#ive been keeping this guy in the shadows for almost a year now

[itzbeearts]

I'm gonna overcome my fear rq and show yall my Rescue Bots Academy ocs that I've kept hidden from literally everyone except my 2 friends- (two of these are his young references, the other two are his older references)

Here's Sprocket, my decepticon oc!

His story starts out in cyberton, a few years before the Well of Allsparks is reawakend. He is created as a decepticon.(Sprocket doesn't have any direct parents) He joins a group of what he consideres friends, they're all bullies, including Sprocket (he's the worst of them all for now) and they love bullying eachother too. One day he and his buddies go to an abandoned Space Bridge site, he and one of them, (named Kroa) have a big argument about who's better, whos the leader of the group, and she gets very angry. While they're arguing, the two other buddies (Trispear and Rush) somehow get the Space Bridge working, and Kroa, out of anger, pushes Sprocket through.

The Space bridge opens up on a strange organic planet, broad trees and lush grounds. And a large civilization just beyond the horizon. Angered yet curious, Sprocket heads towards the civilization.

__

The rescue bot recruits are doing their daily routine, when suddenly there is a random cybertronian signal found just outside of Milford. Intrigued by this, they set out and find this new signal, unaware that it belongs to a decepticon..

Blah blah blah they find him, don't know what to do with him, they bring him to the academy and he makes fun of them the whole time (he even flirts with Whirl, which she's very uninterested), and the Academy Staff decided to let him stay to see if they can change his ways, and make him a better guy.

(Spoiler alter: he does)

Btw here's his "buddies":

And some random monolog thing idk

Years later, Sprocket, his new sister, and his best friend (my friends oc) all get acquainted with the recruits (with some crazy lore that happens) and He and his sister become Rescue Bot Recruits, while the original recruits become Mini-Mentors, and his best friend leaves for cybertron to live with his new dads (and they all reunite again a few more years after that)

There is still more events that is currently in the making between my friends oc and mine, but that's gonna stay hidden for now!

Anyway! I'm probably gonna post Sprockets sister after this, but I hope you enjoy this silly guy! He may have been a bully before, but hes a good bot once you get to know him 😋

[literallyjustanerd]

At Sunset In Summer - IV

Omega is ready to join The Rebellion. Hunter is not.

Previous First

Chapter Four - Summer

The heat of the sun is a balm to Hunter’s stubborn joints. He’s moving better these days, on knees less stiff and creaky. Still, nothing can stop the ache in his lower back after spending the previous day hunched over the garden. While he's used to the pain, it doesn’t make the climb to the top of the island any easier. He hoists himself up another step, and a sharp twinge lances up his spine. Though he stifles the groan that comes with it, it’s already too late – Omega appears at his side, her arm bracing his, relieving his weight. She fixes him with a stern look, and the message is clear: No arguing. Not today.

The town square is quiet when they arrive. Eerily so, for a scene lit so bright under the midday sun. Stark shadows move solemn and mute as they press on to the base of the weeping maya. A small crowd has already gathered under its winding branches. Smaller than it should be, and smaller than it would have been months ago, years ago. Without the hum of conversation, only the lazy, wandering birdsong and lapping waves below dare to break the silence. Even the winds have stilled, and in their absence, the maya itself appears almost to be holding its breath. The pit in Hunter’s stomach stretches deeper.

Echo is dead.

The transmission from Rex had come through two days ago. Pre-recorded and less than a minute in length. Their operation was still under critical threat, he had said; he couldn’t risk a longer message. He had not included a when, nor a how. Still, the thin, sandpaper rasp of his tone, and the quaking of his breath like bulwarks set to splinter, it told them all they needed to know. Their brother is gone.

There is scarcely little they could find of Echo’s that would make a fitting memorial. He had never spent more than a week on Pabu at a time, and had never collected much in the way of personal effects. All that he had was given over to the team, or traded or sold for something more “practical.” All as a matter of course, without a moment of hesitation. 

So, instead, Wrecker stands a lone granite slab upright at the tree’s base. Below Echo’s name, carved out by dozens of hands with varying skill (or lack thereof), there is a list of the names and designations of each clone rescued from Tantiss. All the clones who owed their lives and their freedom to Echo. The epitaph is simple. Two short words that Hunter is still staring at when he realises that people expect him to speak.

“Echo was the speech guy. He’d never admit to that,” he says, with a halfhearted laugh that falls dangerously close to tears. He tries to continue, but the words jam up, wedged together at odd angles that wrench and tear at his throat. His misty eyes won’t move from the carving on the stone.

Our brother.

 It’s been years since he has felt this particular kind of grief. He’s out of practice. It presses down like a vice and wrings the breath from his lungs, steals the sun’s warmth and leaves the tips of his fingers numb and shaking from the cold. It’s faintly familiar, in the worst way. Like waking from a nightmare he hasn’t had in years. 

He’s about to give up altogether and step down from the crowd when a hand comes to rest on the back of his arm. He turns to Omega, and she gives him a smile, a weak, puffy-eyed thing that conjures bittersweet memories. Memories of target practice, of Omega glowing under stern-faced, hard-earned praise. Memories of endless drills and rote-learned battle plans, of bitter disagreements and incessant games of dejarik. They both know that Echo’s coaching is the reason Omega always beats him now.

“He always knew exactly what he wanted,” Hunter says, as much to himself as to the gathering around him. “We argued about it, back then. When the rest of us were ready to run, Echo wanted to keep fighting. Kept saying we should be doing more for our brothers. Drove me insane… mostly because I knew he was right.” The hand on his arm tightens just slightly, and Hunter lets go of a shaky breath, trying and failing to keep his focus.

Today is Omega’s last day on Pabu. He has known it since the moment they had received Rex’s transmission. And from the growing tension in the house, the way his brothers’ heartbeats skittered and skipped at seemingly random moments, stirred by some private thought or fear, it was clear they both knew it, too. He supposes he has no right to feel blindsided by it. He had felt Omega growing restless long before they had heard about Echo, the longer they worked on The Liberator and the more dire the news they heard from the front. As the days grew hotter, it almost hurt to stand too near to her, as though he could feel the simmering under her skin, rolling off her in waves like heat off a durasteel roof. She’s ready. She’s been ready a long time. And with Echo’s death, the one Hunter has to blame (to thank?) for Omega’s strong sense of duty, Hunter knows with a grim, proud certainty that she can no longer hold it off.

  “Echo would give his life for you in a heartbeat,” he continues. “And because you knew that, you’d do the same for him.” Reaching back, he wraps his arm around Omega’s shoulders, holding her against his side, keeping her close to him while he still can. She lays her head on his shoulder. Tall as she’s grown, she still fits perfectly in the groove of his neck.

“It's up to the rest of us to keep that spirit alive for him. Keep fighting for what we know is right. Make that smug bastard proud.” Omega laughs, but the collar of Hunter’s shirt is still damp when she pulls away.

They’re the last ones there, sitting together under the tree long after everyone else has left. Wrecker is passing around short-necked bottles of ale, trying hard to lift their spirits with worn-out stories they’ve heard a thousand times before. 

“When you mentioned you and Echo fighting,” he says, easing down onto one of the Maya’s larger roots, “I’m surprised you didn’t mention his Life Day present for Omega. You know the one.” 

The memory makes Hunter groan, his head falling back against the tree with a hollow thud.

“Please, not this again,” he mumbles, but it’s too late - Omega’s righteous anger has been reignited.

“I’m still mad you kept that from me,” she says indignantly. Hunter scoffs.

“Forgive me for not letting a child walk around Pabu with a DC-15 blaster carbine over her shoulder.”

Wrecker grins widely, his shoulders a little more lax. In the few days since they’d heard the news, Hunter had scarcely seen Wrecker take a full breath, watching constantly over Omega and his brothers to keep them all together. He had been the one to organise the memorial, while the rest of them were still paralysed by grief.

“I agree with Hunter,” Crosshair says. He's reclined back against the trunk of the tree, eyes closed and arms folded across his chest. Hunter is about to thank him when he continues, “the DC-15a rifle would have been a far better choice.”

Hunter heaves a sigh, shaking his head.

“Better that blaster stay locked away than we pay thousands of credits in property damage,” he declares.

“Geez, Hunter, just say you don’t trust me,” Omega shoots back, a wry grin on her face that betrays her serious tone. Hunter gives her a playful shove, sending her scrambling to keep her balance on the tree’s lowest branch. Crosshair is very nearly drenched when she fumbles her bottle. She laughs, and the sound is beautiful over the waves and the faint birdsong. A single blossom has fallen from the vines above to land on her shoulder. There’s light, bright and molten gold, pouring through gaps in the leaves, setting her hair aflame. Every part of the island folds so perfectly into her, embraces her, loves her, as though it’s trying to whisper to her the same words Hunter has been bottling up all day: You don’t have to go. You’re home. Stay with us.  And as though she can hear its pleas, Omega’s gaze drifts, and wanders out to the distant horizon, her smile turning cool and vague. Hunter’s heart aches, and he’s trying to be alright with that.

The heat lasts late into the evening, until the air turns dense and syrupy and the shadows stretch long and sluggish in the purple twilight. Time has slowed to a crawl, the sun weighing heavy on the waves but refusing to sink. Reluctantly, each of them drifts from the weeping maya and from each other, drawn off to their own busywork, to fill the last few hours before the sky gives way to darkness and the world as they know it ends. 

Batcher used to bound along the shore so fast she'd kick up huge fans of sand in her wake, carving a deep, jagged trail along the beach in search of sea birds to chase or something to dig up. Now, though, she plods slowly along the shoreline, only stopping here and there to sniff at a piece of driftwood, or just to look back over her shoulder and make sure Hunter is still following.

“You getting old on us, too, girl?” he says, patting her head softly. She gives an answering snuffle, shaking sand from her back in what could almost pass for a protest. “Sorry. Happens to the best of us.” 

He knows exactly where he’s going, but he walks slowly enough that he can still deny it to himself and pretend this is just a leisurely walk. Still, as inevitable as the sun finally dipping beneath the water, he reaches his destination. The sand turns rocky beneath his feet, the cliffs looming tall over his head. Gingerly, he picks his way through the damp, black boulders and into the cave, and as the lilac sky slips out of view, he can see the faint outline of The Liberator in the darkness. Omega had moved the ship days ago, and said nothing of it. It had confused Hunter: they all knew she was leaving, so why be so secretive about the preparation? It had only struck him that afternoon that Omega planned to go without telling them.

Batcher settles at his feet when he picks a spot to sit and ready himself for what is to come. He doesn’t have to wait long before she arrives, her brow set and her hand gripping tight to the bag at her hip. And while there’s no anger in his words, Hunter can’t help but tease just a little:

“Thought you could just sneak off?”

It’s easier than he had expected, to piece the words together. Time has worn the jagged shards smooth, and they don’t hurt so much now when he reaches for them. Omega, too, has softened, and her expression is almost apologetic when she speaks.

“I made my choice, Hunter. I want to do more.”

“And we want to keep you safe.”

His tone is resigned, the words impotent, though no less sincere. It’s not an argument, but a catharsis: a correction of the past, everything he should have said on that first day in the kitchen and every day since. Everything she already knows, but needs to hear nonetheless. And in return, Omega tells him what he has known for months, for years now, and what he’s finally beginning to accept.

“I’m ready.”

He cries when he watches her leave. Their little girl, their Rebel. No longer does he have the strength of a soldier to hold back his tears, but as he watches her weave her ship deftly into the tapestry of stars, he is buoyed by a new kind of strength. One forged from hot summer nights, from music echoing through a sweltering kitchen. From dinners on the table and dishes in the sink. From oil-stained fingers and new patches in an old jacket. From feeling the joy of another as your own, as they shout the words to a favourite song you have always found annoying. From learning to live his own life for the sake of another.

Hunter takes a breath. He holds it carefully, gently, lets it fill his chest and warm his ribs. Then, before he’s ready (he’ll never be ready), but when he knows he will survive it: 

Hunter lets go.

[sardonic-the-writer]

—action

SUMMARY | the jims needed an extra set guy and you owed them a favor

PAIRING | jim x reader

REQUESTED | no

WARNINGS | n/a

WORD COUNT | 756 words

AUTHOR NOTES | first markiplier related fic ive done in a hot minute

📹 Masterlist 📹 Navigation 📹 Rules 📹

You could already feel your shoulder bruising under the weight of the camera.

Bobbing and weaving throughout this giant mansion wasn't how you planned on spending your weekend. Under different circumstances you'd probably be sitting in your small little apartment right now, kicking your feet up with a glass of wine or beer while binge watching tv shows.

But of course what were you to expect at this point. You? Having a normal weekend? Not when you had friends like this.

The Jim's were fairly chaotic people. Spending their entire life savings on cameras and a crew, somehow getting it aired on a channel run by a man with a pink mustache, and even recording them committing various crimes just to get some footage. But still, you had been a friend of sorts with them ever since you could remember. Maybe it was your habit of attracting crazy people that made it happen, but you had a feeling the friendship would have found another way into your life no matter what. Funny things like that tended to happen with you. It definitely managed to keep lige interesting though that's for sure.

"Jim!" You stopped in your momentary chase, whispering not so quietly to the raven haired man currently several feet in front of you. The hallway was dark enough to where you felt comfortable being hidden in the shadows, not trusting the other brightly lit rooms in this never ending mansion.

"Yeah?" Two people responded to you at once, voices identical. You would never get used to that. Years into knowing them and you still hadn't given them any sort of speperate nickname to seperate them.

"No not you Jim, that Jim!"

"Me?"

"The—the one in front of me!" You groaned, albeit no real frustration behind it. "With the blue shirt!"

"Oh yeah!" Jim, the one in front not behind, scrambled back to you, hair mussed up and eyes wide with curiosity. Just like they always were. "What's up (Y/n)!"

"Are we even supposed to he here? I mean—" You grunted, adjusting the camera resting on the tip of your shoulder while managing not to drop it. "—I know you guys have a habit of trespassing, but I'd rather not be next in line for when you get tried at court. Should we really be doing this?"

"No! We shouldn't! Not at all." He smiled happily. "Now come on (Y/n), we've got to go before any of our rival news crews get to the crime scene first!"

You almost tripped on your own feet, reaching out to stop him by tugging on the sleve of his button up with a suprised sound bubbling out of you.

"Wait what!? Crime scene? Trespassing? And you two don't have any rival news crews, Jim!! Because you two are the only people crazy enough to pull something off like this!"

"They are right." The second Jim said from behind you, although you recognized their tone of voice as proud rather than in agreement to what you were saying. Something you frowned at lightly.

Jim number one sighed, bringing a hand down on your shoulder with a clap and shaking his head.

"We've entrusted you with a great responsibility (Y/n)." He uttered like a mentor, giving their apprentice a deepfully meaningful speech instead of an overly eccentric reporter pushing his best friend into follwoing him through a strangers house. "You have the task of carrying our very best camera! Surely you won't give up that opportunity!"

You just stared at him blandly. Making it very clear that you would and could give it up.

"Plus you owe us for that one night we saw you in the closet with Illinois."

By the time his words had already caught up to you, both Jim's were sprinting off in the opposite direction of you, paces increasing once they heard your angry shouts chasing after them.

It was only untill all three of you had been caught by the owner of the house and shoved into the back of a local cop car did any of the Jim's risk speaking to you and your crossed arms, glaring at both of them grumpily.

"At least we got a good shot—"

"Shut up before I persecute you two in court myself."

[theubb]

Part 3! probably the lowest effort one yet. Now please let me go on a side tangent here, i just gotta get some thoughts off my chest and a reason for the so-so quality. I will talk abou this part and the AU ofc, i just gotta talk about me for abit, even if i talk to the void i want to get it out there.

I do consider parts 1 & 2 kinda low effort on my part and it most certianly frustrated me then BUT i have grown to accept it. I am burnt out! To give context: all my previous Sonic anything before the event began was for a School project!

We were quite free to do basicly what we wanted and i manged to make mine about Sonic under the guise of learning 3D. I started last September and have been just going at it almost nonstop since. Yes i had a few breaks ofc but nevertheless i was very burnt out by the time That project was done.

So for me personally, The Ubb, personally this event was (for me personally) abit ill-timed personally for me, The Ubb. The idea of Nine traveling the Multiverse was something i had wanted to get around to eventually so when this Event was announced i obviously wanted to participate, it felt like the stars had aligned! sort of.

Thing is becouse of the nonstop work i was already supremely burnt out before the event even started so not great for me personally. I planned that i would just do a Me thing between the 2 Projects, something not related to either. A short little break yea? that was What updating my Sally Acorn design was going to be but we know how that went.

The Result is wonderful, yes, it is one my proudest designs, came out great. BUT she was one of the thoughest challenges ive had so far. More context: it usually takes me like 2-3 days to make a Character design but Sal here took me 2 weeks. 2 weeks.

The result is wonderful but it was not the break i had envisioned. And the timelimit for the event was ticking down, i had lost about half of it by now. Like i said Nine traversing the Multiverse is something ive wanted to do for awhile and with DonelyWell making it uncertain wether or not the Event might return or not it truly felt like a now or never kinda situation, so despite my burnt-out-nes and lack of a proper break i pushed on.

And that is why the quality has been kinda so-so so far, due to burn out my heart hasnt been truly in it.

I will try to push out part 4 this coming week and you should expect it to be of this same quality you have seen thus far BUT after that i am postponing Part 5. I had originally planned to hopefully have it out before the end of august but with the current state of my mental health that is no longer feasable. After part 4 I Will take a break for maybe 1 or 2 weeks to just not work in order to get my mental situation sorted.

Sal proved that a working vacation was not a good solution.

But after the break i will get to work on Part 5 where i will put all the cards on the table. I have decided to put in that extra effort that has been lacking in Parts 1-3 (and probably 4) in order to make up for my sub-par performance thus far, another reason for the break. I cannot say how long it will be between parts 4 and 5, perhaps a whole month or even 2, idk ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ we shall see

It will be out before the year ends tho, of that i am certain. Current plan is 3-4 big pictures for Part 5 and just a butt-ton of characters. This is to keep me happy as i do not particularly enjoy enviornments but character design is my passion.

The way i work with making the AU designs is reverse engenering my Mainline designs. That way it wont be a complete radio silence from me, The Ubb, but i am saving all my AU designs for Part 5.

But speaking of how i work lets segway back to part 3 yea?

For part 3 here i wanted to introduce this AUs Shadow! This AU is my take on an Anti-Verse AU as i call it, where Bad guys be good guys and good guys be bad guys! IDK if it has an actual Name or some such.

This AUs Shadow is alot more silly looking which is 100% intentional. In this Anti-Verse AU this guy here did not end up nearly as traumatized as Mainline Shadow, main thing being Maria do be alive in this AU! I sadly dont have a design for her yet, will in Part 5 tho.

Also if you do recall; for this AUs Eggy i Changed his name to Ovi Kintobor, i did a name change for some other characters aswell. One of them being Anti-Shadow here, or i suppose i should call him... Terios! cuz thats what i named him yo

I know that Name is attached to prototype Shadow and a design that is quite different from what you see here BUT thing is i have no plans to use Terios in my Take on Mainline Sonk and the Name is simply too cool to not use at all and with me already changing some names in this AU i figiured why not!

Now to talk abit about what he be looking like, firstly the Gun.

I decided to give my Take on Shadow a Gun cuz is neat. I enjoy the idea of Shadow using a gun but do agree that he doesnt really need one, he has Chaos Spears rember? They already cover ranged attacks. The gun needs to fill a gap in his already vast moveset, cover a blind spot so to speak, in order to deserve its inclusion.

So a-thinkin i went!

And then it hit me; the idea to have it function like an extension of his Chaos Spears! Therefore the small canister looking thingy with Chaos Energy on both guns

For Mainline Shadow i decided to have his Gun solve the accuracy problem. Im sure Shadow can Throw his spears real good but what about really long distances? A fancy gun would solve that i think! have it shoot chaos energy powered by Shadow himself, With it being energy based and meant to solve accuracy have it have like next to no drop off yknow? Like a Pistol sized Sniper!

For Terios i wanted to aproach it from a different angle, if not accuracy what else could a gun do for Shadow that his Chaos Spears cannot do on their own?

Well what about speed? Sure Shadow can probably chuck out his Spears quite quickly but there is most certianly a limit. I am sure a gun has a faster firerate than a throwing arm, just sayin.

And with my desire to Make Terios look abit sillier than Shadow i went for a very smooth, round and almost SMG looking shape clearly influenzed quite heavily by certain Tediore Pistols from Borderlands 3.

Next lets talk about the obvios.

I am very happy and proud of my Shadow design, he came out great, Less so for Terry here. You can clearly see i barely changed much, this is mostly due to me not really knowing what direction i wanted to go in at first and then a desire to move on once it was good enough.

But I Did some thinkin! With All three (Terios, Maria Kintobor and Gerald Kintobor) surviving the G.U.N raid of the ARK and thus Terios not being nearly as traumatized as Shadow i wanted to delve abit into the fact that Shadow should be around Sonic's age; in other words a teenager or at most a young adult.

Shadow never got a real chance for a proper childhood and getting to be a proper Kid but for this Anti-Verse i wanted to perhaps explore that abit more. What if Shadow's Story wasnt as dark? What if he got some proper time to be a Kid? Not forced to grow up quickly? Maria didnt die in the raid? Gerald wasnt executed by firing squad?

Thus for Terios i want to go into a more Silly direction cuz Terios just all-round had a better time than Shadow. Wasnt all perfect with sunshine and roses ofc but still better than Shadow. Terios gets be as happy and free like Mainline Sonk!

So when i decide to revisit Terios in the future i kinda want to go in a kinda Silly Super Hero Costume direction. I could go into further detail but i feel i have talked enough for now, see you this coming week with part 4! It will introduce this AUs Sonic, Tails and Metal Sonic, see you then!

I sure do like talking huh

[certified-anakinfucker]

📖 RN NOW PLS

you have no idea how far back i had to go in my OLD ask tag to find this fucking link. i love you kebbie i really do and i hope this genuinely proves it - so send me a book for a daydreamed story of mine! trust me i have many!

this ask has deadass been in my box for two years now um. holy fuck. its gonna be super long bc this is actually my excuse to force myself to figure out how this fucking story actually goes. youre my sacrificial lamb, babe <3

under the cut for toxic/abusive relationship themes | mostly stemming from not putting an end to toxic cycles and briefly refusing to believe it was an issue

so i had this old ass wip, right. it was called parisian lovers despite no one in the entire story being french whatsoever and it was basically a love story for a sexual relationship with danger turning into a genuine view into what happens when you dont. like check yourself before running headlong into what you think you want

ive since started readapting it to (surprise) swtor and an excuse to explore sith pureblood (henceforth referred to as "tsis") cultures surrounding whats considered normal in their dating/relationships, and also how it challenges familial relationships

the details of it are super fuzzy mostly bc all the meat of it was lost to twitter dms that i refuse to open. so heres a quick fast easy rundown

basically, youve got tsiksos. he is the third born and third son of an extremely powerful and wealthy union of bloodlines, and since hes really not the most important one, he decides he wants to study a niche theory of dark arts. something about how channeling power needed to cast sorcery can be amplified through vocals and choreography. basically he went to a contemporary dance school for the shadow wizard money gang

tsiksos meets ûtainoz, who is practically a beast in this school. he sees the valedictorian spot and hes steamrolling anyone he needs to. hes ruthless, hes heartless, hes a smooth-talker, he will do anything to get his way, and tsiksos found that hot and sexy and definitely worth falling in love with

predictably, this goes terribly. tsiksos doesnt know what the hell he walked into, only that he may as well enjoy it because hes sleeping with the hottest, most talented guy at this school. ûtainoz got a little too comfortable, though, and by the end of their tenure there lost his valedictorian spot to tsiksos,,, who was also gunning for it right under his nose

but whatever, its fine, they go their separate ways with the taste of one anothers venom permanently burned in each others mouths. they both fill their own niches. ûtainoz goes into more of a performative, traveling role and relies on his aesthetic rather than his power - whereas tsiksos followed through with his intent and deepened his connection to the dark arts through what he learned. he became something of a siren, honestly

anyway anyway anyway. tsiksos moves off of his homeworld. he decides he wants to actively burn fires through everywhere ûtainoz has been. and hes extremely successful. he wants to win, he needs to win, he will win. he meets utajhaiw while in the new city, and while poor utajhaiw falls in love - tsiksos sees someone he can keep close with him if he just uses all the right words.

which works! theyre together, its great, theyre fucking almost daily. but they argue every hour. to the point where it gets violent more often than not with tsiksos on the offensive. the arguments are largely fabricated or instigated out of boredom. but isnt it worth it for the sloppy nasty disgusting hateful makeup sex?

yeah well. the neighbors of their apartment dont think so. theyve nearly called the cops every time, until neighbor laishtzi comes over to investigate what just hit the wall. he gets pulled, literally, into the middle of their fuck. his partner rîshja follows and, likewise, gets pulled into the middle of their fuck. its like some sort of apology thing for them too and it becomes regular.

enter: their friend nunjor, a lawyer (i think. something like that) who also ! gets pulled into the sex life. whats worse is that both tsiksos and utajhaiw both fell in love with nunjor and wanted to have him as a permanent third.

sometime after this, the whole hatefucking thing gets a little too hateful. tsiksos actually genuinely nearly kills utajhaiw, and hes starting to hide the knives in earnest. nunjor suggests that they attend actual couples' things instead of just their joint performances where utajhaiw plays and tsiksos conjures something.

they try it. they enjoy it. their relationship actually improves. they make a vase together in a ceramics class.

by the way, utajhaiw has asthma. tsiksos has been stressing him out so bad hes started smoking. on purpose. yes it is what you think it is and tsiksos thinks its hot because he wants to shotgun the smoke from his mouth

anyway, something happens and tsiksos starts backsliding. they have another argument and he breaks their ceramic vase. all that dust from the glaze and the clay triggers a pretty bad asthma attack, bad enough that the neighbors come over (it had been so long without an incident) and call the paramedics to come get him. utajhaiw actually snaps at tsiksos in the middle of literally coughing himself to death, and this is uh. a little traumatizing. because its never been this bad before.

utajhaiw makes it to the hospital fine, refuses to see tsiksos, and nunjor is on utajhaiw's side - that was fucking uncalled for, dude. tsiksos goes back to their apartment, alone for the first time since they bought it together. naturally he should not be alone at this time

laishtzi phones a friend, kaqur (psychiatrist-adjacent) and his partner jashru (probably a psychologist, if not professional "wtf is wrong with you, stop that"). they agree to take tsiksos in while utajhaiw is back home with his family.

its about a year i think? that tsiksos stays with them, basically on s-watch, and it turns out he has a really severe derealization + depersonalization whammy going on, spurned from still dressing the way ûtainoz liked him to dress and the way other people wanted to see his body. he punched through a mirror. so once he started dressing in looser, more comfortable clothing - surprise! he felt better!!!

(meanwhile, utajhaiw spent a year at home strengthening his lungs again, writing songs and poetry, and reconsidering his entire life. spoiler alert: he actually was in love with tsiksos)

but things are never easy. at some point, tsiksos has a bit of a meltdown and breaks out of his little prison, steals the spare key to his apartment, and ends up burrowing in the bed wearing utajhaiws clothes and sleeping on his side of the bed because he feels so fucking bad about what he did to him. but uhhhhhhh.

apparently nunjor also decided to pay a visit that night. and tsiksos, in some nightmare-sleep-haze, reacts to nunjor trying to wake him as if he were ûtainoz - meaning he tried to apologize through offering his body. rubbing his hands on his thighs, face in his crotch (since nunjor was standing at the side of the bed). when nunjor gently corrected him and woke him (not that he would have been upset at the idea of fucking him again, buth he didnt seem to be in the right headspace) it actually uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh sent tsiksos into a worse panic. scrambling out of the bed. tripping on something. breaking a glass.

oh, hello ptsd - it sure is nice crab-scrambling backwards on your hands and bare feet over glass while hyperventilating and sobbing so hard you genuinely cant see. again, laishti and rîshja to the rescue getting him back to kaqur and jashru.

so heres where the fun happens. ûtainoz comes back. hes genuinely changed for the better, he is apologetic. he wants to make it up to the person he hurt the worst. does tsiksos take him up on that? yes. should he have? yes, actually, because he needed the closure.

they start rekindling what little flame they had together. days turn into weeks, months, and theyre getting along just fine. apparently nunjor had left, and tsiksos had no comm - by the time tsiksos noticed, it was uh. almost a little too late.

theres a time where tsiksos and ûtainoz are in a speeder together and ohhhh nunjor is a poet, its in his full name, but he also composes. he sings. and he sings about how badly someone has just lifted him higher than ever before dropping him down into nothing. tsiksos has a breakdown on the lawn of some random recreational park.

things will get better again, though! somewhere along the way, tsiksos and ûtainoz make peace with who they are and who they were. nunjor comes back and he and tsiksos talk it out. they forgive each other. and then tsiksos and utajhaiw reunite. they explain a lot. they forgive each other.

tsiksos/utajhaiw/nunjor throuple endgame is the only thing that matters to me actually.

thanks for coming to my ted talk i love you so much

[solardick]

So she’s the girl I’m supposed to come out of the closet to. Sorry girl. Im a queer now. Ive be fagetized. Im going to be alone to the end of dsys now. And this typing is going to continue to be only thing to talk too. Too bad its corrupted by shadow assholes. B cause im just here to be fucked and nothing else. Its the whole readon of being alive. Just being fucked whike having no participation in life.

Dorsnt matter ill be dead soon anyway. If not this year. Then its the next. Or the year after that. But, its comming soon.

I dont want to be apart of a workd tgat promotes torture to suicide as a divine thing. The workd is too fucked ip and corrupted to live in anyway.

I dont care about having a single human connection with anyone anymore.

She’s a burnt out loser. Im a burnt out loser. Whos been fucked for over the last 26 years. Hope she isnt expecting much.

So you’re going to hook me up with the one human race i have zero sexual interest in. Uh.

So human beings have body hair, for the reason of disgust. By-passing the disgust factor trigger tgat keeps moderation on sexual practices. “i wouldn’t eat out a hairy pussy. That shits disgusting!” “ i would sate a girl woth hairy legs or a beard! That shot is disgusting!” When the hornanal starts to fluctuate and activate there is little in the way to jeep the conscious didposition seperate from the instinctual.

I dont want to be apart of a world thst does nothing but lie to me everydingle day. While preaching about the war of misinfiration. And the gay catalyst war with russia.

So far so good, i honestly can’t tell if she’s playing me or not. But she wants sex. And im even less capable bow then o was before.

But, i guess she can take my slut aspects for herself. I don’t want to do that but, whatever. Like anyone cares.

Not much to say on my dearh bed but. Im done. Im beaten. I was born. Fell doemwb the stairs. End of story.

Fuess im not sleepign again either. Too bad i cant lose my job uh? Get fired for sleep deprivation. Sotty until i stop havign a vagina. I cant function.

I dont think im

Going to work anymore. Think im just going to

Stop. Dont rhink j can hold a job anymore. Alchohol and suicide. Indint have a choice. Being abused into suicide.

I almost dies again yesterday.

You come to terms with the fact your being murdered by your entire comminity.

Hahjaah im being murdered. And no one gives a shit.

A bottle of hard stuff and a noose and my problems are over.

Everytime the world puts itself over me to do

What it whats. Which has been a whole. Counting 40 years of never failing. Its never once worked out to my benefit.

Most of it is displacing me from place to place. Being beaten on. Half the time, unfairly. Being drugged. And now wrll its always been to this purpose for the last 20- years or so. Always setting me up to fall. And noone ever coming in to be on my side in anything. If it doesnt allow thrm to be over me one way or another. Even if its just conversationally. Watching ehile everyone knows thinking your an idiot. Not knowing whats comming. Ive known for almost 20 years. God, the internal one, tood me in a dream. All those years ago. As i stand here and watch you guys rape my existance. For something indont even deserve. I dotn want to be alive anymore. So that other people can feel supperior over me. Thats all life has ever been.

If my family ever cared about me they wouldnt have beaten me into suicide.

And the world is never going ti stop fucking with me. I dont have much of a choice but to kill myself do i?

Should tell ger that to. To stay away from me for her own protection. Save that they come after her for supporting me. But she’s in on it anyeay. Somi doesnt matter does it?

Born cursed by this demon. Never knowing what life is. My entire existance. I cant do it anymore.

Wonder if after this their going to beat me into

Another beligerent mess ao they can have an excuse to be me some more.

Should have fucken killed myself when i tirned 35 like i said i would.

What do you mean, the cameras in my appartment watching me every moment of everyday. Zero privacy. So it’s constant pressure. Cant really do anything.

What the childhood sex addiction i had when i was a child. That ruined my life? Killed another life, And the harmed lives of the ones i loved. I dont think i know hoe to live ithout having n addiction.

Your an alcholic whis been sober for the last 25 years? Hey, man i got a case of 24. Want a beer?

Hey you know what. Im going to leave this bottle of whisky here. While me and all my friends treat you like dog shit. And record you.

Well i coild try wuitting smoking again. Gives them one less …someword, to dose me with.

Liok at what it turned my family into. A bunch if inbred retards. Bent on demonic spychopathic, sociopathis bs. And look at what its fone to the rest of the community around me. Turned all of them into the same. Fueled by bs. Acting on bs. Running on hatred. And they all play into it like a bunch of fucken idiots. Slave to thus demon running their lives.

If this continues for much longer i

Not going to survive.

Wow. Im turninf into an asshole. Start shittinf on everyone.

Paid suspension.

What are you doing here. Get out if my van im noy done yet. No, get out im not done yet. Complaint. Fucken femmes.

After listening for 10 months of cursing and swering and throwing shit around. Sexual and racial derogatories. Yeah ok.

Everyone can treat me

Like

Dog shit and rape my existance. Blow dhit out of proportion. Add in their own bs. But, i cant even do anything.

Oh well back to warhammer. Kill some lowlives. Still being fucked. Iust like childhood.

And if and when inmake complaints like yhat. It gets blown right out the window. Doesnt matter.

[sodrippy]

hii op anon here, how are ya? how have you been?

i just started zou, and i've had the heart pirates for like two pages but i love them already

i ended up getting really into dressrosa, i think oda's getting better at weaving together separate plotlines rather than just clunking them together

and i know that the plotlines tend to converge on one theme anyway but the way this arc was all about like, family, and carrying on someone's legacy and love protecting you from the shadows and beyond the grave....

like sabo :') (i think it's really cute how luffy reverts to baby brother mode when he's around his family, he's just a little guy!) (what do you think about sabo?)

also fucking.. law's backstory... you were right it really is a lot. i'm just glad he gets to fulfill cora's wishes now and be free :') , but i also feel sad because he felt like he *had* to get revenge on doflamingo and was fully expecting to die there... "don't ever attach a reason to the love you've received" i will be thinking about that forever

what are your thoughts about his backstory?

i do like how his backstory makes it clear that he showed up at marineford Not because he's mister strategist 5d chess but because he's a sweetheart

and i love that he thought of the alliance as transactional but the strawhats just keep treating them as one of their own. get loved idiot. i also find his and luffy's dynamic interesting bc he's not dependent on or responsible for luffy. he's an actual peer which i feel like we haven't seen as much? like ig koby is supposed to be his foil but that kind of falls flat

bart and cabbage are such fun silly freaks, you were right they're so funny with their opposite treatment of luffy, i also love the gladiator bestieisms. what do you think of the whole straw hat fleet? when do you think we'll be seeing them again? (if you do know when they show up again please lie to me haha)

also... is it me or is it getting like... more misogynistic? like all the women now either need to be rescued or are villains. viola was a literal officer of the dofy family but as soon as she's one of the good guys she's just kind of sitting there? and rebecca is the undefeated woman but someone else has to keep saving her? the fuck? even robin is demoted to mainly just running errands and ends up having to depend on bart and cav. boo!!

i'm excited to see the little blond freak again, and also excited to hear from you! hope you're having a wonderful day!! mwah!

hii!! im good, ive been really busy but im almost on vacation so yay! i hope youve been well!!

yay im glad you liked dressrosa! i LOVE sabo he's one of my alltime faves out of the series, i wish he was around more but also ofc he isnt. his reunion w luffy was so sweet i hope they can see more of each other but obviously yknow...plot happens.

law's backstory was sooo much, i already knew that cora died but i didn't know the rest of it and it was really heartbreaking! i know this is a pretty central theme of the whole series but i still think theres something so moving about how deeply law was impacted by cora and how he carried that will and love on for decades even though he only really knew cora for like a year, and equally how cora was willing to give his life up for a kid who didnt like him and hed known for such a short time like, idk, the power of love and all that !

i loved that bit where usopp (i think) has to clarify like, 'law you think this is an Alliance and its temporary but luffy absolutely thinks you're besties now. just to be clear. you cant get out of this now sorry.'

yeah no very true about law and luffy really being peers in a kind of unique way! the thing w koby is he'll always have that hero worship for luffy right, although hes definitely getting stronger/more confident in his own arcs but still. its very funny and sweet to see law have to show he does care bc luffy is just so open its impossible to act aloof around him.

that was one of my fave parts of dressrosa, seeing all these new weird guys and how they interact. i love the strawhat fleet, i hope we get to see at least glimpses of them, bc im assuming they wont all come back together until near the end? like when luffy is making some Big Final Charge or something yknow? the whole thing where they tried to make luffy drink the ceremonial toast thing and he just wouldnt do it was so so funny.

no absolutely i thought the EXACT same thing! its getting. really really bad. first off rebeccas outfit? awful. honestly all the womens outfits post-ts have been getting progressively worse and worse i have to just fully block it out. and exactly shes undefeated for YEARS but she needs a hero? ok. and viola is strong and smart enough to be a high level officer but like you said the SECOND she switches sides she disappears...come on... ugh i know, i feel like they totally nerf'd robins powers or something like she can do SO MUCH and they never let her bc it would outshine the guys or something. it's ok at least she gets some really cool moments in wano you can look forward to!

i read on the wiki that while the manga was on the end of dressrosa/start of zou arcs, sanji didnt show up for like a YEAR. can you imagine reading it as it was being published and having to wait a year to see your favourite pathetic blond man?? id be crushed. but he'll be back so soon for you, yay!

mwah thank you, it's always so nice and so fun to hear from you!! i hope youre having a lovely day as well 🥰

[corvidshipping]

fuck it b.tb s/i lore dump

(EXTREMELY long post under the cut. sincerely. genuinely. i wrote a novel. also, spoilers)

born Jane Child (in some legal documents its spelled as Jane C.hilde cause yknow how spelling was just straight up not standardized back then) sometime in the late 1400s (the date im using is 1490 but that could change very easily.

mildly poor family, not exactly peasants but tradesmen by birth. blacksmiths, carpenters, etc.

bc their family was yknw. lower class. they started studying/training to work very early on since it was necessary for them to help support their family since they very likely wouldnt get much from marrying. so between like 11-14 years old they started studying under a local midwife and eventually became apprenticed to her.

eventually became pretty good at it and started doing it on their own in early adulthood. became known as trustworthy, clean, and supportive.

married at around eighteenISH. to a man named nicholas fletcher, who was (huge surprise) a generational arrowmaker. his family had passed down a shop... or something.. for generations.

they were definitely bi and nb the entire time but bc of the restrictions of the era they never reaaaally realized it. jane and nicholas were never really. in love. there was no hate or anything they cared about each other very much but they were more best friends than anything else. in fact they probably never actually said i love you to each other like. ever.

bore a son that same year, who would be named bartholomew fletcher. barty for short :-)

stuff happens etc etc and they eventually get Ye Olde 15th Century Callout Post and accused of beign a witch by a noblewoman and was executed for it aroooouuund 1511-1516ish.

these next few points will be presented in greentext format bc i think its the funniest possible way to explain it

>be me, simple english midwife wrongly executed for witchcraft >spend the next several centuries in a dreamless slumber underground >wake up randomly one day >whole council of Shadowy Figures is standing over me >they explain ive been chosen for a "special purpose" and its an "honor" >mfw

>they ask me if ill go to the surface to find some dude they claim used to work for him but went insane and got too "dangerous to the veil" to keep around >dont understand but say okay anyway cause anything is better than being underground any longer >get up there, everything is weird and bright and different now >realize i have weird burns on my face from being burnt at the FUCKING stake >they (the shadow figures) told me no one can know what im doing so find a passable mask in a thrift shop >random child is walking on the street alone, apparently lost >help her home bc im dead, not a bad person >disappear before her mom sees >days pass, im at the city center >drew up my own wanted posters for the guy bc i have no clue where else to start >a group of people starts staring at me >look to see why >its the same FUCKING child i walked home days ago >she recognized the dumbass mask >whyaretheyinclownmakeup.jpeg >runaway.jpeg >think i escaped cleanly but they find me from the wanted poster >try to think of a lie on the spot but instead i claim im a janitor >a janitor. at a park. >claim the guy was wanted for trespassing and being a general nuisance >they seem to buy the story and leave >FINALLY find the bastard whos behind all this >pull out the magic bigass chain i got given by the Creepy Shadow People >thisisntevenmyfinalform.jpeg >he pulls out an even bigger hammer >ohfuck.jpeg >he homeruns me through a goddamn WALL. >end up landing next to the same weird clownpeople who almost figured me out the first time >apparently the guy merked their boss ??? >explain the story to them and theyre weirdly cool about it >decide to take a psychological approach, go back down underground and ask for the fun special book with everyones entire life story in it >ohoho ive got you now motherfucker. >random puppet seller or something who died alone, who cares >wait whos that >ohfuckpart2.jpeg >guy isnt a rogue agent at all, the new HBIC is the person who murdered him and they dont want him to be a problem for them. >struggle morally >find him again, try to explain whats going on and convince him hes in danger >he is not having it >the big fucking hammer is back again. >fuck this, time to activate my special ability: Big Ass Fucking Wrecking Ball >cold wind blows >the HBIC has arrived. >says i took too long so now theyre doing it themself. >pent up rage at wrongful execution 500 years ago builds up >guess i didnt deal with that trauma as well as i thought >animefight.jpeg >literally kill death themself. >shadow people come back to drag me back underground >wait no, theyre actually asking me if i want to be death now since i killed them >or i can go back underground and sleep peacefully for the rest of time and dream of my former life >show me what will happen if i choose to take the scythe >looks boring and lonely as shit to do for the rest of forever >show me my ex-husband and son who i will dream of if i go back >really struggle with it >remember that guy i was hired to find >remember clownpeople i bonded with while hunting his ass >god it has to be lonely for him to be the only dead guy walking on earth huh. >fine.jpeg >everyone is shocked to see me come back >they were sure i was gonna peace out after that bullshit >lolno.jpeg >tell dude hes stuck with my annoying ass now >he acts super irritated with it >end up spending time around him because our jobs cross paths >hes kinda funny in a mildly frightening way >deliberately spend more time around him because its not like theres anyone else around >shit hes kinda cool >shit hes kinda hot in a dead guy way what do i do, i think im in love with him now.

[roniscloud]

lhs - runnin’

lee heeseung [a. + f. 4700 words] runnin’

to you

you came up on some new

i know i shouldn’t feel blue

‘cause i was runnin’ out of time for you

synopsis: you met heeseung in your freshman year of college and immediately hit it off. you’ve made it to your third year and when everyone including yourselves thought that you were each other’s endgame, the devastation when you two split was immeasurable. you both know there’s still love between you. this break allows you both to realize new things. can you two find your ways back to each other? will this be the final goodbye?

genre + tropes: angst. fluff. comedy. college!au. establishedrelationship!au. exes!au.

warnings: fem reader. swearing. arguing. nosy friends. cold heeseung and cold reader. drifting relationship. interventions. slight suggestive themes but it’s only mentioned like once. they both pine over each other. mentions of alcohol and binge drinking. maybe not a happy ending. if you choose to see it that way. whoops. appearances of the rest of enha plus txt yeonjun and soobin.

i.  the break

“so this is how it’s gonna end? i thought we were doing fine.”

heeseung erupts into an even angrier fit, “are you kidding me? we are not fucking fine. in what world is this fine? tell me!”

you scoff from where you stand cross-armed on the other side of the bedroom. “well, can you really blame me? it’s hard to see if there’s something wrong if we never see each other.”

“exactly my point! we don’t see each other.”

the two of you have been at each other’s throats since heeseung showed up at your apartment. you have no idea how long ago that was or when the argument started. all you remember is coming up to him when he arrived, wanting to actually spend some time with him. instead he shrugged you off and ignored you, blaming the fatigue. the rest has been a blur. one of you made an offhand comment and now here you are: frustrated and in another fight.

a quick recap: you two met at a mutual friend’s party. you thought that each other was attractive and he ended up asking you out. from there you kept going out, fell in love, dated, and everyone thought you were perfect together. three years later and it’s getting tiring. life has been draining trying to balance it all.

“and who’s fault is that?”

annoyed, he snaps back, “oh please, you can not put the blame solely on me.”

“bullshit. i sure can when i’m the only one making an effort here. i’ve actually been trying to save us. you, on the other hand…” you pause again, rolling your eyes, “well, we both know just how much you care.”

his jaw drops, defensively he spits back, “are you genuinely implying that i don’t care about you? about us? that’s rich.”

you move to sit on the edge of the bed, staring at a single spot on the floor. you can see the shadow of heeseing pacing back and forth. you sit there, not looking at each other. the only sounds to be heard are his footsteps and the heavy sighs from you. you think back to the last several weeks. you recall each of the times you have been able to see each other. there’s no substance, nothing memorable. the only thing that comes to mind is that you always end up not talking at all or arguing.

just like right now.

“be real, heesung. when was the last time we went on a date? when was the last time you stayed the night without it ending up with you just knocking out? when was the last time we actually sat down and had a conversation? be honest because i will. i can’t remember.”

“and yet you thought we were fine?”

“well it’s better to believe a good lie than face the hurtful truth. i’m trying to save this relationship. i’m trying all the fucking time and you don’t do shit.”

he spits back frustrated, “well maybe that’s because there’s nothing to be saved.”

“are you kidding me right now? am i supposed to be scared? you tell me that there’s nothing to be saved and expect me to just give up?”

“sorry but i’m not running from this anymore.”

“you’re not sorry and we both know it.” you push yourself back up to stand, resting your hands on your hips, “you can’t say you’re sorry and expect me to forgive you. that’s not how this works.”

“this isn’t what i wanted to happen. this isn’t how it was supposed to go.”

“then make it work.”

“i- i can’t,” he holds his hands over his face, running one through his hair, “it’s too much.”

“so what? what do you mean?”

he finally stops. he takes a deep breath and lets it all out, “i just can’t see this working anymore, at least not like this.”

ii. week one

you thought this would be more difficult. that this would be the hardest pill to swallow. the first week apart may actually be the easiest. nothing has really changed. that’s probably because you haven’t told anyone that you two are no longer together. perhaps the time that you didn’t spend with each other before the break up had trained you for this.

life goes on, with or without heeseung. that’s what you keep telling yourself. you choose to get caught up with your life. you have other priorities. it’s not a crime to focus on yourself for the first time in three years.

heeseung feels the same. he doesn’t see any point on dwelling on the breakup. sure, he was the one who made the decision. he’s the one who put it out there. he’s the one who ended it and the one who is taking responsibility.

lucky for both of you, you don’t have any courses together and your schedules don’t really coincide. there’s no chance at any awkward run-ins. there is this weird, tiny feeling though. there’s this small inkling of something missing. you both suppress it. i mean, hell, the breakup just happened.

iii. scheming

meanwhile, your friends have all seemed to notice that the two of you are off. they aren’t sure what it is. they get that you two have had some time apart, but you’re both adults with lives. you have your own classes, jobs, other friends, and such. no one mentions it because they don’t think it’s their business.

but come on… there’s no way they won’t get to the bottom of it. our resident gossips, sunoo and sunghoon, team up and make it their mission to snoop around. of course, they take precautions to not get caught. the scheming duo find out nothing, to no avail.

now the gang of the scheming duo plus jay, jake, and niki have convened in the common room of jungwon’s dorm building. the 02z are all playing billiards in one corner. sunoo battles jungwon in a game of ping pong. the youngest of the group sits by himself on one of the couches, contemplating if he should speak up. they’ve been in a heated discussion as they try to figure out what exactly has been irking them.

riki, against his own conscience, speaks up to the five. he has this gut feeling and innocently wants to voice his opinion. “what if,” the young boy start out while gauging the faces of the others, “now don’t get mad and just hear me out.” he stops again, taking his time to make eye contact with each of the older boys, waiting until they all nod, “what if… they broke up?”

the group of friends all exchange glances with each other before breaking out into laughter. jay composes himself a bit, still chuckling when he says, “seriously? you think they broke up? heeseung and y/n? yeah, no way.”

sunoo leans onto the ping pong table and eggs him on, “they are literally soulmates.”

jungwon sets his racket down and goes to plop himself next to riki on the couch, “there is no way in hell the two of them split.”

iv. breaking news

“yeah, we split.” plain and simple. three words that crushed the poor hearts of jake and jungwon. he broke the news over brunch. he sensed their curiosity when they deliberately never brought you up. 

“good joke there, dude. almost had me for a second.” jake says, awkwardly with a forced laugh.

the youngest of the three chiming in and agreeing, “yeah, that’s really funny.” a silence hits the booth. “you are joking… right?”

the oldest then looks back and forth between the two, tilting his head to one side like a confused pup. he doesn’t see why they think he would joke and simply replies, “nope. you guys haven’t asked so i’m guessing you tried to snoop around and pick up on my cues. i’m also guessing sunoo’s behind this whole operation.”

“ok wait,” jake interjects, “what do you mean you broke up? you can’t just break up.”

jungwon agrees, “he’s right. you two are just playing a prank on us.”

“guys, i’m serious. y/n and i are no longer together.” the two just freeze, jaws dropped, eyes wide. “besides, it’s better this way.”

v. bad timing

meanwhile the remaining four members of their friend group have met up in the campus library in an attempted study session. so far, they’ve just gone back to gossiping and slacking off. the boys all find themselves teetering on the verge of sleep. that is until sunghoon catches you walking in. immediately going to softly pat the others back awake, they all look up confused. trying to stay subtle, hoon jerks his head to the side in your direction.

you make your way to one of the shelves, searching high and low for a book you need for your literature class. sneaking up behind you comes choi yeonjun, the library aid and a friend of yours. 

“need any help?”

“no thanks, i’m good jun.” you give him a polite smile.

unbeknownst to both of you, the failure of a study group has creeped to a closer table. they knew that you two were friends but they still can’t help but eavesdrop. “will you two please shut up so we can hear them?” the annoyed face evident on sunghoon’s face at the bickering of sunoo and niki. he turns to see jay, snacking and not paying attention. he rolls his eyes at the group, his gaze then catching yeonjun leading you out of the shelves. quickly shushing the three and nodding his head in your direction again, they finally get the hint.

yeonjun steps in front of you, “so you know my friend soobin, right?”

“soobin… as in choi soobin?”

yeonjun flashes his bright smile, “that’s the one.”

“yeah i know him. we had a stats class together a while back. he definitely taught me a few tricks around a calculator.” you laugh with him, “he’s super sweet, and needless to say cute too.”

“well, am i glad to hear that! long story short, he’s kinda been crushing on you lately and wants to know if you’re free. he mentioned your shared class before but he said he never got your number.”

“since you have mine already, go ahead and give it to him. tell him i’m free whenever he is.”

yeonjun raises his eyebrows at your boldness, “will do. i just wanted to ask you first before i gave it to him because… y’know…”

“no worries, i completely understand.”

he gives a quick goodbye before going back to his desk. storming quickly, four faces appear in front of you, all a combination of confusion, shock, and anger. 

sunoo starts, “um… y/n. why are you telling yeonjun to give your number to another guy?”

“yeah, are you cheating on heeseung?” his partner in crime, sunghoon, joins in.

you pause and scan their faces. your face dawns an equally as confused expression. “how can i cheat on someone who isn’t my boyfriend?”

four jaws simultaneously drop. riki’s being the first to close and answer a bit hushed, “i knew it.”

jay turns to him in disbelief, “not the time, niki!”

“did heeseung not tell you guys?” you ask them slowly. “i assumed he would be the one to let you all know.”

“that you two broke up?!” sunoo asks angrily, being shushed by yeonjun from the counter. giving an apologetic smile then tuning back into your conversation, “what do you mean you two broke up?”

“we just… broke up. that’s it. end of story. now if you’ll excuse me, i have to actually study.”

they watch you check out the book you came in for originally and walk out the doors, unsure of what to do next.

vi. the intervention

arranging your monthly movie night was not exactly the easiest task given the tensions surrounding two people in your group. so the only logical solution that they all could think of was to simply not to tell one of you that the other was coming over. a fool-proof plan.

in the dorm of the 02z, you did not expect to see heeseung when you walked in.

he gets up from his spot on the couch, “what the hell is going on here?”

“yeah, an explanation would be nice.” you cross your arms as you glare at the younger boys.

niki, trying to act as mediator gestures for both of you two sit on the loveseat—the same loveseat that was always reserved for the two of you before. “this is an intervention.”

after the confession of their intentions, everyone goes quiet. not a single word is spoken for several minutes, no one knowing how to start. after much internal contemplation, jungwon finally attempts to start. “we brought you two here today because- you know what, i can’t do this.” he stops and cuts himself off, burying his face in his hands.

sunoo sits next to him with his arms crossed. “how dare you two? our parents gets divorced and we don’t even get a notice.” it was common for them to refer to you and heeseung as the parents of the group, being the oldest. although something about sunoo still calling you by that nickname stings, him shaking his head to display his disappointment making you feel guilty. 

you see heeseung out of the corner of your eye avoiding looking up to your friends. “look, i don’t see the big deal. we broke up. that happens when relationships don’t work out.”

sunghoon quickly intervenes, “how can you say it isn’t a big deal? you’re letting three years go to waste and that’s all you can say? that’s what happens.” he scoffs at how shameless you come off.

“well, would you rather us stay together even when we were unhappy?” their reactions were a mix of shouts, the words yes, of course not, and duh all blending into each other.

that’s what brought your ex boyfriend out of his daze. “y/n has a point. we broke up and it’s over. we were no longer happy and i don’t see the point in bringing it up again either. it’s in the past. let it go.” he says rather coldly and sternly. him actually saying it and acknowledging it caused that weird feeling to come back. his body language is off, too. your years together has taught you enough about heeseung to know when he’s upset, especially with himself.

jake takes his turn, looking down at his fidgeting hands and muttering sadly, “but you promised each other forever.”

that prompts you and heeseung to glance at each other quickly, making eye contact and it lingering for a couple of seconds. you look away first, not noticing that his stare doesn’t leave you.”some promises just can’t be kept.” your response then making him turn away.

“bullshit.” it’s the first word uttered by jay this entire time. “neither of you are the type to break promises.”

“some things can’t be helped,” heeseung defends.

jay, getting angrier, asks his friend, “did you know that she’s already going on a date? yeah, that guy, soobin. i’m pretty sure you know who he is. your ex,” he makes sure to stress the last word with a certain degree of annoyance, “thinks he’s cute.”

emotionless, heeseung answers back, “good for her, then.”

you were sure that you were over him, that’s why you said yes to the date. but something about him not caring leaves you feeling odd.

jungwon stops your train of thought, “no, you’re supposed to be upset. you’re supposed to get jealous and confess you still want to be with her. you’re supposed to fight for her and be together.”

another quick glance between the two of you, lasting longer than the previous one. no words are said on his end, but you know exactly what he’s trying to say. “he doesn’t have to fight when i’m the one who ended it.” you knew him. you knew he couldn’t admit to the others his decision. after all, he wants to be a good role model even in his darkest times. he couldn’t crush their idea of love and you did what you had to do. you lied for his sake—and maybe even yours.

vii. him

two months have passed since the breakup. there’s tension amongst the friend group, the six not wanting to pick sides between you and heeseung. they’re constantly going back and forth, like they’re walking on eggshells as to not bring up something that only happened with the other.

to get your mind off everything, you’ve found comfort in soobin. well, more accurately you’ve found comfort in between his sheets, or wherever you two decide for it to go down. that’s not to say the dates aren’t great. you’re not official and you both know that. your latest date, however, couldn’t help but feel weird.

the date was going pretty well. don’t get me wrong—soobin is a great guy. he’s sweet, caring, funny, and handsome. you have a lot in common like your taste in drinks and movies. maybe if you had met him first, you would’ve dated him… but you didn’t meet him first. you met heeseung first, and soobin isn’t heeseung.

you found yourself drifting from the conversation now and then, thinking about how heeseung would’ve been at that moment. you think back to his habits, particularly the way he raises his eyebrows whenever he’s excited or talking about something he’s passionate about. you always found it endearing. over the course of dinner, you are able to notice that soobin has some cute habits too, like him covering his face when he gets shy or puffing out his cheeks. but it still isn’t the same.

“you two deserve each other.”

soobin catches your attention again with that comment. “what?”

“you and heeseung. i know that look. don’t try to lie to me.”

“look, heeseung is my past, and i want it to stay that way.”

“do you really want it to stay that way, or are you just afraid of what could happen if you let him back into your present?”

you give him a teasing glare, “don’t get all philosophical with me. i just don’t think he and i can go back to how we were before.”

“what’s so bad about you two changing? obviously if it didn’t work out, you shouldn’t try to be what you were before.”

“can’t i just try with you?”

“as much as i would love for you to give me that chance, i can’t do that to you or to myself. it’s not fair.”

you hesitantly ask him, “but is it worth it?”

“that’s not my decision to make.”

viii. her

now that you’re virtually not in his life, he seems to be looking for you everywhere. actually… rather than going out of his way to look for you, everything just reminds him of you. the jingles of the commercials you always sang along to, your favorite songs on the radio, the reruns of 90’s shows you always binged. hell, even when he was making ramen, he was reminded of how you would make his favorite for him every time he was stressed over an exam. he was sitting in the back of the lecture hall, trying so hard to stay awake for his 3 hour long class with the most boring professor on campus. he fought the urge to text you since it felt like second nature to rely on you to help cheer him up.

there was a particular night when it really hit him. reality smacked him in the face late one evening. heeseung was bored out of his mind, laying alone in bed, aimlessly browsing netflix to find something to watch. he thinks to himself y/n would’ve slammed this laptop closed and talked all night about random and obscure topics. he laughs to himself, reliving the memories. right then, it’s obvious. he misses her.

ix. promises

the rain hitting your bedroom window had no help on your already gloomy mood. what did help was the bottle of soju- well more realistically, four bottles of soju. it was all the liquid courage you needed to call heeseung at three in the morning. 

you sat drowsily on the rug of your living room, your phone on speaker and placed in front of you as you stared out the dewy glass. you heard the phone ring seven times, ready to hang up until you heard his groggy voice come out from the other end. “hello? y/n, why are you up?”

you laugh softly and ask him, sounding loopy, “why are you up?”

“because you’re calling me. would you like to give me a reason why, and are you drunk?”

“maybe. anyways, you know… i was thinking. we broke a lot of promises and it hurts. i have to know that we’re not bad people. i have to keep at least one, right?”

heeseung groans but lets you ramble, knowing that you won’t stop until you’ve said it all, “go on…”

“we made a promise that if something was going on, if we were in a dark place, that we would talk to someone. well, if you couldn’t tell by now, i’m not in the best place. the first person i thought to talk to was you.”

“why me?”

“shhh… don’t ask questions. i know you’re tired so just stay on the phone and let me talk. ok?”

he goes quiet for a bit, sighing, “ok.”

“i miss you. i do. i don’t expect you to miss me but i just want to say it,” pausing to hiccup, “soobin helped me realize some things, saying some crap like we deserve each other.” you chuckle as you recall his words, “maybe he said it because bad people deserve bad people. maybe he said it because in our own fucked up lives, we’re the only ones who can understand each other. i did a lot of thinking and i’ve come to the conclusion that we don’t. because if we stay together, we can’t move on. we can’t grow. we can’t become good people, no matter how much we want it. that’s life. sometimes, no matter how much we want something, no matter how much we wish on stars or pray, some things just aren’t meant to be.”

“y/n, get some rest…”

“wait, i’m not done. you already can tell i’ve been drinking and to be honest i have been, for a while. i do it,” starting to choke up and sniffle, “because it helps me forget. even if it’s just for a minute that i can forget what happened, i’ll drink as much as it takes. i’ll grow out of it, eventually. i know i will, but for now… i have to do what i have to do. i’m sure you can relate.” you laugh again, getting more drowsy. you bring your legs up, hugging your knees. faintly, the sounds of heeseung’s snores play from your phone. you smile to yourself, “i wish you were here, singing me a lullaby. i don’t know when you fell asleep but goodnight. take care of yourself.”

cuddled up in his bed, heeseung hears you hang up. he lets you believe he didn’t hear what you said. he knows the reality of it all and the weight that you both are carrying. knowing that you won’t check your phone for the rest of the night, he sends you a quick text: bookstore, saturday, noon. goodnight.

as he turns off his phone to try to fall back asleep, he sees his reflection in the black screen. he sees his puffy, red eyes and his tear-stained cheeks. the end of it all is coming and finally, you two are ready for it.

x. love song

seeing him in person is a good idea. clearing the air, letting it all out, getting closure. all good ideas, you hope. walking into the bookstore was a weird feeling. when you spot him sitting by the window, you quietly make your way over. he looks up at your new presence, his feet shuffling out of nervousness. you notice the glass of pear juice on the small coffee table in front of him, already half empty.

“hi,” he says like a whisper.

“hi,” you awkwardly respond. it’s unlike the two of you to not know how to start a conversation. you make your way onto the cushioned seat, letting yourself get comfortable to help ease the tension. you each avoid the other’s gaze, not knowing how to begin. you sigh and finally ask, “how have you been?”

“busy,” he says as he nods, “finally took up actual music lessons. thought it would be better to have someone who’s played piano and guitar professionally instead of trying to teach myself.”

you softly giggle, “that’s good. you’ve always loved music.”

“yeah… how about you?”

“same, busy. i got the t.a position i applied for like forever ago.”

“congrats! you still looking to become a teacher?”

“well, generally yeah. i was having my doubts before but i just fell back into it. finally being able to be there, present, and guiding others… that’s what i want.” you sit there across from him, watching him and taking it all in. the man in front of you is heeseung, but not the heeseung you knew. no, this is the better version of him. the version of him where he can focus on himself. the version of heeseung that’s glowing and happy and ready to take on the world. “so, look. there’s no easy or delicate way to put it but i think there are things we both need to get off our chests.”

“agreed. since it all happened—the fights, the breakups, the ambush interventions—we haven’t actually talked.”

“those interventions… they were silly but the guys did help me realize some things. we’re growing up. sure, i thought we had this plan of us graduating, getting married, having a family, settling down, growing old. we both wanted that type of life. sadly, it’s not what happened and we have to live with it.”

he lets out a chuckle, “heeseung and y/n: meant for each other and meant to be.”

“but not meant to last. what a bittersweet and poetic ending."

“it’s like people always say: right person, wrong time.”

“you know… you used to tell me that our love song was the soundtrack to the best life you could live.” you reach out and take his hand in yours, “i just,” pausing to take a deep breath and compose yourself, “i just want you to know… that if anything happens-”

he cuts you off with a quiet gasp, whispering your name with a shaky voice, “don’t.”

you shake your head and gently squeeze his hand, “if anything happens… if in the end, we don’t find our way back and it isn’t us, don’t think we ended on a bad note.” you drop your head as you chuckle lightly before continuing, “cause you were always on key.” you give him a small grin, trying your hardest to not make things worse by crying. “we were just playing different tunes.”

he pulls you in closer to him, placing his hands softly on your cheeks. “i always hated seeing you cry,” he says as he wipes away the tears on your face, not bothering about his own. he wraps his arms around you, holding you close for the last time. 

you stay there in his warmth, hearing him sniffle as he tries to hold back the falling tears. when you pull away, you tell him “i will always love you. maybe not in the way i thought i would but it’s still there.”

“maybe in our next life, it’ll be the right time.” with that, he leaves a kiss on your forehead, leaves the bookstore, and leaves your life. your duet that worked in perfect harmony now playing a beautiful cadence—two wandering artists, free to fill your own wretched worlds with new melodies, the bliss and tranquility of it all. the hope that maybe one day, you’ll be in each other’s lives again is enough.

[spacedikut]

“i want to love someone and be loved” ; spencer reid - part 2

pairing: spencer reid (criminal minds) x f!reader

summary: spencer decides it’s time to tell you, but he needs some help. 3887 words. part 1

a/n: THIS is the longest fic ive ever written but im actually kinda proud of how it turned out? i hope this is a good sequel :)

Spencer chickens out of telling you the next day.

He avoids you all weekend, actually. You resisted texting him the day after Rossi’s because you assumed he’d be busy – with his big plan involving a girl that isn’t you. You’re not bitter – but Sunday comes around and you message him not long after you wake up and six hours later there’s no response.

Twelve hours later - there’s no response.

Monday, you don’t have time to say hello to anyone – there’s a case waiting for you, somewhere in Florida.

Reid avoids your eyes. His body language tells you something is wrong, so you assume whoever he confessed to didn’t reciprocate (they’re insane) and he’s dealing with it. So you don’t press.

Spencer pretends to sleep the entire jet ride. He’s avoiding everyone, not just you.

He spent the whole weekend beating himself up. He drove to your apartment on Saturday, sat outside for so long a neighbour knocked on his window and asked if he was lost, but couldn’t bring himself to step foot out of his car.

So he locked himself in his room, away from you and your loveliness and away from his phone because he knew you texted him and he knew you’d send some soft message about being there for him if he needs anything and he didn’t need to be reminded of how beautiful and out of reach you are.

Derek seemed to be waiting for him Monday morning, arms crossed as he held a cup of coffee. It was weird seeing him in before Spencer.

“How’d it go?” He immediately asked.

“How’d what go?” Spencer mumbles, flinging his bag on the floor by his desk. He slumps in his seat.

Derek raises a dark eyebrow, “You know what, pretty boy. You had a big thing? Big plan?”

“Didn’t work out.”

It doesn’t take a profiler to realise Spencer is very clearly saying leave me alone. Leave it alone.

Derek isn’t one to leave it alone. Especially when it comes to Spencer.

He sighs and moves a little closer to Spencer’s desk, just in case someone overhears them.

“What happened?”

“That’s exactly it,” Spencer slams open a file, “Nothing happened.”

“And why did nothing happen?”

“Because I’m an idiot that can’t even tell a girl how I feel.”

“Whoa- hey!”

Derek spins Spencer’s chair so they’re face to face. Derek takes one look in Spencer’s eyes and knows what’s going on – he got too into his head and backed out at the last minute.

“You’re not an idiot. Why didn’t you do it?”

Spencer shrugs, “I got to her apartment. I had flowers, too. I don’t know.”

Derek’s evidently concerned – Spencer’s beaten up over this, over whoever this girl is, and he deserves the chance to experience love. Spencer deserves a lot more than he himself thinks he does.

“You seemed really excited, man. You can still do it. Just cause you try once and it doesn’t work out doesn’t mean you can’t ever try again.”

Spencer stares off into the distance, accidentally ignoring Derek as his thoughts slip out of his mouth, “Yeah, it probably wouldn’t have worked anyway – I was stupid to think I could get someone like her.”

“Hey, no.” Derek nudges Spencer’s shoulder so he looks at him again, “Don’t talk like that. You’re one hell of a guy, Reid. All you gotta do is get that confidence that you had Friday night back, and you’re all set. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

Spencer gives a feeble nod. Derek moves back to his desk, knowing he isn’t convinced, but he isn’t done yet.

+++

Later, in Florida, Spencer’s making a coffee in the precinct’s kitchen after waiting twenty minutes for you to leave. Luck’s on his side, for once, and you’ve been working non-stop with Prentiss going crime scene to crime scene so he hasn’t had to actively avoid you. You smile at him every chance you get, though, and it distracts him.

Someone clears their throat behind him. It’s Penelope, whom Spencer didn’t realise was invited on this case.

She looks guilty. Spencer recognises that face; the face she has when she’s done something she shouldn’t have or knows something she isn’t really supposed to. Given current circumstances, Spencer bets it’s the latter reason.

“Morgan told me something he shouldn’t have.”

Bingo.

He leans against the kitchen counter, stirring his coffee absentmindedly.

“What did he tell you?” He asks, feigning tranquillity. Inside he’s screaming non-stop.

She’s got her hands clasped together in front of her, almost innocently, and fiddles with her fingers, “He told me you needed assistance in the love department.” Before he can object, she continues, “And I am willing to do anything if it means our resident weirdo-slash-genius falls in love and gets to experience some much needed cuteness.”

There’s no point in lying to her. There’s also no point in being mad that Morgan told her about his situation – they’re kind of a package deal. And, who knows, Garcia might be able to help.

“So…” She sways, trying (and failing) to appear nonchalant, “Who’s the lucky lady?”

Spencer shuffles on the spot, scuffing his shoes against the floor. He debates whether he should tell her, since, you know, you’re in the next room over, but Spencer worries that Garcia is so good at her job she’d somehow find out through hacking Spencer’s phone, or maybe somehow hacking his dreams. His subconscious. He’s terrified of Garcia and her abilities.

“You can tell me.” She insists, “I’m much better at keeping secrets than Morgan.”

Spencer turns away from her, she steps closer, and he mumbles your name.

“What?”

“Y/N.”

“WHAT?!”

Spencer spins, hands coming up to tell Garcia to shut up and Garcia immediately covers her mouth in both shock and hopefully so she doesn’t shout again.

“Since when?!” She screeches. “How could I not have known?! Oh God, almighty Doctor Reid, I feel like I’ve failed you by not realising earlier.”

Her enthusiasm makes him smile, for the first time in far too long. Garcia has that power – this innate skill to comfort those around her and make them feel special, make them smile when the world feels like its collapsing.

“Let me help!” She requests.

Spencer’s clearly hesitant. He knows it’s a bad idea.

“Please!” She begs, “I just- I have so many ideas of how you can go about this. Let me brainstorm, get back to you, and if I’m too over-the-top you can tell me no and we’ll pretend it never happened!”

He takes a deep breath. Yes, Garcia is the definition of over-the-top, but that’s one of his favourite things about her. It’s your favourite thing, too. And he did tell Morgan he had big plans. Anything involving Garcia is a big plan with big payoff.

“This is between us.”

“I’ll take it to the grave. Unless you realise how amazing my ideas are and use one to tell Y/N how you feel and then years later I get to commend myself during my maid of honour speech at your wedding.”

She looks ecstatic, hands now together under her jaw as her eyes twinkle. Spencer can’t help but laugh at her eagerness.

+++

The next day, the team returns to Quantico after a semi-successful case. The general mood is good and Morgan invites everyone out for drinks – Spencer declines, but you have your first full conversation since last Friday.

“C’mon, Spence,” Your head rests against the jet seat and you blink sleepily at him, “I feel like I haven’t spoken to you for years!”

Spencer gives you a small smile, “I promised my mom I’d call her tonight. Sorry, Y/N.”

You nod in understanding, “Will you tell her I say hi?”

“Of course. She loves you.”

You grin at eachother, immediately lost in your own world. You’ve missed him more than you realised, and you have no idea what’s going through his head, but you’re happy that you’ve had this – a Spencer Reid smile that makes you feel at home and on top of the world simultaneously.

Spencer has to tear his eyes away before he blurts something stupid, like she’s not the only one that loves you.

+++

“Spencer!” Garcia greets, Cheshire cat grin on her face. “I need to see you in my dungeon, please. Immediately.”

Spencer drops the file he’s holding. Unfortunately, Penelope’s request caught the attention of the whole team.

“What business do you have in the villain’s lair, Reid?” Derek asks. You’ve looked up from your computer, Emily smirking and leaning back in her chair in expectation.

“Uh…”

“Important nerd business. Go away.” Garcia says, eyes narrow as she tugs Spencer’s hand. He’s whisked away from any further questioning, leaving the befuddled team behind.

He isn’t sure what to expect when he stumbles into Penelope’s second home, but the display in front of him explains why he overheard a conversation about missing evidence boards earlier. Penelope’s obviously been using the new printer in her cave to her advantage – there’s at least twenty different pictures printed out on one board titled “date ideas”, then the board on the right has a picture of Spencer and you in the centre with a perfectly drawn heart around it. Under and around that is a mixture of love quotes, including song lyrics and quotes directly from romantic movies. He notices “The Parliament of Fowls” on there – Garcia remembers that he mentioned it’s considered the first Valentines poem?

“Whoa,” Is all he can say.

“I know it’s a little intense,” Garcia squirms, “But! I started scrolling through Pinterest and couldn’t stop. I don’t know what came over me, maybe some type of love deity, but I started thinking about you and Y/N in a classic love film in, like, black and white and I…”

She’s out of breath from animatedly explaining.

Spencer laughs through his nose, almost a scoff, but he’s impressed. He shouldn’t have expected anything else from the Penelope Garcia.

As Spencer wanders towards the first board, Garcia follows him like a shadow, “My personal favourite is-“ She points to a picture of chocolate fondue with faceless people in very little clothing, “-this one.”

Spencer awkwardly clears his throat when he begins to think of you and him like that.

“A little much for your declaration of love, though, I get it,” Garcia nods.

He scans the board – heart speeding up when he moves from idea to idea and picturing you and him in each one. He can’t help but think no, that one would be good for our anniversary – ah, she’d love to do that one for her birthday.

“What’re you thinking?” Garcia asks quietly. She knows his brain is whirring like her computer drive, so she approaches him gently.

“This one.” He says. “Where should we do it?”

Garcia grins behind him. The one he’s referring to shows a dinner table set up outside, brown wooded table with white wooden chairs opposite eachother. There’s flowers at the centre, a bottle of wine already poured in each glass in front of a basket of cookies, and the area around is shrouded by shrubbery, fairy lights hanging delicately from every-which-way.

It’s perfect. You love fairy lights, Spencer loves cookies, and the set-up looks private enough for Spencer to feel confident when he empties his heart and soul to you.

“The roof.” Garcia says wistfully.

“We have access to that?”

“Yes.” They both know they don’t. “Leave it to me. Oh… one more thing.” She adds, hesitantly, “Can Morgan help? I’m a lot of things, including emotionally strong and your love guru, but physically I’m gonna need some assistance.”

Spencer doesn’t even need to agree – Morgan’s gonna involve himself no matter what.

+++

Five o’clock is quickly approaching and you’re slumped over your desk, lost in your work. You need to be lost in it, because ever since Garcia released Spencer from her office right after lunch he’s been sneaking glances at you (he’s not sneaky) and has made several attempts to approach you but decided against it, sharply turning and pretending he meant to go another way instead.

You are beyond confused. You assume it’s to do with the girl he’s been trying to get over – you hope he’s been trying to build the confidence to tell you exactly what happened and maybe, you really hope, he’ll invite you over for the weekend so you can slip back into your old routine.

“Psst.”

You assume they’re not trying to get your attention, so you don’t move.

“Psst!”

You still don’t move.

“Y/N!”

Your head snaps up to Spencer leaning over the divider between your desks. He looks alarmed – which is odd, given he’s the one who called you – and he opens and closes his mouth a few times before he finally speaks.

“Are you busy tonight?” He sits back and, if he wasn’t so goddamn tall, all you’d be able to see would be his eyes. His added height means you can see his eyes and his nose. You wanna kiss it.

You smile – this is an olive branch, “I am completely available for whatever it is you might need.”

You sound incredibly eager, which you are. You miss him.

His cheeks move upwards, a smile, “Can I talk to you, later, on the roof? Uh-“ He clears his throat, “-I need to tell you something.”

You raise an eyebrow, “You’re not gonna push me off, right?”

“No,” He laughs.

“Promise me.”

Now he guffaws, “I would never, Y/N!”

“Promise me, Reid!”

“Alright, alright! I promise!” He’s jokingly raising his hands in a form of surrender.

You give him another smile and turn back to your work. You feel at ease, now, thinking he’s finally gonna tell you what happened on the weekend – finally you’ll be able to help him and go back to normal.

Spencer, on the other hand, is the exact opposite of ease. He’s about to pour his heart out to you.

He takes a deep breath and looks back to his computer, which is open on a tab titled “How to Tell Someone You Like Them.”

Step 3: Be Confident.

Spencer opens a new tab and searches, “How to be confident.”

+++

Garcia hacks into Spencer’s computer to open a document and type that the roof is ready. She wishes him luck, tells him she loves him, and calls dibs on being the godmother of your future children. As if she doesn’t have enough godchildren as it is.

He clears his throat and your head snaps towards him. You’ve been done for a while, playing Tetris on your phone, waiting for Spencer to take you to the roof where he swears he won’t kill you – you’re not entirely convinced.

“Um-“ He scratches his neck, “You ready to go?”

You nod and give him a weak smile in hopes it gives him some type of reassurance.

“Whatever happened, it’s okay, Spence.”

All he does is nod in return, gathering his coat and bag. He doesn’t really register what you say, or he would’ve been very confused.

You follow him up to the roof. The elevator ride is silent and Spencer is jittery; his hands twitch and tap against his legs, he’s bouncing on his toes and he keeps looking at you through the corner of his eye. You’ve taken several deep breaths to calm your racing heart – you hate heights, and this is the closest you’ve been to Spencer in a week. This will be the longest conversation you’ve had with him in a week, too.

The second the doors open, Spencer leaps in front of you.

“Wait!”

You jump back in surprise, “What? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Completely fine. Just… when we get there, let me explain first, okay? Before you say anything.” He’s pleading, as if you’ve already told him no. You look at him with furrowed brows and mumble an ‘okay’.

You’re visibly confused as you trek up the flight of stairs to the roof. Spencer pushes open the fire door and the first thing you notice is how bright the roof is – you always assumed it’d be dark, little light, especially at night like this.

Wait.

There’s fairy lights… everywhere. You’re pretty sure this isn’t the norm for the FBI roof.

Spencer is equally as awed at what he sees before him - it’s exactly the photo he saw in Garcia’s cave brought to life, but he’s too distracted by you to fully appreciate it. You look like a child on Christmas; eyes wide, pupils blown, mouth slightly agape. You’re gorgeous.

“What…is this, Spence?” You wonder, noticing the set table, fingers grazing the roses that sit in a vase in the middle. They’re fresh and smell wonderful.

He stands a little behind you, fiddling with his hands, and clears his throat, “Would you like to take a seat?”

You do. When he finally sits, he pours you a glass of wine and you immediately take an anxious sip. Although Rossi is a big fan of wine, you rarely take interest in it only when Spencer’s involved. You’ve come to associate wine with him – a smile peeks out from your glass as you stare at the man opposite you.

“I need to get something off my chest. But there’s cookies, if you want one,” He picks one up from his plate, breaking it in half and giving it to you. He’s stalling, but you seem to take the bait and bite into it.

“Are these from the bakery two blocks away?”

“Yeah,” He replies, but he isn’t really paying attention. He doesn’t know where to begin.

You wait patiently for him to open up. You’re still unsure of what to make of all of this – the beautiful setting, the wine, the flowers, the lights. God, the lights are dazzling in the Virginia night sky. You need context, and you need it now.

“Spence-“

“Listen.”

“Oh.”

“Sorry, I just…” He trails off, “I need to say what I need to say before I back out again.”

You fold your hands in your lap. You’re ready for whatever’s to come.

“Do you know how long we’ve known eachother?” He asks. His head tilts like a puppy.

“Nearly five years. Our friendaversary is coming up, you know.”

You realise, then, that this must be a celebration for that – that explains the… typically romantic setting. Before you can open your mouth to ask if that what’s this is, Spencer speaks.

“Four years, three-hundred and sixty days. That’s how long we’ve known eachother.”

“If we were dating, we would’ve been my longest relationship the second we passed a year.”

You don’t know why you said it, but it flusters him. He has to pause to take a breath and collect his thoughts.

“I’ve been in love with you for four years and three hundred and fifty-eight days, Y/N.”

It’s silent as you process and he figures out how to continue.

“I knew you were special when you were introduced to us. Hotch already had such a soft spot for you, and you had this way about you that made us all fall in love instantly. I remember Garcia did a background check the second she found out your name and she said you remind her of me and I… that freaked me out, to be honest. I thought you’d try to replace me.” He huffs a laugh, but can’t bring himself to look you in the eye, “I realised I was in love with you when you drunkenly defended me. Do you remember that?” His eyes flicker to yours for half a second – you’re wide-eyed, “You’d known me for two days at that point, but we’d already done a case together so we were celebrating. And these guys at the bar were whispering about me, acting like I couldn’t hear them, and the second you realised what was happening you stood up, stormed towards them and gave them a piece of your mind. It was incredible.

“You barely knew me, at least personally, but you thought so highly of me you scolded a group of drunk bodybuilders without a second thought. You made them apologise – it was hysterical watching someone half their size force them into submission like that – and when you were done you asked if I wanted to leave and go get ice cream. We couldn’t, cause you vomited on the way there, but I knew in that moment I loved you and I feel so hard, so quickly, I didn’t know what to do. And you never… you never indicated you thought of me as anything other than a friend so I didn’t try. Then you dated Greg who, in my opinion, sucked on his best days, and you encouraged me to date Abigail and I…”

He’s run out of breath and of things to say.

“I just love you, Y/N. I’m in love with you.” He adds, “I hope that’s okay.”

He finally looks at you, then. You’re just staring and he panics when he can’t make out what you’re feeling. He’s always been able to read you, you’ve always hated the saying that eyes are the windows to the soul because your eyes are always your tell, but now they’re… glassy.

You’re crying.

“Spencer…” You gasp, throat tight.

“It’s okay.” Spencer gives a tight-lipped smile. He knows what’s coming. He should’ve expected it. He has been expecting it.

“I love you too, Spence.”

Spencer chokes on air. He takes a gulp of wine.

You give him a teary smile in disbelief, “I’ve always loved you, Spence. I thought you knew that – I thought that big brain of yours knew exactly how I felt and… you didn’t do anything about it so I thought you didn’t feel the same. Spencer…”

He slowly moves a hand to place it palm-up on the table. Immediately you place your hand in his, your grip tight as you lovingly stare at him. This feels unreal.

“I’m in love with you too, you idiot.” You half laugh, half cry, “If you’ve really loved me this long, we’ve wasted so much time! God, we’re both idiots.”

Spencer’s crying too, now, and he starts laughing with you.

You’re two idiots in love, sitting opposite eachother on the roof of your place of work in a dream-like surrounding filled with fairy lights and flowers, and you could’ve been doing this for years.

Spencer sniffles, looking at you through his wet eyelashes, “Would you like to be my girlfriend?”

“If I say yes, will I get more dates like this?” You tease.

“Well, Garcia has a whole evidence board of date ideas she stole from Pinterest. We have enough ideas to last a lifetime.” He giggles.

“Penny was in on this?!”

Spencer gives a heh, “This is all thanks to her, so yeah.”

“She’s always had our backs.”

“She’s also now going to be convinced she’s cupid.”

You laugh again, and can’t help yourself when you lean across the table, still gripping Spencer’s hand, and letting your lips fall on his. Spencer leans into you, lips moving against yours as you both try to suppress grins.

You pull back slightly, Spencer’s lips following you, and whisper, “I would love to be your girlfriend.”

He kisses you again. And again. And again, just cause he can.

Big plan, big payoff. You’re worth every little stress and more.

[kaz11283]

I really like the prompt list you reblogged it’s got some good stuff. What about 37. “Because I love you god damn it!” with Loki if you are still needing inspiration.

37) Because I Love You God Damn It!

~~~~

The Secret Is Out

Characters: the Avengers Bunch, Loki, Thor, Clint

Warnings: Dirty words, slight angst

Summary: after putting your life in the line for a teammate you accidentally let a big secret slip.

Announcements: I will always need insperation and requests! They feed my soul! Haha. I'm not gonna lie. Im skipping back and forth on my requests though. I have a really good story line for one but its just so emotional(thats were Im hoping it goes at least) that I didnt want to write it tonight and put my self in a mood. So instead I guess im goimg with a form of anger? Meh. Anyways... I absolutly love love love everything from you guys! The reblogs, likes, and comments are amazing and I am very greatful for all the love I am getting!!!! 💚💚💚💚💚

Loki Masterlist

~~~~

The fight had been rough but not as rough as you were feeling in the moment. You had gotten serverly hurt and had been in the medbay for about a week now and you had a longer road ahead. There had been an explosion and instead of turning to run away you had ran toward one of your team members that had been to distracted to realize what was going on, you had successfully gotten him shoved out of the way but you had taken the brunt of the blast.

Now you were laying here staring at the celing trying to stay distracted as Bruce and Tony looked at your completely shaddered knee and the burns up your leg. Fingers crossed that they would have good news soon.

"Well as of right now kid your out of commission." Tony said helping you sit back up.

"Meaning?" You pulled one of the pillows down so that you could sit up without being uncomfortable.

"Meaning right now, the way it all looks, your gonna be stuck in the bed until it fully heals and after wards theres really no way to tell if your going to be able to work in the field again." Burce said looking at the xrays again. "And your gonna have to have surgery in order to put all the right pieces back in the right places, but we cant really do that until some of the burns heal or at least start to heal. Its gonna be a long drawn out process unfortunately." He sighed setting the charts back down and walking over to you.

"Fucking hell! You mean I'm gonna be pushing paper work? I might as well go work in a damn office with four white walls and a poster that says 'hang in there, its almost Friday'." You placed your head in your hands.

"Hey! At least our paper work is more exciting than just running numbers." Tony said placing a hand on your back. He had been like a fsther to you, taking you in when you didnt have anywhere else to turn except the streets. Your own family had abandoned you at a young age and you had been leaning toward a dark path until Tony. "Besides with your expertise you dont have to sit behind a desk, your fingers arent blown off, you can still hack into stuff I'm sure."

"Tony we had a deal when I moved in. No hacking but you would train me and I could actually do good. Now look at me."

"I said no hacking the good guys, and if I remember correctly you were the one jumping close to the bomb not away from. I hate to be this way y/n but the only one to blame is yourself on this one."

"He would have been worst off than I am if not killed. I think I did the right thing. Besides you would have done the same thing if you had been closer." You sighed.

"Honey the diffrence with that is I have a supersuit, you wear a skin tight, spandex one peice, that I'm not a fan of." He laughted. Bruce had went to go get you some more pain killers to shoot into your IV.

"Tony if I were you I would shut up. Your starting to sound like you might actually love me, might even say your starting to act like a dad." You laughed pulling him into a hug.

"Shut it kid, cant let the others know I have a soft spot for the hacker orphan kid i took in all those years ago now can I." He said kissing the top of your head. "Do you need anything else before the drugs kick in and you pass out again?"

"Yes, can you please bring me my phone charger, laptop, and that really fluffy blanket that you and Pep got for me for Christmas."

"Dont ask to much of me now."

"I wouldnt be asking if you would just let me stay in my room. I hate it down here. I wanna be were the people are." You were starting to get loopy from whatever Bruce had given you.

"Ok little mermaid, get some rest I'll get your stuff." He laughed walking out the door letting you fall into a restless sleep.

You didnt know how long you hade been asleep but you woke up with a groan trying to sit up so you could atleast stretch your back from laying in one spot for to long. You flopped back down dramatically with a sigh. You could sense someine else in the room with you, you always knew when he was around.

"You dont have to hide in the shadows Loki. Your more than welcome to keep me company, you should know that by now." You smiled as the prince walked over and sat in the chair beside you. You could tell he hadnt been sleeping, his hair was fixed as always but his clothes looked worst for wear. He had on a plain black shirt and a pair of gray sweat pants, both of with had wrinkles in them either from tossing and turning or from not being changed in a few days.

"Whats wrong? And dont pull that 'nothing is wrong dear. I'm absolutly fine.' Bullshit. You look horrible." You reatched out to grab his hand. What you and Loki had was diffrent. You didnt just see his as a friend, he didnt just see you as that either though. You had spent many nights sitting up with the silver tounge man many nights laying on the couch watching movies, reading, talking about each of your pasts. He knew more about you than even Tony did.

"I'm still currently trying to wrap my head around why you pushed me out of the way and took the blow when you had a chance of dying from it. You shouldnt have been so thick headed my dear." He took your hand and raised it to his lips kissing the top of your hand.

"Loki." You sighed rolling your head to look back up at the celing. "You would have been hurt alot wordt than I am now, that blast could have killed you."

"I am a god y/n, that blast wouldnt have caused me nearly as much damage as it did you." His voice raised slightly.

"Thats what you think. You think that because you are "immortal" that you can take anything thats thrown at you. That no one really cares about you, that you wouldnt be missed? So why not try to take a blow from a bomb? My god your so stupid sometimes."

"I know I can. Norns y/n I've jumped into space, been brain washed, tried to take over New York, gotten smashed around by the Hulk. I was raised with Thor, he doesnt really go easy on a person. What I'm saying is I dont understand why you, a mear midguardian, would sacrifice themselves for me. If anything would have happened-"

"Nothing did happen though. I'm fine-"

"You have steel sticking from your leg, theres no telling when or even if you'll be able to walk again, and there are highly server burns that will leave scares. You cannot sit there and tell me that you are fine."

"Your right it does suck that I'm jot gonna be able to pull off shorts or a bikini anymore."

"This isnt a joke y/n. You almost died!" He finally yelled.

"And i would do it a thousand times over if that ment saving your damn ass again!" You shouted back.

"Why though?! Why me y/n? I've done horrible things, killed people! My life is meaningless." Tears had sprang to his eyes as he looked away.

"Because I love you God damn it!" You stopped suddenly your jaw dropping at the admission that you hadnt ment for him to hear. His head jerked back to you.

"What?" Shock was all over his face as he stood to walk closer to you. "What did you just say?"

"Because I love you Loki Odinson. Because if you were to die I dont think I would be able to go on living. Because even if you see all the bad things that you've done I can look pass that amd see all the good that you are doing." You reached up placing a hand on his cheek and wiping away a tear.

"I love you too y/n. I have since the day I met you. The girl that didnt care what anyone said when she spent time with me. The girl that can see through every face i put on. I love you so much darling." He placed his hand on your face and leaning down gently kissing your lips.

It felt like you thought it always should you felt electricity run through your body and the two of you connected. It was like getting a breath after not being able to for so long. He pulled away smiling at you.

"What do we tell the others?" He asked laying on with bed with you being easy with your leg. He placed his arm around your middle and pulled you as close as he could.

"I honestly dont care what we tell them. They can figure it out themseves for all I care." You smiled lacing your fingers with his, you yawned placing your head on his shoulder closing your eyes.

"Sleep now my Dove, I will be here when you wake." He felt your gentle breath slow as you fell asleep, the rhythm you of your breath lulling him into his own sleep.

Tony and Bruce walked in the next morning stopping dead at the sight in front of them. You and Loki were still cuddled on the small bed sleeping peacefully.

"Should we wake them up?" Bruce asked looking at Tony.

"Na, let them sleep. Dont want to let them know that we know." Tony saod grabbing Bruce's arm and turning to walk back out of the door.

~~~~

Tag List:

@kgirardin

@sophlubbwriting

@supbeeches

@high-functioning-lokipath

[takahero]

in honour of finishing inkspell, here are some basta observations I picked up along the way. also, inkspell spoilers warning! i also have MANY MANY thoughts so i’d love to hear what you guys think to some of the questions raised

“He hadn’t changed: the same thin face, the same way of narrowing his eyes, and there was an amulet dangling around his neck to ward off the bad luck that Basta thought lurked under every ladder, behind every bush.” — pg.138

“Basta’s left hand was bandaged, Elinor noticed when he took his fingers away from her mouth.” — pg.139

“‘I’d have been here much sooner, believe you me, but they put me in jail for a while on account of something that happened years ago. No sooner was Capricorn gone than all the people who’d been too scared to open their mouths suddenly felt very brave.’” — pg.140 (see they never tell us WHY he was in prison, do they? the possibilities are endless. we know he committed atrocious things, like arson, but imagine if he got put in jail for something completely different…LOL)

“‘You wouldn’t believe how often I’ve told him there’s nothing to be ashamed of in going to jail, particularly when your prisons here are so much more comfortable than our dungeons at home.’” — pg.140 (OHHHTMGOD MEME IDEA)

“Basta flung his arm so roughly round Orpheus’ neck that his glasses slipped down his nose.” — pg.141

“‘Hold your tongue, Basta!’ Mortola interrupted him abruptly. ‘You’ve always liked the sound of your own voice.’” — pg.141

“‘Well, Silvertongue, I’m sorry it’s taken some time,’ he said in his soft, cat-like voice.” — pg.180

“‘My son always said revenge was a dish best eaten cold,’ observed Mortola.” — pg.181 (question. did basta find out about mortola’s true identity between inkheart & inkspell? do u think he realised it when mortola cried when capricorn died?)

“Basta passed a finger over his throat and winked at him.” — pg.186 (wink 2 LMAO)

“Basta bent down and picked up a rusty helmet lying at his feet. ‘What do you expect me to say?’ he growled, throwing the helmet back into the grass with a gloomy expression, and giving it a kick that sent it clattering against the wall. ‘Of course it’s our castle. Didn’t you see the figure of the goat on the wall there? Even the carved devils are still standing, though they wear ivy crowns now — and look, there’s one of the eyes that Slasher liked to paint on the stones.’” — pg.190

“‘So Basta was right after all. He’s dead, here and in the other world too.’” — pg.191 (interesting….so Basta knew Mortola’s plan wouldn’t work? he just wanted a ride home?)

“‘I’d really like to know what happened!’ he muttered. ‘I always said Capricorn wasn’t here, but what about the others?…What are we going to do if they’re all gone?’ Basta sounded like a boy afraid of the dark. ‘Do you want us to live in a cave like brownies until the wolves find us? Have you forgotten the wolves? And the Night-Mares, the fire-elves, all the other creatures crawling around the place…I for one haven’t forgotten them, but you would come back to this accursed spot where there are ghosts lurking behind every tree!’ He reached for the amulet dangling around his neck, but Mortola did not deign to look at him.

“‘Oh, be quiet!’ she said, so sharply that Basta flinched.” — pg.192

“‘You’re going to leave them here?’ That was Basta’s voice.” — pg.193 (at first I was like oh so he has a heart….but then he was mean to resa straight after this 🙄)

“‘Sorry, but he must have overlooked me, shut up in that cage as I was,’ purred Basta in his catlike voice.” — pg.377

“‘Wasn’t it Mortola who had you put in the cage to be fed to the Shadow?’ Basta just shrugged his shoulders and flung back his silver-grey cloak. Of course, he had his knife. A brand new one, it seemed, finer than any he’d ever had in the other world, and undoubtedly just as sharp.

“‘Yes, not very nice of her,’ he said as his fingers caressed the handle of the knife. ‘But she’s really sorry.’” — pg.377 (okay so it SOUNDS like he threatened/made some kind of bargain with his knife, but I strongly doubt that considering how afraid he seems of her?? i know he’s technically working for the adderhead but even by the end of the book, it seems he is far closer to mortola than adderhead. what is their relationship? or does he sincerely think she’s sorry/has deluded himself into believing such? UGH SO MANY QUESTIONS)

“Basta had always liked describing his own and other people’s abominable deeds in detail.” — pg.378

“‘But we’re not going to shoot you.’ Basta came a little closer to Fenoglio, his face as intent as that of a stalking cat.” — pg.378 …. living for all the cat references tbh

“‘He wants you to crawl on your belly to him, that’s what our noble lord and master likes. But never mind, he pays well!’” — pg.378 (yes basta all abt getting that bread LMAOOOO)

“He slowly drew the knife from his belt. Its blade was long and slightly curved.” — pg.379

“‘Hey Basta, I know you like the sound of your own voice.’” — pg.379 (AHAHAHAHA HOW MANY PEOPLE HAVE CALLED OUT BASTA ON THIS NOW? IVE LOST TRACK)

“With a regretful sigh, Basta put the knife back in his belt. ‘Yes, very well, you’re right,’ he said in surly tones. ‘I need to take my time with this sort of thing. Questioning people is an art, a real art.’” — pg.380 (LMAOOOOOOO HE IS SUCH A DRAMA QUEEN)

“Basta. The same thin face, the same twisted smile. Only the clothes were different. Basta was no longer wearing his white shirt and black suit with the flower in his buttonhole. No, Basta now wore the Adderhead’s silvery grey, and he had a sword at his side. With a knife in his belt too, of course. But he was holding a dead chicken in his left hand.” — pg. 455

“‘Yes, they are!’ purred Basta. ‘The little witch, and the fire-eater into the bargain. It was well worth the wait. Even though I’ll probably never get that damned flour out of my lungs again.’” — pg.455 (ok….so who’s gonna draw basta sitting amongst the flour AAHHAHA)

“‘Servant? Who’s a servant here? Just listen to him. As bold as if he’d never felt my knife! Have you forgotten how you screamed when it cut your face?’” — pg.457 … don’t call basta a servant…..noted

“‘Oh, don’t look so disbelieving, little witch, I still can’t read and I don’t intend to learn, but there are enough fools around the place who can, even in this world.’” —pg. 457 (i wonder how much capricorn influenced basta’s views on reading. because capricorn said that he learnt how to read from a maid, right? so basta certainly wouldn’t have trash-talked reading in front of him. and even after living in OUR world for nine years, I’m still surprised that he never attempted to learn, given how dependent we are on it. anyway my headcanon is that he secretly wants to, but doesn’t want to give others the satisfaction of knowing they have something he doesn’t. also nobody he knows would be willing to teach him (unless he threatened them) bc of his obviously violent and short-tempered nature…and learning requires so much patience. still, though, would love a fic of basta being taught how to read in secret and having some kind of positive interaction)

“‘You’re even more talkative than you used to be, Basta.’ Dustfinger’s voice sounded as if he found this tedious.” — pg.458 HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAH IM DYING. honestly the animosity between them was just. A+++

“Basta was in an even worse state. He was sitting close to Mortola, his face so red and swollen that Meggie almost failed to recognise him. But he had escaped death once again. Perhaps the good-luck charms he always wore worked after all.” — pg.526

“The sunlight falling into the room made Basta’s face look like a boiled lobster.” — pg.575 

“Basta put his hand to the amulet hanging around his neck. It was not a rabbit’s paw, as he had worn in Capricorn’s service, but something that looked suspiciously like a human finger-bone.” — pg.581 (THIS STILL IRKS ME SO MUCH)

“The Piper straightened his back, as ready to attack as the viper on his master’s coat of arms…He was a good head taller than Basta.” — pg.582 WHY DO I KEEP FORGETTING HES NOT TALL LMFAO

“The two men were standing so close that the blade of Basta’s knife wouldn’t have fitted between them.” — pg.582 HAHAHAJAHAAJAHAHHAAHAHAHAH PKESJENE I LOVE THIS SO MUCH … IMAGINE BASTA SQUARING UP W HIS NOSE JUST SMACK BANG IN THE MIDDLE OF PIPER’S CHEST OR SOMETHING

“The Piper struck Basta in the face so hard that his head hit the door frame. Blood ran down his burned cheek in a trail of red. He wiped it away with the back of his hand. ‘Take care to avoid dark corridors, Piper!’ he whispered. ‘You don’t have a nose any more, but one can always find something else to cut off.’” — pg.582-583 THIS SCENE WAS SIMPLY……CHEF’S KISS

are you serious is he dead??? WHAT. okay I knew dustfinger’s love for farid would be the end of him and basta being the instrument to rip that away from him was totally heartrending. i WISH it had been more climactic? like dustfinger unleashing his fury and fighting basta, blind with anger and grief. THE DIALOGUE POTENTIAL BETWEEN THEM AS THEY FINALLY TALK ONE-ON-ONE, and then some revisiting of the scene where dustfinger has the opportunity to kill basta but AGAIN withholds because killing is not in his nature….THEN MO IN SHINING ARMOUR SWOOPS IN TO DO THE JOB

now, off to inkdeath!

[perhapsthanatos]

10:32 pm with yuta ♡

nct’s yuta x fem!reader (got inspired by a dream of mine & found the idea really cute)

alternate title: be the james dean to my audrey hepburn

genre: fluff. a pinch of angst. non idol au. badboy!yuta au.

word count: 1400~

playlist: chinatown by wild nothing, lover’s rock by tv girl & work this time by king gizzard and the lizard wizard.

warnings: featuring johnny (not a warning though). smoking cigarettes. cursing. lowercase intended. not proofread.

a/n: hi i was supposed to post a vampire!haechan fic but i really wasnt happy w it in general :( the plot or overall idea of the fic was really good, but i just felt as if i didnt do it justice so here we are :( but ngl, i kind of like this concept more? maybe bc i can see it more vividly? idk, i feel like my writings r getting repetitive & its getting on my nerves lmaoo this is getting long im sorry do u guys even read this part anyway? i would also like to apologize abt the amount of projecting im doing lmao ive been having some rough days & i love my sister but hate being compared to her so often so this is a way for me to rant abt it ig? also so sorry its coming out a little later bc i woke up late today (& procrastinated for the rest of it so here i am posting really late at night) & decided to go to the convenience store to get ice cream (& a ton of other bad shit pls dont do this its rlly unhealthy) for breakfast bc i can :) any who, enjoy lovelies <3

“oh my, y/n! you’ve grown up so well! just like your sister!”

“oh! i’m sorry i’ve almost mistaken you for your sister! y/n is your name, correct?”

“y/n, darling, you are looking so dashing! you really do resemble your sister, don’t you?”

“ah, you must be y/n! i’ve heard all about you and your sister from your father!”

you swear that your reddening cheeks are threatening to fall off any moment now from all the fake smiling. the hundreds of superficial compliments, the insincere flattery and the need for these people to constantly compare you to your godforsaken sister makes you feel even weaker than you are. it gets harder and harder to keep up with a big persona that isn’t at all you. as lucky as you are to live such a lavish lifestyle, you can’t help but hate how your family has to be so perfect. you hate how you have never fit in with them, even if you are so good at faking it. you hate how you have always been stuck in your sister’s shadow, constantly haunted with the reminder that you yourself aren’t good enough. you hate how you now have to entertain the rich and brainless guests at your parent’s gala because she’s gone for some stupid prodigy competition and everyone is only talking about her in front of your face. so what if she’s better the better sister? you still have the right to earn respect, right?

you’re exhausted from all the small talk. your facade gets more brittle by the second under all the pressure. your body feels as if it's gonna give out due to your brain shutting down after all that interacting. you try to keep on going with the night as it unravels itself by being the perfectly poised poster child, trying to make your parents proud. but alive yet almost completely devoid, you decide enough was enough. what if you left right now? no one would notice, would they?

after pulling up your phone discreetly to send a few text messages, you pass through lots of people dressed in gold and finery in a way that wouldn’t have you noticed right away. keep your head down and don’t you dare make eye contact with anyone. nearing the end of the room, grabbing the first glass of whatever alcohol you see and downing it in one gulp, you start walking away as quickly as possible from the ballroom. “ignorant privileged fucks,” you angrily whisper to no one in particular, setting the now empty glass on whatever surface and begin to head to the main exit where no one could spot you running away.

“and what do you think you’re doing here, miss?”

a voice interrupts you, looking up you see that it is your father’s head butler; johnny. he is dressed in a simple black suit that makes him appear taller than he is. his long brown hair is slicked back and his bowtie seems brand new. you have known the man since he started working in your household less than ten years back. you were a reckless child, often trying to find ways to sneak out, finding a way to escape from this life and he sympathized with you. after all, he could barely imagine living your life, never catching a break for yourself and always pretending to be someone you weren’t. he often helped planning when you would sneak out into the night, scheduling things like what time you should leave and what time you should be back, more specifically a time when no one would notice. he would take care of your form of transportation and have your location on at all times, just to be extra safe. as much as he wants you to have fun and have a bit of freedom, he still worries that something might happen to you. because of all this, you two have grown to have a very strong bond. you could confidently say that he is most definitely a parental figure in your life since your parents (and even your sister) are often overseas for work.

“what do you think i’m doing? you think i wanna be in a room with those half-baked bipeds? fuck no!”

“i know, i was just joking. you looked like you were about to explode in there, i wish i could help.” he laughs, pulling out his phone preparing what you might need. “so what will it be for today? the driver? we just need to pay him to keep his mouth shut. a taxi? it’s cheaper than paying the driver, but you still need to pay… not like that’s a problem for you though. maybe an uber would be good enough—“

“actually, i got myself covered. thanks.”

his jaw slightly drops and his eyebrows furrow. he looks straight at you in shock. “what do you mean you got yourself covered?”

you look down at your feet, a nervous habit. “i got myself a ride, you don’t need to help me. i’ll be back as soon as dawn comes.”

he raises his eyebrow. “who’s your ride?”

“doesn’t matter,” you glance down at your phone seeing a notification and wave a goodbye, leaving rather suddenly. “i gotta go, i’ll text you when you need to open the gates!”

“y/n! wait! who’s your ride— and she’s gone.” johnny sighs, watching as you run towards the front gates, tossing your stiletto heels away on the grass while you’re at it. he heads back inside, silently hoping you’ll be fine.

knocking the window of the old black mustang parked outside behind the big bushes, the driver rolls down his window and sends the most charming smile.

yuta in his black beanie, long blonde hair, worn out doc martens, signature leather jacket and black skinny jeans. it almost makes you laugh on how he wears the same thing almost everyday but still manages to look so good.

he is most notable for having a big bad boy reputation and you knew that he was the breath of fresh air you needed in your life. a person who can understand having the pressure of having to be or to fulfill your persona. a person you can completely be yourself around. a person who is full of warmth no matter how cold he may seem on the outside.

“get in, princess.”

and that was all you needed. you tiredly walked to the other door and sat yourself in the car. rolling his window back up, he looks at you. you are wearing a simple yet stunning black dress along with silver jewelry adorned on your neck and wrists. your makeup is perfectly done but still struggles to hide the fog in your eyes. he has the sudden urge to clear them away. he softens at the sight of you. no one is perfect, but he finds you being perfect enough without ever having to dress up.

“where to?” he asks as gently as he could. he knows that you are most vulnerable during these moments and that it is hard to finally break down your walls after a day full of stress, so he doesn’t pry immediately. all he wants to do is to keep you here, safe and away from your burdens and for you to stay comfortable with him, even if it couldn't be for long. but is that too selfish of him to ask? he hates how you hate your life and it is taking every bone in his body to not run away with you. but who is he to tell you what to do or what to change anyway? all he can do for now is try to find a way to make you genuinely smile.

“take me anywhere,” you whisper to the latter. “i just want to be as far from myself and my life as possible. miles away or the nearest convenience store, just take the long way home before dawn.”

you look down at the cup holders, spotting an open cigarette box. you tug one out of the nineteen and light it with the lighter you kept in your pocket. you lean back and close your eyes. he only admires as you bring the cigarette to your lips, exhaling a cloud of smoke afterwards. letting the radio play quietly, he starts the car and begins to drive away from the mansion. he can’t help but wonder how you (an elegant daughter) and him (a bad boy) are millions of worlds apart, but more similar than you think.

© perhapsthanatos (efa)

[burnedbyshoto]

shallow or deep

— “Why would you want a guy with such a large and disgusting burn?” he whispered, his tone thoroughly rejected, broken. It was then that it hit you: did he think he wasn't good enough for you. —

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

pairing: todoroki shouto x reader

warnings: fluff, angst (insecurities), cursing

word count: 2,544

a/n: I took the shouto has an insecurity over his scar even if it isnt that deep headcanon and ran with it, I hope yall enjoy this!!!! its been awhile since ive managed to write a fic in a single day!!!

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

“You’re quite the handsome man!”

“Oh, thank you.”

“But that scar... don’t you want to get that fixed? I know someone with a quirk who can fix that up for you!”

“Thank you for your concern, but I think I am content with it.”

~

“Without a doubt, you are by far one of the most attractive Pro Heroes to have existed!”

“Thank you for your compliment, but I think it’s my ability to—”

“Don’t you think you would look hotter without your scar? Have you ever considered getting it removed?”

“...no, I haven’t…”

~

“Just imagine how Shouto would look like without his scar, here are some edited pictures for reference!”

“Wow, if I didn’t want to give him my life already, I would sell my soul to the devil to get with a scarless Shouto…”

“I don’t know, I think the scars sexy! Like look at it, it makes him so mysterious and badass! Guys with scars are so fucking hot! But in my opinion, without the scar? Shouto isn’t shit!”

“Guys with scars are hot, I’ll give you that, but not one-fourth of the face scars! He’s extremely handsome still, but it’s a bit tacky for the scar to be there. If it had been like Deku’s arm and hand scars — hell, even Eraserheads face scar — he would be so much finer.”

~

“And just how did you get your scar, Shouto?”

The American interviewer who sat in front of Shouto during this live national interview had the kindest smile on her face, but to the Pro Heroes who sat on the stage alongside Shouto could recognize that shark-like glint in her eyes. Her face was calm, tranquil, beautiful, but her eyes sent bitter acid through the Heroes mouth.

“I’ve already explained what happened in a previous interview,” Shouto spoke calmly, his fingers digging into his knees.

Your eyes looked over to your boyfriend, who seemed to be trying everything in his power to remain calm. You’d only seen this happen through a screen, never in real life.

The interviewer seemed unconcerned with his rebuttal, most likely expecting this from the man who wasn’t one for repeating big stories. Her chin tilted up almost like she was looking down on him, looking down on who he was. 

“Well then, I’ll bite,” she leaned forward, and you felt on edge to attack, but a hand gripped your wrist when a cruel smirk spread on her face. “Do you resent your mother for burning you that night? How do you feel about the fact that it was your mother who ruined your charming looks?”

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

The car was silent.

Your eyes tried to remain focused on the road ahead of you, but to your misplaced anger and hurt, you focused on the side of Shouto’s face every so often while he drove.

The radio wasn’t even on, something the both of you enjoyed blasting because you would sing stupidly loud and Shouto would hum along in his own mirth. The only sound heard was the tires driving against the gravel road and your irritated breathing. 

The two of you had dropped off your friends five minutes ago, the once awkwardly tense car melting to this angry silence between the two of you in the front. 

You hadn’t defended him on live television because Momo held you back, and Shouto allowed the interviewer to defile his family’s past abuse with her keen touch. The silence between the two of you was also irritating you.

Once the interview was done, Shouto had been the first to rise from his chair and to leave. And you were hot on his heels. You hadn’t been forgiving to Shouto when you finally corned him.

“How could you let her talk to you like that, Shouto?” you blazoned, your heart hammering in your chest, anger, humiliation, and sorrow riling you up. “She was a total fucking cunt, and you just took it!”

Shouto stared down at you, that old yet familiar distant look in his eyes — that anger that burned brighter than any fire he could produce flaming in both eyes. 

“Drop it, y/n,” he all but hissed, his face stone, his tone fierce. “You don’t need to fight every single fucking thing that makes me uncomfortable.”

Those words weren’t enough to make you drop it, had it been any other fight you would have continued to press him for what was wrong with him, but it was that look in his eyes. The old look that you had sworn long ago you’d never allow to meet his eyes again.

The anger, humiliation, and broken look that he used to wear every day.

When Shouto finally parked, he didn’t hesitate to get out of the car, the door slamming loudly while you stumbled to follow after him. 

But he was tall, too tall, and was in the house well before you could close your own door. It didn’t deter the way that you stormed towards the house, the devil, and god riding on your shoulder in this battle to figure out what the hell was wrong with Shouto.

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

“I don’t resent my mother,” Shouto cooly stated. “It was an unfortunate accident, but fortunately, it hasn’t kept me from anything. I still have complete sight and functionality, so I’m okay. I could never resent my mother.”

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

“Won’t you tell me what’s wrong?” you ask, coming into the house.

This was Shouto’s house, something that Endeavor had gifted to him in his expression of apology. He and his siblings had been given their own homes the moment they turned twenty, and shortly after starting your relationship, he had asked you to move in.

You both were now twenty-three. You were neither each other's firsts on many levels, but there was no denying that this was the best relationship the both of you had. You comforted each other to no level, loved each other like no other. It was almost a shame that you didn’t have any feelings for your old classmate during high school because maybe then you’d been together for longer than a year.

But nevertheless, the two of you held no regrets. His house had become yours with him.

It was a bright place, no matter how dull the day was, it was always vivacious and warm in here.

But not now.

The door closed behind you, and you saw Shouto standing at the kitchen table, head lowered, arms tense. The world seemed grey, dull, and cold. You almost swore the house’s temperature was ten degrees cooler while you approached your boyfriend, who appeared to be trapped in his thoughts.

You neared him, your own anger diminishing slowly when you saw the shadows over his eyes, his teeth gnashing in a grit. 

Sorrow, humiliation, guilt.

That’s all you could read from him, but you needed more from him.

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

The interviewer seems to have expected that answer for she remains unfazed, but that predatorial glint in her eyes remains. The eyes of someone who hasn’t shown off their strongest of cards.

“How about relationship-wise? Have any of the beautiful ladies you’ve dated or have wanted to court in the past told you that you’d be much more handsome without it? Don’t you wish that you could be more normal for y/h/n?”

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

“Why would you want a guy with such a large and disgusting burn?” he whispered, his tone thoroughly rejected, broken. It was then that it hit you: did he think he wasn't good enough for you.

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

You stood up, the chair you were sitting on scraping loudly against the black floor. The interviewer snapped her attention on you for just a moment, eyes sparkling with the thrill of getting a dramatic reaction from someone.

But Momo and Uraraka held you down, and Sero’s tape came across your mouth to keep you from talking your mind.

“There have been words like that before,” Shouto says, his voice steely smooth. “But as you can see, I’m not dating anyone who shares those same opinions.”

The interviewer seemed to deflate at that answer, obviously not the juicy breakdown she was hoping for. She continued down the mass interview with the most successful class from UA’s hero program, and you continued to fume in your seat. Anger that couldn’t even be quieted by the sour emotions coming off of Shouto in large waves.

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

“W-What?” you say almost in a horrified whisper.

Your eyes were wide, unsure if you had heard Shouto correctly. You prayed you had. A fist clenched on your chest, your gaze followed Shouto’s clouded face when he stood up completely.

“You heard me right,” he repeats, his focus on the wall. Finally, his blue and grey eyes focus on you; they’re distant, so far away, you weren’t sure if you could get him back anytime soon. A soft sigh ragged in his chest, nearly choking in his throat when he looked at you. “I was never insecure about my scar growing up… I didn’t have anything in sight except for wanting to be a hero, and hell, even through high school, it didn’t matter. No one in our class mentioned it, and I went on to believe that it while it wasn’t normal, it was in some way.” His hands found your cheeks, pressing onto them gently, and you could feel them tremble slightly. “Then I finally liked someone romantically, and we were thrust into the crazy world of media, and I realized that my burn isn’t normal.”

“S-Shouto…”

“The first person I ever dated told me they knew someone who would fix it up for me for free. The second person… well, they were an idiot and thought if we had children, the burn would be transferred over. More and more people both privately and publicly told me that I would be s-so much better without it… Do you think I’d be better without it?” his lips twisted, and you could only stare up in his eyes that seemed so far away so broken. “Even the ones who liked it, it was some weird fetish of theirs… the truth is, I don’t know how to feel about it. I shouldn’t hate it because it’s who I am, but I hate it because people always have some opinion about it, and no matter what I hear, it always pisses me off. I just… you’re beautiful, y/n. You’re the person in my life that I never want to see leave, and I know that it’s shallow to value people only for their beauty, but I’m not beautiful. Scars and burns are not beautiful, they’re ugly... My looks are decent at best, but that’s all that makes me desirable. Not you, though. You’re gorgeous, your personality and attitude never fail to make everyone feel better, and yet you’re here with me… why would you love someone like me?”

There it was.

His eyes kept to your feet as if he wasn’t worthy of staring you in the face. His hands continue to hold against you in a weak grasp, as if he pressed any harder against you, you would crumble to dust or say you hated him. 

Your hands grasped his wrists, pressing his hands even more against your skin. It was an intense action, so out of the blue that his eyes snapped up to meet yours finally. 

Shouto wasn’t sure what to expect when he looked at your face; he knew you were upset about the interview, and truthfully he wished he hadn’t warned Uraraka, Momo, and Sero to keep you down when those questions were asked — should they have been proposed. He also expected tears, you were always one to be more emotional than he was. 

What he didn’t expect were steely yet warm eyes.

“You’re an idiot, Todoroki Shouto,” you finally speak. You took a step closer to him, your heartbeat in your throat. This was a raw Shouto standing before you. A Shouto, you had no idea how he reacted, no matter how much you knew him. So, if this was a rebuilding scene, a moment to get him to see what you saw, you would take it. “You’re right, scars and burns are ugly. They shouldn’t be romanticized. It’s also not the same as others, who take scars as a sign of overcoming hardships and victory. Your scar is one of a kind… but like you’ve said, shallow traits aren’t enough…” Your chin trembled just the slightest bit, but you couldn’t let yourself cry. No, you had to be strong for him. “You’re the kindest person I know, which knowing the saint that is Midoriya and All Might, it means a lot. I don’t mean it because you’re my boyfriend, or because I want you to feel better, but you had every reason to not be kind in your life and look at you, you’re gentle, you’re sweet. You also speak your mind, no matter what. Your opinions are valuable, and that’s why you’re such a great leader. You were made to become a hero that surpassed All Might, and you did it without ever once going down the road your father had intended for you. You did that. But if we’re going to be looking at the shallow traits, we can do that.

Your scar is a sign of growth. It’s ugly, and it’s beautiful. It’s ugly because it makes you feel like you’re not good for me. It’s ugly because it was such a dark time for you when it came. It’s ugly because it’s an insecurity. But I also see beauty. It’s beautiful because it’s another place I can tenderly love at night. It’s beautiful because who you were back then is just a scar of who you were. It’s beautiful because it’s a source of your strength despite it all. You can think whatever you want of it, Shouto, think it’s good or bad, but because it’s apart of you I have to and I choose to love it. Why would I ever want you to change who you are if you’re comfortable with it? What kind of lover would I be if I decided to love everything but one part of you?” your fingers trailed to his scarred skin, the red skin forever warm under your touch. “Shallow or deep, I will never stop loving you.”

Tears fell from his eyes, and his lips crashed against yours.

The two of you sink to the floor in this wet and sweet embrace. Lips never tearing from each other, fingers wistfully holding on, a silent prayer to each other of your devotions, and hope to never leave each other’s sides. Your fingers continued to stroke against his scar, and he held you so close until you could no longer kiss.

So your wet and bruised lips pressed against his warm scar, gentle and soft reminders that you were there for him until his faint cries became steady breathing.

Todoroki Shouto may never get over the insecurity of his scar, but he’d be damned if he thought for a second whether it was there or not, you’d love him any more or any less. You loved him entirely, and for that, he was forever grateful.

[psychovigilantewrites]

Don’t Call Me That (pt. 1)

Pairing: Jason Todd/Reader

Genre: Aftermath of torture, healing, and sex in later chapter hehe

Word count: 9000

Summary:  The new Robin and Batman stumble upon a cell in Arkham Asylum that was occupied by a very much injured, and very much still alive Jason Todd. Bringing him back, Bruce realises that Jason is unstable and keeps him locked in a room in the mean time. Reader helps Jason get used to being around another human being once more, and finds herself falling deeply with the damaged Jason.

A/N:  This was meant to be a one-shot, but I realised that it's a bit too long, so I'm splitting it into two chapters. Here's whatever I wrote so far. Psst, the sex will come later! I think this has got to be the most favourite one-shot I’ve written so far!! I’m addicted to this story, and I hope you guys will like it too! Let me know!

Masterlist

Kofi

Ao3

The light was getting dimmer and dimmer the further you strayed from the main building. The walls cracked, wallpaper peeling back to reveal brick and concrete. The air was getting thin, and the smell.

Rat piss, sewage, and that suffocating damp humid smell that reminded you of dirty laundry- except it filled the whole Old Wing of Arkham Asylum.

“Do youreally think the security breach was sourced from here, Batman?” you voiced out your doubts.

He was walking next to you, his steps hardly making a sound. “We need to make sure. Half of the East Wing’s cells were suddenly opened automatically. There is a main powerframe in the Old Wing that someone could have damaged.”

“Someone, as in..?”

“Not sure. Joker has been in his cell for the past 19 months since he broke out two years ago.”

You ignored the way his voice cracked at the end.

Two years ago, before you were involved with Bruce Wayne and his fight for justice, Joker had broken free, got hold of Jason Todd, your predecessor whom you had never met, kidnapped him, tortured him, and then killed him. After sending a video tape of his Todd’s death to Bruce, he went and created a drug that made people go crazy and kill each other. Bruce caught him then, broke half the bones in his body, and then threw him back in the asylum.

“Why did they stop using this wing?” you asked, your voice echoing back to you.

The two of you were walking down a corridor, with cells on either side. Each cell had a metal door with a rectangular slot at the top of the door to peek inside and another longer slot in the middle for passing inmates food. Some of the doors were opened ajar, nothing inside but old beds and overflowing toilet bowls, some were locked shut.

Your heart was racing. It was like you were in a horror movie. You stepped over the empty gas canisters and toilet paper that was strewn all over the floor of the corridor, walking around a rusty old wheelchair and made sure to follow Batman closely.

“Abandoned when a riot broke out five years ago,” he answered, “Something about hauntings.”

“Hauntings?” you widen your eyes.

“These are superstitious folk,” he explained, “The riot took a dozen lives. Violently. Some nurses got tortured. Rumour has it that this wing is haunted.”

“I don’t believe in ghosts,” you declared, though you felt chills run down your spine anyway.

“Indeed. Some of the security guards say they’ve heard screams coming from here. None dared to approach.”

“Screams? Please, I’m sure it’s just the-”

A crash came from one of the cells. You jumped so violently in shock that you tripped over a catheter on the ground. You and Batman looked at each other for one second, and then he raised his finger to his lips, making sure you kept quiet.

Nodding, you followed behind him as he investigated the cell the sound came from. He slid open the viewing window of the door, and despite the darkness you saw his expression twist to one you’ve never seen before.

Horror.

He took out a small explosive from his belt and attached it to the door. A small boom, and the door swung open. Batman rushed inside, and you were hit with the worst smell you’ve ever experienced. It made you gag, your eyes tearing up.

It smelled of blood and human feces and urine, and something that was decomposing, like the big trash bins lined up behind one of those dank alleys, overflowing with a week’s worth of disposal.

The cell was bigger than the others, and it didn’t have a bed. Only a toilet and a wooden chair that was toppled. Batman was next to the chair, kneeling on the ground over something, unmoving, as if frozen in spot, his back turned to you.

“B?” you whispered, “What is this place?”

There were scratches on the walls, some in blood. Little bones were tossed in a corner, lying in what looked- and smelled- like dry vomit.

You walked over to him, slowly approaching with caution. As you got nearer, your vision became clearer.

He was kneeling over an unconscious man wearing your Robin uniform.

Now, it was your turn to be horrified.

The uniform was tattered, cape dirty and stained with bodily fluids. The man?

Scars and dried blood littered his face and arms, his dark hair matted and sticky. He was obviously large, his frame almost as big as Bruce’s, yet you could see that he was malnourished, his cheeks slightly hollowed, his skin hanging loosely over the remains of his muscles.

And he was still breathing.

***

Alfred, Bruce, and you stared in silence at the man on the bed, now clean and hooked to an IV. None of you had said a word since you got back. Alfred was rigid the whole time he cleaned and examined him, with Bruce shadowing him closeby. You could do nothing but stand back, waiting for an explanation.

Now you were in the infirmary, the steady beat of vital signs machinery annoyed you.

“How is he alive?” Alfred broke the tension with a small whisper.

“There were small animal bones in his cell,” Bruce said with a strained voice. You knew he was doing his all to keep it together.

“Goodness,” Alfred responded, “But- the video-”

“Must have been a fake,” Bruce said, his voice now cracking, “I should have known. I should have- I- oh, God.”

Without warning, Bruce crumpled to his feet. You have never seen him like this. He was always strong, stoic, and he never let his emotions show.

The sight of him burying his face in his hands in anguish- it scared you.

“It’s not your fault, Master Bruce,” Alfred put a hand on his shoulder, “You couldn’t have-”

A grunt came from Jason Todd as he stirred awake. All three of you snapped your heads to him. You saw the way he opened his eyes, blinking at his surroundings as he tried to register where he was. Bruce rushed to his side.

That was his mistake.

Jason Todd started screaming.

“STAY AWAY FROM ME!” he roared, sitting up and crawling out of bed, ripping the IV from his hand.

“Jason-”

“NO!” he yelled, “YOU’RE NOT REAL. STAY AWAY!”

His voice was deep and hoarse, like someone who had been screaming his whole life.

“Jason, it’s me,” Bruce tried to slowly approach him. He was on his feet now, though he stumbled getting there. His expression was wild, his mouth downturned into a scowl, his eyes darting from Bruce, to Alfred, to you, to the bed, to the whole room, like a wild animal cornered.

“This is real?” he growled a question.

“Yes, son,” Bruce assured, “This is real. We found you. Please, lie back down. You’re hurt.”

“You’re… real?” his voice broke halfway.

“Yes, I’m real,” Bruce’s voice was the same.

Then, Jason let out a laugh. A loud, haunting, hysterical laugh that was absent of humor.

“Good.”

He jumped at Bruce and tackled him to the ground, his fingers around Bruce’s neck. You reacted quickly, rushing over and kneeing him in the face so that he let go of your Bruce and stumbled backwards. He recovered quickly and set his eyes on you.

He proceeded to attack you, but before anything, Bruce had him restrained, wrestling him to the ground.

“Jason! Calm down!”

“NO!” he shouted, “NO! NO! IT’S YOUR FAULT. IT’S YOUR FUCKING FAULT. DIE! DIE!”

He trashed about with surprising power, trying to get Bruce off him. Bruce got his arm around Jason’s neck, and you saw him clawing at his arm, attempting to break free. The younger man’s movements got slower, weaker, as Bruce cut his oxygen supply and eventually knocked him out.

Bruce carried his son to the bed.

“Alfred, please sedate him,” he instructed. “We’ll move him to the cell downstairs. He’s too unstable to be here.”

“Are you okay?” you reached out to your adoptive father.

“Yes,” he nodded, “He’s surprisingly strong.”

“He’s a survivor, Bruce,” you smiled at an attempt to comfort him, “I can’t imagine what he’s been through, but he’ll get through this.”

“I hope so.”

***

The cell Bruce had in the Batcave was less like a cell, and more like a room. It was a large square box with four walls and a roof on one side of the Cave, with high end security. It had double doors, each requiring a registered thumbprint to enter. Bruce had built it in case he needed to hold someone hostage there. The outer layer was made out of lead, and you wondered what had gone through Bruce’s mind when he added that feature. The cell even had a small bathroom with a shower, toilet, and a sink.

This time, though, he made sure the room with white interiors looked more comfortable for Jason. He put in a double single bed with fluffy sheets and pillows, a whole bookshelf full of classic literature, a cupboard, a desk and chair complete with a table lamp.

Jason was still sedated when all of you moved him to the cell. He had been sedated for a while so he wouldn’t wake up and rip off his IV. You helped lift him up, and found that he was heavy, heavier than you had expected him to be.

Then, Bruce went to the Batcomputer and switched on the security camera inside the cell and watched as he slowly regained consciousness and went all ballistic again. He toppled over the shelf, the chair, the desk. Threw the books around, ripped out the pages, punched the walls, and was screaming.

“Let me go!” “Fuck you!” “I’m going to fucking kill you!” were some amongst the many extremities he shouted at the camera.

And you watched as Bruce stared into the screen showing his broken, damaged son.

***

“He’s quiet,” you pointed out when you walked over to Bruce at the computers. It had been a week of watching Jason scream and thrash about in the room- which was a complete mess.

“Yes, he has been that way for a few hours now,” Bruce frowned.

You saw from the screen. Jason was just sitting down in one corner of the room, staring into space.

“Well, at least he didn’t throw the food down the toilet bowl this time,” you shrugged and sat down next to him. Alfred would bring a tray of warm soft foods and set it on the tray of the rectangular food delivery hole of the second, internal door.

Out of spite, Jason would take the food and throw it down the toilet before returning it empty. This time, you saw that it just sat there on the tray, untouched.

“I was thinking,” Bruce mentioned, “Of bringing in Dr. Leslie or Dinah. He is familiar with both of them. They could help with putting him on medication and giving him psychotherapy.”

“Yeah, for some reason,” you began, “I don’t think he’ll take that so well.”

“I… don’t know what to do.”

You stayed silent for a few moments. The past week, you saw Bruce in a light you had never seen before. Emotional, vulnerable, helpless. You appreciated that he trusted you enough to reveal that side of himself in front of you.

“Let him calm down a bit,” you suggested, “And maybe… Maybe I can help.”

“How?” he frowned.

“If you bring in Leslie or Dinah, he’ll know in an instant what you’re up to,” you explained. “And maybe it’s too soon for therapy. I think right now he just needs to get used to being around another human being.”

“Hmm,” Bruce considered, “Okay. We’ll go with your idea. How will you do it?”

Your heart swelled with joy. You loved it when he acknowledged you.

You waited a couple of days before trying it out. The whole while, Jason was just sitting down in his corner, silent and unmoving.

Nervously, you approached the first door on the external side of the box, pressing your thumb to the digital square on the wall and hearing it beep in approval. You opened the door and closed it behind you before approaching the second door.

You took a deep breath, felt for the taser on your belt, and then pressed your thumb on the second door.

The first thing you saw when you opened the door was Jason scrambling to his feet in surprise, his eyes vigilant. You lift both your hands up in surrender.

“Not here to hurt you,” you said slowly, “Just here to chill.”

He narrowed his eyes at you in suspicion.

To prove it to him, you sat down on the floor by the door, and took out your book. Heart beating in your chest, you tried to calmly open the book and stared intensely at the words, not reading anything.

In your peripheral vision, he just stood there, stiff and still like a statue, staring at you, analysing you. You had expected him to attack, but ten minutes passed, and he was still there.

Then-

“What do you want?” he croaked, voice harsh and gritty.

“Nothing,” you shrugged, eyes not leaving your book, “Just chilling.”

A momentary pause.

“Leave.”

“No,” you simply said, turning a page.

“Why are you here? Did he send you?” he demanded.

“No. I just want to read in silence, if you don’t mind,” you rolled your eyes.

You wished you could see his expression.

Another five minutes passed, and he didn’t say anything else, or do anything else, but stare at you in caution.

After an hour, you got up and left, leaving a very confused Jason Todd in his cell.

***

You continued that routine for the next three days without exchanging a word with Jason. He would just stand there and glare at you for an hour while you pretended to read. On the fourth day, however, there were more than just a few words exchanged.

“You again,” he growled at you as you entered.

“Hello,” you smiled warmly.

“What do you want from me?” he barked.

“Nothing,” you repeated, “I just want to-”

“Chill?” he cut you off, “I don’t fucking believe you. I don’t trust you. What is he planning? Is he trying to mock me?”

“Mock you?” you responded, taken aback, “Why would he do that?”

“Why wouldn’t he?” Jason grit, “He’s done worse. He just wants to see me suffer.”

“What?” you frowned, “No. He just wants to help you.”

“Well, he’s too late for that,” he spat.

“Look-”

“Get the fuck out. Don’t come back.”

“He thought you died,” you tried to explain, “Jok- He got sent a video. Of you getting shot. Dying. He didn’t know.”

“I don’t care,” he fumed.

“He loves you, Jason,” you said softly.

Then, a light flickered in his eye. “What did you call me?”

“Uh, Jas-”

You choked on your words when Jason suddenly had his hands around your neck, squeezing the air from your lungs. You didn’t have time to react, scratching away at his arm helplessly.

“Don’t call me that,” he growled.

You were going to reach for your taser, but then he let you go and went back to his corner. You sucked in a deep breath, eyes watering.

You ran out-

-and closed the door behind you to lean against it, trying to get your breath back.

“Are you okay?” Bruce worried, approaching you fast, “I’m sorry. I should have waited out here instead of at the computers.”

“I’m fine,” you panted, “He didn’t hurt me. Just scared me a bit, that’s all.”

“This was a bad idea,” he frowned, “We should stop-”

“No!” you hurriedly denied, “No. It was my fault. I didn’t know. I said his name. He didn’t like it and reacted to it, that’s all. I won’t say his name next time.”

“No, it’s too dangerous.”

“Bruce, please,” you insisted, “I want to help him. Please, let me continue.”

You looked at your father’s blue eyes, full of concern. “Okay.”

***

Despite the scare he gave you, you were ready to enter again the next day. There was something about Jason Todd that made you feel like you owed it to him to help. Maybe it was plain pity, or maybe it was the way that his eyes had a flicker of hope when he realised he wasn’t imagining things.

The digital screen beeped in approval as it registered your thumbprint, and you pushed open the door. Jason was already standing, muscles taut, ready to spring at the first sense of danger.

You didn’t say a word, but just smiled at him and sat down where you usually did, pushing over the fallen books and torn paper on the floor to create a little space for yourself.

Trying your best not to look nervous, you opened your book and stared at the words again.

“I didn’t think you’d come back,” he grit.

“Yeah, well. You’re going to have to try a lot harder if you want to get rid of me, my dude.”

“I’m not your dude,” he said in disgust.

You looked over to him and smirked. “Whatever you say.”

And you continued to pretend to read.

After several minutes, you heard a heavy sigh coming from Jason. Out of the corners of your eye, you saw him give up and slump back onto the ground, his knees up to his chest. He leaned his head back against the wardrobe and closed his eyes.

And for the first time in his presence, you found that you were actually reading.

***

You continued for a month. Entering and sitting down for a couple of hours to read before going back out. Sometimes with few exchanges of “Good morning” or “Miss me?”, mostly going unresponded. Sometimes he would sit down and glare at you, or stand up and glare at you, or sit down and rest his head and close his eyes. Always from a distance.

The first time you started picking up the books and rearranging them back onto the bookshelf, he looked like he was about to burst a vein in his temple.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he growled.

“I’m cleaning up,” you replied nonchalantly.

“Don’t.”

“What are you gonna do, choke me again?” you rolled your eyes.

You could almost hear him seething in his corner, vibrating in anger.

The next day you came back, the books were back on the floor, strewn everywhere.

But every time before you left, you would still rearrange them back.

Sometimes you would bring in food with you, simply leaving the tray on the desk. He did eat a little, but never when you were around, and never more than a few bites. He ate only to survive. In fact, the more you went to see him, the more you started to notice the little things.

His bed was unmade, the sheets pulled back and covers thrown about. But you knew he had never once slept in it. He never changed his clothes either. It had started to bother you, because he never showered, and his body odour was getting quite distinct.

His eyes were sunken and dark, his hair was greasy and messy, his facial hair overgrown. You wondered if Bruce left a razor in there for him. It was probably a bad idea.

One day while you were sitting down and reading, Jason was in his corner, curled up and eyes closed, Alfred entered the first door and slid in a tray of food from the compartment of the second door. You got up to take it, feeling Jason’s eyes on you as you walked. But instead of setting the tray on the desk like you usually did, you put it on the ground next to you as you sat and read again.

That day, the menu was pumpkin soup with toast. Alfred had always kept the food light and easy to digest. You picked up a piece of toast from the plate, dipped it in the soup, and ate it while reading.

“Are you eating my fucking food?” Jason fumed from the distance.

“Someone should,” you bit back, dipping the toast back in the soup and continued to eat.

“Stop it.”

You looked over at him with challenging eyes. “Why should I?”

“It’s my food,” he insisted.

Jason hardly ever talked to you. In fact, that was the most words you’ve heard him say in a couple of weeks. He was possessive over his food, apparently, which didn’t make sense because he hardly ever ate.

“But it’s not like you eat it,” you argued, curious as to where this would take you, “I’m making sure it doesn’t go to waste.”

He narrowed his eyes at you, and then shifted slightly closer, leaning in towards you. “Give it to me.”

You pretended to consider it for awhile. “No.”

He growled.

“Come and take it if you want it so badly,” you challenged.

Immediately, you regretted it. Because he got up, and walked slowly towards you, looming over you like a predator watching its prey. Your heart started to beat faster in your chest, your palms started beading with sweat.

He then crouched down and snatched the piece of toast from your hands, taking the tray away and walked back towards his spot on the floor. Setting the tray down, he immediately started to ravish the soup and toast, his eyes never leaving yours the whole time.

It was the most he’d eaten ever since he arrived.

“You shouldn’t eat too fast,” you warned, “Your stomach’s not used to that amount of food yet.”

“Watch me.”

He cleaned the bowl in three minutes as you stared in shock.

***

“Who are you?” Jason asked out of the blue.

It was your sixth week there. Six weeks of sitting down in silence and hardly ever talking. Occasionally cleaning up after him, just to see the room messy again. Occasionally trying to spark up conversation, only to be greeted by silence. But that time, it was him who started it first.

You told him your name, still pleasantly surprised at his engagement.

“I don’t give a fuck what you’re called,” he spat, “It doesn’t explain to me who you are.”

Frowning, you closed the book. You wondered if it was a good idea to tell him that you were Bruce’s newly adopted daughter. Would he feel betrayed? Jealous? But if you didn’t and he found out, wouldn’t that be worse? Plus, you didn’t want to lie to him.

After all, you were trying to help.

“Bruce adopted me a year ago,” you explained, “I’m officially his adopted daughter. I’ve only recently been Robin. When we found you, it was just my second month.”

Anger flashed in his eyes, his jaw clenched. “Typical. Lose one toy, find another one to play with.”

“I’m not a toy,” you defended heatedly, “He… saved me. I owe him.”

He didn’t ask, but you knew he wanted to, so you continued anyway. “He found me at a bid. A human trafficking bid. After my parents died, I ran away from the orphanage. I got kidnapped. After finding out I was a virgin, they organised an event to see who would bid the highest to own me.”

It seemed like Jason’s expression didn’t change, his mouth still in a scowl. But you saw the way his eyes softened. It was a good idea to explain, after all. He must have drawn conclusions that Bruce had replaced him with you shortly after his death.

“Batman crashed the party right before I was about to get sold off for… Five thousand eight hundred and fifty dollars,” you scoffed, “I guess that was how much I was worth. Could you even buy a car with that? I’m not sure. Maybe a used one.”

“Anyway, I was quite shaken up. He took pity on me, I guess. Maybe it was my puppy dog eyes that made me look so pathetic that he decided to take me in. Mom always said I had a pathetic look,” you shrugged, “That’s who I am I guess. Now I’m in my last year of highschool. I turn seventeen in two months! I'm only a year or so younger than you. You don’t have to get me anything, of course. It’s cool. I never really cared much for birthdays anyway.”

You tried to lighten the mood, but all you saw was Jason’s unchanging expression. You guessed that was as much as he was willing to say that day, so you got up and started cleaning again despite knowing he was going to just mess it up.

***

He did mess it up again, but what shocked you that day was not the mess, but the fact that he was actually on the bed. The bed was still unmade, and he was sitting unnaturally upright, but still. It was progress.

You sat down on the floor and read your book. After five minutes, he asked, “What’s the book about?”

Trying your hardest not to look surprised in case he took it the wrong way, you answered, “A brief history of mankind. From evolution, to the agricultural revolution, to the current day.”

He just blinked at you in response, and you wondered when was the day that he had stopped glaring at you.

You tried to break the ice. “Bruce put all the books he thought you might like on the shelf. I’ve noticed that they’re mostly classic literary novels. You like those, huh?”

Not a word.

“I never really could get into those. I tried, but it’s not my thing, you know? Or maybe I started with the wrong book.”

He closed his eyes instead of answering you.

Sighing, you decided not to push it, and went back to your book.

About fifteen minutes passed. And then-

“You like science and shit?” he spoke up, his eyes boring into yours.

“Uh, yeah,” you said, taken aback by the sudden question.

“Start with Jules Verne. Twenty thousand leagues,” he told you, then closed his eyes again.

“Thank you,” you smiled.

Silence.

***

“Why do you sit there?” Jason asked you two days later.

“Huh?”

“Why do you sit on the floor when there's a desk?” he repeated in annoyance, like an underpaid customer service worker at the mall.

“Well, I didn't want to intrude on your space,” you told him.

“You being here already intrudes my space,” he rolled his eyes.

Jason was more relaxed now. He was actually leaning against a propped pillow on the bed, one knee brought to his chest, the other leg crossed over it.

And he was reading a fucking book.

“...so you can sit anywhere you like. Doesn't make a difference,” he continued.

“Then can I sit on the bed next to you?” you teased lightly.

You had expected him to glare at you in contempt, to tell you to fuck off or get out, or even not respond to you at all. So you were very much surprised when he said what he did.

“Whatever,” he mumbled.

Despite trying your best to act neutral, your jaw dropped. You quickly recovered, and cleared your throat nervously, standing up and slowly walking towards him. Jason shuffled a bit, going upwards against the wall at the head of the bed.

You slowly sat down at the foot of it, still maintaining some distance from him for his sake. Bringing your bare feet up, you crossed them and leaned against the wall the bed was pushed against.

Getting comfortable, you opened your book and started reading. For two hours, you and Jason Todd sat on the bed next to each other, reading with no other sounds except the occasional rustling of a page being turned.

You closed your book once you were done, but before you could get up, he asked in a small voice. “How long was I… There?”

The way his voice was shaky, the way it came out in a harsh whisper, and the fact that it had taken him seven weeks to ask- it tugged at your heart.

“Two years,” you said objectively, making sure no emotions leaked into your voice.

“And he thought I was dead the whole time?” he grumbled.

“Yes.”

“That's why he never came?” he choked out.

Fuck, you tried not to let your tears fall.

“Yes,” you whispered back.

“World's greatest detective, my ass,” he snorted.

“He's killing himself over this,” you told him softly, “I’ve never seen him like that before.”

“Like what?” he demanded, looking at you with anger, with red eyes pooling with tears.

“Vulnerable. Clueless. Breaking down and crying next to you while you slept,” you elaborated. “You may not forgive him for now, and that's understandable. But Bruce? He’ll never forgive himself. Not in a million years.”

“Please leave.”

You didn't argue. You didn't hang around to clean up. You left immediately, because of the way he said his please, like someone who was tired, so tired. It was the way he told you to leave, it wasn't out of anger or spite. It was out of desperation. Because he was looking away when he told you, refusing to let you see the tear that fell on his face that you saw anyway.

***

“What are you looking at?” he grunted. “Close your mouth. You look like an idiot.”

You snapped your mouth close, not even aware that it was ajar.

The room was exceptionally clean- cleaner than when you cleaned it yourself. Jason had properly made the bed, fitted the sheets and folded the covers. The torn pages of paper were gone, and on his shelf were all his books, neatly arranged.

In alphabetical order.

Yet, Jason was still smelly, and he still hadn’t changed his clothes despite the wardrobe full of fresh t-shirts and pants.

“You clean up better than I do,” you grumbled, sitting at the foot of his bed carefully.

“That’s because you’re useless,” he snapped.

You tried not to smile despite his insult. The bickering was fun, and it showed that he was more familiar with you now.

Trying to push it a little further, you narrowed your eyes at him and started sniffing the air loudly.

“You smell,” you told him.

“If you don’t like it, leave,” he bit back.

“There’s hot water in the shower you know,” you reminded him, “You could go shower. I’ll wait right outside.”

“What for?” he eyed you suspiciously.

“For moral support!” you grinned, holding two thumbs up.

And whaddaya know?

He snorted a laugh, and rolled his eyes.

“Oh, come on,” you whined, “You really stink. You’d give Killer Croc a run for his money with that stench.”

“If you don’t like it,” he leaned closer towards you, “Leave.”

“Ugh,” you grunted. And then, you had an idea. Probably a bad idea. He would probably murder you.

You stood up and announced, “I’ll be right back.”

After ten minutes of running around the mansion looking for items, you finally came back with a bucket, a sponge, and a fluffy towel.

“What the hell are you up to?” Jason demanded, sitting upright.

“If you won’t go to the shower, then I’ll bring the shower to you,” you grinned triumphantly and went to fill the bucket with warm water from the shower. You set down the filled bucket on the floor and motioned to Jason.

“Well, get on the floor.”

“What?”

“I’m going to give you a bath, and if you stay on the bed, it’s going to get all wet,” you explained, “So get on the floor and take off your shirt.”

He stared at you with bewilderment in his eyes, and then suddenly let out a bark of laughter. “Why on Earth would I listen to you?”

“Because if you don’t, I’m going to splash all this water on you, and you’re going to have to sleep in a wet bed,” you threatened.

“I’ll sleep on the floor,” he bickered.

“Fine, I’ll bargain with you,” you said, “If you listen to me, I’ll tell him to turn that off.”

You pointed to the single security camera at the top corner of the room, always switched on, watching and recording.

He clenched his jaw, contemplating your tempting offer.

“Fine,” he conceded, and slid to the floor, taking off his shirt.

You smirked.

“If you wanted to see me shirtless, you could have just asked,” he smirked back.

You really didn’t expect him to mess with you like that, and in result, you felt your cheeks heat up.

“N-no,” you denied, “I- you just stink.”

He raised an eyebrow.

Rolling your eyes, you kneeled in front of him, bringing the bucket of water closer. You took the sponge and soaked it, but before you pressed it on his skin, you just realised the situation you put yourself in.

That close to Jason, with him looking up at you and waiting, you gulped. Because his body wasn’t as bad as you thought two years of starvation would have caused. Sure, he was definitely skinnier than he should ever be, and his muscles were barely there, but his overall frame, the structure of his body was still large.

You finally pressed the sponge against his rising and falling chest, not meeting his eyes. The warm water spilled from the sponge and trickled down his chest, onto his stomach. You moved your hand in a wiping motion, cleaning the sweat off the surface of his skin.

Scars littered his body, healed cuts of various sizes. Some were burns, some were bullet wounds, and some were the crescent shapes of bites.

You moved the sponge to his arms, wiping down the contour of the remaining biceps he had left, going under to wash his pits, then going down to his forearms, which you noticed had long rough scars running down from his wrists to the crook of his elbows.

Your chest tightened.

Despite the hell he went through, you still thought he was beautiful.

You felt your breathing start to quicken.

Moving to his stomach next, you noticed that the water had seeped into the fabric of his grey sweatpants, making it turn dark, making it stick to his skin, stick to the long cylindrical shape of his-

“Your pupils are dilated,” he pointed out.

Your eyes snapped back to his.

“Wh-what- I wasn’t- they’re not!” you sputtered angrily.

He looked at you with an odd expression. Well, any expression that wasn’t a hateful glare was odd, you supposed. But his eyelids were droopy, the corners of his mouth relaxed and not tight.

It looked like he was actually enjoying it.

“You don’t find me disgusting?” he whispered.

You frowned at him in question, bringing the sponge up to wash his neck. “Well, you smell a bit gross. But by the time I’m done with you, that’ll be gone.”

“No. I meant by me. My body. My face. You don’t think I’m disgusting?” he said in a voice so small, you could barely make out the words.

His body made you think things, but none of them were disgusting. In fact, if he looked like that now, you wondered how his body must have looked like before, when he was healthy. You glanced at his face.

He had scars there too. One at the corner of his upper lip that made him seem like he was permanently smirking, one across the bridge of his nose, another long one that cut from his temple down to his brow, barely missing his eye. And you didn’t even count the smaller ones, silver little lines that were scattered all over his skin.

His cold blue eyes had scars in them as well. Not physically, not literally. But when you stared deep into them, you could almost see how truly scarred he was, and that scar had nothing on the ones you could actually see.

“There is no way that I could ever find you disgusting,” you told him earnestly.

He stared at you for a while, and then looked away to the side. You soaked the sponge and wiped his face, pressing it to his cheek. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as he allowed you to travel up to his hair, wetting it, going behind his ears, and back to his nape.

With a plunk, you dumped the sponge in the water and then opened the cap of the soap you had brought.

In an instant, Jason recoiled from you, “No. No soap.”

“Just a little bit?” you pressed.

“No soap,” he insisted, pushing your hand away, “It smells too strong. Makes me sick.”

And suddenly, it clicked.

The reason why he left his room in a mess, the reason why he didn’t sleep on the bed, the reason why he never showered or changed.

Because it was all too much.

The sudden change from a disgusting, smelly, rat-infested torture room to a clean, proper, neat environment with a warm bed. It was too much for him, and he wasn’t used to it yet.

He wasn’t used to being clean.

And the smell of a perfumed body wash would most definitely be too much for him.

“Okay,” you nodded, setting the soap down. “Then I’ll wash you up one more time, is that okay?”

He nodded, still not looking at you.

You were back at his face again for the second time, and then you cupped his cheek, using your thumb to feel the roughness of his overgrown facial hair.

“Do you want me to help shave you?” you asked.

“No way in hell would I ever let you come near my fucking face with a razor,” he scoffed.

“Fair enough,” you mumbled back a reply.

Once you were done, you took the towel and wiped him dry, trying your best to avoid looking at his crotch because you knew his pants were absolutely soaked through. You got up and went to the wardrobe to take a fresh pair of pants- a black sweatpants this time- and a white t-shirt. You set them on the bed, and took the bucket to the bathroom to throw away the contents.

Once you were done, Jason was already changed into his new pants, and had just finished putting on his t-shirt. He looked much better, fresher, and-

“You smell way better now,” you chuckled.

“I did what you asked,” he said, “You better make that happen.”

He gestured to the camera with his thumb.

“I will. Promise,” you smiled, picking up his stinky shirt and wet pants before heading out.

***

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Bruce grumbled.

“He’s not an experiment, or a criminal, Bruce,” you argued, “There’s no reason for you to keep surveillance on him that way. He deserves his privacy.”

“It’s about safety. His and yours,” he explained, “I wouldn’t know what’s going on in there while you’re inside if the camera is deactivated. I wouldn’t know if he’s- if he’s hurting himself.”

“I trust him, Bruce,” you insisted, “And he trusts me too! Look at what happened! He let me give him a freaking sponge bath!”

Bruce frowned in contemplation.

“He’s finishing his meals, he’s reading, he’s actually having conversations with me,” you listed, “He’s improving. Fast. Next thing you know, he and I could be best friends.”

“Fine,” he sighed, “But next time you go in, you’re bringing a panic button with you.”

The panic button you kept whenever you went for patrol was so that you could trigger a silent alarm to Bruce if you were in trouble.

“Okay, that’s fair!” you nodded your head excitedly, watching him as he pressed a button on the keyboard, switching off the camera in Jason’s room. The last thing you saw on the screen was Jason lying down on the bed, sleeping soundly.

***

“Okay, so,” you announced, standing up while you opened the plastic bag, “I got you a few things.”

Jason was on the bed, but proceeded to get up on his feet and tower over you. For some reason, he had started sitting or standing closer to you.

“I got you unscented shampoo and body wash,” you looked into the bag, naming the items you got, “Unscented shaving cream, and an electric shaver! You can’t hurt yourself with this, so Bruce agreed to-”

You looked up and gasped slightly at the closeness of his face to yours. You didn’t realise that he had stepped over so close to you that you could almost feel his warm breath on your face. Almost.

He took the plastic bag from your hands, his skin brushing against yours, and for a brief moment, it gave you goosebumps. He turned around with the plastic bag now in his hands, leaving you in shock.

That is, until he started taking off his shirt.

“W-woah!” you called out, “What are you doing?”

“Taking off my clothes,” he simply said, now not wearing a shirt.

“Why?”

“Because I want to shower,” he looked over his shoulder to give you a smirk. “Why? Wanna join?”

“Wh-wh-j-join?” you stuttered, ���Uh, no thanks. I’ll just. Leave you to it, then.”

You turned to leave. Then-

“Wait.”

You stopped in your tracks, turning back around to look at him, trying your best to maintain eye contact.

“Is that… diner in Gotham Village still around?” he asked quietly.

“The corner one on Vincent Street? Sure, it is,” you tilted your head in curiosity, “Would you… like anything from there?”

“The burger,” he said gruffly.

Your mouth widen into a smile. It was the first time he ever asked for anything, more so food. “Fries?”

“Sure.”

“Milkshake?”

“Yeah.”

“Chocolate?”

“Strawberry!” he looked at you as if you were crazy, and then disappeared into the toilet.

“I’ll be back in an hour!” you announced, skipping out in joy.

Vibrating with excitement, you opened the door to Jason’s room, not expecting to see a totally different man in his bed.

No, it was still Jason, but fuck.

Fuck.

He cleaned up well.

Finally showering after eight weeks, Jason Todd had transformed into an almost different person. His uncut hair that poked his eyes was no longer greasy. In fact, it had a slight bounce to it now.

He changed his shirt into a light blue V-neck, and most significantly of all, he shaved

Now you could see the way his angular jawline was cut into a shape as if some Greek artist sculpted it, the way his pink lips stood out against his milky skin - lack of tan from being kept indoors for so long, the way his cheekbones highlighted his facial structure.

And as if you didn’t think of it before, you thought about it again.

Jason Todd was a freaking hottie.

“Uhh, uhmm, uhhh,” you said, stunned and fully aware of the way your face was probably flushing.

He let out a chuckle, and walked towards you, reaching out to take the bags of food from your hand. All the while you were stunned in silence, unsure of how to react to the changed man.

“Anyone home?” he snapped his fingers in front of you.

“Uh, yes, sorry,” you shook your head, “I, uh, didn’t expect it, that’s all.”

“Expect what?” he set the bags on his desk, reaching in to take a fry. “Me to look so good?”

You were sure your ears were burning. “N-no! Not at all. Not that you don’t look good, but- uh- I mean- fuck!”

“I don’t understand you,” he took out the food and arranged them on the table. “My scars are more obvious like this.”

“I think your scars are sexy,” you blurted out.

He blinked.

“Uh, I mean!” you tried to backtrack, “Ugh, fuck it, let’s just eat!”

You took your own burger and went to sit on the bed.

“No food on the bed!” he barked.

“Okay, dad,” you rolled your eyes, settling with sitting on the floor.

To your surprise, Jason took all the food and put it on the floor in front of you, and then sat down opposite you.

Discreetly, you watched as he took the first bite.

He closed his eyes, chewing slowly, savouring the taste in his mouth. It was as though he was passionately making out with his burger, caressing the bun with love.

Smiling to yourself, you ate yours in silence, letting him appreciate the intimate moment he had with his food that he must have thought about while being forced to live on rats.

***

“What’s that?” Bruce asked curiously.

Ever since he switched off the camera in Jason’s room, he had been more agitated- or as agitated as he could get. He kept on asking you what you did, having you report back to him, demanding every little detail on his son’s wellbeing.

“My laptop,” you answered, “I was thinking we could do something different today. Maybe watch a movie. He’s missed out on so many.”

“A laptop,” Bruce hummed, “Do you think he would like one? To occupy his time? Or a television? Or a phone? Or- a tablet? Or-”

“Woah there, cowboy,” you chuckled. Bruce seemed desperate to provide Jason with anything he wanted. Maybe as a way to push the guilt away, maybe as a way to reconcile.

Or maybe he was just being a father who wanted to spoil his son.

Whatever the reason was, you thought it was extremely sweet.

“He’s only now just getting used to being in a clean environment,” you explained, “All of that may overstimulate him, and I don’t want him to revert back to how he was.”

“I see.”

“But I’ll ask, okay?” you said, heading to the room. “We’ll see how he handles a movie.”

You opened the door to see Jason sitting on his bed with his legs spread in front of him, reading a book.

“Hello,” you greeted.

“What’s that,” he narrowed his eyes at you.

“My laptop!” you told him excitedly, “I thought maybe we could watch a movie today.”

“Movie?” he frowned, crossing his legs to make space for you on the bed.

“Yeah,” you sat down in front of him, “I’ve got a whole terabyte of illegally downloaded movies and shows. We can choose one together and watch, if you’d like?”

He contemplated for a while, eyebrows drawn together while you opened your laptop. “Fine.”

“Yay!” you cheered, “Okay, so what do you like to watch? Action? Drama? Thriller? Comedy? Or… Romance?”

“Put on your favourite movie,” he stated.

“What? Nah, you can choose something you’d like to watch,” you declined, “I’m cool with anything.”

“I want to watch your favourite movie,” he deadpanned.

You purse your lips. “Okay, sure. Scoot over.”

He propped two pillows up against the headboard of his bed and moved to the side so you can squeeze in between him and the wall. At first, you were not used to being in close proximity with him, and you wanted to give him personal space.

But after a while, Jason himself had sat next to you closely, stood in front of you or behind you closely- so close that the skin of your arms would brush against each other, or in this case, the heat of his thigh against yours as you balanced the laptop on each of your thighs.

The next surprising thing that happened, though, was when he put his arm behind your shoulder so casually, that anyone would have guessed it was a thing he did on the regular.

You were taken aback by his advances, but appreciated that he felt comfortable with you. It was such an accomplishment considering everything that happened, so you leaned into him snuggly.

You clicked play.

And then, he came in close to you, brushing his lips against your ear and said in the lowest whisper that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand.

“If this movie sucks, I’ll kill you.”

It wasn’t a threat, you knew it wasn’t.

But the heat on your neck from his breath when he whispered to you, the low tone of his voice-

You couldn’t help but clench your thighs together in arousal.

***

“I wonder if he’ll be okay,” you thought out loud.

“I’m so jealous that you’re the only one who gets to see him. When can I go?” Dick whined.

“Two weeks is a long time,” you ignored Dick, “Bruce, is the phone offer still available?”

“Of course,” Bruce said, cutting his steak as silently as he walked. “I already have one. It’s on my desk.”

“That’s great!” you scooped up mashed potatoes.

“Seriously, though,” Dick pressed, “It’s been like what, five months? I want to see him.”

You looked across the dining table to meet your older brother in the eye. It was rare that Dick came over and had dinner with everyone, but his visits had been increasing ever since Jason got back.

“We can’t risk overstimulation, Dick. The only reason why he probably accepted me so easily is because I wasn’t part of his old life. He hasn’t even mentioned anything about… you know. And he hasn’t brought you or anyone else up.”

“Yeah, I know,” he sighed, “It’s just- he’s my brother.”

Those last three words spoke volumes. A simple fact that carried so many emotions. Sadness, relief, longing, regret.

Dick was really special. You got the younger sibling treatment from Dick as well, and you only knew him for a little over a year. Even then you had formed such a bond with Dick Grayson you knew you wouldn’t have with anyone else in the world.

You couldn’t even begin to imagine his relationship with Jason, and how painful it must be to find out his little brother is alive but not allowed to see him.

“He just needs more time and space,” you said, “But he’s getting better, Dick. Much better. Even making jokes and teasing me. You’ll know once he’s ready. And I don’t think it’ll take too much longer.”

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with him, haven’t you?” Dick narrowed his eyes at you. “Like, every single day.”

“Well, yeah, he’s probably bored,” you shrugged. “It’s the least I can do.”

“A little birdie told me that you gave him a sponge bath a few months ago,” he wiggled his eyebrows.

You looked at Bruce accusingly, in which he responded with a simple, “Alfred.”

“He wasn’t showering at the time, and he stank like hell,” you explained.

“Sure, use that as an excuse,” he grinned, “Have you seen him shirtless since then?”

“Why?” you asked a little too defensively, feeling your cheeks heat up.

“Nothing,” Dick laughed, “I wanted to ask about his progress. Health wise.”

“Oh,” you calmed down, “Well, Alfred has him on a high protein diet now. He’s definitely filled up since then.”

“Filled up,” Dick winked.

“Grow up, Dick!” you snapped.

After dinner, you went to Bruce’s desk to pick up the smartphone and brought it downstairs to Jason’s room.

“Two visits in a day. A late one, too. What’s the occasion?” Jason mused when you came in.

“I have something for you,” you sat at the foot of his bed.

“Is it my birthday?” he teased.

“Shut up,” you rolled your eyes, “We got you a smartphone. It has internet access and my number. You don’t have to use it if you don’t want to. In fact, it’s switched off. I’m gonna leave it here on the shelf. And if you don’t want it, just ignore it.”

“Why all of a sudden?” he eyed you suspiciously from where he was sitting at the top of the bed.

“Well,” you started, “I’m going to be away for a couple of weeks. On a trip with my friends. Sort of a post-graduation celebration. And I thought that since I won’t be here to keep you company, you might like to… you know…”

He raised an eyebrow at you.

“Talk? Text? Call?” you winced at your own awkwardness. Why were you even nervous? “I mean. You’d be bored so at least you have internet. If you want, of course.”

“Are you implying that I’d miss you while you’re gone?” his lips turned into a smirk, “Or are you the one who will miss me?”

“Neither!” you huffed, “I just thought that you might want some other form of entertainment besides books.”

“I was locked away in a cell for two years without food, water, books, or the internet,” he scoffed.

“And look how great you turned out,” you bit back sarcastically, before realising what you had said. “Oh, no. I didn’t mean- I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have-”

“Jesus, calm the fuck down,” he complained, “It’s fine. You don’t have to be careful with me, I’m not a fucking baby.”

You knew that, but at the same time, you still couldn’t call him by his own name.

“Okay,” you nodded, “Well. I’m leaving in the morning. I’ll be back on the tenth.”

You glanced at the digital clock on Jason’s desk. It was one of the most important things in his room. It allowed him to keep track of the time and day- imperative to keeping one’s sanity in check.

“Tenth, twentieth, it doesn’t matter. It’s not like I’m going anywhere.”

“You’re not a prisoner,” you reminded him, “You do know that we’ve unlocked the door a couple of weeks ago, right? You’re free to go anywhere you want.”

Everyone had deemed him more or less stable. He wasn’t going to hurt himself or anyone else unless provoked or triggered, so Bruce decided to leave his doors unlocked, but Jason has yet to step outside.

“Doesn’t make a difference,” he mumbled, lying back down to face the ceiling.

Deep down, you knew what he meant.

It didn’t make a difference if you left the door unlocked, or threw him out of the room. Because at the end of the day, Jason was still being imprisoned by himself.

[equestrianwritingsstuff]

The Weapons: The Crash

This is a series I have been thinking about with some OCs. The basic idea is that a corrupt mental institution takes in these villains and turns them into weapons for a cause unknown.

The warnings for the whole series are: mental institution, dehumanization, needles, creepy illegal mental institution practices, villain whumpees, both lady whump and male whump, referring to people as "its" and "subjects", and lots of (illegal) steroids/power enhancers

I will do individual warnings for each chapter.

--

Warnings: dehumanization, referring to people as "its" and "subjects", steroids (mention), IV, sensory deprivation, fake power enhancers (mention), car crash, choking (brief)

The room was white. White with the faintest trace of mud towards the floor. White that was stained with the slightest pink as if blood had been splattered and wouldn't clean. 

It was silent too, dead silent. The lack of sound was alarming and unnatural, yet it fit the aesthetic perfectly. The only thing that broke the image was an eerie shadow that made people take a second glance.

The shadow led to a human, hanging by their wrists and ankle from the ceiling. They wore a thin hospital gown that hardly gave any warmth from the AC that was constantly pumped into the room. They were blindfolded with black goggles that completely obscured their vision. Their ears were covered by headphones that looked way too big for their small head. 

All the subject heard, over and over, was "Hot Blooded" by Foreigner. The constant 90s rock song was loud, rattling their eardrums with every slam of a drum or every time the guitar hit a chord. 

It destroyed any brink of sleep they managed to catch. The incessant sound caused a headache that could not be alleviated. They were going crazy; crazy like everyone else in that building. 

They were being stripped of their identity. They hardly remembered their life before Hot Blooded blasted through their eardrums. They had no name, no gender, no past or present other than hanging there in the white room that they couldn't even see. 

Isolation may be the easiest way to drive one crazy. That and the music turned up to max volume. Crazy and ready to be molded into whatever the doctors deemed appropriate. 

The door to the white room opened with a creak then a slam. But the subject did not hear it. They were locked in their world, fuzzy and cool without a care for reality. 

"Subject 143," the doctor with a clear clipboard read. Female. Nearly white blonde hair that offset her darker skin. 

"Date of admission: 17 May at 12:03 P.M.," she read with clarity and devoid of any emotion. "Weight at admission: 134 pounds. Female; 5 foot, 4 inches. Age: 19." She stuck the clipboard between her armpit and eyed the hanging subject with curiosity, "Let it down." 

The word "it" rang throughout the room like fire. It spit venom at the few cracks in the plaster, making them seem like they expanded in agony. 

The doctor's assistants released the subject slowly. They were professional, not unnecessarily cruel other than protocol. 

The subject, female, stiffened at the sudden drop in altitude. Even though it was only a foot, it was all she knew. The slight change in pressure screamed at her nerves, but at the same time it was slightly relieving. It was the first feeling she felt in what seemed forever. 

"Subject has been under sensory deprivation for a month," the doctor continued reading her notes. "Let's begin a physical evaluation." 

The subject's knees hit the floor, sending a shock through her body. Her bottom lip trembled, yet it wasn't joy. It wasn't joy that she felt when her body touched the hard tiles. It was fear. Fear of this new world in a way that made one's heart race. 

"Turn off the headphones." The subject felt pressure that made the small hairs on her arms raise in anticipation. She raised her top lip in a snarl, ready to fight. 

A click and all was silent.

The subject collapsed forward, her hands immediately trying to reach her ears. The headache was worse now, much worse. It radiated through her ears with heat bouncing out of every pore. The dizziness made her want her music, at least it kept out this strange buzzing.

Strong arms gripped the skinny biceps, pulling the subject back onto her knees.

"She's been getting nutrients and liquids for a month now by IV."

The subject flexed her muscles. She forgot about the IV that fed her all the nutrients she needed. She never was fed food. She forgot the taste of it and the thought of actually ingesting something was exciting yet nauseating at the same time. 

"Good to know. She is looking quite slender, but no worries." Hands touched the subject's core, pressing down on each rib until she flinched back, squirming in the hands that held her. Hands stuck into her mouth, forcing it open and inspecting every tooth. Gloved fingers ran over her gums, jabbing at all of the inflamed sores. 

"Put dental work on that list you got there Nurse Baton," the doctor ordered. "And I want it on Anadrol-50 and power enhancers. It needs muscles fast and I do not have the time to work to devise a strict workout schedule. Rather save that for the more dangerous subjects."

"Yes ma'am." 

"Start her on a diet of mashed oats with avocado and protein supplements. May sound fancy, but we need these muscles back in shape." The doctor squeezed the once-taut muscles in disgust. 

"Yes ma'am."

"Other than that, weigh her and do some blood work. I expect her to be ready by the end of the week."

"Yes ma'am."

The doctor grabbed the subject's chin, tipping it upwards and took in the pale, hollowed features. Once pretty, the subject was now like a ghostly corpse from a horror movie. The doctor lifted the goggles off, watching in slight amusement as the subject blinked her bloodshot eyes rapidly. 

"Well," the doctor made a few small circles on the subject's cheek. "You are quite fiery."

The subject only snarled and tried to lunge at the doctor.

--

"Attention all heros north of Redbrook," came the same droning voice of dispatch. Trisha groaned and leaned forward to click in. 

"Trisha Jakes here, what'dya got," the half-asleep hero grumbled. She yawned, leaning her forehead against the steering wheel thinking about the pleasant dream she was just experiencing.

"The Redbrook Mental Asylum had an escape. Male, twenty years of age. About five foot nine and 189 pounds. Dark brown hair and blue eyes," the dispatch sounded bored like they did this on the daily, which is more than likely. But then their voice turned oddly foreboding, "Labeled as highly-dangerous. Use any means to capture: tranq gun, taser, anything."

"I am five miles from the asylum," Trisha already was pulling out of the parking lot she was napping in. "I can look around."

"Copy that," and the dispatch repeated their message. Not wanting to hear the description of the individual, Trisha clicked out. 

This was not the first time that she had dealt with mentally sick people, but it was the first time that she dealt with one her age at the same time as being "Highly Dangerous" as dispatch put it. 

Trisha leaned forward and clicked the button on her steering wheel that allowed her to call people. 

"Call Colton Myers on cell," Trisha stressed every syllable. She didn't have the time to repeat herself. 

"Calling Colton Myers on cell…" Trisha sighed in relief when the speaker lady's voice repeated back to her, followed almost directly by a ringtone. 

"Hey Trisha, what's up?"

Trisha didn't even bother to say "hey" back. "Colton," she gasped, growing in nervous excitement. "Get out here now. There is this guy on the loose from that asylum."

"Isn't that your job," Colton chuckled on the other end. Trisha could just imagine the twinkle of laughter in his deep green eyes that reminded her of emeralds. 

"Yes," Trisha replied in a flirty tone. "But isn't it your job to design websites, yet I do half of your work?" She smiled to herself. Even though it could get frustrating because Colton was practically incapable of doing anything but complaining, she loved graphic design. 

"You got me. But now we are even."

"Shut up," Trisha hoped the smile was prominent in her voice, "I have to go."

"Bye-bye idiot."

"Charming," Trisha teased and hung up, quite content with her friendship status.

Trisha drove on in silence, observing every shadow as she tried to put her mind into a disabled guy's mindset. What would he deem safe? Definitely not a building, if he thought that the asylum was dangerous. Trisha shuddered, that asylum gave her the creeps. Professional, yes, but the attitudes of the nurses were disturbing. 

Yet they helped keep villains locked up… Trisha shook her head. The place was in alliance with the Hero Agency. Good, safe, and most of all necessary. 

She knew that the people who were admitted into the facility were villains. Some may even call Redbrook a reformation center. Trisha cocked her head, deep in thought as she half-heartedly watched the traffic. 

If he was a villain, wouldn't he be searching for something villainy? Assuming that he had some form of anger issues or another mental problem -or maybe just truma?- he would likely be headed to a Villain Agency, or his home. 

Yet, what good would that be? There was only one villain agency in Redbrook, assuming he lived in Redbrook. But that agency was too tiny for a "highly-dangerous" patient. 

And Trisha had no idea if he even had a home to begin with. 

She sighed and started to tap the steering wheel in a rhythmic beat. Periodically, she would glance down to her bow and gun to make sure they were still there. 

Very suddenly, a flash of white boltes in front of the windshield. Without thinking, Trisha spun around, making other cars honk and scream at her. But she didn't care, for her eyes were locked on the thin hospital gown. 

The sight baffled her for a moment. The gown was so thin that she could see his shoulder bones from fifty feet away. She pressed the gas until her speedometer read eighty-five. She was nearing, very close… almost there…

BAM!

Trisha let out a scream as her car lost control. Her seat belt started to unceremoniously pressed against her chest, restricting any breathing. She gasped for air as adrenaline and fear coursed through her veins. The seatbelt was moving up towards her trachea. 

Then it snapped and Trisha fell forward hitting- but not breaking- the reinforced windshield. Her back lit up in pain as the car continued to go out of control until it hit a concrete wall. 

And the world was engulfed by one big, black wave.

--

"Move your hand for me."

Trisha gulped and lifted up her wrist. She slowly was regaining strength over the course of a fews days. The Hero Agency and its medics had access to an array of fast-paced healing techniques. 

Luckily, Trisha didn't break anything important. Just a few ribs and her jaw, but glass got into her organs. The doctors surgically removed the pieces and with the speedy recovery, she was beginning to get better. 

"Good. You should be discharged by the end of the week, but keep it easy. Okay?"

"'Kay," Trisha replied and started fiddling with her thumbs. There was no way that she would be able to take it easy when a murderer just got her into an accident. 

What if he knew who she was? What if he finished the job? Already, she made sure that someone was in the hospital room with her. Her boss wouldn't spare anymore heros, but Colton was already there. 

Trisha looked over at the chair that Colton was slumped in. His mouth was parted open as he silently snored and murmured in his sleep. His ruffled light brown hair looked even more greasy than a McDonald's cheeseburger. 

Yet even though he held an unpleasant appearance, Trisha was more than thankful for his sacrifice. So, even though the poor hero was loaded with questions, she let her best friend sleep.