anger, the man who was capable of love—real love, not the twisted, possessive affection he was used to.

Slowly, cautiously, Silco closed the distance between them. His hand reached out, his fingers trembling slightly as they brushed against her arm, then slowly slid around her back, pulling her into him. The warmth of her body, the softness of her skin, sent a wave of guilt and longing through him.

Y/N didn’t pull away. Instead, she rested her head against his chest, her hands gripping the fabric of his jacket as if holding onto something solid, something that still felt like home. She didn’t speak, and neither did he. The only sound in the room was the steady beat of their hearts, somehow in sync, despite the chaos that had just unfolded.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he whispered again, his voice hoarse. “I never want you to be afraid of me.”

Y/N's arms wrapped around him, returning the embrace, but this time there was no tension, no fear. Just the rawness of emotion, of two people who had hurt each other, but who could still find solace in each other’s presence.

“I know,” she murmured softly into his chest, the words carrying more weight than anything else. “I know you didn’t mean it.”

For a long moment, neither of them moved. They simply stood there, in each other's arms, finding comfort in the stillness. Silco wasn’t sure if he could undo the hurt he’d caused, but he knew one thing for certain: he would spend every moment of the rest of his life making sure that Y/N never had to flinch again when he raised his hand.

And that, in a strange, painful way, was a promise that broke his heart and rebuilt it at the same time.

POWDER/JINX

The explosion had rocked The Last Drop, sending shockwaves through the tavern as smoke and debris filled the air. No one had been hurt, thankfully, but the mess was impossible to ignore. Y/N had been upstairs in Silco’s private office when she heard the blast, and her heart sank as she rushed downstairs to find Jinx standing in the center of the destruction, looking sheepish but almost proud of her work.

“What did you do?” Y/N’s voice was sharp, the frustration bubbling to the surface. Her eyes scanned the wreckage—the broken tables, the charred walls—and then locked onto Jinx, who was standing there with her arms crossed defensively, a nervous smile on her face.

“I didn’t mean for it to go off like that,” Jinx muttered, her eyes wide with guilt. “I just wanted to... I thought I had it right, but it... I don’t know.”

Y/N didn’t have time for explanations. She grabbed Jinx’s arm roughly, her grip firm as she pulled her away from the wreckage. “We’re going upstairs, now.”

Without another word, Y/N dragged Jinx up the stairs to Silco’s office. The tension between them was thick, and Jinx didn’t resist. It was obvious that she knew she’d messed up, but she didn’t know how to fix it. She didn’t know what to say, either.

Y/N threw open the door to Silco’s office and practically shoved Jinx inside. The office was silent, the only noise being the soft hum of the air and the distant echoes of the tavern downstairs.

Silco, who had been at his desk working, looked up at the commotion. “What’s going on here?” he asked in his usual calm tone, but his eyes flickered with interest as he saw the mess Jinx had caused.

“Jinx almost blew the entire place up!” Y/N snapped, the anger in her voice still raw. She wasn’t sure if it was frustration with Jinx’s recklessness or just the overwhelming fear of what could’ve happened. Either way, she wasn’t backing down.

Jinx shrunk back from the two of them, her usual bravado slipping away. She couldn’t stand being scolded—especially by Y/N, the one person who always showed her care.

“Do you even think before you act?” Y/N’s words cut through the silence like a knife. “What were you thinking, Jinx? You could’ve hurt someone—or worse, hurt yourself!”

Jinx opened her mouth to speak, but the words caught in her throat. Her eyes welled up with tears, her hands trembling. It wasn’t supposed to go this way. She hadn’t meant for the explosion to be so big, hadn’t meant for it to create such a mess. But now she was being yelled at, and Y/N’s disappointment stung more than she could bear.

“I... I didn’t mean to...” Jinx whispered, but her voice was so small it barely registered.

Y/N’s frustration hadn’t dulled, but the sight of Jinx standing there, vulnerable and scared, made her pause. “You’re going to hurt someone if you don’t learn some control, Jinx. This is why I’m so worried about you. You act first and think later, and it’s dangerous.”

Jinx’s lip quivered, and she finally broke down. She didn’t want to cry, but the tears came anyway. “I’m sorry,” she sobbed, her voice trembling with the weight of her emotions. “I didn’t mean to... I just wanted to... I just wanted to do something big. Something that would... matter.”

Y/N’s heart softened, the anger dissipating as quickly as it had come. Jinx wasn’t a bad person—she was a broken one, and Y/N could see that. But the anger was still there, and it felt like there was nothing Y/N could do to fix this in a single moment.

Silco stood from his desk, his expression unreadable as he walked over to Jinx, placing a firm but gentle hand on her shoulder. “You need to understand the consequences of your actions, Jinx. Not everything can be a game. Some things, like what you just did, are dangerous.”

Jinx nodded silently, wiping her tears away with the back of her hand. “I understand,” she whispered, though the words felt hollow. She didn’t know if she really understood, or if she was just trying to make them stop shouting at her.

Y/N let out a long, heavy sigh, the tension leaving her shoulders. She walked over to Jinx and placed a hand on her arm, her voice softer now. “You’re not a bad person, Jinx. But you have to be more careful. You have to think about the people around you, okay? You’re not alone in this.”

Jinx looked up at her, the tears still visible in her eyes. “I don’t wanna mess up anymore... I don’t wanna disappoint you.” Her voice cracked, the weight of the apology heavy on her heart.

Y/N’s heart ached at the words. She reached out, gently cupping Jinx’s face in her hands. “Jinx, you haven’t messed anything up. You’re not a disappointment. You’re just a kid trying to figure it all out. But you can’t keep doing this. You can’t keep putting people at risk.”

Jinx sniffled, looking down at the floor, her fingers clenching and unclenching nervously. “I just wanted to do something... I just wanted to make something explode... I wanted to be... important.”

Y/N sighed, her heart aching for the girl standing before her. “You are important, Jinx. You matter. But making explosions isn’t the only way to prove that. You’ve got so much more to offer. Just... just stop before you make another mistake, okay?”

Jinx nodded slowly, her lip trembling as she wiped her eyes again. She wanted to say something, but the words wouldn’t come.

Y/N’s heart broke a little more as she watched Jinx retreat back to the door. She knew this wasn’t the end, that the girl would need more than just words to change her ways, but it was a start.

Jinx’s sobs echoed in the hallway as she ran from the room, retreating to her bedroom, where she could cry without anyone seeing her weakness. Y/N stood there for a moment, feeling the sharp sting of regret in her chest. Maybe she had been too harsh.

After a moment of hesitation, Y/N quietly followed after her, her footsteps soft as she approached Jinx’s room. She knocked lightly on the door, her voice quieter now. “Jinx?”

There was no response, but she could hear the soft sounds of sobbing from inside. Y/N opened the door slowly, stepping inside. Jinx was sitting on her bed, her back to the door, her arms wrapped around her knees.

Y/N sat down next to her, her voice low and gentle. “Jinx, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

Jinx looked up, her red eyes filled with the hurt that she had been trying to hide. “I just... I don’t want you to be mad at me. I don’t want to be... a burden.”

Y/N pulled her into a tight hug, her hands running through Jinx’s messy hair. “You’re not a burden. I care about you, Jinx. And I just want you to be safe. You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to try.”

Jinx sniffled, clinging to Y/N, her small frame trembling with the weight of her emotions. “I’ll try... I won’t do it again.”

Y/N held her closer, knowing that this wasn’t the end of the journey, but for now, it was enough. She would always be there for Jinx, no matter what explosions she caused or mistakes she made. Because, despite everything, Jinx was family. And Y/N wasn’t going anywhere.

[thewertsearch]

@necrowyrm asked: happy new year!!! enjoy the last little bit of homestuck before act 6! Anonymous asked: You have NO IDEA how much I was looking forward to your reaction to this flash :D @teddy-bearer-of-bad-news asked: a very late congratulations from me for making it this far! i gotta say, saving CASCADE for new year's is probably the smartest thing i've heard all week. may your experience be nothing short of righteous, comrade Anonymous asked: Cascade … Even years latter knowing it almost by heart, every once in a while I will take a little quarter of an hour to rewatch it, Say what you want about Hussie but there is a good reason Homestuck became so iconic. @adeptarcanist asked: The leadup to Cascade was honestly my favorite sequence in Homestuck, and maybe one of my favorites in any media ever? The way the narrative splits apart into all of the different scenes swirling in towards the critical moment, both advancing main plots and finding time to spend a moment of melancholy with characters who’d been left behind (The Jaspers and Nepeta scene :( )… it’s such a strong narrative device, and the tone it generates is impeccable. @calamitascalliope asked: I literally watched the flash again, and it still gives me chills every single time. Welcome to your post-Cascade life. You won't be able to think about anything the same ever again @iris-in-the-dark-world asked: "she looks so cool… but she’s so tragic… but she looks so cool…" has become a brainworm for me. i too love the handmaid's design btw, cascade time has been i think the most anticipated non-personal event of the entire year for me. i'm so excited @publicuniversalworstie asked: I want you to know that I also opened Cascade and started watching with you right after I saw your "oh my god it has chapters" ask, and I finished just as you posted "I will never be the same" !! And I bet lots of other people did too <3 so it's like we all watched it together!!!! Happy New Year and thank you for liveblogging!!!! It's been a pleasure！(and will continue to be) @krixwell asked: I would like you to know that your "Right, we're good to go!" and "oh my god it has chapters" posts were posted right as I was outside watching midnight fireworks ring in 2025 for the Central European timezone. Happy new year! @captorations asked:

hey remember when rose just up and fucking said that. anyway congrats on reaching cascade! it absolutely wrecked me back in the day, i think i stared at those flaming curtains for a solid ten minutes as my brain permanently reconfigured. the first few notes of the track alone still give shivers. getting your reaction to cascade was a wonderful birthday present. (speaking of getting older: aradia 🤝 dulcinea also got that "distressingly short lifespan only to die early anyway" story thread going on. the parallels are paralleling.) anyway happy new year and congrats you are… slightly less than halfway done with homestuck. have fun!

Hey, guys. Cascade was so fucking good.

Like, there's really no competition; this is the best Flash page in the comic thus far. Peak music, peak animation, and absolutely a peak narrative. It tied up mountains of plot threads, providing complete answer to questions we're been asking for literally thousands of pages. It completed over a dozen arcs, both big and small. It made me gasp three times in fourteen minutes. It let Jade become a furry.

11/10, and I'm glad people had as much fun here as I did on New Year's Eve. Happy 2025, and happy Act 6!

@morganwick asked: Sally, predicting Cascade: "I have approximate knowledge of many things." @morganwick asked: "You literally have the whole world in the palm of your hands." -Sally to Jadesprite, December 16, 2024 (You might also want to reread post/770701212350857216 in light of recent developments.)

Hah!

I mean, based on her powerset, it made sense that Jadesprite would do something like this eventually, but it's pretty funny that she did it more or less immediately.

And in the end, CD really was a tricky little bastard. We'll definitely need to keep a closer eye on him, next time around.

Anonymous asked: Take a moment to consider that if anyone were to use the Homestuck website as it stands now instead of the Collection program, Cascade would have been presented in the YouTube player in Standard Definition, artifacted to hell, with a clear boundary showing the dimensions of the video from the very start. Preservation is so important.

Jeez, you're not kidding. The 1080p is fine, I guess, but it certainly doesn't hit like the Flash version does, especially with its lack of moving panels.

I know something had to change when Flash kicked the bucket, but surely there was a better way to preserve the video's soul.

Anonymous asked: to give you some of an idea of what homestuck fandom looked like during this time period, im cribbing from a very popular homestuck post: “first, this upd8 was something that we had been waiting for for WEEKS. A literally unprecedented wait period at the time. We were used to suckling at the teat of daily updates, a constant stream of conversation and plot twists and buildup, and as EOA5, we were finally going to figure out what all these countdowns and plot threads and disconnected elements were building up for. And when the progress bar reached 100%, and when the page FINALLY loaded on 10/25/11, it was chaos. This was 2011, a primetime peak point and growth period of Homestuck fan density.” (…) “MSPA crashed, as it had started to during the last few big [S] updates. Hussie had already bought new servers in advance, but even when allegedly thousands of dollars were spent it couldn't handle the accidental DDOS attack of Homestuck fans. People were up all night waiting for this upd8, the curiosity was killing me. I know at some point he was receiving at least 1 million unique visitors per day to his site [correction: according to Hussie’s tumblr, upwards of 2 million during this time], and even though Hussie had foreseen such traffic and thusly hosted [S] Cascade on Newgrounds, a dedicated video streaming site, Newgrounds was similarly unprepared for the sheer amount of people frantically mashing the play and refresh buttons, and also crashed. Immediately. MSPA and Newgrounds crashed definitively for at least two nights in a row” (…) “Andrew Hussie has gone on record to say this was one of the few times he thought Homestuck wasn’t worth it, because the sheer unbelievable cost (was it $10,000?) [correction: according to Hussie’s tumblr, it looked like it was going to cost $100,000 to keep [S] Cascade up for several days] of servers and the chaos of no one able to see the upd8 and crashing nearly every site after. He was tweeting during the whole debacle, stating he was reluctant to put it up on Youtube because of all the moving elements of the flash, and style, and how youtube degraded the quality of the file size, and how he tried to scratch out buffer time and pauses by putting periods of silence between each section of the 14 minute upd8, the longest upd8 yet” “So after Newgrounds patooted, he didn’t put it on youtube and instead put up the entire flash file on Megaupload, where it could be downloaded in it’s entirety to be watched. UNFORTUNATELY, Megaupload also crashed very quickly, which Hussie felt much headache over. But before that happened I managed to get the file, since I happened to be up very early that night! Next it was on dropbox, which didn’t crash but had “link unavailable” on and off. ”Spoilers were flying everywhere, people didn’t understand everything that had happened, and by the time the timeline of events in and out of [S] Cascade was all straightened out, people became even MORE hype. Like this whole thing lasted at least four days, and on top of that, the upd8 was good. Fandom exploded.” it is impossible to quantify the experience. The fact hussie was going to have to fork over A HUNDRED THOUSAND DOLLARS to host it is crazy. I am never going to be over it.

Cascade's complete obliteration of the Flash-hosting internet says a lot about huge Homestuck truly was - but I think an even bigger indicator of the comic's success is the fact that Hussie dropped literally thousands of dollars on server upgrades to host the thing. That's not an investment you make unless you're expecting some serious returns.

[mercutio-the-velaryon]

A Close Reading of Viktor's 'ascended' Form

Disclaimer: These are very jumbled thoughts but I've been trying to articulate this for a while so I'm just baring it to the public flaws and all.

I am being dead serious when I say that Melvik is a lens of viewing that serves to recentre Mel as a major character and reassert her value in the hextech trio dynamic. I will be utilsing this lens to analyse Viktor's choice to make his 'perfected' beings carry Mel's attributes.

Immediately, I will preface by saying, that although I read Jayce and Viktor's relationship as romantic, this choice has nothing to do with Jayce, at least, not in relation to feelings of romantic jealousy or romantic insecurity.

So, what does it mean when Viktor wears Mel's white and gold? I think it shows that he views Mel as the epitome of Piltover priivilege and the personification of the social barrier he could not supercede through hard work and picking himself up by his own bootstraps.

The scene above where Mel seems to be singularly be imploring Jayce to militarise Hextech as defensive action is essential to understanding why Viktor views her this way.

In this sequence, Mel is originally conversing with Viktor and Jayce on an equal physical level until she presents her ideal plan of action then she stands straight and focuses more on convincing Jayce rather than Viktor. This is not an attempt to be cruel or malicious, though it very well be an expression of her irritation because in Mel's eyes Viktor's reasonable protest seems like a juvenile outburst. As a Noxian and a Medarda Mel is accustomed to war and bloodshed she does not want the carnage of such an event to bring Piltover to ruin. However, she is also painstakingly aware that losing a war would be a death sentence. The stakes are life and death, and I believe based on what I understand of Mel's character that she would not attempt to bypass Viktor's opposition in more normal circumstances. She respects him to an extent but not more than she respects her position, her legacy and not more than she fears the consequences of losing a war.

Additionally, I view the way she stands and directs attention at Jayce as a demonstration of how she is by nature of the social system always above him. That she and Jayce, are classist as is everyone conditioned and socialised in this system, and for them as citizens of Piltover, as members of the bourgeoisie, and the council their dismissal of Viktor is not that active of a choice, its a reflex, its a manifestation of their biases. Which is terrible in its own right. Viktor discovers in this scene, that Jayce can and will go over his head despite hextech being a joint creation because his social positioning is just higher than his is. It always was and it always will be. These are unchangeable factors and immovable dynamics.

That is to say, that I think Mel's show of power in this scene, her long-term investment in hextech as well as very likely witnessing her political maneuvers from a distance during his time as Heimerdinger's assistant has cemented Mel in Viktor's mind as the paragon of Piltover privilege.

I like to imagine this reaction to Mel's powers "the arcane stirs within you" as a twisted delight. Magic is a natural force, its wild and uncharted and its presence in Mel has this undoing effect, it perplexes her, to use it she physically exerts herself, it makes her bare her teeth. It's a side of Mel, Viktor would have never witnessed, in her struggle with this he finds a glimmer of kindredness that briefly enthralls him.

When he creates his ideal form, a white and gold, sleek and slim faceless robot with a gentle elegent gait and manner of movement and is seeking to conform the entire world to it, know that Viktor in his mind is equalising both himself and the rest of the world to what he considers the apex of privilege, therefore ridding the world of social hierarchy, difference and struggle.

The grand irony of this act is that he ends up bypassing the autonomy of literally everyone by subjecting them to this much like Mel bypassed him. Meaning, he hasn't rid the world of this hierarchy at all, he's put all these people beneath him and robbed them of choice and freedom.

Separate Melvik spiel:

Mel and Viktor's inherent relationship to each other through nature, disposition and as narrative foils is just so meticulous I can no longer genuinely view Arcane as a text without noticing the absence of an established personal dynamic between them. The groundwork for a romance is embedded in the text, their relation to each other is already by itself canonically quite romantic, all of their qualities and attributes are either contrasting or is eerily similar, everything about them serves to say something about the other within the constraints of the Arcane narrative (I doubt this will continue in game and in the follow up series). His admiration of her is tainted by his resentfulness at her position and the way she's wielded it. So many characters in media have kissed for less than that.

[vxsellie]

‧₊˚┊simple living things﹗

a hunger games!au ellie williams fanfiction.⌇ 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭 𝔦𝔦

summary. to give a final goodbye to someone you love is generally the last thing anyone would ever wish to do. though, when being shipped off to your death, it's the equivalent to being given a final meal whilst on death row.

content warnings. abuse, mentions of death, implications of murder, and (the worst of all) a lesbian breakup

total wc. 5,225

notes!! here she is! i wrote this in one sitting on the night before christmas, literally up until two am bc my thoughts wouldn't stop flowing (ive had writers block for the past few months so you couldn't pry my keyboard from my cold dead hands). anyway here she is! once again, reminder that it's better read on ao3!

𝜗𝜚 series masterlist ⸝⸝ playlist ⸝⸝ ao3 𝜗𝜚

14:45.

DISTRICT SEVEN.

“What were you thinking?” 

Despite how loud Marlene’s voice is, it sounds rather muffled. Ellie’s thoughts all jumble together into a plethora of unintelligible abstraction. This results in outside noises becoming equally as cryptic.

After the Reaping, both tributes were escorted into the Justice Building and forced into separate rooms. Having grown up amid the Games, Ellie’s aware that this is the part where she’s supposed to say her final goodbyes to her loved ones — an hour of time allotted to these farewells. And, despite knowing that all twenty-three other tributes are going through the same thing, Ellie couldn’t feel more alone. There’s a sickening sense of finality to this. Like she’s cattle bred and born to await death. Like there’s nothing more to her life aside from this — being Reaped to never return.

And, with the time given, Marlene has opted to use the entirety of her visit reprimanding Ellie for how she’d acted on stage. Not that she doesn’t deserve to be chastised, she knows she does, but it’s still fucked up.

See, after her name had been drawn, Ellie’s entire world fell out from under her feet. She knew there was a possibility of her name being drawn, she’d be a fool not to at least acknowledge that fact. But to look that fate in the eye and have no way of revoking it? That’s an entirely different pill to swallow. As she stood atop that stage, the escort’s piping voice ringing through her ears, Ellie simply could not seem to comprehend it. But then she felt a weight in her hand, a warmth. She turned to see Riley, her jaw set and her eyes darkened. She grabbed Ellie’s hand and hoisted it into the air.

To Ellie, it was a rather odd thing to do. But, as Marlene is pointing out presently, it was an act of defiance against the Capitol itself. Ellie had no idea. Not that she doubts it, what with Riley’s outward distaste for the government, but it just hadn’t dawned on her that the mere act of holding a friend’s hand would piss off the Capitol. It’s kinda funny.

“What could you possibly be laughing at?” Marlene groans, her pacing coming to a halt as she whips around to face Ellie. Her expression isn’t one of rage, as initially expected. Instead, it’s one of genuine panic. Well shit, apparently holding hands really is treason.

Ellie doesn’t respond, her face dropping instantly. She pins her gaze to the floor, staring at the same rusted nail she’s been looking at for the past ten minutes. In fact, she’d been so zoned out that she hadn’t picked up a single thing that Marlene was trying to say. Usually, this would amuse her. But now, with her impending doom so leering, she can’t help but feel ashamed. She may never see Marlene again. And then what? Her last memory of the girl she’d raised from infantry would be of her zoned out whilst curled into a ball on a dilapidated sofa. That’s rather pathetic, is it not?

She shudders, pulling her knees even closer to her chest at the thought. She doesn’t yet know who was Reaped from the other Districts, but she’s sure they aren’t all pouting on their couches like children. Still, she can’t seem to remove herself from this position — one of self comfort. 

Something touches her knee and she flinches, tearing her gaze from the floor. She looks up to see Marlene sitting beside her on the couch, her gaze softened. Ellie hadn’t even noticed her approach. Fuck. See, this is the exact thing she’s worried about. If she were to zone out like this in the arena, she'd be dead within minutes.

“You didn’t hear anything I just said, did you?” Marlene asks with a sigh. A wave of guilt washes over Ellie’s body before she nods, admittedly having heard nothing. “I was saying I’m sorry. I don’t mean to shout at you like this, especially considering the situation. I’m only lecturing you because I’m worried. I’ve seen the Capitol kill people for less than holding hands.”

Ellie shakes her head, though the act is faraway. “The Capitol can’t kill us now that we’re tributes. To do so would only result in more defiance from the viewers. They’re anticipating a show, to kill off the characters would be antiprogressive.”

“No, but they can surely make your time in the arena worse.” Marlene points out. 

Ellie thins her lips at this, but ultimately says nothing. This is not what she wants to hear right before being sent to her death. She wants consolation and comfort, not reminders of how little control she has in her own life. But that’s just how Marlene is — she gets stressed and rambles. Most of the time, it's a harmless habit. Right now, though, it’s proving to be rather taxing.

“Look,” She sighs, “I’m not good at this whole thing, talking. Everyone knows that. It’s– Well, it’s the entire reason I never had any kids of my own.” She sighs again trying desperately to make sense of her thoughts and word them in a way that doesn’t sound like an insult. “I never wanted children, but raising you was the best thing that ever could have happened to me. Losing you would thereby be the worst thing to ever happen to me. I only shouted at you because your safety means everything. But— you’re strong, Ellie, and so very brave. If you put your mind to it, you can make it out of that arena. I believe in you. All you have to do is believe in yourself.”

Ellie is certain that’s the most Marlene has ever spoken in one go without shouting or giving up halfway through. And for that, she’s grateful. Ellie swallows harshly, her throat suddenly feeling too big for her neck. She leans forward.

She doesn’t hug Marlene, not necessarily. She simply flops into her, thumping her forehead onto her shoulder. Her body is stiff and her jaw is clenched tight, but the act of the touch still carries a sense of sentimentality to it. Especially considering she and Marlene never hug. In fact, she thinks she only ever hugged her once in her whole life. Again, it’s not anything to pity her for, it’s just their relationship. A fact of life. Some people are touchy, others aren't. And Marlene is definitely among those who are not.

She rubs a hand up and down Ellie’s back, though it’s more so to do something with her hands rather than to comfort her. 

They remain like that for a long time, sitting in silence because neither of them are skilled at voicing their emotions. Ellie’s mind continues to move at a million thoughts per second, though it slows a little in the absence of Marlene’s shouting.

Roughly twenty minutes go by before Marlene pulls away. She has a hand on each of Ellie’s shoulders, a foot between their faces. She stares at her, brown eyes flicking across each one of her features, as though to memorize her before departure. Ellie mimics her, taking in the sight of the woman who raised her — from the slope of her nose to the arc of her brows. Afterall, this might be her last time to do so. No matter how hard she believes in herself.

“I ought to go visit Riley.” Marlene says with an awkward cough, standing from the couch. “She doesn’t have any family aside from you and I.”

It’s true. Riley’s family is rather complicated seeing as she doesn’t have any. It took seven years of being Riley’s friend before she confided in Ellie about her past. And, after hearing it, she couldn’t blame her for her hesitance. 

Her father was a rebel. He hated the Capitol and everything related to it. He wasn’t married to Riley’s mother when she got pregnant, hadn’t even been dating. They simply had a fling and moved on — hence his oblivion to the fact that she’d been a Peacekeeper. Riley’s dad lived a life of tranquil solitude, aside from frequent whippings as punishment for opposing the Capitol so vocally. Truly, he’d been lucky to not be assassinated on the spot for his insubordination. The entirety of Seven knew him for his rebellious nature.

So, when Riley’s mother came forth with an infant in her arms, he was shocked. He couldn’t believe that she’d gotten pregnant. Though, more importantly, he couldn’t believe she was a fucking Peacekeeper. He tried to keep his calm, civilly agreeing to partial custody over their daughter. 

But, when Riley was about four years old, their refined consensus came to an abrupt end. They got into an argument. And a bad one, at that. Nobody knows the exact details to its origin or entailments, but it’s widely known how it ended — Riley’s mother dead and her father as an Avox for the Capitol. His punishment for her murder.

Riley subsequently grew up in an orphanage, though she inherited her father’s rebellious nature and oftentimes escaped over the fence. She’d spent more time in the woods than she had in the decelit building — chopping wood and climbing trees and visiting the Hob. She’d grown rather skilled at it, the illegality of escaping. She met Ellie in elementary. She’d been scaling the fence, intending to flee the school. Ellie had caught her and insisted she teach her how to do it. Begrudgingly, Riley agreed. From there, with many details gone unmentioned, they became friends. Now look at them Reaped for the Hunger Games together. Ugly ending to a beautiful story.

“Yeah.” Ellie agrees curtly to Marlene’s suggestion. “Yeah, she’d appreciate that, I think.”

Marlene nods in agreement prior to turning on her heel and exiting the room.

Ellie sits alone for a few minutes, returning to her humiliating fetal position. She hugs her legs to her chest, dirty shoes on the cushion of the couch. Though the sofa isn’t in the best shape considering the prodding springs and frayed stuffing. She rests her chin on her knee, staring at the rusty nail she’s grown so fond of.

She’s not sure how long she sits like that before a knock is heard at the door. She groggily tells them to enter, causing the door to creak on its hinges. A face pokes inside prior to the body attached. Cat.

Her black hair is done up, pinned into a purposefully messy bun, bangs cut shorter than usual. It looks put together, but in that I-woke-up-like-this way. Her eyelids are colored in a shiny crimson, her lips in the same glossy tint. Her skin looks inhumanly smooth, her eyebrows impossibly thin. She’s wearing a strapless baby pink dress that’s uncomfortably close to the shade of her skin, coming to her midthigh. Her shoes are the same red as her eyes and lips, clicking against the wooden floor as she walks. She looks like a Capitolite in the way her features are accentuated, though human enough for Ellie to still find her attractive

She instantly straightens, confused. “Why are you here? Aren’t you supposed to be on a train to the Capitol?”

“Well,” Cat begins, shutting the door softly behind her as she walks over to the couch Ellie is curled atop. She sits down beside her, the cushion dipping under her weight, which instinctively pulls Ellie toward her. “I caused a bit of a scene, insisting I had to see you. And, considering it’s a hassle to find another stylist so late into the Games, I simply dared them to fire me. They didn’t, of course, and instead opted to just give me time to see you, albeit minimal.”

Ellie laughs, though the sound is hollow. This draws a tight expression from Cat as she takes in the sight of the girl before her. Ellie suddenly feels self conscious, wearing a wrinkled linen shirt while Cat looks like a literal fucking deity. Not to mention the pathetic way she’s presenting herself — small and weak. She sits upright, swallowing as she runs her hands down her shirt in a futile attempt at flattening it.

Cat stops her, placing a hand on her wrist. Ellie looks at the place where she touches her, taking in the sight of her perfectly done nails. Baby pink with crimson colored accents. God, every single detail of her is altered for the Capitol’s preference.

“I got you something.” Cat whispers, removing her hand from her wrist to reach into the purse Ellie hadn’t even noticed she carried with her. She holds out her hand, a small piece of metal resting in the center of her palm. A ring, in the shape of a moth. The body is the centerpiece, the wings made to wrap around the finger. “Here,” Cat grabs Ellie’s hand, pulling it forward before slipping the ring onto her index. 

“I love it,” Ellie breathes, holding her hand out in front of her to admire the ring.

“I made it myself.” Cat says. Ellie should have guessed. She knew Cat enjoyed making jewelry, using spoons and other random hunks of metal to concoct something ugly into something pretty. She’s spoken of the hobby before, though she’s never revealed any of the end products. This is Ellie’s first time seeing one of them.

She suddenly recalls the rule that tributes are permitted to bring one token into the arena from home. One thing to remind them of their identities — which are sure to be lost in the Games. Ellie had completely forgotten about the rule, it never having crossed her mind. But looking at this ring now, she’s certain this is the perfect thing to bring. A reminder of home. Not of a place, but of a person. Of Cat.

“I love it.” Ellie repeats more furtively, turning to kiss her.

However, before their mouths are able to touch, Cat lifts her hand to Ellie’s chest. She pushes her away. And, though the act is as gentle as possible, Ellie still feels as though she’d been shoved. She leans back. Cat’s expression is pained, not at all matching the cheerful makeup she wears.

She shakes her head, eyes squeezed shut. “I love you, Ellie. Truly. A part of me likely forever will. But– to be in love with you would only end in causing us both an insurmountable quantity of pain. I can’t consciously do that to you. Even our current relationship is deteriorating your mental health. You’re too dependent on what we have, too afraid to lose it. To allow you to continue down this road would be wrong of me. To even have begun it was wrong. And now that you’re going into the arena, I just– adding yet another burden to your shoulder would be wholly immoral.”

Ellie doesn’t know when, but amid that confession, she’d begun crying. Not just due to the breakup, though, if she could even consider it that. But due to everything. Riley distancing herself recently, the Reaping, Marlene’s shouting, Marlene’s halfhearted farewell, and now this? On top of it all?

“So you’re breaking up with me to ease your own fucking conscience?” Ellie snaps. She doesn't mean to say it. She doesn’t. It’s just all become so much for her to carry. And it’s so easy to drop it on Cat after what she’d just done.

“No.” She insists, nigh pleading in her denial. “Ellie, no, you know that’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then why even give me this?” She asks, holding out her hand with the ring on it. “For me to bring a reminder of your absence into the arena?”

“No, no.” Cat continues to deny Ellie’s accusations. “Not to remind you that I left, but to remind you why I left.”

Ellie scoffs, “Now you’re just saying shit. You’re not even trying to make sense.”

“Moths, Ellie.” She says, grabbing her hand in desperation for her to just fucking listen. “They’re attracted to the light. No matter where they go or– or what environment they’re placed in, they find a light. Something to always keep them going. Something to fight for. Something to reach. I’m holding you back, don’t you see? I don’t want you to fight to get home. I want you to fight because you know you’re worth it. You’re worth living for, even without me or Riley or Marlene. For you. Be your own moth, your own light.”

Ellie wipes roughly at her face, fists scrubbing at her eyes painfully. She wishes she had something clever to say. Something smart that would make Cat rethink everything. But all she can muster is a mumbled, “Moths are fucking ugly.”

14:45.

DISTRICT FOUR.

Your ears are ringing, a loud chiming sound that makes your head swim. Despite this, you keep your chin high as your mother shouts orders at you. You’ve long since tuned her out, which is something you’d never had dared to do prior to the Reaping. But you’re being sent to the arena — you’ll either die in there and never see her again, or you’ll come back a victor and thereby be of higher status than her. Whatever you do now matters naught.

She’s rambling on about something regarding orders to return home. Not because she cares for your wellbeing, but because it’d shame the entire family if you were to die on live television. 

She’s standing across the room from you, her pale blue dress somehow perfectly cleaned despite the journey she made across the grassy courtyard to the Justice Building. Her wrinkled face is contorted into an unreadable expression, the illegibility irritating you. Her golden cane is perched under her clasped hands. God, the woman is the embodiment of power despite having earned none. 

“I get it.” You cut her off, tone just as sharpened as hers, almost as though you’d spent years honing it into a blade serrated enough to challenge her. “I’ll come back. If not, you’ll be embarrassed. Poor you, right?”

The expression of shock on her face is almost worth the punishment — which ends up being hit by the end of her cane. Had it been the usual wood, the pain would be tolerable. But it’s pure gold, causing your mouth to fill with blood. You spit onto the floor and she begins to reprimand you for doing that, deeming it to be improper. You ignore her, massaging your newly bruised face.

The punishment for your statement would likely have been far more severe if you weren’t destined to be put on camera for the country to gawk at. A wound on your face would be shameful. A bruise, though? Your prep team can surely cover that up with a bit of makeup.

She finishes her castigation, seeming to have worn herself out. She then turns and storms out of the room. You almost didn’t notice her swift exit, as she’d made no effort to say goodbye or wish you luck. Just ten minutes of shouting prior to causing a splitting headache and a bruise to the jaw, uncaring to hear you utter a single syllable. Best mom ever.

See, most people deem this event as emotional — an hour allotted to parting ways with your loved ones. But your mother doesn't see this as a parting. She expects to irrefutably see you again. And very shortly, at that.

You’re alone in the room for only a few seconds before a shy knock is heard at the door. You’re confused by this, unsure of who else could be here to see you. “Come in.” You call out, moving to stand over the stain of blood you’d left on the shiny hardwood floor. Thankfully, your dress is long enough that the skirts cover up the space beneath you.

The door opens and a wrinkly old man pops inside. Your lips part at the sight of mister Alden entering the room. You rush forward, offering your aid in his walking. He takes it, looping his arm around the crease of yours.

There’s a small couch with two cushions in the corner of the room. You walk him over to it, easing him onto the sofa before sitting next to him. You cross your legs, “What are you doing here? I know it’s a far journey from where you live.”

He sighs, “You’re like a daughter to me, Y/n. And, though neither of us are willing to address that aloud, we’re both well aware of it. I’ve known you since you were three years old and just learning how to walk. In fact, I can vividly recall the very day I’d met you — you were asleep on your brother’s back, clinging to him like a sloth as he made the trek down to the docks. You were such a small thing, then. Chubby little face and a diaper that didn’t fit.” He smiles fondly, looking at you as though he still views you that way, a baby. “The point is, to not visit you would be cruel. And I’m not a cruel man.”

Your eyes burn as you listen to him. He’s right. You both know it. You and Ruben are like children to him. And he is definitely not a cruel man. You wonder if he’d visited Ruben when he was Reaped. Probably. But you don’t dare ask, not wanting to speak of your brother any more than necessary.

“Oh!” He jolts as though he’d just remembered something vitally important. 

You watch as mister Alden reaches into the pocket of his coat and pulls out a dainty necklace. A white pearl resides in the center, acting as a pendant to the thin silver chain. Your gaze softens as you look at it hanging between his shaky fingers.

“It’s beautiful.” You tell him.

“I want you to have it, to take it into the arena.” He says. “You remember my granddaughter, the one who was facing her first Reaping today? She made it for herself, and planned to wear it into the arena had her name been drawn. She spent weeks searching for the perfect pearl, then another few weeks saving up money to buy the chain.”

Your chest twists at hearing this. You could easily buy something like this from a small shop down by the beaches. It wouldn’t even cost you a day’s allowance. You shake your head. “I can’t take this from her. It’s too special.”

“I insist.” Says he. “When she heard your name called, she instantly turned to me, slipped the necklace into my pocket, and demanded that I bring it to you.” He lets out a light chuckle. “Her ferocity reminds me of you, actually. I don’t even remember telling her about my visits to your house. No shock she found out, though, she’s so bright for her age.”

With a grunt, he pushes to his feet. You rush to do the same, standing beside him in case he needs assistance. Instead of asking for aid, he tells you to turn around. Without hesitation, you oblige. You then feel something cold wrap around your neck. You look down to see the thin necklace now placed across your collarbones. It’s absolutely stunning. Mister Alden fumbles with the clasp, his shaky hands struggling to work the tiny thing.

When he finally gets it on, you turn around to see that he has tears in his eyes. He takes in the sight of the pearl necklace paired with the navy dress, the silver chain matching the silver diamonds adorning it. He nods, wiping roughly at his eyes. “You’ve grown into such a lovely young woman.”

You swallow the lump in your throat before pulling him into a hug, having to hunch over a bit due to his lack of height. He hugs you back, sniffling. It’s rather telling that the random stranger that you buy your seafood from is more caring than anyone in your family. But he’s not a stranger, is he?

After a few minutes of sentimental embrace, he finally parts from you and leaves. On the way out, you catch a glimpse of a tear rolling down his cheek, the droplet catching the light for a split second.

Alone in the room with about ten minutes remaining, you walk over to the window. You look at your reflection in the shined glass, taking in the sight of the necklace. Knowing how long it’d taken to create only adds to its beauty. The dresses your mother has fitted for you are paltry; replaceable. But this? Nobody could recreate the months spent making it, nor could they recreate the small hands that did so.

The sound of footsteps entering the room draws you from your thoughts. You catch his reflection in the window before he’s even fully through the door. Your entire body tenses, something shifting in the air at his presence. Something deep, deep inside you. Like the atoms that make up your very being have been furtively yearning for this moment. For his proximity.

You turn to face him fully.

Ruben.

You’ve seen him around, of course. You’d seen him less than an hour ago. Everyone has seen him, what with the Capitol flashing him around nigh as much as the country’s flag. He’s their brightest diamond and their largest star — the abnormal mixture of UY Scuti with Sirius, creating something impossible to tear one's eyes away from.

You two have spoken as well, albeit in short increments and only when mandatory. So, truly, you’re not sure if it counts in terms of conversation.

He shuts the door slowly, facing you with an unreadable expression. No– that can’t be right. You could always read him, you could always understand him. But right now, not a single word comes to mind as you look at him. He’s a closed book that you’d once memorized every page of.

He stares at you for a moment, gaze lingering on the bruise forming on your cheek. You wonder if you should hide it or not. But he likely knows exactly how it was induced — knowing the feel of your mother’s cane all too well, as he’d grown up taking hits for you daily. It takes a few minutes, but he eventually tears his eyes from your face and looks around the room, looking at the intricate ceiling or the swaying chandelier.

“Been a while, huh?” He huffs a laugh, though it’s dry and lacking any scrap of genuine humor.

You think about this, about what he said. It’s been a while. The world’s biggest understatement, that is. You’re suddenly filled with an immeasurable amount of rage. It’s been eleven fucking years. And he has the nerve to say it’s been a while?

Eleven years since he was Reaped. Eleven years since he was the one in this room. Eleven years since you came to visit him, sobbing and begging him not to go to the arena. Eleven years since Ruben returned from the arena. Eleven years since your brother never returned. Eleven years since the boy who raised you, who protected you, who taught you to walk and talk and eat, vanished.

You say nothing to him, not trusting yourself to speak without either screaming or crying. Or, most likely, both. So, insead, you remain silent.

Ruben sighs, leaning back against the wall with crossed arms. Something about that action makes you visibly wince. He’s so confident. The Ruben you knew was an awkward young boy, made complete with lanky limbs and oversized eyes. Strange little habits — like the way he didn’t ever know what to do with his arms, or the way he always tapped his left foot when he was nervous — made him human. But not anymore. He now knows exactly what to do with his arms and he wouldn’t dare show when he’s nervous. His humanity is just another thing the Capitol stripped him of.

“You don’t have to say anything, just listen.” Says Ruben. He then inhales deeply, his jaw set and eyes piercing; a Capitolite in all but name. “This is the last time we won’t be monitored. After leaving this room, everything will be tracked and recorded and analyzed — the train, the center, the arena. From here, you’re never alone. Even in the bathrooms, privacy doesn’t exist.”

You narrow your eyes at him, “So you’re saying you need to tell me something the Capitol can’t hear?”

“Yeah,” He breathes, “Exactly.”

“Okay, so what is?” You ask, crossing your arms over your chest. Of course that’s what he’s here for. Not to wish you well or say goodbye — though he likely also expects you to win; he was raised by the same monsters, after all — but, instead, to warn you. To make sure you survive the arena so as to not penetrate the family name.  

“Something is wrong with this year’s Reapings.” He explains. “Districts Two and Three both had a pair of siblings Reaped – Lev and Yara from Two, Sam and Henry from Three. Then, if that weren’t enough proof as is, Districts Five and Seven both Reaped a set of best friends — Selene Jones and Ariande Evans from Five, Riley Abel and Ellie Williams from Seven. Not to mention the pair of lovers that were Reaped from Six — Roland Jennings and Archie Bardot.”

You take in what Ruben is saying, thinking hard about it. You were Reaped alongside a small child, a little boy who you’d never seen before in your life. That doesn't seem rigged, but there ought to be some kind of intentional malice behind it.

“How do you know all of this?” You ask, though you know the answer. “The Reapings haven’t aired yet.”

“I know people.” He says rather ashamedly, as though he’s already aware of the kind of reaction this will draw from you. 

Anger sparks up once more at the mention of his ties to the Capitol. Not only is he using the Capitol to help you in the games — a perk no other tribute has — but he’s managed to fucking memorize every name name of importance. You don’t want to be treated as some sort of celebrity. You were Reaped with equally poor luck as Lev, Henry, or Ellie; or whatever their names were. You should therefore be held to the same expectations, not given hints into the Games. Which, by the way, is highly illegal. Not like Ruben would be punished. He could probably murder a Peacekeeper on stage and manage to get away with it. 

It makes you sick.

“Okay, great.” You bite. “You told me what you needed, you can leave now.” “No, Y/n, you’re not understanding.” He insists, taking a step forward. You take one backward, almost on instinct. A pained expression crosses his face, though it vanishes just as quick as it’d appeared. He sighs, running a hand down his face. “These tributes won’t be killing for the sake of winning, they’ll be killing to save themselves alongside their loved ones. Had you and I been in the arena together, our strength would have doubled. Just imagine that. For at least five other Districts, their wills to live are multiplied. And the—”

His words are cut off as the door slams open and Peacekeepers come filing into the room to rudely announce that your time is up. It’s time to board the train to the Capitol. To the Games.

[post] notes!! don't really have any (for once), i'm just so so so so excited for u guys to read this bc i write things way prior to posting bc i like to proofread like 50 time before releasing it. anyway yeah, u guys barely know abt this bad boy while im typing this

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[sttrawberries]

A little side note: I read this on my computer, saved it as a draft so I could edit it my phone and add emojis to react to some things that I couldn't put into words but I think the draft is too long and it doesn't open in my phone, so this will be emojiless :(

‘’Unfortunately, while you’re apart, the Joker makes things even more complicated with a phone call and a gun. And your world comes crashing down before you can even put names to all the stars in your sky.’’ okay time to get tissues for my future tears before I start

‘’in this version, Rose and Jason never get together’’ THANK YOUUUUU!!! sorry but I’m so relieved sksksksks I’m just very glad things don’t get complicated adding Rose in the middle considering how close these two were

‘’mentions of Jason and the reader sharing a dark sense of humor to cope with their traumas’’ my kind of people

STARTING HARD ALREADY, PHEWWWW

‘’He would make jokes about ‘shutting you up’ by keeping his dick in your mouth, and you never wanted him to get too cocky about having this.’’ Me with the first half: -.- Me with the second half: :)

‘’Naturally, the room was filled with nothing but the sounds of you gurgling on his cock and the moans that he could barely contain due to the deadly heat of you eagerly swallowing his dick’’ *meanwhile the rest of the group*: ‘’oh no they’re at it again’’

‘’It was a move much more tender than he would have ever made before’’ progress!!!

‘’This Jason put his arm around you in a room full of people, not caring who looked on.’’ OH *imagine my eyes full of tears with a little smile*

Can I just say that I love how detailed this is? I love it!<3

‘’loving the absolutely lust-sick look on his face as you did this.’’ AAAAAAAAAAA if only I could see it

‘’It was a smooth, steady motion - a joining of two people that came from silent, delicate knowing and trust’’ manifesting this into existence

‘’Staring right into your eyes, no shying away, no backing down. As if inviting you to a more intimate part of him that you had somehow never seen’’ IT’S HAPPENING AAAAAA

‘’there was that thing deep in your gut that yearned for him to pull out and peel the condom off so that you could feel every single raw inch of him - but you told yourself you were smarter than that. You should be.’’ You better be! (meanwhile I would do the same sjsksksj)

‘’holding you like you were something precious. It was so unlike every other time he had fucked you - when all of his touches were about grabbing, consuming you, holding you like you were an object to be taken and owned by him in those moments.’’ !!!!

‘’But this was so different. Especially for you and Jason’’ enjoying this new way but also loving the old one

“Don’t flatter yourself.” You whispered back, fishing for some of that old banter - the humor that had founded your entire ‘relationship’ with Jason. ‘’ PLEASE THE BANTER MUST NEVER GO AWAY

‘’He resisted the urge to get sappy, to say ‘I meant you, you’re perfect’.’’ SHUT UPPP

OOOOOOH THIS NEW POSITION

‘’He sucked slightly, leaving marks, being entirely selfish in his claiming of you’’ I’m not complaining ksksksk

‘’It was his silent way of begging you not to double back, not to realize what a mistake you had made. ‘’ mhm..

‘’With his face buried in your neck, kissing you, breathing in your scent - it was almost tender.‘’ I’m speechless with this masterpiece

‘’You didn’t want to scare this part of him away. ‘’ :(

‘’You would be horrified if that tricky piece of latex got lost inside of you and you had to tell someone else in the Tower why you had to go to the ER to get it out.’’ SKSJSKSSJKSJS

‘’Dick had you guys locked up in the Tower, constantly breathing down your necks - that was one of the reasons why you even turned to Jason for sex at all. He was right there. He was available. He was decent looking.’’ Well asajshjshsjj

‘’that had you even more adamant about the condoms, because you didn’t know where he had… been. ‘’ KSJSAKSJAKS

‘’And then when Rose first came around, you saw the way she looked at him.’’ D:

‘’They don’t fuck other people because they’re in love. ‘’ *intense staring*

‘’and him giving that small bit of physical affection to Jason was about as good as an outright apology, telling him how much of a mistake it was to send him away in the first place.‘’ ugh

‘’You knew that Jason from a few weeks ago would have jumped at the chance to go back to Gotham, to resume his duties as Robin. ‘’ oh my boy

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

‘’Gotham needs Robin.” :/

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

“But… but what about us?”  AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

‘’He said it so fondly, like it was the most natural thing in the world for him to think of you and him as a pair. ‘’ CRYING EMOJI x6

THE ‘’ Say it and I’m yours for the rest of your life.’’’ TO THE ‘’ How much I fucking love you? How I can’t leave here now because I can’t leave you? How I would quit being Robin if it meant getting to be with you?’’ HAS ME SCREAMING

 “The Tower was supposed to be a stop-over. At first. (…) But then… we… happened.”  It doesn’t matter from which part of the world you’re reading this, if you focus enough I bet you can hear me screaming

‘’Was it the two of you finding your life-long soulmates and being too traumatized and stubborn and stupid to actually acknowledge it? ‘’ YES

‘’Jason’s face cracked with a flutter of disappointment and sadness’’ NOOOO BABY

‘’When he had found out how similar the two of you were, he found his soul more and more drawn to yours.’’

‘’Jason called it luck because it was that incident that led you on the path to meeting him. ‘’ HE’S SO IN LOVE

‘’Of course Dickhead was being righteous about his moral code. ‘’ JSSKJSKSJ

“Do you want me to go with you?” PLEASEEEE

‘’Jason had no clue why it was his first instinct to offer this. But it felt right. It felt instinctive to attempt to comfort you these days, rather than combating you or coming up with some annoying, clever comeback. ‘’ AAAAAAAAAA I’M CRYING

“You also have a habit of running toward situations that don’t benefit you.” I mean.. he’s not wrong

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

‘’Will I ever see you again?’ He wanted to ask.’’ aaaAAAAAAA

‘’Jason couldn’t imagine not having you around.’’ i could cry again

“I could come to Gotham.”  YESSSSSS

 “I guess I could come see that stupid cave you’re always talking about.” SKSJSJSS

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

“So… I guess this is goodbye?”  NO

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

‘’Or the shocking delightful kind of cold like when you played a prank on him, running your super-powered icy fingers up his back just to get a rise out of him.’’ SJSKSKS

‘’His arms were pinned behind his back and bound at the wrists –‘’ WHAT ALREADY NONONO

‘’His throat became dry and he held back a whimper of fright when he saw that the limp body on the floor was you.’’ IT’S A NIGHTMARE

‘’something that caused him to fall in love with you.’’ AAAAAAAAAAA

‘’But he had never seen you afraid’’ :(

‘’Why should it be Jason’s choice to trade one life for another? ‘’ *staring*

‘'And even if he did - he wasn’t going to give up Dick. He had a strange sense of loyalty to the person who had shit on him and failed to help him time and time again. ‘’ ah :(

‘’Jason grabbed you up in his arms, hoisting you onto his lap. (…) He hated the contrast of your cold flesh and the heat of the blood rushing out of you and quickly covering him.’’ Uf

‘’he was in his bedroom in Gotham.’’ :/

‘’He wanted to blame it on your lack of presence in his bed, or the fact that Bruce had practically banned him from training, now that he was benched from being Robin’’ too many things

‘’Bootycall Temporarily Unavailable’’ KSKSKDDJD

‘’The two of you often changed each other’s names in your contacts as a joke.’’ Aw cuties

‘‘Robin’s Ice Machine’’ KSSJSJSSJSSJ

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

‘’I miss you. I can’t stop thinking about you.’’ SO CLOSE

‘’He heaved a sigh, deleted the message’’ NOOOOOO

‘’then considered texting Gar to ask where you actually were’’ pls

‘’When Jason went back to Gotham, Bruce made him go to therapy.’’ We’re getting there *crying*

‘’He genuinely thought that her only job was to dig around for his secrets - any signs of his weakness, and report them back to Bruce.’’ I feel him

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

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

‘’She was one of the only adults in his life that he had ever felt bad for disappointing. Not because she put too many expectations on him - but because she didn’t. Because she expected pretty much nothing of him, and he wanted to show her that he could be great.’’  :/

‘’Jason appreciated it - nobody had ever given him the chance to ‘try again’. Not even you. But he was glad about that. When you mocked him for his mistakes or called him out on his bullshit, it made him want to try harder. You were the only person in the world that he found himself actively trying for.’’ AAAAA

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

‘’Bruce was the closest thing to a father that he ever had. And Jason knew that he was a bad son, constantly disappointing him - constantly failing to live up to the giant shadow that Dick had left behind.’’ NOOO I need to hug him please

“Safe.” She announced the next word.

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

‘’She knew that someone like Jason hadn’t grown up feeling safe, and she was curious why the concept of safety came to him now as a person’s name - and why he seemed so conflicted about it, about someone he had never even mentioned before’’ HEHEHEHE

‘’Leslie didn’t presume to know Jason’s sexuality, or the gender of his special person (and she wouldn’t judge him, no matter what he said)’’ nice!

‘’A friend that he sometimes fucks? Should he even call you a friend? You had tried to save his life, but before that, the two of you had never really been friendly.’’ KSKSSKS

‘’it meant that you cared.’’ *eyes with tears and a smile*

‘’They know me - they - they’ve seen all the worst parts of me, and… somehow, they don’t care. Y/N saw me at my worst and didn’t run.” Making use of the tissues I got right now

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

“Yeah.” Jason nodded. 

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

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

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

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

‘’Maybe it was something he wanted even more badly than becoming Robin again. ‘’ ah

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

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

Jason didn’t take long with that one either. 

“Y/N.” 

Leslie looked utterly confused at this one.’’ KSKSSKSKS OKAY I FEEL BAD FOR LESLIE SKSKSKS

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

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

‘’You felt awkward accepting something that you hadn’t worked for.’’ :/

How reader felt when she first came to the tower :(

‘’she often mocked you for being so ‘obsessed’ with that ‘brick’ in your pocket’’ sksksksk

Reader constantly checking their phone for Jason’s crumbs

‘’she would rather spend her last days ‘in grace and dignity’ than to be balding and ‘out of her mind’ - so she didn’t accept the only potentially helpful chemo treatment that was offered to her. ‘’ I can understand that

‘’she was going to perform some voodoo ritual on you in order to use your young, healthy body to keep living her life’’ kssjksksks

‘’then you would consider it a much needed vacation.’’ Vacation abruptly interrumpted by a call about Jason..

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

‘‘Cold Hands, Hot Ass’’ PFFF

‘’As much as you loved his cock, you thought about how weird it would be trying to get off in your grandmother’s house and Jason was so damn persistent and so damn tempting. ‘’ KSAJSKAJ

‘’I miss you like hell.’ ‘’ AAAAAAAAAA

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

‘' First stop on the tour - my bed. Second stop - night patrol. We spend a few hours kicking ass together. Which leads into our third stop - Little Tony’s downtown for some pizza’’ Im in

‘’perhaps slightly out of jealousy because he actually got the importance of a title and a suit and you didn’t yet have either.’’ NOOO WAIT YOU WILL HAVE ONE

NOOOOOOOOOOO DON’T DELETE THE MESSAGE

Ohhhh they don’t know yet…

‘’the biggest Robin fan you knew (Gar)’’ SKSKSS

‘’in a sense, he did. That he had begged you to let him go because he hadn’t thought that he was worth saving.’’ :/

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

‘’The typing bubbles appeared at the top of the screen a few times and then disappeared, indicating that Jason had read your message and was unsure about what to say in reply’’ that awkward feeling..

‘’I know that you’re kind of fucked up - but so am I. And I don’t want to spend my time around anyone else because your kind of fucked up matches my fucked up really perfectly, and nobody else understands me like you do.’’ Okay that was a perfect answer

‘’It was something that a version of yourself from a few months ago would have done without hesitation, but you absolutely knew that things between you and Jason had changed. Hopefully, for the better. ‘’ :D

‘’I don’t think my place is with Bruce anymore.’’ AAAAA

‘’he had the ‘choice’ of being homeless or becoming Robin.’’ *SIGHS*

‘‘I got to be away from Bruce. I got some distance from the way he made me think about myself - about Robin. I used to think that I was nothing without him. That I was just some bullshit street kid nobody and him picking me up and making me Robin was what MADE me something.’’ Imagining isn’t enough, I need to cross the screen to hug him

‘’you’re the one who helped me realize that I am something without him. That I can be great - even without Robin.’’ PLEASE

‘’a part of you thought that you weren’t good for Jason. That you were just another nagging force in his life, another negativity. Then - you thought that you were just something he used to fill the time, to distract from the mental noise, as you did with him. And even then, as you realized that you needed him in other ways, and you might be coming to love him - you thought that he would never feel the same about you’’ AAAAAAAAAAAA

‘’The Flightless Bird: ‘Too much?’’’ I snorted

HE’S BEEN LOOKING FOR APARTMENTS

‘’Your stomach curled with warmth at the thought of you and Jason living together, and this time not because of some half-baked superhero team. But by choice.’’ PLEASE I WOULD LOVE TO SEE THAT

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

‘’You’re the only person I know who grew up more poor than I did.’’

‘The correct tense is: poorer.’’

‘‘Yet you could afford grammar lessons? Damn.’’ I’M LAUGHING SO MUCH WITH THE WAY THAT TALK HAS TURNED INTO

‘‘Grandmama will probably have it steam cleaned when you leave. To get the street rat smell out.’ (…) ‘Anyway, do you like the apartment or not?’’ KASKAJAJAJ

‘’But - I thought me and you could help keep it safer.’’ MY HEART

‘’You resisted the urge to correct his grammar again, wanting to tell him the tense was ‘you and I’.’’ THE WAY I ALSO THOUGHT ABOUT THIS SKSKSKS

‘’You had no clue what stupid love bug had bitten you - but you were seriously agreeing to go view an apartment with Jason Todd. And you were more excited than anything else.’’ My hear is so warm now and I know I’m going to get my heart broken in a few paragraphs

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

‘’On the other end, Jason pumped an arm and cheered quietly to himself,’’ MY BOYYY

‘’This was just the start of your life together. In his mind, this was just the first of many plans. ‘’ THEY’RE SO IN LOVE

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

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

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

Right then, Jason made that picture into his lockscreen.’’ AAAAAAAAAAAAAA A MAN

BUT I GUESS YOU’RE MINE????? AAAAAAAAAA

I knew her grandma would interrupt at some point, but why now? Crying

‘’Besides, I have heard they can give you cancer.” 

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

‘’the Joker never made himself that obvious unless he wanted to get caught.’’ WE’RE GETTING TO THIS PART ALREADY NONONONO

And we don’t know what his reaction was to the last message, I’m gonna cry

‘’But it just made his senses dull and useless to everything around him. It made him less aware of his surroundings, it blurred out all his fight or flight that nature intended.’’ AAAAAAA NOOO

‘’Bruce tried to give him distance. Without Alfred around to keep an eye on him, nobody reported Jason missing. Nobody even noticed that he was gone. ‘’ NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO THIS IS TOO MUCH

‘’When Jason stopped answering your texts, you got a horrible feeling in your gut. ‘’ AAAAAAAAA THANK YOU

But they can’t tell they’re worried about him because they’re nothing official, crying again

‘’Maybe he had met someone else.‘’ reader spiraling, I don’t know if I should laugh or cry

‘’He spent the interim torturing Jason in increasingly creative ways.’’ Oh no

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

‘’The Joker clapped his hands together above Jason’s head, loudly. Jason hated that he flinched.’’ Seeing Jason like this is breaking my heart

‘’He should never have made that picture of you into his lockscreen, you were too important, he had put you in danger’’ *crying emoji*

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

‘’Bruce had gotten him when he had come back to Gotham. A bid to buy his affection’’ D:

‘’Also, sitting with your feet curled underneath you at the dining table caused her glare at you - a lot. ‘’ I feel called out

‘’But you supposed that those deathbed regrets ran deep and she preferred to spend this time with you actually embracing you instead of arguing with you and potentially driving you away.’’ OH GOOD

‘’Everything your grandmother was going for you, it made you feel like you truly mattered for the first time in your young life. ‘’ okay, her grandma it’s not that bad

‘’You wished more than anything that Jason was there with you. Not only would he pull you aside and relentlessly laugh at these plastic-y women with you, but you knew that he would be able to save you from this. He did have a bit more experience being around rich people because of Bruce, and he would actually be able to tell you what the hell they were saying’’ :(

‘’It was a picture of him sticking his tongue out that you had taken using the front facing camera when he had been annoying you over your shoulder one day’’ they’re so cute

‘’You were beginning not to care if he broke your heart. At this point, you were just along for the ride’’ this would be so nice if we didn’t know where this is going

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

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

“I love you.” I’M CRYING

‘’Moments before his death, you sentenced him to the worst crime of all - breaking your heart. Now, with his own foolish choices, he had damned you to a life without the one you loved.’’ THIS IS SO RAW AND IT’S SO GOOD AND WELL THOUGHT AND ALSO HEARTBREAKING

‘’You weren’t surprised that Jason didn’t say it back - but you hoped that your words, that you saying it brought some comfort to him.’’ NOOO AND IT WAS THE OPPOSITE

“I’m - I’m so sorry, Y/N. Jason’s - he’s gone.” SHUT UP NO

*finishes drying tears* okay I know it took me a lot of time but I finally finished reading it, I absolutely loved it, again, this is a rollercoaster of emotions, from laughing to crying, I’ve enjoyed it so much. Everything was so well put together, thinking in every detail, even the heartbreaking parts had impacted on me so much (and I’m not usually the kind of person that goes looking for angst) but I appreciated every bit.

Now I have to ask, do you have a taglist? Can I be added for when the next part is posted? Thank you!

And thank you so much for sharing your stories! THEY’RE SO GOOD!!!!!!!!

The Jaws of Life

Jason Todd x Gender Neutral Reader

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

We’ve only begun. 

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

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

We’re inside The Jaws of Life.

Part One: Panic Room

Summary:

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

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

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

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

Word Count: 19,900

DC Titans Masterlist | AO3 Link

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

Detailed warnings and author's notes below the cut.

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

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

...

“Fuck, babe.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That night had changed everything for the both of you. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Shit, babe-” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You popped your mouth off his thumb before you spoke. 

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

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

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

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

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

It was perfect. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, shh.” 

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

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

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

“You gonna be good for me?” 

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

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

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

“Jason-!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh shit.” He sighed in return. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Apparently Jason didn’t feel the same way. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This is probably for the best.” 

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

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

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

“Gotham needs Robin.” 

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

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

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

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

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

Us. 

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

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

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

You were truly afraid to hear his answer. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

But his lack of words bothered you so damn much. 

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

You hummed in agreement of this, nodding. 

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

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

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

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

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

He held in the other thing he wanted to say. 

‘Where else would you have to go?’ 

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

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

You grew up a lot like Jason did. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Of course Dickhead was being righteous about his moral code. 

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

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

You should have said yes. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jason shrugged.

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

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

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

Jason couldn’t imagine not having you around. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jason gave you a sleepy smile. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

… 

Jason felt cold. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jason had never seen you like this before. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jason hesitated. 

When Deathstroke felt this, he continued. 

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

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

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

“Is Grayson really that important to you?” 

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

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

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

No - Jason could save you some other way. 

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

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

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

And it was that panic that cost him everything. 

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

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

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

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

It was too late. 

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

It happened too quickly. 

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

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

Too fucking late. 

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

“Y/N, Y/N, baby, look at me,” 

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

“Fuck, fuck!” 

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

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

Jason awoke in a cold sweat. 

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

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

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

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

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

Bootycall Temporarily Unavailable

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

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

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

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

Jason began typing out a message. 

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

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

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

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

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

… 

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

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

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

Jason was weary of Leslie at first. 

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

… 

They were playing the stupid word association game again. 

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

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

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

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

“Sorry.” He said timidly. “Habit.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Robin.” She said. 

“Freedom.” He easily responded. 

“San Francisco.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were safe. 

Which was a fucking rare commodity in his life. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jason shrugged. “Kind of.” 

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

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

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

Now that was a million dollar question. 

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

“Well…” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah.” Jason nodded. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jason didn’t take long with that one either. 

“Y/N.” 

Leslie looked utterly confused at this one. 

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

… 

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

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

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

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

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

… 

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

She was rich. Old money rich. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

… 

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

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

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

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

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

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

New message from The Flightless Bird

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Moments later, your phone buzzed again. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then you quickly added on: 

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

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

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

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

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

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

You began typing again. 

… Robin’s Ice Machine is typing …. 

‘You wanna make it a date, Jay?’ 

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

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

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

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

You typed out the message and sent it without thinking. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

… The Flightless Bird is typing … 

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

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

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

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

You carefully chose your words as you replied. 

Robin’s Ice Machine: ‘I don’t know.’ 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart ached reading this. 

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

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

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

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

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

You actually helped him. 

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

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

The Flightless Bird: ‘Too much?’ 

Clearly he thought that he had frightened you off. 

Robin’s Ice Machine: ‘Not too much.’

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

Wait - what? 

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

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

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

You armed yourself with humor as you replied. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You grinned widely at this again. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Right then, Jason made that picture into his lockscreen. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

… 

Jason wasn’t sure why he did it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was stupid. 

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

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

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

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

Nobody even noticed that he was gone. 

… 

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

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

But technically - you had nothing to cry about. 

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

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

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

Maybe he had met someone else. 

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

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

… 

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

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

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

He spent the interim torturing Jason in increasingly creative ways. 

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

Jason tried not to flinch when he heard footsteps approaching. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he was still fighting. 

The Joker laughed. 

Cruel. Harsh. 

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

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

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

But no. 

It seemed that they were growing bored of physical violence. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Joker simply let out another cackling laugh. 

There was a ping. A text message coming in. 

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

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

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

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

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

You were worried. 

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

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

Another round of laughter from the goons. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Another stupid mistake. 

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

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

… 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Entirely against your own will, you began typing. 

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

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

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

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

‘Top three what?’ You wanted to shriek. 

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

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

‘Summering? Since when is that a verb?’ 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But no. That wouldn’t be the case. 

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

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

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

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

There was a long silence. 

Your stomach dropped. 

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

Fear clutched at your throat. 

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

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

A single, ragged breath. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Jason?” 

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

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

“Go on, Robin.” 

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

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

“Go on, answer your pretty friend.” 

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

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

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

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

“Jason?” 

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

And you couldn’t do anything about it. 

What the fuck could you do about it? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jason, I-” 

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

“I love you.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then another pillar of hell struck you. 

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

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

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

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

A gunshot. 

The sound was distinctive, clear as day. 

“Jason?!” 

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

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

You didn’t know that they had smashed Jason’s phone, disposing of it now that they were done with their game. 

Upon instinct, you ran. Your legs were heavy and felt stupid and you stumbled into multiple people on your way into the house, causing murmurs as the crowd stared at you. You didn’t care. You were panicked, shaking, confused. You made your way up to the guest bedroom that you had been staying in and began frantically shoving your things back into your bag, half-packed when you finally realized that you had no clue where you were going. 

And you collapsed onto the floor, then. Your whole body was weak, overtaken by shock. Clueless and terrified, your chest was barely taking in breath and your own phone slipped out of your shaking hand when you tried to think of your next move. 

For a long time - what felt like endless hours, days - you could do nothing but sit there and desperately try to suck air into your lungs, playing the gunshot sound over and over again in your mind. 

They shot Jason. They shot Jason. They had shot Jason. 

Your brain could hardly process it. 

One of your grandmother’s caretakers knocked on the bedroom door and you couldn’t gather words to answer. When she asked you what had happened, you couldn’t even begin to explain. That was when you realized that you had needed concrete answers yourself. So as she left the room to make you some peppermint tea ‘for your nerves’, you forced your shaking hands to work, and you grabbed up your phone again. 

You needed to call Dick. 

He didn’t pick up. Then you called Kory. No dice. Then you called Gar - you could hear the bustle of a crime scene in the background, but he sounded okay. He was talking in his usual bright, excited voice. The Titans had likely just made a bust. He was excited to be making a difference, helping people. 

You sucked down breath and tripped over your own words trying to explain it. Jason was in trouble - a gunshot, he was hurt. He was dead. Gar barely understood, tried arguing against you because you sounded hysterical. But he passed the phone to Dick at your insistence. Dick made sense of your words, and made you wait fifteen long painful minutes until he was back in front of the computer at Titans Tower to give you some kind of answer. 

Jason’s tracker was online. It was in Gotham. It was at the Amusement Mile. 

It wasn’t picking up any heat signature from Jason’s body. That only meant one thing: his body was cold. 

“I’m - I’m so sorry, Y/N. Jason’s - he’s gone.”

...

A/N: This is part one of two, and I do have the second part ready to go in my drafts.

Based on the original, Emergency Contact, having around 400 notes, and based on the fact that Jason Todd is a popular character:

I would like to see around 50 reblogs and around 50 comments on this before I post the next part.

Which I do think is a modest ask - if the same amount of people who enjoyed the original show up to read this sequel, then I will be asking one quarter of those people to comment or reblog. And I say 'around' because if I see a good amount of people commenting and reblogging, even if we don't meet the goal, then I will post the next part more quickly.

(I just don't want another incident to happen where people stop commenting immediately as the goal is met and then I end up with 30 comments and 900 likes, clearly showing that people don't care to support a fic even if they clearly enjoyed it.)

However, if you are going to comment, please do not just comment asking for the next part or asking when the next part will be posted, please comment about the body of work that has already been written and posted. I find it inconsiderate and stressful when people only ask for updates. I much prefer to spark a discussion about the existing work that has been written.

Anyway - I am just insanely proud of this fic and I really want to hear what you guys think of it so far!! So please do comment, reblog and rant in the tags, or come to my inbox and chat with me on anon if you're shy. I always wanna hear from fellow Jason Todd lovers and fellow Titans enjoyers.

[love-byers]

you know what's crazy?

i think most of us are aware that the song that plays over the monologue is titled "You're The Heart", but for a second lets think logically. if the monologue is truly just mike confessing is true love, and this is setting up for mlvn endgame, and there is no deeper connection or involvement of will's feelings, why is that the name of the track that plays through the entire duration of the monologue??

like think about that. the song doesn't begin until immediately after mike says the first "i love you!". that is what triggers the song to begin. nowhere in the duration of footage the song plays over in the episode does anyone say "You're The Heart". will said that several lines before the song began. kyle and michael (OST producers) know this. they watched the exact duration of footage that the song would be playing over probably over 100 times. so why when naming this song did their minds go to WILL'S line that is said well before the song begins?? a line that directly ties back to will expressing his deep seeded love for mike??? why not name it "I Love You" as mike said it multiple times during the duration of the song and it was what el had been asking for all season, or "You're My Superhero" since that line supposedly encapsulates everything mike feels about el and was said during the duration of the song?? no, it had to be will's line. will's line that was not even said during the duration of the song. they named a song that plays ONCE during the ENTIRE SHOW after a line that WAS NOT SAID DURING THE SONG. if mlvn are endgame and will get married and have babies and whatnot, why does will have ANYTHING TO DO WITH THIS?????? why is will telling mike he's the heart more significant than anything from mike's grand declaration of love to el, which had a whole OST track made for it?????? well, we all know why, but we're called crazy when we say it, so the question still remains.

like just picture that. kyle and michael watched mike's monologue, watched him say i love you nine times, watching him say he fell in love with her at first sight, and said "we shall name this song You're The Heart!"

not "I Love You"

not "You're My Superhero"

not "Love"

not ANYTHING from mike's long ass monologue

no, it's "You're The Heart". it had to be "You're The Heart". it had to be a line not even said during the duration of the song, a line that is representative of will's love for mike. will's line. will, who mike asked to be his friend on the first day of kindergarten, who mike feels is the best thing he's ever brought into his life, who mike has a special relationship with, who mike jumps to defend, who mike cares for so much that he tried to fight his own bully because he said something bad about will, who's voice mike recognizes even though no one esle does, who mike is extremely attentive to to the point he is the only one to notice will is being slightly quieter than usual, who's floor mike slept on so he could be there for him, who's bedside mike slept by when he was unconscious in the hospital, who mike asked to go crazy with him, who mike always speaks softly to, who's hand mike held when he was afraid, who mike can't stand being on bad terms with, who mike jumps to apologize and take accountability without having to be told or instructed, who mike biked across town in the rain to apologize to, who made mike mike cheese just by saying he wouldn't find new friends, who ruined mike's ENTIRE day by simply being quiet and a bit moody, who mike feels is different than his other friends, who mike feels hawkins isn't the same without, who mike wants to be a team with, who mike chooses to stand next to when the world is ending right in front of them. it had to be will.

sorry, was that a bit overboard?

anyways i think you get my point lol

[bakerydoll]

stiles stilinski x fem!fairy!reader

stiles’ sneakers crunch against the branches and leaves of the forest floor. he could see a glittering of light out of corner of his eyes. the naturally clumsy boy flailing his limbs around as he tries to see what that could've been.

a sound similar to miniature bells can be heard from a nearby tree. where you sat, cross legged, giggling at the human boy. you flitter around him again from tree to tree, the more you do the more annoyed he becomes. you continue this game of cat or mouse for fifteen minutes or so. stiles was thoroughly irritated.

“what the fuck is that?” stiles cursed. he looked around, eyes frantically searching for an answer. his eyebrows furrow as his eyes squint trying to find some semblance of activity that would explain this. he tapped his foot to the ground impatiently.

you watched from the branches, big curious eyes following his slim figure. stiles would continue to explore, giving up on trying to find the source of the miniature star.

eventually finding your collection of shiny trinckets and rocks, he began inspecting the area. your nose would scrunch up as he picks up each of your belongings. it's only after he looks around and pockets one of the rocks, do you make him aware of your presence.

your wings buzzed lowly before you stopped behind him, in your humanesque form. your hair was a bit wild, your wings continued to idly sway and your body was completely bare. your arms crossed over your chest as you basically stared a hole into his head. you, like all faeries, could be very possessive over your belongings.

“humans, they have no respect. that geode belongs to me, i would prefer it back with my collection.” your voice was melodic as you spoke, almost trance like. stiles freezes when he hears the light, feminine voice from behind him. slowly he takes the rock from his pocket and places it back on the stump with shaky hands.

there was very few times he found himself in a situation like this without a way of protecting himself. he tried to br wary of the person, or creature behind him.

the brunet boy slowly turned around, detective eyes falling over your figure. his cheeks burned red as soon as he realized you lacked clothing. his hands haphazardly covered his eyes, “i’m sorry!” he'd hoped it wasn't a tactic to make him vulnerable.

even if you could be an enemy, he was still a gentleman. you curiously looked at him, an eyebrow quirked at his behavior.

“are all humans this wary of bodies? i will not hurt you.” your voice grew softer toward the end, slowly turning him around so you could get a look at him. his guard dropped just a little, you seemed relatively harmless.

he didn't realize that fairies even in their human form, would naturally be smaller. he wished to now study the fairy people, he never would have thought they really existed. he still refrained from gawking, though it grew harder by the second. his eyes remained on yours, your eyes swirled with the different colors of fauna and flora. like stiles could see the entire world in your eyes. it was the kind of sight, someone could get used to.

“can i have your name?” your eyes twinkled with mischief. what would be a simple sentence had a deep alterior motive. if you weren't fluent in the tales of the fae, you wouldn't even have known any better. stiles couldn't be anymore grateful that he's done lots of research.

“i'm afriad i can't give you my name. but you may call me stiles.” he smiles at you, and you couldn't help but return it.

“smarter than you seem, stiles. i think we could get along fondly.” on the inside you were giggling, your first human friend.

[b-skarsgard]

https://parade.com/movies/bill-skarsgard-nosferatu-interview-exclusive

Skarsgård's vampiric transformation does make him virtually unrecognizable. Combining full-body prosthetics and elaborate costumes, the actor built the character with Eggers over a 10-year period, even working with an operatic vocal coach on a completely new voice. If you're able to spot Skarsgård in the film, hats off to you.

Of course crafting a new version of Dracula/Orlok was certainly a momentous task. Skarsgård's been told there were already over "170 different adaptations" of the character prior to his own. He's humbly giving much of the credit for his own transformation to Eggers' screenplay, though.

full article at the link and under the cut

"I read Robert's Nosferatu script almost 10 years ago, and it hasn't changed all that much in those 10 years," he says. "So the version of Dracula was already different on the page."

Step one in the transformation was the voice. "I was really enamored by Orlok's language," Skarsgård says of Eggers' script. "He's technically speaking German in the movie, but it's English. I think he's learned German just from reading all of these texts and old books. It's this awkwardly constructed English that came out of that."

Orlok's voice was especially important in this film as the character spends much of the film hiding in the shadows to keep his true form hidden from Thomas Hutter (Nicholas Hoult). "The movie monster tends to not have much dialogue, but in this case he has a lot," Skarsgård reflects. "So the voice became my way of expressing the character."

The deep gravely voice in the film was the product of acclaimed Icelandic opera singer Ásgerður Júníusdóttir. "We explored the voice together, but also the technicality of using your entire body when you speak and placing the voice as low as you can in your body," Skarsgård says. "It's a new world for me, and I love voice work. I was just absorbing all of these tools that I'm going to use as my career progresses."

Layered on top of the vocal work were Linda Muir's costumes, what Skarsgård describes as "historically accurate costumes that a 16th-century Hungarian nobleman would have worn. They're the clothes he would have worn when he was a man."

While Focus Features is keeping Orlok's appearance under wraps for as long as possible, you can see the massive fur coat Skarsgård donned in the shadowy poster.

"I knew the shadow was going to be an ally for Orlok, especially in the scenes with Thomas, where he's hiding his appearance," he says. "So he lives in the shadow, and he uses his big fur cape and the hat to not give away what he is. The shadow became a friend."

Perhaps the most impressive element of Skarsgård's transformation, however, was David White's prosthetic makeup, which took hours to apply each day, was difficult to act through and painful to wear. When I ask if he was able to cheat on days he was in the shadows, Skarsgård says no with one exception: "Every single shadow in this movie is also me puppeteering behind camera. That was the only time where I didn't need to have the full regalia on.

"The full prosthetics would take six hours to apply. "It's just uncomfortable," Skarsgård says of having to sit in the chair that long. "And any sense of privacy goes out the window. You become very close with the team that's applying this makeup. They're really getting up in there with a brush in your ass crack. They become your little safe space."

And the six-hour application process was just the beginning of what could be long, physical days on set. The film's final moments involve a sex scene between Orlok and Lily-Rose Depp's Ellen Hutter, which Skarsgård performed in head-to-toe prosthetics.

"I don't know her perspective on, 'I'm going to kiss this monster,'" Skarsgård says about his (fully clothed? skinned? suited?) sex scene, "But for me, when we shot, I was Orlok, and I really, really, really wanted to devour her."

If performing a sex scene in a hot latex bodysuit sounds miserable, that's because it was. "The actual final moment of Orlok was incredibly physically exhausting because there was a lot of technical camera work," Skarsgård says. "What's in the movie, I had to do that 30 times." If you've seen the film, you'll know how truly arduous that experience must have been.

The most difficult day on set for Skarsgård, however, involved a sequence filmed on a boat during Orlok's transfer from his castle in Transylvania to the German harbor he plans to terrorize next. In one scene that involved "pretty tricky advanced camera work," a seaman descends into the hull of the ship to "rid the boat of this demon." As the camera follows the sailor, Skarsgård's Orlok is initially seen behind the man in the shadows.

"Then I have to exit frame, run around and enter my position for when the jump scare pans down to the rats and then pans up and I'm standing there," Skarsgård remembers. "So it's very physical, but I was covered head to toe, except for my eyeballs and the soles of my feet. Even my palms and my hands are covered. That was a 12-hour day."

With that many prosthetics on, there's nowhere for all that sweat to go. "It doesn't breathe, and I don't think it's healthy," Skarsgård confides. "Your body's probably absorbing all those f--king toxins and glue and sh--, plastic and latex and whatever."

During the 12 hours running around the hull of a ship, Skarsgård remembers thinking, "I don't know what's happening, but my body is not doing well."

"You know the skin is your biggest organ right," he says. "So it needs to breathe. I got flashbacks from that urban legend about the woman in Goldfinger being covered in gold and actually dying. I'm like, 'Okay, this is how I go.'"

Obviously, Skarsgård did not die of heat exhaustion in a latex Dracula suit like that one cameraman in the 2022 film Babylon.

"At that point I told them—because it was a long day and I was waiting around—'We need to open it up so my body can breathe,' and then they found the pockets where I could open up and my body started to breathe."

Skarsgård compares the agony of the shoot with what he thinks childbirth would feel like. "They're not on the same level, of course. I've seen childbirth, but it's as close as I can get to giving birth as a man, as these f--king monsters I'm portraying," he says.

When I ask him if there were any other iconic monsters on his bucket list, he says he's done for now. "To play Orlok in Robert Eggers' Nosferatu is the holy grail," he says. "It's kind of the peak and, in a way, the nail in the coffin."

[domm1etae]

Are u trying to kiss me?

yunho x mingi

oneshot | mdni

1.1k

Where Yunho and Mingi’s casual hangout goes from tipsy laughs to full-on "holy crap, are we doing this"

nsfw tags under

m/m, bottom mingi, top yunho, dryhumping, friends to ?, alcohol, drinking, makeout, kissing, horny drunks xd, blushing, subtle touching, grinding, blow job mentioned, and idk what more lol

Yunho and Mingi had been best friends forever—practically glued to each other since middle school. They’d been through all the cringe-worthy phases together: the awkward growth spurts that left them tripping over their own feet, the regrettable haircuts they’d both agreed were “cool” at the time, and crushes so embarrassing they swore to take them to their graves. Late-night ramen runs and arguing over the last piece of kimchi? That was their love language.

But tonight was… weird. Different.

Yunho had gotten it into his head to try out some new alcohol recipe he found online, proudly declaring it was a “genius masterpiece” that would change their lives. Naturally, Mingi volunteered to be the guinea pig. Free booze? Say less.

Now, a couple of bottles deep, the kitchen looked like a war zone—half-empty glasses scattered across the counter, sticky spills everywhere, and Mingi’s obnoxiously loud laughter echoing off the walls. He was leaning against the kitchen island, cheeks flushed red, head tilted back as he lost it over something Yunho said… except Yunho couldn’t even remember what was so funny.

All Yunho could focus on was Mingi. The way his eyes crinkled when he laughed, the way his lips curled into that stupidly endearing grin, the way he looked so ridiculously carefree right now. Yunho found himself staring, his heart doing this weird little flutter thing in his chest.

“Dude, you’re, like, bright red,” Yunho teased, reaching out to poke Mingi’s cheek.

Mingi swatted his hand away, still grinning. “Shut up, I’m not red. You’re red.”

“Oh wow, killer comeback,” Yunho snorted, rolling his eyes.

Mingi just laughed harder, leaning into Yunho’s space without a care in the world. His shoulder brushed Yunho’s arm, and for some reason, Yunho froze. It wasn’t like Mingi wasn’t touchy—he was always in Yunho’s space, throwing an arm around him, hanging off him like a human koala. But tonight, it felt… different.

“You talk too much,” Mingi mumbled, his grin softening as his gaze locked on Yunho’s face.

“What?” Yunho blinked, his voice quieter than he intended.

“I said, you talk too much.” Mingi’s hand landed on Yunho’s shoulder, sliding down his arm like it was the most natural thing in the world. “I like touching you,” he added, completely nonchalant, like he wasn’t flipping Yunho’s entire world upside down.

Yunho blinked again. “What does that even mean?”

“It means you’re soft,” Mingi said with a teasing grin, giving Yunho’s bicep a squeeze. “Weirdly soft for a guy your size.”

“Oh my god, you’re so dumb,” Yunho groaned, shoving him lightly.

“Yeah, but I’m your dumbass,” Mingi shot back without missing a beat.

Yunho froze. That wasn’t new—Mingi said that kind of stuff all the time. But tonight, it felt different. Heavier. Loaded with something Yunho didn’t quite understand but couldn’t ignore. And when Mingi leaned in, his face suddenly way too close, that something became impossible to avoid.

“Mingi,” Yunho said, his voice barely above a whisper. “What are you doing?”

Mingi tilted his head, lips twitching into a lazy smirk. “Thinking about kissing you.”

“What?” Yunho’s voice cracked so hard he might as well have hit puberty again.

“I mean, unless you don’t want me to,” Mingi said, his smirk faltering a little.

“I—uh—are you serious right now?” Yunho stammered, his brain short-circuiting.

Mingi shrugged. “Kinda.”

“Kinda?” Yunho echoed, eyes wide.

“Fine, yes, I’m serious.”

Yunho opened his mouth to respond but couldn’t get the words out. His eyes darted to Mingi’s lips, then back to his eyes, and before he could second-guess himself, he leaned in.

The kiss started soft—almost hesitant, like neither of them could believe it was actually happening. But then Mingi made this quiet little noise, something between a sigh and a whimper, and Yunho was a goner.

Mingi kissed like he did everything else—with his whole heart. His hands slid up Yunho’s back, pulling him closer, while Yunho’s hands instinctively found Mingi’s hips. They pressed together, their bodies fitting like they were meant to, and Yunho couldn’t stop himself from deepening the kiss.

Their hands wandered, exploring each other's bodies with increasing urgency as their kisses deepened. It was more intoxicating than the alcohol they'd consumed, and neither of them could get enough.

Mingi whimpered again, his hips moving instinctively against Yunho’s. The sound shot through Yunho’s system like a live wire, it was the hottest thing Yunho has ever heard and wanted to hear it again, he couldn’t help but grind back.

Mingi's hips were unstoppable, moving faster and faster, he’d never felt this overwhelmed, this hot and bothered, not like this before.

Yunho must've noticed how frantic Mingi had become, and without missing a beat, he matched his rhythm. He slid his tongue along Mingi's neck, nipping at his jaw and biting at his ear, his voice low and teasing. "You wanna come, baby?"

Mingi's spine tingled at the sound of Yunho's voice—damn, he sounded so fucking hot talking to him like that.

“Yunho,” Mingi gasped, his head falling against Yunho’s shoulder. His whole body trembled, his nails digging into Yunho’s arms as a broken moan escaped his lips. He stilled after a second, shuddering in Yunho’s arms as he caught his breath.

Yunho held him close, one hand rubbing soothing circles on Mingi’s back. His own heart was racing, his head spinning, but all he cared about was Mingi.

“You good?” Yunho asked softly, pulling back just enough to see Mingi’s face.

Mingi let out a shaky laugh, his cheeks flushed and his grin lopsided. “Good? I’m amazing,” he said, his voice still breathless. Then his eyes flicked down to Yunho’s lap, and his grin faded. “But, uh… you didn’t…”

Yunho shook his head quickly. “It’s fine. I’m fine. Seriously.”

Mingi’s hand shot out, grabbing Yunho’s wrist before he could move away. “No,” he said firmly, his tone more serious than Yunho had ever heard. “Let me take care of you.”

Before Yunho could protest, Mingi was sinking to his knees, his hands already working at Yunho’s belt. The alcohol haze was gone now, leaving nothing but raw, unfiltered emotion between them.

As Mingi looked up at him, his dark eyes filled with something Yunho could only describe as pure want, Yunho knew one thing for sure: this was, without a doubt, the best experiment he’d ever attempted.

[evesedenramblings]

Damon and Diana: Design Comparison

Gear up everyone because this is a LONG post. The parallels between Damon and Diana are plentiful, so this post just sticks to just their design elements or else it would never end. Spoilers beneath the cut.

1. Names

The name Diana in Hebrew means “giving light”, “shining one” and “luminous”, but also is associated with leadership. While Diana already acts as a light for many of her classmates, Damon included, I think her leadership role will begin to bloom in Chapter 2.

Meanwhile, the name Damon means “to overpower”, “to conquer”, “one who subdues” and “to tame”, which associates him with power and control as he displayed in the courtroom. Additionally, these terms can be associated with leadership qualities. Damon can also be associated with “guardian spirit” and “loyal friend”.

When comparing the two names to each other, the parallels become clear. Each represent a different approach for how they want to lead the killing game. Diana represents a light/faith-filled and optimistic approach while Damon leads with a more cautious and pessimistic approach. Diana protects everyone while Damon protects those he needs to. Diana is unable to accuse anyone of being capable of murder, as she’s still to inwrapped in light while Damon has the swift execution of power capable to make the decisions to find the culprit, and even turn on those he trusted if needed. Both need each other- Diana’s strength lays in faith and charisma while Damon’s lays in doubt and decision making.

As of Chapter 1, the two embody each other’s weaknesses. If that will change, it could go either way! In an ideal world, the two could grow and learn from each other (a balance if you will), but I think due to Diana’s idolized version of Wolfgang, and Eva’s betrayal of Damon, the two are going to go further down their own paths, convinced that they’re right and the other is wrong.

2. Appearance

Diana’s main colour palette is primary colours, given the red is substituted with the diluted shade of pink. Additionally, the neutral colour she’s paired with is white, which again aligns her with that idea of light, or brightness.

Meanwhile, Damon’s main colour is green, a secondary colour! First and foremost, it’s outside the primary wheel entirely, creating contrast with Diana’s design. It’s also worth noting that the only yellow in Diana’s design is her bowtie above her blue shirt, right where Damon’s green tie goes. Additionally, whereas Damon’s eyes are green, Diana’s are a lighter magenta, which are opposing colours on the colour wheel. The same applies to their hair colours, as Damon is blond and Diana’s hair is a darker shade of magenta than her eyes, pushing it closer to purple, which are also opposite colours on the colour wheel. For those unfamiliar with the wheel, that means the colours, though opposite, compliment each other when paired together!

The same opposing pattern can be found with Damon’s neutral colour scheme, as a majority of his design is dark neutral colours like grey, black, or brown, which opposes Diana’s prominent neutral colour of white. However, they both do have a white undershirt which is a nice similarity between the two, and both are even wearing vests though of different styles

3. Ultimate Talents I would also argue their talents parallel each other! If Damon’s talent is to convince people of something via words (telling), I would say Diana’s talent is to convince people of something via appearance (showing), both two different ways of conveying information. Damon’s talent is pretty self explanatory. He is the Ultimate Debater, responsible for convincing action through words. Diana’s talent though, as the Ultimate Cosmologist, I don’t think has had enough spotlight. Diana’s talent is good enough to convince people she’d never been sliced with a knife- what is that if not convincing via appearance, showing rather than telling? Damon’s talent embodies telling, while Diana’s embodies showing.

Additionally, there's how the two perceive their talents and others. Where Damon is confident in his own talent but thinks everyone else's talent is useless, Diana has the opposite ideology where she downplays her own talent but uplifts everyone else's.

I think it’s really interesting how much their designs compliment each other and I absolutely cannot wait for Chapter 2 to see them interact as protagonist and antagonist.

[riongeee]

Jamil, immediately after graduating: Quit your job

Sebek: ???

Jamil: Travel the world with me

Two people with predetermined futures running away together to experience the world :')

But genuinely as a little thing, I think that would be so fun. Like, imagine, Jamil who has been forced to constantly be meeker and to lower himself to appease people and has always had the looming future of being a mere servant. Then we have Sebek, loud but still has that future of having to lower himself to someone.

Like, Jamil would probably hear tidbits about Sebek and the fact that their similar, like we already know that Sebek and he are both bodyguards, and despite Sebek 'liking' his future (Quotations because does he like it or is that just all he's ever known) or is he just resigned? So Jamil takes one look at Sebek and just goes 'this one, this ones mine'.

Like at some point Sebek becomes known as the honorary Scarabia first year because Jamil (I'm picturing this post his overblot) is absolutely overprotective of his first year. Like, Jamil teaches Sebek things that Sebek would've never really spent much thought on otherwise. They cook together, Sebek learns Jamils style of dance and in return Sebek teaches Jamil how to ride on horseback and introduces him to obscure operas as he begins to come out of his shell. Jamil begins to see more to Sebek than the Malleus obsessed,loud knight everyone else sees. It comes to the point that when people see one they ask where the other is (enter angst about Kalim remembering when he was like that with Jamil????)

Also, Diasomnia in all of this, they just assume it's Sebeks admiration for a senior. In the actual game, Sebek also admires Jamil, so for them, it would be a case of Sebek just thinking he found a new person to respect. They only really notice things are different when Sebeks absence makes it known. It makes itself known through the lack of a sonorous voice waking Silver up; through the lack of joyful compliments towards Malleus; through the lack of panicked flails as he tried to mitigate Lillias disasters in the kitchen. They find themselves oddly out of place without their first year, yet now, they have no idea to reach out, they can only watch as Sebek laughs in a way they've never seen before (had they ever seen him laugh so hard he snorts?)

Enter, the conversation. Personally, I think it would be after Malleus' overblot, like not even graduation. Jamil realizes not only does he want to travel the world, but he wants his friend to do so too. In the moments where everything was in limbo, Jamil regrets that Sebek has never been able to think of a future that deviates from his set path and he decides to try change that.

Whether Sebek takes that chance, is an entirely different story :)

[molter-writes]

pleeeasssee miller i know you let the work stand on it's own but please tell us jsut a tad bit more about the valyerian sex magic!!!!

i meannnn

on valyrian sex magic

i am not the person to ask for the true asoiaf lore, of course; but there is obviously a pervasive source of magic across Planetos — accessible by many cultures in many different forms — and the "flavour" of the magic of each is very much a reflection, i think, of what GRRM wants us to glean about each. the Starks are themselves effectively the oldest singular consistent human organisation, if you will, that we actually meet in the books, and their magic is extremely rudimentary and primordial—they turn into animals and talk to trees. It's giving primordial man, it's giving Lucy—humanity as a symbiotic participant in (rather than an editor of) the natural world.

fast forward almost five thousand years: the valyrians are not tree hugging hunter-gatherers. they are the roman empire if the roman empire were composed of evil wizards. Their magic is dark, rooted in blood and fire—it was a tool of mind control, of asymmetric warfare, of wroth destruction. It required blood sacrifice and whips and horns and knives. It mated slave women to animals to produce grotesque chimeras. The entire thing is about the subjugation, not the embrace, of nature. Obviously until we have WoW or (lol) aDoS, we won't know—and maybe not even then—but the best prevailing theory in my view is that blood of the dragon is literal. Planetos has wyverns and, more importantly, firewyrms (flightless, firebreathing lizards) that the Valyrians almost certainly combined with human beings in some ritualistic hellcurse to produce the first dragons. this explains (1) the psychogenic bond between rider and dragon; (2) why nobody without valyrian blood can ride one; (3) the decline of the dragons correlating near-perfectly with the Andalisation (read: de-magifying) of the Targaryens; and perhaps most importantly, (4) why an animal that can fly hundreds of miles in a day would for some reason be found only on a single small isle in some random corner of a massive content that has volcanos and mountains and hot weather elsewhere. only one culture having dragons is like only one airport having planes.

much like the american NRA often asserts about guns, dragons are something of a sexual equaliser. part of why rhaenyra is so much freer than alicent when they're young is not merely because of her elevated social station (which is a principal part of it, yes) but also because she is in sole possession of one of the only six nukes in the world. At fifteen Rhaenyra possesses the power to go burn Riverrun to its foundation. I mean, if you thought Daenerys had firepower—regardless of D&D's absolute boneheaded visual mistakes in the show—Syrax is bigger than Drogon.

in any case i digress; i bring this up to make the point that while we do know valyria was a patriarchy of sorts, you can imagine a world in which a valyrian noble house would be headed (on occasion) by a woman because she is the most powerful imperial military leader because she is in command of the largest dragon. as a result, you can imagine a culture that embraces less patriarchal sexual and gender politics than do the Andals, and when take this inference a step further with the chimeras and the dragon-making and all the other frankensteinian blood magic, i just don't think it's that much of a leap to imagine that some dragon-wielding all-powerful female ruthless blood wizard in ancient Valyria decided—based on blood purity or necessity or ego or whatever—to impregnate some other woman. some maesters recorded that dragons appeared to change their sex—becoming able and unable to lay and fertilise eggs. Anyway, I just don't put genderbending and fempreg past the people who—if the theory is right—invented fucking dragons. It seems easier to do magic pregnancy than to do dragons. idk. melisandre gave birth to a shadow. nearly every ancient tradition on the planet can explore the miracle of virgin conception but we can't have lesbo baby?? why?? thank you for coming to my Ted Talk