#meta masterlist season 3

[thoughtfulchaos773]

The first time we hear in the series of Carmy wanting something is when he tells Claire, with a push from her, that he wants her number.

Most of the time, we're watching a directionless Carmy try to give Sydney what she wants while we're confused about what Carmy wants. Does he want Claire? Does he still want to be in the restaurant business? If he wants it, why does Carmy want to do it?

Has Carmy ever wanted something for himself?

Yes, he wanted something before and was clear about it. In season 3, we learn that it was Carmy who wanted to open the restaurant.

So he did want something and the last time he wanted anything was when Mikey was alive.

Now, he is afraid to express his wants.

Maybe it starts with Carmy knowing what he does not want. The closest we get to hearing his deepest desires, from the bottom of Carmy's heart, is the table scene.

I wouldn't even want to do without you.

[sundrop-writes]

The Jaws of Life

Jason Todd x Gender Neutral Reader

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

We’ve only begun. 

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

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

We’re inside The Jaws of Life.

Part One: Panic Room

Summary:

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

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

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

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

Word Count: 19,900

DC Titans Masterlist | AO3 Link

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

Detailed warnings and author's notes below the cut.

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

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

...

“Fuck, babe.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That night had changed everything for the both of you. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Shit, babe-” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You popped your mouth off his thumb before you spoke. 

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

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

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

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

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

It was perfect. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, shh.” 

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

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

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

“You gonna be good for me?” 

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

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

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

“Jason-!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh shit.” He sighed in return. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Apparently Jason didn’t feel the same way. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This is probably for the best.” 

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

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

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

“Gotham needs Robin.” 

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

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

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

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

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

Us. 

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

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

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

You were truly afraid to hear his answer. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

But his lack of words bothered you so damn much. 

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

You hummed in agreement of this, nodding. 

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

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

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

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

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

He held in the other thing he wanted to say. 

‘Where else would you have to go?’ 

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

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

You grew up a lot like Jason did. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Of course Dickhead was being righteous about his moral code. 

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

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

You should have said yes. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jason shrugged.

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

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

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

Jason couldn’t imagine not having you around. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jason gave you a sleepy smile. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

… 

Jason felt cold. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jason had never seen you like this before. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jason hesitated. 

When Deathstroke felt this, he continued. 

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

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

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

“Is Grayson really that important to you?” 

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

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

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

No - Jason could save you some other way. 

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

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

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

And it was that panic that cost him everything. 

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

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

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

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

It was too late. 

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

It happened too quickly. 

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

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

Too fucking late. 

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

“Y/N, Y/N, baby, look at me,” 

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

“Fuck, fuck!” 

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

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

Jason awoke in a cold sweat. 

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

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

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

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

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

Bootycall Temporarily Unavailable

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

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

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

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

Jason began typing out a message. 

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

Then, he realized how terribly sappy and stupid it sounded. And he thought about how much you would hate it. And even if you didn’t hate it, surely you would have no clue how to respond. The two of you weren’t like that. You weren’t those kind of people. He heaved a sigh, deleted the message, and then he got out of bed. He changed into some jogging pants and a sweatshirt and put on some running shoes. 

If Bruce was going to ban him from being Robin, the least he could do was go on a run to get his head straight. 

While he jogged through the cold night, Jason tried to convince himself that he didn’t need you. Tried to tell himself that if you decided not to come to Gotham after all, he would be just fine. 

When he was finished with his run, standing at the kitchen counter chugging some way-too-expensive vitamin water that Bruce liked to buy, he pulled out his phone again and pulled up your contact. He considered calling you, and wondered what you were doing right then. He wondered if you would answer. He looked up what time it was in San Francisco, remembered you weren’t there, and then considered texting Gar to ask where you actually were - and then he went and took a long shower so he wouldn’t be able to touch his phone at all for a while. 

… 

When Jason went back to Gotham, Bruce made him go to therapy. 

Jason thought that the entire thing was a colossal waste of time, but Bruce insisted that if he was ever going to wear the Robin mask again - he was going to get ‘cleared’ first. 

Apparently, something about being kidnapped by a murderous psychopath, dropped off a building, and going to a funeral all in the span of a month doesn’t really scream of stability. 

Jason was weary of Leslie at first. 

He genuinely thought that her only job was to dig around for his secrets - any signs of his weakness, and report them back to Bruce. He still wasn’t all too trusting when she tried to assure him that whatever she said would stay between the two of them. But he wanted to get back to being Robin. He wanted to get back to doing his job. And if getting all mushy with her was the fastest way of doing that, then he would. 

… 

They were playing the stupid word association game again. 

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

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

Leslie gave him a deep frown, and he actually felt a pang of guilt at disappointing her. 

She was one of the only adults in his life that he had ever felt bad for disappointing. Not because she put too many expectations on him - but because she didn’t. Because she expected pretty much nothing of him, and he wanted to show her that he could be great. He wanted to defy whatever bullshit Bruce had told her about him. He wanted to show her that he was more than worthy of being Robin again. 

“Sorry.” He said timidly. “Habit.” 

“It’s okay.” She said, forgiving him too easily. Jason wasn’t used to being forgiven. 

Jason appreciated it - nobody had ever given him the chance to ‘try again’. Not even you. But he was glad about that. When you mocked him for his mistakes or called him out on his bullshit, it made him want to try harder. You were the only person in the world that he found himself actively trying for. Everyone else - he didn’t give a fuck what they thought of him. He knew that they always had preconceived notions of what he was - a screw-up, a street kid pretending while waltzing around in Robin’s costume. 

But when you looked at him, you saw an asshole trying to be clever and you tore right through that persona, looking for something real. So even though he hated it - even though it made him wiggle and gape like a fish on land - he showed you more and more real parts of himself. And he couldn’t deny how good it made him feel when he was with you. 

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

“We can try again.” Leslie said, taking a small breath. “Mother.” 

“Gone.” He said, announcing the first thing that truly came to mind when he thought of that word. 

“Father.” Leslie moved on to the next word. 

“Bruce.” Jason felt far too naked and vulnerable when saying this, but it was true.

Bruce was the closest thing to a father that he ever had. 

And Jason knew that he was a bad son, constantly disappointing him - constantly failing to live up to the giant shadow that Dick had left behind. 

“Robin.” She said. 

“Freedom.” He easily responded. 

“San Francisco.” 

Jason felt like she was cheating at this point - trying to get him to weep and cry and spill all of his secrets like some kind of soap opera. He felt like she was purposefully pitching hits at his weak spots and waiting for him to block or be taken down. 

“Mistake.” He said, trying his hardest not to flex back on his honesty. 

He wasn’t even sure what he meant by that. If going there had been a mistake, or if he had made too many mistakes while he was there. Either way, it felt like the truth. 

“Safe.” She announced the next word, and Jason was not at all surprised by the first thing that came to mind. 

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

You were the only safe thing in his life. The only thing - the only person that ever truly made him feel safe. Sometimes he was terrified of losing you, or hurting you, or poisoning you as badly as he had done with so many other people. But when he was in your arms, it was so easy to forget about all of that. 

You were safe. 

Which was a fucking rare commodity in his life. 

Leslie saw the look that came across his features - the look of fond longing mixed with gut wrenching fear. Naturally, she wanted to dig more into this. She knew that someone like Jason hadn’t grown up feeling safe, and she was curious why the concept of safety came to him now as a person’s name - and why he seemed so conflicted about it, about someone he had never even mentioned before. 

“Who is Y/N?” Leslie asked. Jason didn’t immediately answer, so she prodded more. “Boyfriend? Girlfriend? … Friend?” 

Leslie didn’t presume to know Jason’s sexuality, or the gender of his special person (and she wouldn’t judge him, no matter what he said) - but beyond gender, for Jason, it was even more complicated than that.

Jason didn’t know what to call you when speaking about you to someone else. 

A friend that he sometimes fucks? Should he even call you a friend? 

You had tried to save his life, but before that, the two of you had never really been friendly. Mostly argumentative. But no matter how much the two of you argued, you had never hurt him the way that Dick had, or Bruce had. Or even the way that the other Titans had when they had accused him of all those things he hadn’t done. 

Your arguments were playful. The two of you never said anything to each other that would actually dig deep, that was ever truly meant to hurt. Nothing like when the Titans had doubted Jason’s loyalty to the team - had accused him of truly trying to harm them. Your arguments with him always held a certain kind of passion. Every time you fired back against dumb shit that he said, even if you were blatantly disagreeing with him for sport - it meant that you cared. 

Jason shrugged. “Kind of.” 

“Can you… explain more?” Leslie asked, careful and curious. 

“Shit’s complicated.” Jason mumbled, truly unsure what to say in order to describe the situation. 

“Okay, well… whoever this special person is, whatever they mean to you… why is it that they make you feel safe?” 

Now that was a million dollar question. 

Jason had never really asked himself that before. The ‘why’. 

“Well…” 

He began trying to explain it, and found himself stuck for words. But Leslie was patient, and waited for him to find the right ones. 

“It’s like…” Jason sighed, finding the whole thing very difficult. “It’s like Y/N knows what I am.” 

“‘What you are’?” Leslie parroted back, using his own phrasing carefully. “And what would that be?” 

“An asshole. Ya know - a fuck-up.” He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Y/N has seen it first hand. They know me - they - they’ve seen all the worst parts of me, and… somehow, they don’t care. Y/N saw me at my worst and didn’t run.” 

It was the best way that Jason could think to describe it. Everyone else who had seen him beaten down and broken - Dick, Bruce, the other Titans - they all saw him at his worst and wanted to dump him at the first possible opportunity. But you held onto him tighter and refused to let go. Even when he struggled in your loving hold like an animal caught in a trap - you still held onto him tighter than anyone else ever had. 

And it made him feel a little less broken each time that he was with you. 

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

“Yeah.” Jason nodded. 

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

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

“A lot of great relationships - whether they are friendships, or something more-” 

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

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

Jason definitely had that with you. Or - he had the start of that with you. And he wanted so badly to embrace. To see where a life with you would go. Maybe it was something he wanted even more badly than becoming Robin again. 

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

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

Jason didn’t take long with that one either. 

“Y/N.” 

Leslie looked utterly confused at this one. 

But - he was too raw, and he ended the session before she could prod him to explain it further. 

… 

Jason was afraid that he wasn’t good enough for you.

He was afraid that if the time ever came, if you were ever in danger - he wasn’t going to be able to save you like you had tried to do for him. Thinking back on it, he had no clue how you had so boldly stepped into the line of fire, how you had dangled yourself out of a window that many stories high, desperately holding onto him. 

You acted fearless, put yourself on the line just to save his life - ultimately, one that wasn’t worth saving. 

And if he couldn’t do the same for you, then he wasn’t worth the risks you had taken for him at all. 

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

… 

Going to your grandmother’s house was certainly… interesting. 

She was rich. Old money rich. 

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

When you first moved into the Tower - a million dollar condo with advanced tech that you could barely comprehend at first, you didn’t easily feel comfortable among all of the shiny, lavish, modern furniture and the fancy touchscreens just to access everyday necessities. At the time, you had still been sporting an illegally jailbroken iPhone 6 that you had pickpocketed off some random guy a few years prior, and soon as Dick found out about that fact, he insisted on buying you a new phone that you had a very difficult time accepting because you were not at all good with gifts or ‘being spoiled’. You felt awkward accepting something that you hadn’t worked for. 

It was one of the reasons that you so easily crumbled to Jason’s sexual advances. 

You felt so fucking alone when you first started living in the Tower. Your queen sized bed with a brand new mattress and brand new sheets felt too big. Being so new, it felt too cold. Sometimes you went stir-crazy, thinking about how much the silverware in the kitchen cost and the fact that the fucking television had an ipad for a remote (which apparently also controlled the curtains and the lights in the living room) - fixating on how if you had pawned those things off, if could have fed so many hungry children. 

At the time, you were desperate for a distraction. Jason became a very easy one to fall into. It was all too easy to fall asleep in his bed afterwards, because even if you hated the smell of Axe body wash and drying cum, sleeping beside someone, having a warm body at your back - it eased you so much more than sleeping in a big luxurious bed by yourself.

Your grandmother’s house was a different type of rich than the Tower was. Most definitely not modern; everything in her house was about as old as things can get - but still rich. It seemed that she was blatantly against technology, in fact. She didn’t seem to have a TV anywhere in the place, and all the phones were corded into the walls like it was the 80s, and she often mocked you for being so ‘obsessed’ with that ‘brick’ in your pocket (checking, looking for Jason’s calls or texts). 

All of the furniture was far older than you, and well taken care of. Polished, the fabric clearly patched or reupholstered by professionals in places where it had worn down over time. She was the nick-nack type. Tall china cabinets full of fancy dishes with patterns on them, and the moment she caught you looking at them, she went on long winding stories about how the pieces were rare antiques that had been owned by some Duke from some place in Europe - again, something more expensive than you could comprehend or even really care about.

Like it had said in the letter, your grandmother had brain cancer. 

She had a large tumor that was eventually going to kill her. Apparently money can buy a lot of things - but it can’t buy a miracle treatment. The tumor had invaded too much of her brain before it had been discovered, and operating on it at her age was more likely to mean death than recovery. And as she so gracefully put it, she would rather spend her last days ‘in grace and dignity’ than to be balding and ‘out of her mind’ - so she didn’t accept the only potentially helpful chemo treatment that was offered to her. 

Apparently, one of her last wishes was to meet and spend time with the grandchild that she had ‘lost’ when your mother took you away all those years ago. Your grandmother seemed nice enough - she peppered you with cheek kisses and invited you to tea the moment that you came in through the door. She had even sent a limo to pick you up at the airport, which made you feel far too important and awkward, sitting alone in the back of the expensive vehicle with a classical music station playing that you felt too intimidated to attempt to change.

And although your paranoid instincts were waiting for some horror movie reveal, waiting for someone to drug you and tell you that she was going to perform some voodoo ritual on you in order to use your young, healthy body to keep living her life and that’s all she wanted you for - you stuck around. Because the longer you waited with baited breath, the less that seemed to be the case. 

If the old woman wanted to spend her last weeks of life telling you winding stories about old dishes from Europe and drinking tea with you on her porch, then you would consider it a much needed vacation. You would simply sit down and listen. 

… 

“And you know, her granddaughter, she was a - a handmaiden for the Duchess of Yorke, and…” 

When you looked over at your grandmother, she had fallen asleep mid-sentence, holding her tea cup at an odd angle that made the small amount of tea inside almost dribble out. Though she had been talking just a moment before, telling a long, winding story about the history of the vase holding the flowers in the middle of the table - she let out a deep snore, and you worried that she was going to drop her cup or spill tea in her lap. 

Strangely, after such a short period of time being around her, you found yourself caring for the woman. 

You put down your own cup and crept over to her, trying not to wake her, and gently wriggled the cup out of her hands to place it down on the table. 

You nearly jumped out of your skin when your phone buzzed in your back pocket. When you realized what the sudden, frightening feeling was, you took a deep breath and calmed down. Your grandmother had asked you to turn it off and leave it in your room, a luxurious guest room that she had you staying in, but you couldn’t help yourself. You missed Jason and you were eagerly waiting to talk to him. You didn’t want to miss a potential call or text from him. 

You made sure that your grandmother was sleeping peacefully (in the oddly upright position as it was) before you took out your phone and sat back in your own chair, looking to see who had texted you. 

New message from The Flightless Bird

Yes, Jason had a very strange contact name in your phone. For a while, you had kept it as Hot Guy, as it had originally entered it, before changing it to (Not) Hot Guy as a joke. Then, when the two of you started living at the Tower, it became a running gag for you to steal each other’s phones whenever possible and change the contact name to something strange and odd, usually paired with a memey photo to jokingly represent the other person. 

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

Right before you had left for your flight out, you had snuck into his room and grabbed his phone while he had been sleeping, and changed your contact name in his phone from ‘Cold Hands, Hot Ass’ to ‘Bootycall Temporarily Unavailable’. Mostly because you didn’t need him sending you dickpics at three in the morning when he got bored. As much as you loved his cock, you thought about how weird it would be trying to get off in your grandmother’s house and Jason was so damn persistent and so damn tempting. 

You did have to wonder what PG-13 texting would be like between the two of you. It had been incredibly rare. All of your text conversations before living together at the Tower were R-rated enough to send anybody who read them into a mental meltdown. 

Before you could wonder if you should send him a message, making it clear that he wasn’t to pull any of his typical fuckboy antics, you opened his latest message, and a large smile ripped across your face. 

The Flightless Bird: ‘I miss you like hell.’ 

You hated that you grinned uncontrollably and your stomach flipped like a teenager with a stupid crush, but you couldn’t help it. Jason just made you feel like that these days. Even just knowing that he had been missing you too - that he had been thinking about you. That was something that had you floating as you typed out your reply, trying not to seem too desperate in your response. 

Robin’s Ice Machine: ‘Gotham must be really boring if you miss hanging out with me.’ 

You sent back the simple message and opened another app, browsing while you waited for his reply, trying not to seem too eager. 

Moments later, your phone buzzed again. 

The Flightless Bird: ‘Gotham is Gotham. It’s always been a boring shithole. The only time it’s not boring is when some fucker in a mask is trying to kill everyone.’ 

So very Jason. Before you could reply, he sent another message. 

The Flightless Bird: ‘Plus, it’s not just hanging out with you that I miss. ;)’ 

Leave it to him to make even a virtual wink look so incredibly sleazy. Somehow, it brought up fond feelings within you because you had missed him so much. 

You resisted the urge to tell him to cool it. Especially because your grandmother was sitting at the table with you. But you didn’t want him to get the wrong idea and start sending his cock out of nowhere. 

Robin’s Ice Machine: ‘Oh, you make it sound so appealing for me to visit.’ 

Then you quickly added on: 

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

It was only a moment before your messages were seen, and you could practically hear Jason’s dry laughter in response, even though he was so far away. You felt validated when he sent you back several laughter emojis and then quickly typed out another message. 

The Flightless Bird: ‘I am, actually. First stop on the tour - my bed. Second stop - night patrol. We spend a few hours kicking ass together. Which leads into our third stop - Little Tony’s downtown for some pizza. Aka the only reason I keep coming back to this shithole.’ 

You couldn’t help but to grin at the thought of it. You resisted the urge to hide your face in your hands, almost embarrassed at just how cheek-splitting your smile was - waiting for someone to call you out on it. 

Your imagination ran away with you, and you couldn’t help but to feel warm, thinking about yourself living out his ideal day in Gotham. Being warm in his arms again, feeling his touch all over your body. Getting thoroughly fucked and only leaving his bed when the call of those in need beckoned you both to action. 

You soon began picturing yourself in some spandex costume - something you didn’t yet have and made fun of Jason for wearing so often, perhaps slightly out of jealousy because he actually got the importance of a title and a suit and you didn’t yet have either. You imagined yourself in something themed around a hero name with an ice pun to suit your powers, kicking ass beside Jason while he proudly carried the mantle of Robin. The two of you taking down criminals like a perfectly paired team and topping off your night with pizza from a familiar place that Jason praised.

You began typing again. 

… Robin’s Ice Machine is typing …. 

‘You wanna make it a date, Jay?’ 

But you feared that it would sound too forward. That he was simply joking about all of it and you would seem too eager. So you deleted that message before you sent it and typed out something else instead. 

Robin’s Ice Machine: ‘You brave the streets of downtown Gotham just for pizza?’

The Flightless Bird: ‘It’s worth it.’ 

Robin’s Ice Machine: ‘I guess they probably give Robin the hero discount.’ 

You typed out the message and sent it without thinking. 

You had been so absorbed in your own world over the past few weeks that you had no clue that Robin hadn’t been active on the streets of Gotham for a while. You hadn’t checked the news or hadn’t thought to check in with the biggest Robin fan you knew (Gar) to ask for updates. 

But ever since Jason had gotten back to Gotham - Robin hadn’t seen a night of patrol, his costume quarantined away in the Batcave like Bruce considered him some kind of disease. 

The Flightless Bird: ‘I wouldn’t know.’ 

You found this reply to be confusing, but waited patiently while Jason typed out more. 

The Flightless Bird: ‘Bruce has me benched. He said I’m not allowed to take on Robin again until I get “cleared” by a fucking shrink. Like I’m a fucking war vet or something. He’s acting like I jumped off that building on purpose or some shit.’ 

You wanted to remind him that in a sense, he did. That he had begged you to let him go because he hadn’t thought that he was worth saving. But you didn’t want to rub salt into the wounds. Instead, you felt curious about his words and hoped that he wouldn’t clam up if you went prodding. 

Robin’s Ice Machine: ‘Bruce has you seeing a shrink?’

You were more than tense with curiosity at this point. More than anything, you wondered if it was actually helping Jason, or if he was just going through the motions, trying to please Bruce. 

The Flightless Bird: ‘Yeah. Someone named Leslie. Wants me to talk about my feelings and be vulnerable and all that type of bullshit.’ 

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

Robin’s Ice Machine: ‘Maybe it’s not a bad idea.’ 

… The Flightless Bird is typing … 

The typing bubbles appeared at the top of the screen a few times and then disappeared, indicating that Jason had read your message and was unsure about what to say in reply. Your stomach twisted up and you hated it. You hated to think that you might have insulted him. 

Finally, after a few long moments, he sent something back. 

The Flightless Bird: ‘Do you think I’m crazy?’ 

There it was. He was terrified that you thought he was broken. That because he had to go to therapy - it meant he was weak. That’s probably what Bruce thought. Or why he feared that he had been benched from being Robin. 

You carefully chose your words as you replied. 

Robin’s Ice Machine: ‘I don’t know.’ 

You easily sent in a single message, and he read it quickly. And then, you moved on to adding more, clarifying your words. 

Robin’s Ice Machine: ‘I don’t know if you’re crazy or not, and I don’t care.’ 

Robin’s Ice Machine: ‘I know that you’re kind of fucked up - but so am I. And I don’t want to spend my time around anyone else because your kind of fucked up matches my fucked up really perfectly, and nobody else understands me like you do.’ 

You sent the messages, and then thought of something important to add. 

Robin’s Ice Machine: ‘There is no normal well adjusted person in the world who would understand me like you do. Fuck normal people.’ 

(On the other end, Jason grinned and sighed with relief when he read these messages.) 

The Flightless Bird: ‘Yeah. Fuck normal people.’ 

Jason easily echoed back the sentiment, and then he said something that you weren’t entirely expecting. 

The Flightless Bird: ‘This therapy bullshit has got me thinking about a lot of things.’

You resisted the urge to make a ‘don’t hurt yourself’ joke - but you knew that he was sensitive, and you should encourage him to open up rather than make jokes. It was something that a version of yourself from a few months ago would have done without hesitation, but you absolutely knew that things between you and Jason had changed. Hopefully, for the better. 

While you were mulling that over in your head, Jason typed out another message.

The Flightless Bird: ‘I don’t think my place is with Bruce anymore.’ 

You were curious what he meant by this. Did he want to quit being Robin? Had he come to realize that everything Dick said about Bruce was actually true? 

When that argument came up, multiple times, you were never sure whose side to choose. You had never known the man personally, but you did find it strange that Jason seemed to idolize him and Dick seemed to resent him like he was some kind of cartoon villain. If anything, it made you wary and cautious of Bruce. 

Especially because you knew that Jason had been intensely dependent on Bruce when they first met - he had just aged out of foster care, and he had the ‘choice’ of being homeless or becoming Robin. And who would really make that choice when three square a day, a giant mansion, and a shining costume are staring you in the face? Especially after everything else Jason had been through - all the adults who had given up on him, told him he was nothing. Then he was being presented with the chance to truly be something, someone so damn important.

Again, before you could question him, Jason saw that you had read the message and moved to explain himself further. 

The Flightless Bird: ‘When I was at the Tower, I thought that being away from him…’ 

The Flightless Bird: ‘I thought that not being Robin was a punishment. But now I know that it was really good for me. And not for the reasons he thinks - not because I was benched and focusing on training.’ 

The Flightless Bird: ‘I got to be away from Bruce. I got some distance from the way he made me think about myself - about Robin. I used to think that I was nothing without him. That I was just some bullshit street kid nobody and him picking me up and making me Robin was what MADE me something.’ 

Your heart ached reading this. 

So that was why he idolized Bruce so much. He thought that he would be nothing without the old man. He didn’t see all of his own strength and determination that he put into Robin. He didn’t see all of his own bravery and resolute stubbornness.

The Flightless Bird: ‘Now I realize that I can be something without him.’

The Flightless Bird: ‘I know it sounds like sappy bullshit, but you’re the one who helped me realize that I am something without him. That I can be great - even without Robin.’ 

You re-read the message a few times over, those words clutching at your throat, nearly bringing you to tears. For a long time, a part of you thought that you weren’t good for Jason. That you were just another nagging force in his life, another negativity. Then - you thought that you were just something he used to fill the time, to distract from the mental noise, as you did with him. And even then, as you realized that you needed him in other ways, and you might be coming to love him - you thought that he would never feel the same about you. 

You thought that you had been fighting a losing battle, trying to comfort someone who didn’t want it, or wouldn’t accept it. But reading those words, feeling the rawness of their honesty - it flowed through you and hit you with a radical force. 

You actually helped him. 

You thought he was too stubborn and hard-headed to get through to, but hearing it directly from him - that was nice. It was more than nice, it was… it shook you to your core. 

Your phone vibrated in your hand again, and you realized that you had gone too long without responding. 

The Flightless Bird: ‘Too much?’ 

Clearly he thought that he had frightened you off. 

Robin’s Ice Machine: ‘Not too much.’

The Flightless Bird: ‘Good. So you won’t think it’s too much if I tell you that I’ve been looking at apartments?’ 

Wait - what? 

You had barely finished reading the message before he sent you a screenshot of an online listing - a picture of some shady, broken-down building. When you glanced at the address, you were almost sure that it was in downtown Gotham.

You wanted to believe that Jason was joking. But from the general tone of the conversation, he didn’t seem to be. He was eager to get away from Bruce, to be out on his own. 

Your stomach curled with warmth at the thought of you and Jason living together, and this time not because of some half-baked superhero team. But by choice. This time because you were… what? Friends? Lovers?

You armed yourself with humor as you replied. 

Robin’s Ice Machine: ‘Jason, that’s downtown Gotham. It’s a shithole.’ 

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

You let out a small chuckle at his joke. You could practically hear him reciting the words with a fake snooty accent to drive home his point, but you eagerly felt the need to correct him. 

Robin’s Ice Machine: ‘Hey, I grew up in shitholes too. You know a lot of the time I didn’t even have a roof, Jay.’ 

The Flightless Bird: ‘Yes, and you slept on a bed of bricks and ate dirt for dinner. Oliver Twist ass. You’re the only person I know who grew up more poor than I did.’ 

Robin’s Ice Machine: ‘The correct tense is: poorer.’ 

The Flightless Bird: ‘Yet you could afford grammar lessons? Damn.’ 

You couldn’t hold back a small bit of laughter at this. One of the things he hated most was you correcting his grammar, and you still found it highly amusing.

Robin’s Ice Machine: ‘My point is that all this fancy shit makes me uncomfortable. I feel like I can’t even sit down on the furniture at my grandmother’s properly.’ 

The Flightless Bird: ‘Grandmama will probably have it steam cleaned when you leave. To get the street rat smell out.’ 

The Flightless Bird: ‘Anyway, do you like the apartment or not?’ 

Robin’s Ice Machine: ‘I don’t know. It looks… sketchy.’ 

The Flightless Bird: ‘It is. It’s a sketchy ass neighborhood.’ 

You started typing out a reply full of protests against this, wondering why he would want the two of you to live in a place that was full of drug dealers and other crime, but he beat you to it with another message - and when you read it, your heart warmed. 

The Flightless Bird: ‘But - I thought me and you could help keep it safer.’ 

You grinned widely at this again. 

You resisted the urge to correct his grammar again, wanting to tell him the tense was ‘you and I’. He was truly onto something here and you didn’t want to ruin the moment for him. 

Robin’s Ice Machine: ‘I’ll have to see it in person first.’ 

Robin’s Ice Machine: ‘When I come to Gotham.’ 

You had no clue what stupid love bug had bitten you - but you were seriously agreeing to go view an apartment with Jason Todd. And you were more excited than anything else.

You finally resigned to the idea, feeling a certain kind of joy in making plans with him. You were entirely unfamiliar with the feeling of looking forward to the future. It was delightfully strange. 

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

On the other end, Jason pumped an arm and cheered quietly to himself, knowing that he would hold you to the promise of coming to Gotham to visit him. Knowing that once he had you in town, he would somehow talk you into getting an apartment with him. 

This was just the start of your life together. In his mind, this was just the first of many plans. 

The Flightless Bird: ‘You could be on a plane tomorrow.’ 

The Flightless Bird: ‘I’ll pay for your ticket.’ 

Robin’s Ice Machine: ‘You mean Daddy would?’ 

You knew Jason was rolling his eyes at this, and while he rushed to type out protests about Bruce being his ‘Daddy’, you corrected his initial thought. 

Robin’s Ice Machine: ‘I can’t come tomorrow, anyway. My trip isn’t supposed to end for another week, at least.’ 

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

The Flightless Bird: ‘Well, don’t take too long. I miss your stupid face.’ 

In your mind, the only proper response to this was to open your camera and take a picture of yourself - one crudely sticking your tongue out and flipping him off.

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

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

Right then, Jason made that picture into his lockscreen. 

You rolled your eyes, and bit your lip to suppress another stupid giddy smile. 

Robin’s Ice Machine: ‘And you’re a charming asshole, as always.’

Robin’s Ice Machine: ‘But I guess you’re mine.’ 

You sent the last part without much thought, feeling a twist in your gut when Jason read it and didn’t immediately reply. You stared at the screen for several long moments, waiting for something, wondering how he would react - 

But then your attention was snapped away from your conversation with Jason when your grandmother let out a loud snort and woke from her nap. 

“Playing with that brick again?” She said, sounding quite displeased. 

Though you felt anxious, wondering if you had scared Jason away with your affection, you locked the screen and put the phone back into your pocket.

“Sometimes these ‘bricks’ can be useful.” You told her. “Maybe you should get one.” 

You suggested it on the idea that you could communicate with her more easily once your trip was over, though you knew what her stance on the matter was. It didn’t hurt to try. 

“Oh deary. I’d never want to strain my eyes looking at that. You know what they say - old dogs, and such.” She let out a small yawn. “Besides, I have heard they can give you cancer.” 

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

… 

Jason wasn’t sure why he did it. 

Bruce told him not to. It should have been obvious that it was a trap. If history had anything to say about it - the Joker never made himself that obvious unless he wanted to get caught. Unless he was planning something and he wanted a lot of people to get caught up in the smoke. 

Unless the Joker blatantly wanted attention, then he stayed hidden. 

Maybe it was the Anti-Fear Gas. Maybe Jason needed to prove that he was brave. That he was good enough to take up the mantle of Robin again - even if he didn’t necessarily want it. Deep down, he needed to prove to himself that he was good enough for you. That he wasn’t just some broken bird that you needed to fix.

Jason thought the drug made him brave, but it probably just made him stupid. He thought this would be a good field test for it. But it just made his senses dull and useless to everything around him. It made him less aware of his surroundings, it blurred out all his fight or flight that nature intended. 

When Bruce said that fear served him, he had no clue that this is what the old man meant. 

The Anti-Fear Gas made perfect conditions for someone to sneak up on him. 

He heard the cackling laughter - a sound coming from one of those stupid carnival machines, or from the Joker himself, he wasn’t sure - before he even realized what was going on. There was a bag over his head and some heavy, hazy drug forced under his nose. 

He was stupid. 

He thought he learned something from the incident with Doctor Light. 

But it turns out that he was just as stupid as everyone accused him of being. 

Because when he woke up, he was right back there. Tied to a chair. Confused. And when the Anti-Fear Gas started to wear off - he was scared. Utterly terrified. Just like he had been on that night. 

Bruce was at some investors’ meeting halfway around the world. When Jason didn’t pick up his calls, didn’t answer his texts - he thought that Jason was still pissed off about the fight they had before he left. Bruce tried to give him distance. Without Alfred around to keep an eye on him, nobody reported Jason missing. 

Nobody even noticed that he was gone. 

… 

When Jason stopped answering your texts, you got a horrible feeling in your gut. 

The next time you looked at your phone, he had left you on read, and you had an utterly horrible feeling about it. Your stomach twisted over on itself, you became ripe with worry. You immediately wanted to cry to Dick about it, beg him to go searching for Jason’s tracker, or at the very least, call Bruce and ask to confirm where Jason was. 

But technically - you had nothing to cry about. 

Jason wasn’t your boyfriend. He didn’t owe you anything. Especially not his time. He didn’t owe you an immediate reply to your messages. He wasn’t supposed to be at your beckoned call like a loyal dog. 

You had to guess that he got busy training. That he was angry with Bruce, so he was spending extra hours at the gym, working off that anger. Maybe he had doubled down on the apartment search and he was somewhere in downtown Gotham, looking at more shitholes where he didn’t have any service. 

At the very worst, you thought maybe you had scared him off with your affection. You thought maybe he was finally realizing that he didn’t want that big, scary thing with you, and he was getting ready to run away from it. Maybe he was debating blocking your number so that he didn’t have to break-off this non-relationship with you. 

Maybe he had met someone else. 

You went over the possibilities - made yourself sick, wondering why he wasn’t answering you. 

But you had never considered the most sickening possibility of them all. 

… 

As usual, the Joker had seemingly no aim with his chaos. 

He took Jason to some random location. Tied him up, hit him. Some of the Joker’s goons came and went. The Joker talked about potentially setting Jason out as ‘bait’ for the Bat to come and get. Jason wanted to tell him that his precious Bat was out of town, but he couldn’t risk revealing Bruce’s identity if he divulged that information. 

If that was the Joker’s plan - using Jason as bait - he waited a long time to get on with it. 

He spent the interim torturing Jason in increasingly creative ways. 

Jason watched the sun rise and fall three different times - through a tiny window in whatever place they were keeping him. When darkness fell on the fourth day, his eyes were becoming too swollen to see light anymore. 

Jason tried not to flinch when he heard footsteps approaching. 

Every single inch of Jason’s body ached - he was sure that he had fingers broken, an arm broken. Broken ribs. He had several missing teeth, and he was leaking blood freely into his mouth. If he did get out of this, he would be severely fucked up for the rest of his life. 

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

A cold hand moved across his forehead, and instinctively, he flinched away from it. The Joker tutted his tongue, and other voices came - echoes of laughter in the room, goons he had brought along with him. 

“So shy, Little Birdie.” The Joker’s voice mocked him. “You weren’t so shy when you came looking for me… in fact, you were eager then. Eager, eager, eager. Eager to play my games. But you don’t wanna play now, do you?”

Jason was exhausted. But he knew that he couldn’t give up. If he stopped fighting, then the Joker had won. 

“Fuck you.” Jason said, fighting past blood flowing in his mouth, deflated, clearly tired. 

But he was still fighting. 

The Joker laughed. 

Cruel. Harsh. 

“Well, I’ll take that as a sign - game on!” 

The Joker clapped his hands together above Jason’s head, loudly. Jason hated that he flinched. There was another round of laughter from the goons. 

Jason expected that the ‘game’ would be something violent. Removing his fingers, having the goons take turns to hit him harder. Perhaps they would strap him to some kind of target and make up point values for his different limbs and then have a knife throwing contest around him. 

But no. 

It seemed that they were growing bored of physical violence. 

Something that Jason hadn’t even thought of - an utterly terrifying possibility. 

With his eyes out of commission, he was relying on his ears more. He heard a small click, a button being pushed - if he wasn’t mistaken, it was someone trying to wake the lockscreen of a phone. It was very close to his head. 

“My, my, that is a pretty one.” The Joker teased. 

Jason sucked in a sharp breath, causing a painful sting in his likely broken ribs as an even more painful realization hit him. 

They had taken his phone. The Joker was talking about you. 

He should never have made that picture of you into his lockscreen, you were too important, he had put you in danger - 

“Tell me, does this pretty thing have a name?” 

The Joker chuckled - Jason thought maybe the phone with your picture was being waved in front of his face, but he couldn’t quite see it. 

“Oh wait! You can’t see it, can you?” The Joker seemed amused to remember this, his voice light and jaunty as the thought crossed his mind. 

“Fuck you!” Jason spat out, much more energized now, refreshed with the might of protecting you - quite literally spitting blood, hopefully getting some on the clown. 

The Joker simply let out another cackling laugh. 

There was a ping. A text message coming in. 

Let it be Bruce. Let it be Dick. Let it be Gar, for fuck’s sake. Anybody but you. 

“You know, this friend of yours sends an awful lot of text messages.” 

The Joker chuckled, putting emphasis on that word, clearly mocking Jason’s relationship status with you. Even with his psychotic mind, he could see that Jason loved you more than he cared to admit, and he was terrified to speak it aloud. 

“‘Jason, I’m worried about you. Please text me back when you can. I know it’s stupid to be worried just cause I haven’t heard from you in a few days, but Gotham is a stupid shithole and I wanna know that you haven’t been eaten by a giant mutant crocodile or something.’” 

Jason’s skin crawled when the Joker read a text from you aloud. 

You were worried. 

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

“Well, that’s almost sweet.” The Joker sniggered. “You’ve been ignoring these for days now! That’s rude!” 

Another round of laughter from the goons. 

Jason was then struck with the realization that because of his current situation - idiotically kidnapped, tied to a chair, beaten - he had been ignoring you for days. He had unintentionally caused you to worry, on top of everything else. He had hurt you. 

Had you sent someone looking for him? Would he actually somehow get out of this? Was there a chance that he might actually be rescued? 

“I think we should answer. Your sweet little friend deserves some closure - a load off the mind, you know.” 

The Joker’s voice took on a menacing dark tone as he said this. 

Jason’s insides clenched with horror. They had tortured him in almost every way imaginable - taken it as far as they could without actually killing him. They had inflicted all kinds of pain on his body. Now they were going to torture his mind. 

They were pulling you into their game as a fucked up pawn. 

“No!” Jason tried to weakly protest, but then, entirely against his will, came the sound of his phone unlocking. “Fuck you!” 

He hadn’t put a password on it yet. It was relatively new - a present Bruce had gotten him when he had come back to Gotham. A bid to buy his affection. He hadn’t gotten around to putting a password on it yet. 

Another stupid mistake. 

Jason nearly lost his breath when he heard ringing. The Joker wasn’t just going to reply to your text messages - he was calling you. 

Whatever happened to Jason next - whatever torture, whatever pain they inflicted upon him - they were going to make you listen. 

… 

One thing you had come to learn over the past week: rich people have a lot of peculiar habits. 

Your grandmother would insist that you be there for afternoon tea at three o’clock sharp, and apparently having too much sugar in your tea was considered rude, because it was a reflection of the quality of the tea that the host had presented you with. She insisted that you ‘dress for dinner’ - which meant that you weren’t allowed to wear sweatpants at her formal dining table, and even ripped jeans were frowned upon. Also, sitting with your feet curled underneath you at the dining table caused her glare at you - a lot. 

But as much as she had scolded you for your brutish, poor people ways - you had managed to bring her around to some of your ways of life. You showed her how binging reality shows could be fun, and that not all types of processed junk food were terribly beyond her taste. 

It was probably why you were putting up with this now. The garden party. 

You were surprised that she had been able to put together a party this elaborate so quickly. But she said that it was necessary because she had insisted that she wanted you to meet all of her friends. 

You thought that it would be just a few people; no more than would fill up the dozen chairs that she had at her exceedingly large fancy dining table. But you grew more anxious as cars filled the long driveway and more people filled the ‘garden’ out back, picking at tables that had been set up with expensive catered food and sipping on drinks that were being poured by a bartender that had been highered last minute. 

Of course - your grandmother insisted on picking an outfit for you. She didn’t bring herself to care where exactly on the gender spectrum you fell - she didn’t even bring up your birth gender at all, which surprised you, since she had known you as a baby. She simply took it at face value when you introduced yourself to her by name and the two of you easily rolled with things from there. It was strange for an old woman, especially one so caught up in the history of all the objects in her home. But you supposed that those deathbed regrets ran deep and she preferred to spend this time with you actually embracing you instead of arguing with you and potentially driving you away. 

She insisted on picking your clothes because she simply hated your graphic band tee shirts and your ripped jeans, and insisted that you wear something ‘light and airy’ worthy of a garden party. All she had asked before she consulted her personal shopper was if you had a preference of pants or a skirt. And you couldn’t bring yourself to protest, even when you saw the pastel colours that you normally would have utterly hated. 

You weren’t sure why you were trying so hard to impress someone that you barely knew - someone you could barely even call family. Perhaps it was because your mother had treated you so poorly - she had never cared if you were clothed or fed, so having someone buy you expensive new clothes after caring to have ‘family dinner’ with you every night, it was touching. Especially considering that she was throwing an entire party in your honor when your mother hadn’t even wished you ‘happy birthday’ most years - often forgot the day and let it pass without acknowledgment at all. 

Everything your grandmother was going for you, it made you feel like you truly mattered for the first time in your young life. 

Perhaps for the first time since Jason had insisted on stitching up your wound - after he had told you that you being hurt on his behalf in the first place was such a terrible crime. But you didn’t want to think about that too much because you missed him so terribly. 

You did find yourself picky at the itchy, slightly too tight collar as you went downstairs to join the other guests. Your grandmother paraded you around, introduced you to different people. And soon, she abandoned you near one of the snack tables when she was called over by some ‘business associate’. 

You couldn’t resist the urge to pull out your phone and check - your stomach sank when you saw that there was still nothing from Jason. 

Entirely against your own will, you began typing. 

‘Jason, I’m worried about you. Please text me back when you can. I know it’s stupid to be worried just cause I haven’t heard from you in a few days, but Gotham is a stupid shithole and I wanna know that you haven’t been eaten by a giant mutant crocodile or something.’

You hoped that he would reply soon. Even if it was telling you to fuck off. 

You hated when you got sucked into another conversation with more people you didn’t know. You quickly found yourself mentally begging to be released from the hell as more and more people asked you questions that you couldn’t even begin to form the answers to. 

“What are your top three?” One of the women asked you, looking at you with precise, dissecting eyes. 

‘Top three what?’ You wanted to shriek. 

“My Brandon is going to Dartmouth after summering in Metropolis. Doing a lot of volunteer work there - an angel, he is.” 

The other women standing around you all nodded, giving approving looks with strangely fake smiles, and all you could do was nod and smile along with them. 

‘Summering? Since when is that a verb?’ 

You wished more than anything that Jason was there with you. Not only would he pull you aside and relentlessly laugh at these plastic-y women with you, but you knew that he would be able to save you from this. He did have a bit more experience being around rich people because of Bruce, and he would actually be able to tell you what the hell they were saying. He would be able to translate all this shit to ‘Oliver Twist’ for you so that you wouldn’t feel like you were suddenly living on some alien planet. 

“Where do you usually summer? When you’re not with your grandmother, that is?” 

You felt more panic rise in you as another question was directed at you, desperately racking your brain for an answer that wouldn’t make you sound stupidly out of place to them. 

Luckily, before you had to stumble your way through the interaction, your phone began to vibrate in the pocket of the overly expensive blazer that your grandmother had made you wear. You wanted to breathe a sigh of relief at the chance for distraction - even though it was probably a spam call, or Gar, calling to complain that he was lonely because Rachel wasn’t back from her trip yet. (Without you and Jason there, and with Rachel extending her stay on Themyscira, he near constantly complained to you that he was lonely, and that he hated everyone leaving.) 

But still, you jumped at the chance to escape the many pairs of eyes, staring at you, studying your every move like you were a very fascinating bug. Looking at you like you were something that didn’t belong there. 

“I have to take this.” You grinned at them, reaching to grab your phone out of your pocket. 

You moved away from the group of clucking hens, hoping for some privacy in the conversation. Even if it was just Gar, you would use this opportunity to stall for as long as possible before being pulled back into the party. 

When you took your phone out and saw Jason’s contact photo lighting up the screen, you couldn’t hold back the smile that broke across your cheeks. It was a picture of him sticking his tongue out that you had taken using the front facing camera when he had been annoying you over your shoulder one day.

Pure, unadulterated joy. That stupid teenager crush igniting your insides yet again. 

You moved toward the refreshment table, knowing that you looked like an idiot as you stared down at your phone, smiling so widely. 

You knew that you were in too deep. That you probably felt far more deeply for him than he did for you - that you would have dared to call it that deep, ‘tied together forever’ thing, and he probably wouldn’t. 

But you were caring less and less each day. You were beginning not to care if he broke your heart. 

At this point, you were just along for the ride. 

A very small voice in the back of your head told you that maybe he was calling to break things off with you. Maybe, all this time that he had gone without speaking to you, he had been waiting, working up the courage, finding the right words to tell you that he was truly done with you. 

But no. That wouldn’t be the case. 

He had simply been busy. And now, he was calling to tell you what a hectic, shitty few days it had been, how much he had missed you - 

“Hey, asshole. I don’t know if you leeched some of Rach’s psychic powers, but you called just in time to save me.” 

You breathed into the receiver as soon as you picked up, throwing out a casual greeting, knowing that Jason wouldn’t be offended by the words. 

“I always hesitate to say that you were right, but I am beginning to regret not taking you up on that offer to come with me. You should see some of these rich, stuck-up snobs - you would be laughing your ass off if you were here right now.” 

There was a long silence. 

Your stomach dropped. 

On the other end, you had no clue that Jason felt that exact same sting of regret about not coming with you. If he had - the two of you could have been safe and happy together. 

Fear clutched at your throat. 

It was a basic instinct, but you knew that the silence wasn’t a good thing. You thought that all of your worst fears were about to come true. That Jason was about to tell you that he was truly done with you, that he never actually felt anything for you in the first place, and he was just working up the courage to speak the words aloud. 

But it was so much worse than that. It was worse than anything you could have imagined. 

A single, ragged breath. 

Air struggling to get in and out of his lungs past broken bone - pain. 

Standing in the radiance of a warm, pleasant afternoon, with people mingling happily all around you - all the life drained from you. All the happiness sucked out of the world in a matter of seconds. 

You wanted to scream at the top of your lungs, wanted to cry out for help. 

There was a unique cruelty in the fact that everyone else in the garden simply went on, chatting, laughing, engaging in merriment. The fact that they went about their stupid party, having no clue that a world away, in Gotham - a great tragedy was taking place. 

All of those rich assholes sipped their drinks and carried on with their day, having no clue that your world was about to end. 

“Jason?” 

You knew that your voice was so utterly wounded, small and terrified. You made no effort to hide it. 

There was a harsh sound - a collision of flesh, a groan. A hit. It was a sound that somehow made your guts twist in on themselves even more. 

“Go on, Robin.” 

That voice wasn’t Jason. It wasn’t someone you knew. It was wicked and harsh and made you want to scream. All you could do was swallow around a thick dryness that had formed in your throat - like sandpaper had been put there. 

You didn’t know what to do. You couldn’t do anything more than listen. 

“Go on, answer your pretty friend.” 

Jason sucked in another harsh breath, and sputtered out a cough. 

“I - I fucked up.” Jason said, his voice ragged. “I fucked up big time.” 

You felt a hot, wet tear run down your face before you realized that you were crying. Your legs were filled with concrete and you felt the world spinning on its axis. It was a miracle that you managed to stay standing upright. 

You couldn’t even comprehend how you might have looked to someone else in those moments, and truthfully it didn’t matter. No one else at the party even noticed the terrible grief that had struck you. They simply carried on, absorbed in their own little world. 

“Jason?” 

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

And you couldn’t do anything about it. 

What the fuck could you do about it? 

“What happened?” You rushed to ask, your voice full of breath, full of fear. “What’s happening?” 

More tears poured down your face, and you swallowed around the tightness of your throat, forcing a clearness to be able to speak. 

“I made a mistake.” Jason said, his voice coming out in a tight wheeze as he struggled to breathe. “I - I never should have gotten you involved in this.” 

You knew what he really wanted to say. He wanted to apologize for letting you get close to him. For giving you the potential to get hurt. 

“No!” You easily argued back. “Don’t you fucking dare.” 

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

You needed him to know that. You needed him to know. 

“Jason, I-” 

You hesitated for a moment before you said it. Before you crossed that line into the abyss. Your voice clouded with the thickness of your tears when you finally said the words. 

“I love you.” 

When he heard it, Jason let out a wounded howl. 

You thought that he had been stabbed. You let out a sob of your own, echoing his pain. 

You did not know that it was these words alone that damned him. It was something that hurt him more than any baseball bat crashing down over his knees or any brass knuckles against his jaw ever could have. 

Moments before his death, you sentenced him to the worst crime of all - breaking your heart. Now, with his own foolish choices, he had damned you to a life without the one you loved. You had sentenced him to dying with the knowledge that he was the worst piece of shit to ever touch your life. That he truly had rotted everything good about you - just like he had promised. 

You could have chosen anyone else, and you chose to love the stupid, fucked up, idiotic Jason Todd. The man who was about to die due to his own incompetence. 

“Aww, isn’t that sweet?” The stranger’s voice was there again, mocking you. 

You weren’t surprised that Jason didn’t say it back - but you hoped that your words, that you saying it brought some comfort to him. 

You were about to open your mouth again, about to promise that you would find him and rescue him in time. 

And then another pillar of hell struck you. 

“Now, it’s time for the little birdie to go bye-bye.” 

You couldn’t even muster your voice again, couldn’t scream out against this. Your throat was swollen shut, like an allergic reaction to the tragedy as it happened. 

There was a silence - a second of your life that swallowed you whole like an abyss of fifty endless years. 

And then, that silence was cut through by the worst sound you had ever been forced to hear. 

A gunshot. 

The sound was distinctive, clear as day. 

“Jason?!” 

You screamed his name at the top of your lungs - this time, undeniably drawing attention to yourself. Even the plastic party goers couldn’t ignore a tragedy of this magnitude. You couldn’t bring yourself to care as multiple of their heads snapped toward you, taking in the now utterly disheveled sight of you, crying, clutching at your phone like it was the most precious thing in the world. 

“Jason?!” You screamed again, your voice nagging into a hopelessly dead line. 

You didn’t know that they had smashed Jason’s phone, disposing of it now that they were done with their game. 

Upon instinct, you ran. Your legs were heavy and felt stupid and you stumbled into multiple people on your way into the house, causing murmurs as the crowd stared at you. You didn’t care. You were panicked, shaking, confused. You made your way up to the guest bedroom that you had been staying in and began frantically shoving your things back into your bag, half-packed when you finally realized that you had no clue where you were going. 

And you collapsed onto the floor, then. Your whole body was weak, overtaken by shock. Clueless and terrified, your chest was barely taking in breath and your own phone slipped out of your shaking hand when you tried to think of your next move. 

For a long time - what felt like endless hours, days - you could do nothing but sit there and desperately try to suck air into your lungs, playing the gunshot sound over and over again in your mind. 

They shot Jason. They shot Jason. They had shot Jason. 

Your brain could hardly process it. 

One of your grandmother’s caretakers knocked on the bedroom door and you couldn’t gather words to answer. When she asked you what had happened, you couldn’t even begin to explain. That was when you realized that you had needed concrete answers yourself. So as she left the room to make you some peppermint tea ‘for your nerves’, you forced your shaking hands to work, and you grabbed up your phone again. 

You needed to call Dick. 

He didn’t pick up. Then you called Kory. No dice. Then you called Gar - you could hear the bustle of a crime scene in the background, but he sounded okay. He was talking in his usual bright, excited voice. The Titans had likely just made a bust. He was excited to be making a difference, helping people. 

You sucked down breath and tripped over your own words trying to explain it. Jason was in trouble - a gunshot, he was hurt. He was dead. Gar barely understood, tried arguing against you because you sounded hysterical. But he passed the phone to Dick at your insistence. Dick made sense of your words, and made you wait fifteen long painful minutes until he was back in front of the computer at Titans Tower to give you some kind of answer. 

Jason’s tracker was online. It was in Gotham. It was at the Amusement Mile. 

It wasn’t picking up any heat signature from Jason’s body. That only meant one thing: his body was cold. 

“I’m - I’m so sorry, Y/N. Jason’s - he’s gone.”

...

A/N: This is part one of two, and I do have the second part ready to go in my drafts.

Based on the original, Emergency Contact, having around 400 notes, and based on the fact that Jason Todd is a popular character:

I would like to see around 50 reblogs and around 50 comments on this before I post the next part.

Which I do think is a modest ask - if the same amount of people who enjoyed the original show up to read this sequel, then I will be asking one quarter of those people to comment or reblog. And I say 'around' because if I see a good amount of people commenting and reblogging, even if we don't meet the goal, then I will post the next part more quickly.

(I just don't want another incident to happen where people stop commenting immediately as the goal is met and then I end up with 30 comments and 900 likes, clearly showing that people don't care to support a fic even if they clearly enjoyed it.)

However, if you are going to comment, please do not just comment asking for the next part or asking when the next part will be posted, please comment about the body of work that has already been written and posted. I find it inconsiderate and stressful when people only ask for updates. I much prefer to spark a discussion about the existing work that has been written.

Anyway - I am just insanely proud of this fic and I really want to hear what you guys think of it so far!! So please do comment, reblog and rant in the tags, or come to my inbox and chat with me on anon if you're shy. I always wanna hear from fellow Jason Todd lovers and fellow Titans enjoyers.

[aidenzhouappreciationweek]

Welcome! To Aiden Zhou Appreciation Week!

This is the official blog for the appreciation week for the amazing Aiden Zhou, from the High School Story trilogy on Choices: Stories You Play!

This year's event will be taking place over October 9, 2024 - October 15, 2024. But we will continue accepting submissions for the 2024 Prompts until August 1, 2025, which is when the new prompts will be announced.

Aiden Zhou Appreication Week 2024: Prompts List

Day 1 (October 9): Music Man Aiden

Day 2 (October 10): Fashion/Design + Beauty + Flowers

Day 3 (October 11): Relationships: Romance, Friendships, Family

Day 4 (October 12): Free Prompt! (also the day I headcanon as Aiden’s birthday)

Day 5 (October 13): Cunty Aiden + Cutie Aiden + Weather/Seasons

Day 6 (October 14): AU + Crossover

Day 7 (October 15): Pride + Culture/Ethnicity/Heritage + Colors

Feel free to suggest your own possible prompt ideas for future years’ events, btw!

See below for the submission guidelines and (eventually) previous years' masterlists!

General Guidelines for Submission:

We’ll reblog pretty much any posts that are Aiden-centric and Aiden-appreciative/positive, whether or not it’s made for this event. But if you want your post to be considered a submission and listed on the masterlist, you must A) mention this blog and B) specify which prompt or prompts you’re submitting for.

The tags #AidenZhouAppreciationWeek, #AZAW, #AZAW2024, are highly recommended, but not necessary.

If your post is very long in length (eg. if it’s a long fic, has images that take up a lot of length), we highly recommend putting a “Read More” button in your post.

Any submissions that lean into NSFW or suggestive territory, and/or feature sensitive topics should be tagged accordingly.

You don’t have to create for each prompt or each day. Create for as many prompts and days as you like.

You don’t have to create for a prompt on its respective assigned day. Eg. You can create for a Day 1 prompt on Day 4.

You don’t have to create only one piece per prompt. If you have multiple pieces you want to create for a certain prompt, then by all means, go for it.

You don’t have to use only a specific day’s prompts together Eg. You can have a piece that uses a Day 1 prompt and a Day 4 prompt together.

We will still accept submissions even after the event dates have passed. You will have until the next year’s August 1 to submit posts/creations for the current prompts! Eg. For the AZAW 2024 prompts, you will be able to submit for them until August 1, 2025.

What IS welcome:

Any medium of human creation. Art, fanfic, poetry, edits, animation, picrews/meikers* moodboards/stimboards/gifboards, icons, memes/shitposts, gifs, AMVs, playlists, headcanons, character recreation in another game (eg. The Sims), etc!

Meta posts. Eg. screenshots of favorite scenes/moments from the Choices game itself, essay/analytical writing, even just simply gushing/rambling over Aiden nonstop!

Pieces or posts that you made prior to this event and/or initially not for this event, but you've decided you want to submit them!

WIP/unfinished pieces.

Submissions can be works that you have made yourself, or works that you have commissioned from someone else.

*If you’re submitting a picrew or meiker piece or anything similar, please link to the template in your post!

What is NOT welcome:

Bigotry of any kind. Posts of a nature that is sexist, racist (especially Sinophobic), queerphobic, ableist, xenophobic, etc. are obviously not allowed.

AI-generated material of any kind. This includes images or writing made by genAI, ChatGPT/character.AI screenshots, etc. Feel free to let us know if we accidentally promote AI generated material. We support human creators here!

Just don’t be a dick, tbh.

Previous Years’ Masterlists

[Will be linked here]

[alexxncl]

‼️NIGHTBRINGER LESSON 57 SPOILERS‼️

masterlist | all lessons | season 3 | lesson 56.1 | lesson 56.2 | lesson 57.2 | lesson 58.1 | lesson 58.2

when this goes up i'm gonna be mid interview for an internship at a music publishing house 🤠 wish me luck y'all

also the next few lessons are probably gonna be a bit more pessimistic in tone simply bc i'm bitter about the game ending 😭 i'm so sorry

for context we fell off of babel

WHAT DOES THIS HAVE TO DO WITH ANYTHING 😭 y'all i'm actually so upset. like there's so many loose ends and instead of tying any of them up, we're getting some meta dream sequence shit about mc being in the celestial realm. can we address the problems at hand ??? I BEG

if this ends up being raphael's dream and not mc's dream i will retract some of my statement. SOME, not all

imagine this is some bullshit where they go back in time AGAIN oh i'd end it all if i was mc

also i never noticed this before, but why are the boys' angel designs the only ones that have halos ?? where are simeon and luke and raphael's halos ??? is it a choice thing, an age thing, a "lucifer made me" thing ???

i retract some of my statement.

.

..

....nvm i don't retract shit. i just realized what they're doing

raphael feels like he's losing the brothers and simeon just like the players irl feel like we're losing them since the game isn't being updated anymore. i'm gonna make a bigger post about this later bc i have a lot of mixed feelings about this rn

this did get a good chuckle outta me i can't lie 😭😭

poor luke just wants to be appreciated

satan dealing with asmo's constant doting bc satan's his favorite

i do think it's cute how the boys with wings are holding everyone who doesn't have wings though. it kinda feels like a representation of which brothers are the backbone of the family and, at the same time, which brothers are the hardest on themselves because of that self-induced and externally expected to be the glue that holds everything together

i don't want this to be too long so i split this up into another post

...the way that they're alluding to the LAST THING i wanted to happen. isgt if they turn simeon back into an angel after all this buildup i'm ending it all

is this supposed to be the physicsl manifestation of a bridge between the 3 realms ?? if that's the case, is that not already mc ??? and how were mc and lucifer already on the same page ????

after all of this, istg if i don't see michael in the next frame someone's getting their ass beat. and by someone i mean solmare

for legal reasons this is a joke

i knew it. called this shit when they first got to babel back in lesson 50...something. i don't remember. but i called it

also raphael not knowing how to get home doesn't and doesn't make sense. i feel like the seraphims should know the ins and outs of this stuff that they're put in charge of or the more important things associated with the celestial realm in general as a safety measure

unless raphael was never in charge of who could and couldn't enter babel at all, since we all know it was michael in disguise when they went to babel the first time

but how did it fall that deeply under his control from a wish? how did the wish last for that long? how was it that vivid? this is why i wish the game wasn't ending bc i need answers

and god PLEASE let michael be the one to send them home. if we don't get a michael design by the end of the game i might have to ki-

...ofc the responsibility falls on mc. again. despite the fact that they were literally just put through hell and back just to get raphael out of his own head. totally makes sense.

and the fact that THIS is how they're wrapping up the magic sickness arc is so...

no struggle, no growth, just wham bam and done bc the game is ending

there's only one of two options

1. he's michael

2. he's an angel (...again)

3. he's a demon

if it's anything OTHER than options 1 or 3 (but mainly 1) idk what i'm gonna do with myself. like i'm desperate. DESPERATE

pleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepl-

ofc this is how they end the lesson. i can't keep doing this.

[lizzybeth1986]

Liam and Olivia: When You Prefer The Side Character To The Main

Series - TRR's Alternative LIs: The Romances that Didn't Happen

Previous: A Brief History of Alternative Romances in Choices

A/N1: My apologies for the length of this one! There was a LOT to explore, and even more that I had cut out from my initial draft.

A/N2: This essay operates on the premise that Liam is not the "favoured LI"/"golden boy" of the team - an argument I have made in detail in other Liam-centric essays. I am not interested in arguing those same points in my comment box/reblogs. Visit the Liam section of my meta masterlist if you want to learn more about that.

CW: Mentions of non-consensual kissing. Mentions of the plot against the MC in TRR1. Very fleeting mention of the "infertility subplot" TRH pushed onto Hana.

(Screenshot from HIMEME's YouTube channel)

As I mentioned in the previous essay, TRR (along with ES, to a far smaller extent) was the only series that seemed to make an attempt to pair even their popular LIs with another character. It also was (along with TCaTF) one of the very few books that hinted at an alternative romance in the first book itself.

This section of the essay series will perhaps be the longest, since Liam x Olivia got the earliest hints, and was built up first. While the other three pairings were introduced or hinted at in Books 2 and 3, the reader got to see glimpses of a possible Liam x Olivia pairing from the finale of Book 1 onwards.

Why An Alternative LI?

TRR is, essentially, a story that hinges on the likelihood of an arranged marriage. The character that makes this entire story possible, Liam, is expected to pick a bride by the end of his social season, whether he is ready for marriage or not. The ending of Book 1 itself ties his ascension as a king to marriage.

(Screenshot from Skylia's YouTube channel)

To prove Madeleine's point, the finale actually shows us that until he picks a fiancèe, he literally won't be addressed as king, but still as Prince Liam. So while this point does get heavily retconned later on in the series, the original story itself required Liam to be married sooner than any of the other LIs.

But Liam's story doesn't just hinge on needing a good Queen for his kingdom. His arc - at least in Book 1 - involved learning that being a good king doesn't mean he needs to sacrifice his own desires or romantic sensibilities. If that were the case, he could have just been stuck with Madeleine. No - the story was supposed to be about Liam learning to validate his personal aspirations without hurting his political position. It was essential then that the woman he picked was someone he either was already in love with (the MC), or someone he grew to love over the course of the series.

When you take this context into account, having an alternative romance becomes not only convenient, but essential.

And if the MC doesn't choose Liam as her endgame...who better for this "romance" than an old friend who has always held a torch for him?

A Romantic Rival

(Screenshots from Skylia's YouTube channel)

As most of the fandom remembers the first book and the trajectory of the Liam and Olivia relationship in it pretty well, I'll try not to go into too much detail. The Olivia of Book 1 has two parallel storylines: the one with the MC, where they first start out hating and then learn to like each other...and the one with Liam, which begins with Olivia assuming she will win the social season, but becoming more and more resigned to the MC's chances of winning as her position in the competition declines.

There is obviously a lot more focus on her dynamic with the MC, for two reasons:

1. Until the MC chooses an endgame, an LI will never show more interest in another person. It will always be the alternative LI whose interest initially drives that side-story. Making an LI reciprocate that interest can result in a negative impression of them, as fans could potentially believe that their love for the MC is not genuine or special. This is the case for all LIs in the series, not just Liam.

2. Narratively, the first book wants to make Olivia's love for Liam their big character reveal. It is the first time Olivia actively opens up to the MC, and is canonically the beginning of their "friendship". So very little emphasis is placed on her emotional attachment to Liam until the Coronation (with her cactus gift and her confession to the MC before leaving), and even less on how Liam feels about her.

Whatever little we do get of Liam and Olivia's dynamic before the finale is focused on their childhood friendship. We learn from Liam that she was a sad, lonely child when they met, heartbroken by her parents' death and the negligence of the aunt who was supposed to raise her. Her attachment to Liam emerges from his support of her when they were children, and we later learn in TRH that he not only supported her, but often empathized with young Olivia and comforted her in ways that didn't give away her vulnerabilities.

Olivia claims at the beginning of TRR1 that "everyone just assumed Liam and [Olivia] would get married one day". Given what we learn later about Constantine and the Nevrakis family (and the fact that no one backs Olivia's claim at any point in the book), it is possible she was exaggerating. But it is also true that until the MC gains more popularity and Madeleine makes her entrance, Olivia is assumed to win the social season quite easily. In the same way that Madeleine is positioned as the "political" rival in Book 1's story, Olivia is viewed as the "romantic" counterpoint to the MC.

From Liam's end, there is actually very little shown about his thoughts on Olivia. It is clear that he cares for her, wants the MC to think well of her and understand her circumstances. While as a child, he comforted her when she was called a cactus by reminding her that they were tough plants that no one messed with; as an adult he is pained by her vindictiveness towards people who haven't even harmed her. There is plenty of grounds here for some sort of relationship, but enough there that shows why the MC who will marry him would be a slightly better fit.

The second half of TRR1 focuses on softening Olivia to an extent - having her and the MC optionally bond over their dislike for Madeleine (who is viewed as the "bigger bad" at this point) and having her only occasionally approach Liam for his company. Her feelings for him come to the forefront only during his Coronation, around the time she withdraws due to the blackmail exposing her parents' attempts to assassinate King Constantine.

This moment in the series completes Olivia's transition from antagonist to a possible friend. The reveal that Olivia loved Liam all along ensures that the MC can sympathize with her for not getting the man she loves, and allows the reader to envision her as a future ally.

To some who already vouched for a Liam-Olivia endgame before the finale, this moment was a confirmation. To others who didn't exactly see Olivia's actions towards Liam as rooted in affection, this moment was a revelation. Whatever it was, this moment made her extremely popular in the fandom.

But this scene also had a more important purpose - it provided players not interested in Liam, a possible out from the situation. The ending of TRR1 hinged on Liam choosing the MC as his future bride, then being forced to accept someone else when the scandal broke out. Book 2 allows the MC to explore what she wants without the expectations of a social season. The prospect of a titled lady who genuinely loved Liam being his potential endgame would make it easier for fans of other LIs. It sounded like a perfect ending for everyone.

The (Unwanted) Kiss, and What It Says About the Fandom

(Screenshots from Danni Stone's YouTube channel)

A scene that often gets ignored (or conveniently forgotten) when discussing Liam x Olivia in TRR1, is the kiss in Lythikos.

The Lythikos Ball in Ch 8 is already a social battleground of sorts for Olivia. She wields her power as hostess here - monopolising Prince Liam's company, and humiliating the MC and her friends with the worst seating and ice-cold food. Things come to a head when - while dancing the Cordonian Waltz with Liam - she forces a kiss on him, completely disregarding his ability to consent.

I use these precise words to describe this incident for two reasons. First, because canon refused to do so. Second, because most of the fandom refused to do so.

Different characters in the story respond to this incident in different ways. A shocked "what a bold play!", a sarcastic "Olivia's growing up, how sweet", and an enraged "she's gone mad with power here!" emerge from the ladies of the court - all focused on Olivia's intentions and actions. None of these responses ever address Liam's end of this situation.

Even more interesting are the options the MC is given to address the situation when Liam speaks to her later.

(Screenshots from Danni Stone's YouTube channel. This is the second dialogue option)

She either speaks to Liam like nothing happened, or engages in victim blaming. Personally I think both options are as bad as each other. Neither of these options include "are you okay?" or "were you comfortable with that?".

Liam's answer to the MC's (optional) accusations is perhaps the only time the issue of consent is even barely addressed (and even here Liam is duty-bound to think of Olivia's welfare over his own comfort). It is appalling that it takes the MC practically victim blaming this man for that to happen. And it is equally disturbing that Liam's response is so apologetic, so contrite, as if this entire situation was his fault.

The kiss is viewed as a number of things in the book: an affront to the suitors who have no power in Olivia's estate, or a political blunder. But what does it mean to the man who had this kiss forced upon him? Would he really feel comfortable or safe around her again after that? The writers clearly didn't know, nor did they care. And most of the fandom was only too happy to follow suit.

The few times this kiss was spoken about amongst the fandom, the question of consent was barely ever addressed. The kiss was either brushed aside as unimportant, seen as an indication of the "love and passion" Olivia had for Liam, or viewed as a manifestation of her jealousy towards the MC. Liam is sometimes seen as "clueless" for not "noticing Olivia's feelings...I mean, she literally kissed him!!" All of which could be true, but it doesn't erase the fact that his consent was never given, nor his comfort with the situation ever considered.

It is doubly ironic given the fandom reaction to the MC's plight in Applewood, after Tariq attempts to kiss her without her consent (though this situation involves significant privacy violations and dark conspiracies, and Liam's does not). The MC's situation was (rightfully) viewed as horrible and potentially traumatising, and many were upset that the emotional impact of it wasn't adequately addressed in the story. It wouldn't be surprising if Liam's situation wasn't viewed on the same level - given the difference in contexts - but the fandom and canon rarely saw this as something that happened to him, without his consent.

Ironically, the fandom never really considered Olivia planting a whole smacker on Liam's mouth as possible "proof" that she could engage in creepy, entitled behaviour...but they did often view Liam as "creepy" for...complimenting diamond-option outfits, or saying romantic-coded dialogues that the MC would reciprocate by default (again - I don't deny this is a problem and those lines should have been coded properly. However one cannot deny the doubt standards here). Olivia was the one who forced a kiss on the object of her affection in canon, but Liam was the one who got so many "abuser" and "harrasser" (and worse!) depictions in fanfic when TRR2 and 3 were out.

I will be addressing this particular scene again in another context, in a later essay in the series. I would like my readers here to not forget this scene, or the (lack of) outrage around it. It would be helpful to ponder over why Olivia's behaviour here is largely viewed as no big deal, especially when other side characters (and at least one main character) could be villainized for far, far less.

Olivia and Liam in TRR2 and 3

(Screenshots from Skylia's YouTube channel)

TRR1's finale and TRR2 show a small shift in Liam and Olivia's dynamic. Now that he is engaged, and in love with a woman who isn't Olivia, their interactions become sporadic and awkward. To ensure that Liam won't be viewed as a cassanova, the narrative keeps their interactions to a minimum. Group scenes that involve Liam often leave Olivia out, and group scenes that involve Olivia exclude Liam.

However, to address the "romantic potential" from TRR1's finale, the book shows Liam and Olivia interact in at least one scene in Ch 10. Here, they have a short, stilted conversation that leaves Liam concerned about Olivia's well-being, and that makes Olivia grieve over her unrequited love for him to an equally concerned MC.

Olivia's story in TRR2 largely centers around establishing her character (snarky, prickly, warriorlike. Much of this is actually a deviation from her writing in TRR1), strengthening her relationship with the MC, and integrating her into the core group.

Olivia's feelings for Liam get addressed again after the MC makes her final choice of LI. The MC's acceptance or rejection of Liam's proposal results in a bit of tension between the two women. If Liam is the MC's choice, Olivia admits to her heartbreak despite being truly happy that Liam has found love. If not, she reveals a slight resentment that the MC could so easily throw away the love that Olivia so badly wanted. The narrative allows Olivia her complicated, ambivalent feelings towards the Liam x MC match, and expects the MC to understand and sympathize. By default.

If you don't choose Liam in TRR3, his romance with Olivia does start here. And by this I mean that Liam is now allowed to reciprocate her affections.

(Screenshots from the Skylia YouTube channel (Drake playthrough). The screenshots aren't in order. 1st Liam x Olivia scene is the handholding at Applewood (5), 2nd is dancing at Vegas (1st two), 3rd is Liam asking Olivia for a dance at the finale ball (middle two), and the last is Liam asking Olivia out (6))

Even in the playthrough where Liam is marrying the MC, his default is to trust Olivia, show her kindness and staunchly defend her to people who suspect her motives. Liam advocates for her innocence in TRR3 Ch 2, even as her family becomes one of the prime suspects. The MC may vouch for her by choice...but if she does choose to suspect Olivia, it is Liam who pushes back against the idea.

By this point, the MC and Olivia can cement their friendship if the former has worked on gaining her trust. If not - the book has already created an inbuilt mechanism to ensure Olivia's loyalty anyway. It is tied to her gratitude and affection for Liam, the one person who consistently believed in her from childhood. Whether the MC makes an effort to win her approval or not, Olivia respects her. Her emotional attachment to Liam as an old friend, and loyalty to her king, ensures that her support is gained by default throughout.

Outside of his own playthrough, though, the narrative does slip in a few extra scenes where Liam shows an obvious romantic interest in Olivia. It's small - he isn't exactly yelling from the rooftops that he loves her - but it is definite progress where he seeks her out for support, dances with her and eventually asks her out to dinner at the finale. The scenes are few but prominent, and leave no doubt to the reader that Liam fully intends to court her.

So...why is Liam still single in the Drake, Hana and Maxwell playthroughs of TRH?

Writer Bias

When you read enough interviews and watch enough livestreams from the TRR team, one thing becomes very, very clear. They love their TCaTF callbacks. And no callback is more beloved to the writers than the repurposing of Zenobia Nevrakis' sprite to create her descendant, Olivia.

In this section, I will focus in particular on Kara Loo, COO of Pixelberry and one of the head writers of the TRR/H/F series. Going by several interviews and social media posts, Kara wrote most of Olivia and Drake's scenes and dialogues (along with "some of the Prince's speeches"), and was in fact the driving force behind how Olivia's character came to be, in the original series.

"...when we were creating Book 1, we wanted an evil redhead to be your antagonist, and Kara said, "Oh, what if we used Zenobia, but the twist is she's a Nevrakis descendant?"" - Jennifer Young, Looking Back on The Royal Romance (Sept 2018)

Kara has openly admitted before to having a fondness for Olivia's particular character type. In an interview with Daily Dahlia, she spoke of Val, one of the TCaTF LIs, in glowing terms that perfectly fit the way Olivia has been written as well:

"I love writing Val Greaves in The Crown & The Flame. I love writing for characters that are a little meaner and will really just say what they’re thinking, even if it isn’t exactly tactful." - Daily Dahlia's Interview with the Pixelberry Crew (Sept 2016).

The love for mean (and white! Don't forget white) women among the team, is pretty clear when you look at the kind of reception TRR's mean white women get.

Notably, Kara does have the occasional nice thing to say about Liam too. In an interview before the release of TRR2, she spoke of how "considerate and loving he is", how "there is nothing mean or selfish about him". As a Liam fan who kept seeing him bashed left and right after the TRR1 finale, those words initially felt like a massive relief.

But now, seeing the way the team treats nicer and more diplomacy-oriented characters in the series, this fulsome praise for Liam's selflessness gives me pause. It reminds me too much of how most of the team swore up and down that Hana would be their choice of LI to marry in a livestream, at the same time that they were slamming an infertility subplot on her in the books. Looking back with the knowledge of how the writers would treat Liam later, praise like this seemed less focused on finding him lovable, and more on ensuring that he gave constantly to the MC without ever getting much in return.

While Liam's treatment is not as bad as Hana or Kiara's, one must take note that the team - esp the head writers - have never really hesitated to throw Liam under the bus or retcon entire chapters and backstories to make characters like Drake seem better than him (eg. The narrative choice to have Drake claim Liam was leading the MC on when they first met in TRR3, which has led to more than one attempt to rewrite the bachelor party).

Part of this could be attributed to just the fondness for a specific character type. But I do think that with Kara in particular, ideology also plays a role in her preferences. There are at least two interviews from the team where her liking for darker, more violent storylines has been mentioned. In TRR3 the team affectionately called some of their brainstorming sessions with Kara as "Kara's trail of bodies" (one idea was to kill off Madeleine in Lythikos), and in the TRF livestream they mention that she initially wanted a war storyline.

This leaning towards a more militaristic mindset shows...in the care that Kara takes for Olivia's dialogues and especially her spy scenes (tho such scenes actually don't contribute much to the plot). In contrast there is a subtle disdain for the more diplomacy-minded characters shown in scenes where Olivia's ideologies are measured up against theirs (eg. Any scene where Hana and Olivia are supposed to work together, or the vast difference between the "valiant" Lythikos tournament and the "ridiculous" Castelserraillan flower competition in TRH3).

Even though it is often the diplomacy that saves the day at the end, the framing always highlights the militaristic way of thinking more positively. Given that Kara writes a lot of Olivia, and a fair amount of Liam, it's pretty obvious now where her (and the team's) particular bias may lie.

Because of this bias, it became far easier for TRR's writers to lean into popular fandom myths when it suited them, or pander to a particular section of the fandom. Which is the subject of my next section.

Fandom Entitlement

Olivia often has two types of fans - the ones who wanted to ship her with their MCs in canon (and couldn't), and the ones who wanted to be "bestieeeees!" with her. The frustration of the former was rooted in the fact that wlw had only one romantic option, but I will not be talking about them.

The latter were found in plenty among the Liam, Drake and Maxwell stans - all of whom either viewed her as an ally to win over (Liam), or as someone to push onto Liam, so they could romance the men they preferred in peace (mostly Drake and Maxwell. Some Hana stans but not as many).

As I'd mentioned in an earlier section, Olivia's final scene in TRR1 allowed people who didn't want to romance Liam, to envision a narrative 'out' for themselves. By the time Olivia reappeared in TRR2 Ch 5, she'd gained a cult following among many, many fans. A lot of them were actively rooting for the start of a romance between Liam and Olivia, and very few resented her for her feelings or begrudged her past actions.

But there was one downside. The intent among the majority who rooted for this pairing, was more about "getting Liam out of the way", than any actual romantic potential. Because of this, certain Liam x Olivia stans (ironically, the Drake romancers were the loudest voices in this group) felt a ridiculous level of entitlement towards this pairing.

A number of readers insisted on having Liam fall for Olivia immediately, wanted him to show feelings for her instantly, and complained when he didn't do so while his (optional) romance with the MC was still on.

Olivia's sad, longing gazes in TRR2 propelled many a reader to complain about what an awful situation poor Olivia was in and how insensitive and uncaring Liam was (even in the face of screenshots that clearly showed him worrying about her desolate mood). One of many examples comes from a post in Feb 2018 - a Drake stan's written walkthrough of TRR2 Ch 10, and ironically the following lines were made above a screenshot set that clearly showed Liam noticing how sad she was and worriedly asking the MC about that:

Liam finds you and as always, can’t help fawning over you. This time Olivia is right there and he is like, Oh yeah, Olivia, you are too here, hi. She definitely notices, gets upset, and leaves because she really does love him and she is third choice at best.

This was not the only one. There were multiple posts like these, and they often positioned Olivia as a figure of sympathy, yearning for a love that would never be hers. Liam in these readings was always positioned as someone who "didn't care" and later, "didn't deserve Olivia".

When he did start showing an interest in Olivia in Book 3, it went largely unnoticed by most of the fandom, even though he was romancing her in at least 3 out of 4 playthroughs. There were very, very few posts made about any of these romantic moments. Instead, from Chapters 3 to 10 of TRR3 - where Liam didn't show any indications of heartbreak re: the MC - certain Drake/Maxwell fans made posts complaining over his not pining over the MC, or theorizing that some of his friendly attempts to educate the MC about the country had to have been done with more than friendship in mind.

This section of the fandom often got insane amounts of pandering from the writers themselves. When TRR3 returned from a hiatus post Ch 9, we were suddenly hit with more scenes involving Liam's "heartbreak" (it featured sporadically in all three of the other playthroughs, but you could tell it was tailor-made for the Drake one because it got referenced there waaaay more) before the big battle with Anton. Fandom spoke far more on these scenes than on the ones they got for Liam x Olivia.

What was completely missed was that such "heartbreak" scenes happened because there was a demand from readers who weren't even Liam stans in the first place, and the same stans didn't hesitate to flip and label him "desparate" or "pining" or write fanfic where he was an absolute creep in response to a thing they asked for!

As for talk of the Liam x Olivia ship post TRR3, the phrase "sloppy seconds" started to be used often to address the pair after the series ended, and there were quite a few posts claiming that Liam didn't deserve such an incredible woman like Olivia.

(Edit Source: the playchoicesconfessions Tumblr blog)

Using the pining subplot that nonLiam stans had asked for, some of the same people would insist that Olivia "deserved better than to be sloppy seconds" (at some point after TRR3, I noticed that even some Liam stans would say the same!). This argument often came hand-in-hand with the lie that Liam never cared for Olivia enough (as one can see in the edit above). It also often hinged on the premise that the MC was Liam's first love, that he wouldn't (and shouldn't!) ever get over her, and that anyone else would rank as second best to him. And while I agree that Olivia deserves a partner who would wholeheartedly love her, this argument seemed to come from people who were eerily reluctant to imagine Liam leading a happy life without the MC.

Tbh, the fandom at large has always had a very confusing relationship with Liam as a character. I wouldn't be exaggerating if I said that from TRR2 onwards, making Liam a scapegoat was a very popular reading from the fandom. He was often expected to live up to impossible standards - way more than the other male LIs - and criticized incessantly for dialogues and action that the other two could easily get away with.

Many fans were (rightfully) frustrated by how Liam could have romantic lines by default (which the MC would by default reciprocate, to their chagrin) all through TRR1 - while ignoring romantic default dialogues from Drake - but also complained when Liam responded more calmly than expected to her rejection of his proposal. They also didn't like that he could be largely neutral/merely friendly towards the MC for most of TRR3. Damned if he didn't, damned if he did.

I'm not saying that this was the viewpoint of the entire fandom. There were people - yours truly included - who pushed back against such a biased view of this pairing. Against a view that insisted on centering only Olivia's feelings, while either badmouthing Liam for not returning her love, or ignoring the times when he did. There were people who pointed to canon for proof that he cared.

But enough voices vouched for this other, more unsavoury reading that "Olivia deserves better than to be Liam's sloppy seconds", that it became quite popular. That it became the accepted view in canon too, when the writers began work on TRH.

Olivia x Liam (not), TRH and Beyond

As we all know by now, Liam x Olivia did not happen in TRH. After a dance and an invitation to a date in the finale, Liam was back to being single and uninterested in any romantic relationships (like all the other LIs). It went to the point where he was ready to appoint the MC's future child as his heir (heir apparent, not presumptive. The fandom mockingly dubbed him "Rumpelstiltskin" for this). At the time, I imagined that perhaps the narrative was trying to erase the pair altogether, since no other LI got paired up either. It would be fair.

This wasn't exactly the case. In fact, in my opinion, what they managed to do was much worse.

(Screenshots from the HR Gameplay YouTube channel. Liam is renamed "Rayden" here)

Savannah's bachelorette (TRH1 Ch 7) has the MC and the ladies "address" certain pairings that were hinted at in TRR3. One doesn't get addressed at all, one addresses the LI by name only if the playthrough isn't the one where the MC is married to him.

Olivia's is the only one that got addressed regardless of whether the MC was married to the man she had wanted or not. And looking at the scene now, I really, really wish they didn't write it at all.

If the MC encourages Olivia to talk about her feelings for Liam, the latter shows anger and resentment over Liam not choosing her twice over. This, despite the fact that he did attempt to date her the previous book. This, despite the fact that he never indicated interest until he actually felt it. This... despite the fact that not returning the feelings of someone who likes you romantically is a normal, natural thing that said someone should accept without judging other person!

In fact, the fandom was more than willing to view other LIs "not returning feelings" as normal, natural and blameless...so why did only Olivia get sympathy and praise for her unrequited love, and why did only Liam have to be criticised for the same?? Even in THIS scene??

Liam x Olivia would not be referenced for 3-and-a-half books after this, until the very end of TRF. Over the course of the series, the team tested her compatibility and possible chemistry with at least two side characters. One was Jin, the Auvernese spy that Olivia fights with in TRH1 Ch 19. While they did seem to have some banter in the first book and a smattering of scenes in the second, interest quickly died down and Jin was written out of the story once the Auvernese royals' scandals were exposed.

TRH3 then hinted at Amalas x Olivia as a pair, peppering hints as early as the introductory chapters. There had been a few murmurings among the fandom for the same, since a number of wlw were fond of Olivia, and people liked headcanoning her as bi or lesbian (in fact, when the team claimed in a TRH1 livestream that having Olivia as an LI would "soften her" too much, the fandom protested). Amalas x Olivia was met with more approval than Jin x Olivia, and in TRF you could encourage Olivia to ask either Liam or Amalas for a dance.

Liam himself never got any other options for romance (understandable, none of the LIs did), and in fact had several aspects of his story chipped away, chunk by chunk, to benefit other characters. In the end, Liam is treated like Olivia's "alternative LI" than the other way around.

It was a pretty ironic ending for a pairing that people felt so entitled over in the beginning. After years of protests against Olivia being Liam's "sloppy seconds" just because he chose her after being rejected by their MCs... the narrative didn't mind treating him like some sort of "consolation prize" (one of two) for Olivia. And as expected, nor did the fandom.

Conclusion: Could This Pairing Have Worked?

Much as I dislike it now, I did think Liam x Olivia had some potential back then. Politically and emotionally, Liam and Olivia were opposites in many ways. There was a lot you could explore. Their background history and the sweetness of their childhood story had the potential to add layers to their dynamic.

But for a pair like Liam x Olivia to work, romantically, some things would need to change:

1. Respect in the writing room for both their ideologies, not just Olivia's. If you view one with adulation and the other with disdain, that will eventually show in the writing. These two could have been a solid power couple if the team could just set aside their boners for violence and knives once in a fucking while.

2. THE KISS. If you're going to have that kind of a scene around, especially in the context of TRR1's larger story, it needs to be addressed. From Liam's point of view. With Olivia openly regretting it and atoning for it, and Liam getting to choose how to handle that. It isn't just enough to assume they spoke offscreen, and then pretend the forced kiss never happened or that that violation meant nothing.

Olivia was wrong. Olivia crossed boundaries. Olivia disregarded Liam's consent. Liam was the victim here, not the person the MC should be shouting at - even by option.

If a romance should proceed between the two, that kiss deserves to be addressed with a lot of sensitivity and respect to Liam's own experience.

3. BALANCE! Between their perspectives, their viewpoints, their beliefs. Which would only be possible if you equally valued both characters.

4. Respect for Liam's feelings and his romantic choices, whatever they may be. Liam knows what he likes best. Him not returning Olivia's feelings is not a crime, nor does it make him any less of a caring person. Him falling in love a second time, seeing an old friend in a new light, should have been embraced as a concept.

Loving someone else deeply in the past shouldn't make his feelings for his second love any less genuine. But most of the fandom adopted such a way of viewing the Liam x Olivia relationship because it allowed them to pity Olivia and blame Liam (again) - and the team validated those sentiments out of excessive care for one character, and a lack of it for another.

Changes like these four would have definitely made for a better-written alternative romance. But given the kind of team and the fanbase TRR had, none of the changes I mention here would ever have a hope of becoming a reality. Olivia is too popular, too beloved to her writers and fandom, (and too white!) to be viewed with even this much of a critical eye. And tbh, once the fandom has marked a character (esp a character of colour - customizable or not) as a scapegoat, they would enjoy bashing them too much to stop. From then on, it would only be a matter of which excuse, which nitpick, which set of double standards, would work best.

Liam and Olivia had potential. And the narrative was able to get that story to the point where the two could at least have a first date. But team TRR squandered all its future possibilities in the mad rush to pander to a portion of their fandom, with a clear bias for the side character...and so we will never know how a more balanced portrayal would've looked like.

A/N3: I have quoted posts that have actually appeared on Tumblr, but without any identification marks. All of them are one among many such posts - either lost to digital decay or hard to find. I do not want to call out any of the individual posters - I want to make it clear that many of these posts are indicative of a fandom-wide problem. Do not try to find out, or harrass, these posters.

Next - Maxwell and Penelope: When You Like the Side Character So Much, You Gift Her A Shiny New LI

[lover-of-mine]

Edits:

All edits (1k+ 2k+ 3k+ 4k+ 5k+)

911

Buddie

Videos (youtube tiktok instagram)

911 edit series:

Countdowns: to season 7, to season 8, to season 8b

Buddie in every episode

Buddie through the seasons

Every episode wide shots and faceless

Characters saying the name of the episode

Municipal vehicles damaged or destroyed on the show

Parallels within the show

Buddie parallels with other shows

Random people in calls I felt like gifing while rewatching

Buddie full scene sets

Cemetery scene brainrot

Pining Eddie

Buck and the hamster wheel

Fic edits

Edits with lyrics:

5sos

Taylor Swift (ttpd specifically)

Gracie Abrams

Xana

Maisie Peters

911 Metas:

All metas

911 speculation tag

Blue and yellow tag

Drown Buck 2024 tag

Blue and green masterpost

Color theory tag

Eddie fell first essay

Buddie car crash buck actually spec (tied to the drown Buck but not exactly)

Writing:

Masterlist / ao3

Buddie Supercuts:

Season 2

Season 3

Season 4

Season 5

Season 6

Season 7

Season 8a

Masterpost

And my ko-fi if you ever think "does Anna have a tip button"

[jomamaofficial]

An Empty Vessel pt.2 (Dabi x Fem!Reader Dark Angst)

A/N: Happy holidays my lovely toes. I am so sorry for this delay, my laptop broke down 😃😃. I urge you all to read the TWs and CWs because I have delved into dark topics. As always, my Ask Box is open for any requests or just a conversation. I absolutely adore all of you, and I want to take this time to thank you guys for your support. Seeing your comments and messages motivates me to write :) <3. Please remember to take care of yourselves, and enjoy. As always, I would love to see your thoughts in the comments :). TW: Vague sexual harassment, substance abuse (weed, alcohol, smoking), death and bleeding. CW: SPOILER: Season 6, Dabi’s backstory, PFL, AFO and Shigiraki plot, swearing, vague mentions of intimate acts. Taglist: @marlenemckinnonsleftfoot @sukunasleftkneecap @istoleyourmanho3 @witherfag Masterlist Edit: Part 3 😼😼 Word Count: 2919. Summary: In the stories Rei used to read him, heroes always won. Reality wasn’t a story though. The villains won the Meta Liberation War after 6 years of fighting. With the death of Pro Hero Endeavour, and the reign of All For One, Dabi could finally leave his past as Touya Todoroki. He no longer had family. But what about the past that haunted him to this day. A family that belonged to Dabi, not Touya? One that escaped unborn?

——————————————————————————————————

Musutafu, Japan– it made international headlines. 

The Paranormal Liberation Force finally did it. 

The nation observed a minute of silence for the fall of Pro Hero Endeavour. 

Musutafu was now all for one. And the entire nation would soon suffer the same fate. 

Dabi stretched his neck to the left, stretching his right shoulder as he fought the growing tingles in his body. Chills ran up and down his spine as his eyes followed the tears of rain flooding the dimly-lit road.

He loved how empty this street was: no cars, no news reporters. There were no signs of nagging parents and their brat children, and there were no heroes patrolling the streets, strutting up and down like they owned the place.  

It was just him and the soft sound of the rain which seeped into his socks, staining them with the remains of what was now All For One’s headquarter city. 

Dabi wished to hear the familiar croak of Tomura’s voice: the back and forth banter, the late-night clicks of the video game console. Back when it was just them, the League of Villains. Tomura, Kurogiri, Toga, Twice, and him. Back when he didn’t ruin everything. 

Dabi never told anyone, but there was a tiny part of his soul that withered away when he was near All For One. 

Dabi felt small. He was 5’9; he never felt small. 

But that thing would always tower over him. His slimy touch was forcefully ingrained into Dabi’s skin— that thing touched him like he owned Dabi. 

And Dabi hated the way his mind memorised the way All For One used his crooked fingers to tilt Dabi’s head up to inspect him. 

“Oh he’s a little doll isn’t he, Tomura? Where do you find these pretty boys?”

He hated the way All For One laughed after; it was a broken wheeze that rang murder in Dabi’s mind. 

He watched as All For One forced Tomura to laugh with him, and Tomura’s apologetic eyes wavered when he looked back at Dabi. 

He hated Tomura for laughing that day. 

But he hated that laugh much more; the laugh that tainted the fresh air they stood in. 

Now, Musutafu’s entire air was tainted by that laugh. 

Now… Musutafu belonged to All For One. And Dabi could only hear that broken wheeze. 

It would follow him everywhere. 

So despite the rain’s destructive nature, Dabi allowed the weeping drops of the sky to fill the emptiness inside of him. The cool drops were better than the air. 

Dabi was just an empty vessel. Nowhere to go, no one to go back to. 

-

The Meta Liberation War quenched everyone’s thirst for blood. The dirt was saturated with the blood of heroes and villains alike. 

He found it amusing, he really did as he bore his vacant eyes into the rusting ground. Dabi watched as everyone’s blood mixed together under his foot. 

He raised his eyebrows, and chuckled.

‘All it took was death for them to stick together’. 

Dabi travelled further away from the battle ground, quite deliberate about the steps he took. He counted underneath a shallow breath.

“Fifty-five, fifty-six, fifty-seven,” until he reached the sixty-second step. 

His heel pressed against the seeping soil surging scarlet. 

And the world was still. 

So still and silent that the gentle wind snuck up on the thin man, and he let out a broken gasp as his knees gave out. 

The ringing in his ear struck a bitter note. His chest heaved up and down, up and down, and his eyes were blankly fixed on the ground beneath him. Thick, warm blood oozed through the thin cloth that covered his knees. 

Enji Todoroki finally died. And Touya Todoroki was responsible for it. 

Touya Todoroki, after 7 years of persistent efforts, was officially fatherless. 

Finally, it dawned upon him: after 30 long years, Touya Todoroki couldn’t chase him anymore. He could finally find solace in Dabi. 

And Dabi was alone. He had no family. 

-

As the joint finally caught up to him, after four or five rookie puffs, the raven man started asking himself what he was doing here. 

Surrounded by a group of homeless men who he caught rummaging in the dumpster, they were huddled away into the darkness of a dimly lit alleyway. It smelled like shit, offending his heightened state of smell. Flies picked on the waste scattered below them, their constant buzz creating a monotonous flow. 

Dabi peeled his lips open as he felt each individual cell respire on his skin. His heart felt like it was growing inside of him, puncturing his dry lungs, getting louder and faster with each beat.

As a young boy, he saw Enji drink every evening for two years. Dabi used to sneak a sip when he was alone. Dabi was often alone. 

He caught Enji with a lit cigarette in his fingers. Dabi stole one and showed it to his friends. Dabi coughed a lot that day. 

Enji never touched drugs. He was against it. 

Dabi never took drugs; the thought of it never passed him. 

“How does it feel kid?” 

Dabi’s consciousness was dragged back to reality, the bleak colours of his surroundings painting a vibrant picture. 

“I can feel my skin breathing,” he responded, his lower jaw hanging open as he struggled to keep his neck straight. 

Howls of laughter echoed in the distance, but the scarred man took no notice. 

The joint was held to his lips, and Dabi took another puff. 

Dabi wanted to individually itch the surface of his eyes with his nails. It was miserable. 

But the ripple of the individual muscles in his cheeks felt so warm and happy when he smiled. That was less miserable. 

So he kept on smiling, jaw still gaping. His staples pulled against his grafts, but the molecular traces of marijuana in his bloodstream shielded him from the pain. 

Dabi was taken aback– gravity was working exponentially harder against him. A man touched the corner of his lips, the thick and coarse pad of his thumb sending him back, seven years ago.

Oh he’s a little doll isn’t he, Tomura?

“Boy”, the man slurred, “you’re bleeding.”

He shoved his bloodied thumb in Dabi’s face. 

Dabi struggled to focus his gaze on the thumb in front of him, switching between double and triple vision. 

“Can’t feel it,” he mumbled, his reactions delayed as he scooted away from the stranger. 

“Everything’s breathing except these.”

Dabi was mesmerised by the feeling of his grafts against the pads of his fingers. It restored the faint twinkle in his hollow eyes.  

“Why are you all fucked up everywhere, boy?”

It took a few moments to register, but Dabi did respond. 

“Useless mom, dick dad.” 

A unison of delayed ahhhs followed, and Dabi began to feel a knocking pressure trapped in the inner corners of his wide eyes.

“I was never his first choice,” Dabi chuckled. He wasn’t sure if they could hear him. They sure as hell couldn’t understand him, but he was fine with that. 

“I was his first born son. No fuckin’ use. Dropped me like I was a waste of time and money.” 

The offensive smell of the blunt dug him further away from reality. Dabi was content with his own company. 

It would always be just him, forever and always. Because after everyone leaves, you’re left with yourself– your only support. 

The more he delved into his loneliness, the louder he heard his skin breathe, it was deafening. And so the silence on his graft became even louder. 

For a man who was considered dead all his life, Dabi wasn’t used to his living body. Senses upon senses, he was bombarded with the constant reminder that he was still alive. Even his dead, unresponsive skin felt alive. Because it was the absence of feeling that felt different. 

-

Many people would describe euphoria as extreme feelings of bliss and joy. It was this boxed definition that led Dabi to believe that he could never feel euphoria. But in this moment, whilst Dabi sunk deeper into his conscience– his doubts finally quiet, time finally stopped. 

And his body finally let go. 

The familiar bud of the joint met his mouth again, and he inhaled the noxious fumes until he smoked his fears away into the midst of the neverending clouds in the night sky. The full moon gleamed down on his pale skin, bathing his grafts in a lunar embrace. 

Unlike the sun, which beat its scorching rays on his sensitive skin, the moon shyly kissed it, leaving trails of beautiful markings that soothed his aches. 

Dabi’s heart was working overtime. Blood rushed to his scalp, and his body completely shut down. There was one name that his heart called for. 

A name that belonged to the past. The moon shyly casted a glow on that face too, but it averted its lunar eyes when Dabi defiled his past, leaving trails of burns that caused her aches. 

He was wrong. 

Touya Todoroki, after 7 years of persistent efforts, had no family.  

But Dabi? 

Dabi had a family. 

-

Dabi woke up to blue skies and a gentle sun peeking behind the stained curtains. His body was sprawled on the tiny bed, his limbs spilling out the sides, here and there. He blindly groped for his phone in the midst of thin sheets, switching it on to check the time. 

09:23 AM. 

He groaned and threw a dark shirt on top of his eyes, blocking the obnoxious sun as he squirmed to find his sleep. 

Moments passed and all he could focus on was the neverending tick of the clock in the corridor. 

“Fuck it.”

Dabi slipped on some shirt, and put on some shoes, and slammed the door when he left. 

09:36 AM. 

No wonder he could hear the tick, the corridor was ghost-quiet. 

Routinely, Dabi heaved himself over to the bar, scanning the counter for a quick shot.

09:41 AM. 

Toga walked inside the lair, her hands hidden inside the cuffs of her cardigan. Dabi nodded at her as he let out a yawn. 

“Everyone die or summin’?”

Toga stared at him, her eyes glazed. 

Dabi immediately straightened up. 

“Wait, did they actua-”

“She’s gone.”

09:49 AM.

Dabi’s jaw tensed up, gripping the shot glass tighter. 

“Who’s gon-”

His body was jolted back into the counter, the loud glass shrieking as it fell from his hands. 

“Don’t you dare Dabi. Don’t you fucking dare.”

Her eyes were red. Her fist was clenched around the loose cloth that hung on him. 

Dabi averted his eyes from Toga, releasing a shallow breath. 

Toga’s chest hiccuped underneath her cardigan, and she hid her face into his chest, staining it with stale tears. 

“She’s gone,” she repeated, a broken record.  

Dabi clasped his arms around her, his hands patting her head. 

09:59 AM. 

“She left.” 

-

Dabi reached for the flask hidden in his inner pockets. Bony fingers struggled to open it, fine tremors running through his bones. 

‘Twenty-one, twenty, nineteen, eighteen…’ 

Door number eighteen. A few strides away. But the growing feeling of heaviness in Dabi’s feet warned him: it was going to be a marathon. 

Countless strangers pointed at the lone man in a tattered, thick jacket. Dabi grasped at the wire fence that separated the long stretches of the park and pavement, muttering something underneath his breath.

The sight of free cars strolling past him caught him off guard every single time. He had no sense of time, no sense of direction. 

He was far, far away from Musutafu. 

Here, the air felt fresher. 

It wouldn’t be long before it was infested either. 

But he had to owe All For One some credit. 

His reign of terror gave the PLF members a huge leverage when it came to accessing government files. 

Dabi flipped through piles of kojin bangō, particularly scanning through documents of 27 year-old mothers, registered births and quirk-hybrids, and a certain family name. 

He found everyone’s name, everyone’s identity; no one was safe. 

Yet the name his eyes yearned for was nowhere in sight. 

Countless days and nights were spent silently begging for a lead. On day 18, Dabi finally left the building, clutching onto a piece of paper close to his heart. 

Saira Uchiyama. 

Names didn’t match, but it was the only name that he could trace her back to. 

Dabi took the final steps up the road, feeling lighter than he had in days. 

It was on his right. There was but a sliver of road that separated Dabi and door number eighteen. 

His fingers started picking at the ripping cuticles on his nail bed, and the grown man started to track his breaths. 

He took a step. 

A car honked at him. 

“Watch where you’re going!”

Dabi didn’t draw back. 

He took another step, and another, and another. One more, maybe two. 

He could feel the gravel underneath his boots. Dabi lifted his broken face and a perfect house stared down at him. Pristine brick walls stood proud; the bright toned paint complimented the thriving flora in the yard. It fit in so well with the lines of houses, strong and shielded. 

This was someone’s home. Bonsai trees armed the right side of the yard, some trimmed, others growing wild. 

There were two floors and a garage; more than enough for a perfect family. 

Dabi was stopped by the fence gates that guarded the perimeters. He struggled to get past. 

Encrusted in metal, his eyes laid upon the name beside the door. 

Engraved in gold letters, it read Uchiyama.

He was a step away from Saira Uchiyama’s front door. 

Dabi’s hand reached towards the door handle, but he stopped when he felt the unwelcoming chill of it. 

He eyed the doorbell instead. He fisted his hand that was itching to press it. 

The drowning noises of children’s laughter bled through his skull from the park that was behind him. The drones of parents buying ice cream, and husbands holding their wives’ hands. This was the type of neighbourhood he was in. 

And someone told him. Since when did Dabi develop the need to preserve this? 

He was a lone man, half dead. He was disgusting. He couldn’t find her name. Now he was outside some poor woman’s house. Saira Uchiyama. How would she feel seeing a decaying man waiting outside her front door? How would her husband feel if some uninvited scarred freak asked to meet his wife, hands empty? 

He felt a thick substance roll past his cheek and drip onto the clean welcome mat. 

Dabi pushed his raven locks out of his eyes, biting onto his knuckles as he struggled to maintain a steady breath

His nails moved to pick at the staples underneath his eyes. 

He couldn’t do this. 

‘I can’t fucking do this.’

Through his bloodied waterline, he looked at the doorbell one more time before turning around. 

He couldn’t fucking do this. Dabi didn’t belong here. 

He tried to move forwards but his legs were shackled to the pebbly footpath. His rhythmic heart couldn’t let go. His twisted mind forced him to go. 

His desperate eyes latched onto the bed of perfect flowers on his right. 

Like an open flame, the flowers stole all his attention. Dabi stilled. 

Their indigo petals mirrored the deep colour of his dead skin. He was entranced by the bold opening, the beautiful colour bleeding out and reflecting the glimmering hope that built up in his cerulean eyes. 

-

“What’s your favourite flower Dabi?” Toga asked as she played with her blunt knife, running her thumb across the blade. 

“Typ’a fucking qustion’s that?” 

“God Dabi, don’t you know how to have a civilised conversation with someone. I’m just trying to get to know you better!”

“And asking my favourite flower’s gonna do that?”

“It’s called small talk, Dabi.”

He scoffed, pushing past the young girl to rummage through the cabinets. 

From the corner of his eyes, he picked up on her amber eyes intently pressing him for an answer. 

“For fucks sake. Fine. I’ll do your little small talk”, he gave in, evoking a small squeal from the blonde. 

Dabi considered her question for a minute, pressing his tongue against his cheeks. 

“I saw these flowers once,” he gulped. “They were blue, kinda like flames. My flames. I saw ‘em in one’a those gated areas. I guess they were pretty nice.” 

Toga pursed her lips and tilted her head to the side as she tried to paint a picture in her head. 

“Do you know what they’re called?”

“The fuck would I know? Probably one of those fancy rich flowers grown by fancy rich people,”, he shrugged. 

“I’ll ask the newbie, she’ll know what they are.”

“Have fun talkin’ to lil’ miss know-it-all,” he scoffed, happy as Toga skipped away, leaving him alone. Finally. 

A week later, Dabi found out what they were called as he was sharing a cigarette on the roof. 

“By the way, they’re called Rindou flowers.” 

Dabi quirked up an eyebrow, his lips curled in a sneer. 

“Those flowers you like, they’re called Rindou.”

Dabi’s ears perked up at the small giggle that followed. 

“I guess I could say being ‘miss know-it-all’ isn’t the worst thing, huh?” 

-

Dabi’s chest heaved as he turned around, his pace fast as his hands inched closer to the doorbell. 

Ring. 

The wind stilled. 

He could hear footsteps run down the stairs. 

Click. 

The handle moved. 

The door creaked open. 

It was 09:59 AM. 

——————————————————————————————————

Keep a look out for Part 3, my angst-loving toes. If you would like me to add you to the taglist, please comment or message me :).

Edit: Part 3

[gingergofastboatsmojito]

🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻

#GINGERPOVS BEAR META °Masterlist°

🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻

So here you will be able to find all my musings, all my POVs, all my theories, metas (?), etc about this show that I love soooo much. Enjoy, follow the #tag & share, please!

🐻 Follow the tag for soooo much more meta #GINGERPOVS ̉

Follow the tag for updates ⬆️

🐻 Sydcarmy themed↓

Not being capable of saying "I'm sorry"

Leading with the ❤️

The Sydcarmy dynamic

It all comes down to this

The Syd factor

The Thom factor

Braciole

Come back

Backfire

3 of swords

Not there yet

The heart of the show

The Bear

Important vs Enough

To the Platonic crowd

Promo/Smiles

Can't wait

Side notes

Sugar

Guys' mindset

Sydcarmy numbers

My dream Sydcarmy ending?

Shooting for the Michelin 🌟🌟🌟

Sydney Adamu

Vibrant Collab

VC gone wrong

EC

Timelines

Menu S3

Menu S3 to S4

773

Ying Yang

TensionS

Golden

Flushed Carmy

Scorpio eyes

Terrified

Walls

Carmy

Reactiveness

Knives

Primavera

Blue - Rosé

The awful truth

Stuck under the table

The end of Carmen Berzatto

Perfect

Best ❤️ declaration ever

Short ribs beef

S1 Sydcarmy foreshadow

Syd's territory

His whole arc

Wrong crowd

Sydcarmy's song

Mercy

💋 💋 Blowing chef's kisses

Synchronicity

🐻 Claire Dunlap↓

The Claire factor

Plain sight

Strange currencies

We may never meet again

She drove the relationship

Full circle

Claire's dark side

Enjoyment and amusement

Logan

Claire's characterization

Claire's characterization according to MG + Storer

🐻 Miscellaneous ↓

His music

The Mikey factor

Unpopular opinion

Anger

The Bear The Movie

Double date

What dish will it be?

Ages

Names

Flavor profile symbology

S3 predictions

S3 predictions II

S3 predictions III

S3 predictions IV

S4 predictions

Storer is Storing

Luca - Carmy - X

Carmy & love

Fennel

How bears bear?

The jacket

Acid

Common dark side

Storer

Coach K's plot layout

Storer's language

Season 4 Predictions Vol.1

Remember to Reblog this thingy and thank you so much for loving The Bear! 💋

[katiefrog217]

Good Omens Fic + Poetry | Personal Recommendation Masterlist

I said I'd do it, so I'm doing it. For both myself, and so others can enjoy! I'll try to tag the original authors and link any secondaries/people who recommended me the stories!

If you feel so inclined, you may read my own (very long, very angsty) fic or it's companion piece:

Dubious Excerpts from the Chonicles of a Demon (Retired) | Post-Season 2 / Crowley comes back to the bookshop / Seriously, its a lot of angst/ Self-Contained Meta

From the Confidential Journals of A.Z Fell | Crowley found Azi's journals woops / Mostly Fluff / Ties in to previous Fic / Can be read Standalone

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

To clarify: this list is going to be a collection of stuff I've personally read/been recommended. I'll try to make sure to tag everyone who owns the fics (if they have a Tumblr) and the people who recommended them to me (if at all). I'll update this list as I go, and might start sorting things into their own posts if it starts to get too long. I'm not going to be able to tag all warnings, so PLEASE HEED the A03 tags!

This list is not meant to play favorites! If I read it and enjoyed it, it will be going on this list. That means the quality may vary, but I think everyone should have a chance to have their work seen! Inevitably though, I will have my favorites, and if I ABSOLUTELY think you should read one, I'll mark in in Green. Everything else will be in Orange for visibility. Anything with NSFW Content will be marked with a (!!!).

If you would like to recommend me a fic (self-promotes welcome and encouraged!), feel free to drop a recommendation here, DM me, or send me an ask if you want to remain anonymous! If you don't see your's here, I haven't gotten to it yet!

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Poetry

@lickthecowhappy does a LOT of poetry for GO, and they have a masterlist on their own blog for their stuff, but my personal favorite is Pour Hot Water Into A Pot With Leaves

This Black Out Poem | Written by @crowleys-bentley-and-plants

Questions (Sonnet No. 2) | Written by @aziraphalesdiaries

This Two Part Poem | Written by @knifeforkspooncup

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Short n' Sweet

Literally anything written by the account @meanwhile-at-the-cottage (Seriously follow them they make my day)

Nada | Written and Recommended by @gabapunk (Pining/Season 3 where you at??)

This One-shot | Written by @bloodashre (Post season 2/ The world is ending but their love is not).

Hazel Storms and Gentle Ormes | Written by @ardentlake and beta read by thatskindarough (Short chapters but cute, Crown Prince Crowley)

His World In Her Hands | Written by @nik-knight to an art post by Camilleflyingrotten (I was genuinely unwell after this one| Azi got hurt and Crowley begs)

Rain In Avalon | Written by SnowFilly1 and recommended by GoodOmensDuh (Long One-shot, Arthurian Times, Intimacy eluded to but nothing explicit)

Cozy Preening | Written by @canadiankazz and recommended by GoodOmensDuh (Not much plot BUT OMG SO CUTE/ Wing preening fluff)

Lord Knows it Would be the First Time | Written and recommended by @knifeforkspooncup (Angst/ But also Fluff / I want these idiots to be ok)

This Silly Story about Unicorns | Written by @brightwanderer (seriously just read it/I cackled really hard/ Crowley can be a dummy and I love that about him)

Starmaker and Starlight | Written by NohaIjiachi and recommended by thatskindarough (Super cute/ pre-fall Aziracrow / You already know exactly how it ends / but read it anyway/ this lives rent free in my head now)

Divine Interventions (!!!) | Written by @ineffable-roh (AKA Rohese_Purrs) and recommended by Knifeforkspooncup (Norse Deities do a little matchmaking / Fluffy NSFW / Male Crowley with lady bits)

Time Folding in On Itself | Written by Chernozemm (AKA black_earth) (Post season 2 / Aziracrow get to the point/ these two really need to talk)

Impromptu Collab (!!!) | Written by MrGhostRat (Human Streamer AU / Indulgent NSFW / Plot what Plot / Please Mind the Tags)

Free | Written by @eviebane for Flawless (Small, cute, please read Flawless first for context)

A More Gentle Touch | Written by Nik-Knight for ME?? (I'm 100% Biased here / Creature Omens AU / IDC if you don't give a fuck about my au, this is cute AF please read it / Pure FLUFF / Dove Aziraphale and Snake Crowley my beloveds)

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Long Fics

This Is Who You Are | Written and Recommended by @azeutreciathewicked (Medium Length / Post Season 2 / RAPHAEL AGAIN HELLO / If you really love creative explainations for Heaven you'll LOVE this / A seriously interesting concept behind Azi and Crowley's relationship/ Snake Crowley and Bird Aziraphale my beloveds)

Instructions Not Included | Written by @brightwanderer (AKA Atalan) and recommended by DoomedLemur (Post Season 1 / Aziracrow run a detective agency for the supernatural / Hello Raphael (this time a different person) / Heavenly lore / There is some weird shit going on / WINGS)

And They Were Streamers | Written by @mrghostrat and recommended by HaeMey (Ongoing /Streamer Au / Its got art / KICKING MY FEET I LOVE THEM)

If We've Got Nothing (We've Got Us) | Written by @kedreeva, recommended by someone on Patreon (God POV / Grey Feathers / Medium Length / Old but Good)

Big Name Feelings (!!!) | Written by mrghostrat (Completed / Au/ Skippable NSFW/ Ace Crowley / I've never felt more seen and called out wtf/ I stayed up until 4 am reading it)

The Many Venomed Earth + sequel Such Rebel Blood | Written by @fremulon (AKA Curtaincall) and recommended by HaeMey (Human Au / Murder Mysteries / Crowley gets framed for a murder in the first one oh no / DETECTIVE (not really) AZI ON THE CASE / mutual pining / eventual payoff)

Mon Horrible Chéri (!!!) | Written by MrGhostRat and recommended by TheCommonMold (Completed/ Human Teachers AU / literal enemies to lovers / ONLY ONE ROOM OH NO--)

Flawless (!!!) | Written by MrGhostRat and @chernozemm (AKA black_earth) (Huamn AU /Cheating Azi / very painful / seriously there is some angst here / happy ending tho TRUST)

Not Light, No Light | Written and recommended by PolarisVega (Their first fic / Season 3 headcanons / Fun Crowley Headcanons)

Demonology and the Tri-Phasic Model of Trauma: An Integrative Approach | Written by mouseonamoose (aka Nnm) and recommended by lickthecowhappy and GoodOmensDuh (Crowley Goes to Therapy / Old but still REALLY good / Pre-season 2 / Super long chapters but very worth)

Angel-Centered Therapy Through A Multicultural Lens: An Integrative Approach | Written by @mouseonamoose (Same as the previous, but Azi this time / Unfinished by nearly done / my poor baby Azi)

Factory Settings | Written by Anonymous (I don't remember how I found this one/ swear I must have seen it on Tumblr/ 60 chapters!! / Read carefully it can get a little confusing / Timey Whimey BS / RAPHAEL??/ Post Season 2 shenanigans with a good ending)

Telling Tall Tales (!!!) | Written by @siobhans-world (Human Aziracrow/ Azi is gay AF but lonely / Pretends to be Maggie's Bf (accidentally) / oh no hot cousin alert/ Not done but almost/ mutual pining)

Time Marches Forward | Written and Recommended by @bellisima-writes (Post Season 2 / Starts a little rocky BUT OMG? / FIRST FIC? / I dedicated my entire day to it / Adam is such a good character holy shit / I think about this fic all the time / wish a few more things were flushed out bUT THATS OK/ lots of angst/ someone save my boy Azi)

How Do We Turn on the Light? (!!!) | Written by @moonyinpisces (Post Season 2/I had insomnia and this was my companion / read all the chapters in a few hours and I'm FROTHING AT THE MOUTH / I swear to anybody I'm hanging off their every word / Still Updating / Super Long, Super good / full of angst and love and AAA/ light NSFW content/ they keep getting cockblocked)

[hssrarepairs]

❄️🎄 Masterlist 1 🎄❄️

The masterlist for Creative Mediums other than fic that were gifted through the exchange. We had so may wonderful mediums submitted including: art, craft, remix art, audio, translation, meta, and other writing. For more works, check out the other fest masterlists!

Masterlist 1: Creative Mediums

Masterlist 2: Femslash & Poly Fic

Masterlist 3: Gen & Het Fic

Masterlist 4: Slash Fic

View all gifts on AO3

💫🍐🎅💝💫

—

CREATIVE MEDIUMS

—

✨ DIGITAL ART ✨

🎁 ART: between you by @knotsnuffles / objectlesson (Sirius/Harry/Severus, T, Digital)

🎁 ART: Fuck. Babe. by @phantomgrimalkin / phantomgrimalkin (Neville/Charlie, E, Digital)

🎁 ART: Hug Him Back by @siobhanhazel / SiobhanHazel (Sirius/Severus, G, Digital)

🎁 COMIC: Kiss Me if You Can by @sillylittlebeans / sillybeans (Cedric/Harry, G, Digital)

🎁 ART: Messy Eater by @holliday-inn / Holliday_inn (Alice/Narcissa, E, Digital)

🎁 ART: Mine by @jadedandconfusedao3 / JadedandConfused (Hermione/Tom, M, Digital)

🎁 COMIC: Scared, Captain? by Anonymous (Gwenog/Ginny, G, Digital)

🎁 ART: School's Sweethearts by @stazvlt / shiaya (Hermione/Theodore, G, Digital)

🎁 ART: Slice of a Special Season by @burdenedwithpointlesspurpose / BurdenedWithPointlessPurpose (Remus/Severus, T, Digital)

🎁 COMIC: So... Thank You by @sillylittlebeans / sillybeans (Harry/Bill, G, Digital)

🎁 ART: Three Hearts, One Home by @digthewriter / digthewriter (Hermione/Pansy/Ginny, G, Digital)

🎁 ART: treasure by @starsanddiamond / StarsAndDiamond (Fleur/Angelina, M, Digital)

🎁 ART: Ursa Major / Ursa Minor by @holliday-inn / Holliday_inn (Bellatrix & Luna, G, Digital)

🎁 ART: Victory Kiss by @digthewriter / digthewriter (Viktor/Ron, G, Digital)

🎁 ART: Weasley is Our King by @knotsnuffles / objectlesson (Draco/Ron, G, Digital)

🎁 ART: What in Merlin's Name is That by @stazvlt / shiaya (Lucius/Arthur, G, Digital)

🎁 ART: Why i love thee? by @stazvlt / shiaya (Regulus/Remus, G, Digital)

—

✨ ART & WRITING COMBOS ✨

🎁 ART + FIC: I just want you to know who I am by Anonymous (Sirius/Severus, T, Calligraphy, Photography, Digital Art, 210 words)

🎁 COMIC + POETRY: Light of my life by @trueliarose / Trueliarose (Minerva/Poppy, T, Digital Comic, 70 words)

🎁 ART + FIC: Lunch? by @zoomiezoomie / ZoomieZoomie324 (Remus/Severus, T, Digital Art, 240 words)

🎁 ART + POETRY: Remnants of a Spotless Mind by @jadedandconfusedao3 / JadedandConfused (Helena/Salazar, M, Digital Art, 50 words)

—

✨ CRAFTS ✨

🎁 SCULPTURE: Lazy Sunday by @elisedonut / elisedonut (Percy/Oliver, G, Polymer Clay)

🎁 FANBINDING: Lover’s Leap by DrPansyParkinson by @anaxandria-writes / Anaxandria (Neville/Pansy, G, Chiyogami endpapers, Marigold lokta paper)

🎁 CROCHET: Meet Me Outside by @sugareey-makes-stuff / sugareey (Marcus/Oliver, T, Yarn and stuffing)

🎁 EMBROIDERY: so sweetly by @emilyrickman / AlihotsyTotsy (Neville/Pansy, G, Felt and embroidery floss)

🎁 DIORAMA: Solace in a Star by @apricitydays-lazynights / Apricitydays (Regulus & Scorpius, G, Mixed Materials)

—

✨ MOODBOARDS & BANNERS ✨

🎁 MOODBOARD: But First, Coffee by @pennygalleon / pennygalleon (Sirius/Lily, G, Digital)

🎁 MOODBOARD: Frame Job by @ultramarineorchid / UltramarineOrchid (Rosmerta/Severus, G, Digital)

🎁 MOODBOARD: green (like her) by @miss-grimwood / miss_grimwood (Bellatrix/Nagini, T, Digital)

🎁 BANNER: Greenteeth by Schmem_14 by @lumosatnight / lumosatnight (Pansy/Ginny, M, Digital)

🎁 MOODBOARD: oh love by @mrsprobie / mrsprobie (Luna/Harry, G, Digital)

🎁 MOODBOARD: take of my fruit by AlihotsyTotsy by @lumosatnight / lumosatnight (Narcissa/Ron, M, Digital)

🎁 MOODBOARD: Yule Ball by @obscurewriter05 / ayanadailey (Hermione/Tom, G, Digital)

—

✨ AUDIO WORKS ✨

🎁 FIC + PODFIC: Breaking News: Denial is not just a river in Egypt by @wretchedanddivinee / wretchedanddivine (Sirius/Severus, M, 1.1k words, 6:07 min)

🎁 PODFIC: Luna and the Hippogriff by flags_fiend by @emilyrickman / AlihotsyTotsy (Luna/Draco, T, 8:37 min)

🎁 PODFIC: my cold, dead heart still beats for you by @wilfriede / wilfriede0815 (John/Daphne, M, 13:33 min)

🎁 PODFIC: Respectfully by @elisedonut / elisedonut (Daphne/Harry, T, 8:41 min)

—

✨ TRANSLATIONS ✨

🎁 ENGLISH: A Christmas Gift by armassy (Lucius/Harry/Severus, E, 7.3k words)

🎁 DUTCH: Chromatische Afwijkingen by @elvira-kamgut / Elvira_Kamgut (Astoria/Ginny, M, 9.2k words)

—

✨ META & OTHER WRITING ✨

🎁 SHIP MANIFESTO: Moonwater & Rosekiller by @phantomgrimalkin / phantomgrimalkin (Regulus/Remus, Barty/Evan, T, 4.8k words)

🎁 FIC RECIPE: A recipe for Blackbones by @miss-grimwood / miss_grimwood (Amelia/Bellatrix, T, 210 words)

🎁 POETRY: Should Have Known Better by @herochicklyrrie007 / herochick007 (Hermione/Abraxas, T, 700 words)

🎁 GUESSING GAME: What's that ship? by @lumosatnight / lumosatnight (Surprise, G, Ship Guessing Game)

—

💫🍐🎅💝💫

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Fan Fiction: Final Part

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.9k

Warnings: canon angst and violence, extra angst

Summary: Not only did Chuck write books about your lives, but a damn musical theater is putting a play on about your goddamn lives. You try to let them handle this one on their own but they're not letting you go, and it's time to bring insurance to make sure you never leave them.

Season Ten Masterlist

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. I love seeing any and all comments <3

x

Marie and Maeve are back in the auditorium but Marie is panicking.

"Hey!" Dean exclaims and rushes over to Marie. "Are you okay?"

"Not really," she gasps.

"Why don't you guys calm her down and I'll find wooden stakes in the trunk."

Sam leaves and Dean kneels down to get on Marie's level.

"Is Marie gonna get eaten?" Maeve asks.

"If we're lucky," you glare.

"Nothing is going to happen. Don't listen to her. Marie, look at me." When she does, he continues. "As soon as that curtain rises, we're going to be there to take out Calliope."

"This is all my fault. If I hadn't written this dumb play, none of this would've happened."

"First of all this play isn't dumb." You open your mouth to say something when Dean glares at you. "It's not dumb."

"I thought you didn't believe in this interpretation?"

"I don't. Like, at all, but you do. I need you to believe in it with all you've got so we can kill Calliope and save your friends. Can you do that?"

"Yeah." She takes a deep breath. "If Sam, Dean, and Y/N were real, they wouldn't back down from a fight. Especially my sweet, brave, selfless Sam. There's nothing he can't do."

"I'm not touching that subject," Dean shakes his head.

"Okay, let's do this!" She grabs a dark wig that the young woman was using who was playing Sam. "I understudy Sam. I used this for my one-woman Orphan Black show, last year. it's gonna have to work for Sam." She puts the wig on her head. "Writer. Director. Actor. I'm gonna Barbra Streisand this bitch."

Guess it's time for a fucking show. People pile into the auditorium once the show is about to begin to see this either rock or go up in flames. The curtains are closed so no one sees what's happening backstage. The girl who plays Dean walks past Dean wearing the amulet that Sam gave him all those years ago. You're not sure what happened to that necklace.

"The Samuelt?" Dean asks Marie.

"That amulet is a symbol of the Winchesters' brotherly love."

Sam comes back with three wooden stakes he's prepared for the fight that will happen. He hands you yours, and you yank it from his grasp angrily. All the girls line up and Sam scans them with a frown.

"Wait a second, where's Chuck?"

"Oh, I love him, I do, but the whole author introducing himself into the narrative thing is just not my favorite. I kind of hate the meta stories," Marie says.

"Alright, listen up, girl," Dean announces. "Now, you're all here because you love Supernatural. I know I have expressed some differences of opinion regarding this particular version of Supernatural. Tonight is all about Marie's vision. This is Marie's Supernatural. So, I want you to get out there, I want you to stand as close as she wants you to, and I want you to put as much sub and add text as you possibly can. There is no other road. No other way. No day, but today."

"Did he quote Rent?" Maeve whispers to Marie.

"Now, you get out there, and you kick it in the ass!"

The girls cheer from the pep talk and encourage each other. They all separate to either go backstage or on stage as they get ready. You and Dean stand on one side of the stage while Sam stands on the other side, all with stakes in hand. Marie slips through the curtain to address the audience.

"This is stupid," you hiss at Dean.

"Shut up and keep an eye out."

"Good evening, everybody! Welcome to our production of Supernatural. I'm not gonna lie. It might be a full-on Gallagher show opening up this piece. Uh, those of you in the front rows may want to use the ponchos we provided for you under your seats. You may, in fact, get wet on this ride. Um, I would like to thank the cast and crew--"

"She's stalling. Let's do this," Dean says to Maeve.

"Copy that. Curtain, kids. It's showtime."

The music starts playing, making Marie jump in surprise.

"That concludes our introduction for the night. Everybody sit back, relax, and enjoy the show."

Marie scurries on stage as the curtains open. The beginning number of singing your life introduction sounds and the girl who plays Dean steps forward. The song you heard when you first arrived starts playing, and she goes through the song about how John and Mary got together, had Sam and Dean, your mother dying, blah, blah, blah.

Dean seems to be enjoying the song while you're absentmindedly playing at the thing on your neck. You can't fucking believe Dean did this. When did he have time to search for something like this? Has he been planning this for a while? Was Sam in on it? You look over at Sam in time to see the big scary scarecrow appear behind him. Apparently, Dean sees it too because he starts warning his brother who is confused.

"Turn around!" Dean yells slightly lower than the music playing. Sam turns to face the scarecrow who grabs him. This is all happening while the girls on stage act and sing. "Come on."

"Do we have to," you complain. Dean drags you along backstage to get to where Sam is, but the younger brother is nowhere to be found once you get to his spot. "Where the hell did he go?"

The first act ends and goes straight into the next one where Fake!Dean and Fake!Cas are having a conversation on fake phones.

"Okay, you can pop in tomorrow morning."

"Yes. I'll just wait here, then," Fake!Cas sighs.

Another song starts playing which is a solo moment for the girl who plays Cas. You and Dean rush over to Marie who is already backstage. Apparently, she saw the moment Sam was taken.

"What do we do now?" she panics.

"Just, stick to the plan, okay? Keep singing until the scarecrow comes for you."

"Don't die, okay?" you grin and pat her back as you walk away from her.

Marie walks on stage as soon as Cas' part is over so she can begin singing her part as Sam. She is nervous about what's about to happen but is acting like a professional. The scarecrow appears behind Marie to consume her, and that's when Dean jumps into action. He jumps onto the scarecrow, forgetting he's on stage in front of a large audience. Both Fake!Sam and Fake!Dean keeps singing as if this isn't happening behind them. You look to the audience to see one of the members in the front row put his poncho on.

The scarecrow and Dean wrestle before the monster throws Dean across the stage over to you. He slides right in front of your feet, and Dean glares up at you.

"Help!"

"Fine," you roll your eyes.

You twirl the stake in your hands as you walk onto the stage. You're not fucking scared of this thing. You'll fucking take it down before it realizes what's going on. The scarecrow runs at you to tackle you but you quickly move out of the way before he can touch you.

"Missed me!" you laugh.

You jump onto the scarecrow's back to strangle him but he grabs both your arms in retaliation. He uses all of his immense strength to flip you over him and to the front of the stage. You quickly get up and ram your stake into his chest. You turn him so his back is facing the audience and yours is facing the backdrop of the set. You step back from the scarecrow when you see it start to tremble.

The scarecrow explodes in a purple goo substance, covering almost everyone in the audience. A bit of goo gets on your jacket to which you huff out in annoyance. You walk toward Dean and shove the stake into his chest.

"You're welcome," you scoff and walk off.

Silence falls on the audience until the guy wearing the poncho stands up and begins clapping. Everyone in the audience follows suit, and Dean steps next to a starstruck Marie.

"Take a bow, Sammy."

Marie, Dean, and Fake!Dean takes a bow for the audience. It's a good time to take an intermission for the rest of the crew to get ready for the final act. Sam suddenly appears with Ms. Chandler and the other young girl who went missing. It's time to finally get out of this shitty town and back to the Bunker, so Sam and Dean are saying their goodbyes.

"You did good out there, kid," Dean says to Marie.

"You're not so bad yourself."

"You know what? This has been educational to see the story from your perspective. Keep writing Shakespeare."

"Even if it doesn't match how you see it?"

"I have my version, and you have yours."

The light starts flickering to signal it's almost time to go on again.

"One minute, folks. One minute," Maeve announces.

You and Dean walk away from Marie, but she stops him from going far.

"Dean?" She must believe you're who you say you are. "You should have never thrown this away."

She gives him the prop Samulet he noticed earlier. Dean chuckles as he takes it, and he admires it.

"It never really worked. I don't need a symbol to remind me how I feel about my brother."

"Just take it. Jerk."

"Bitch," Dean automatically says.

He quickly realizes it's not Sam he's talking to and blushes in embarrassment. Marie laughs at him before turning to you.

"Y/N, look, I don't know what's going on with you, but the Y/N I read about has a love so strong for Dean that nothing can break it. I just thought you'd want a reminder of it."

You take two steps closer to her before Dean has a chance to do something.

"The last thing I'd want to remember is my lame-ass excuse of a husband."

You turn and walk away, not missing the way Dean's eyes fill with sadness and hurt. What you're saying to him and about him is really hurting him, and that fact brings a smirk to your face. Dean pushes back the tears and walks to Sam.

"You know what, Dean? You were right. Staying cooped up isn't helping us. We need--"

It's as if the universe aligned perfectly because the next scene starts with Fake!Sam and Fake!Dean in the car. They're having a conversation that perfectly fits with what Sam was about to say.

"We need to get back on the road, Dean. Doing what we do best."

"What is that?" Marie asks.

"You're right, Sammy. Out on the road. Just the two of us."

"The two of us against the world," Fake!Sam says.

"What she said," Sam smiles and nudges his brother.

The scene moves onto a different one where all the characters get on stage to sing a cover of Carry On Wayward Son. Characters you know in real life. A girl steps on stage that you're not sure you recognize, but when you do, a smirk grows on your face.

"Who's that?" Sam asks Maeve.

"That's Adam. John Winchester's other kid. He's still trapped in the cage in Hell with Lucifer."

Poor son of a bitch.

"Carry on my wayward son / There'll be peace when you are done / Lay your weary head to rest / Don't you cry no more / Once I rose above the noise and confusion / Just to get a glimpse behind this illusion / I was soaring ever higher."

The song continues as Sam and Dean watch with raw emotion in their eyes.

"Masquerading as a man with the reason / My charade is the event of the season / And if I claim to be a wise man / It surely means I don't know / Carry on my wayward son / There'll be peace when you are done / Lay your weary head to rest / Don't you cry no more / Carry on."

You grab both of their shoulders and fit your head between theirs so they both can hear you above the singing.

"I am so glad I don't have a soul because that was painful to watch."

When you leave, Dean turns to Sam with tears in his eyes.

"Purifying her soul better work because I need my wife back."

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[thoughtfulchaos773]

Season 3 Meta/ Posts Masterlist

That Damn Sauce: Nat/Pete-Syd/Carm

The Bear & Cinema Inspiration

The Bear Edit

Claire Carmy Syd- The Haunting

The Bear Season 3- A Conversation with the Viewer

Legacy Thoughts

The Blue Light in 3x10

Claire: An Addiction

The Dice Bit

Season 3 Overview

Claire & The Broken Bone

Be Kind & Empathetic Like A Bear

3x09 Apologies Part 1

3x09 Apologies Part 2

The Lost Child

Turn Back Time

Faks in the Spotlight

Wednesdays

Pay Attention to Each Other

Bear 3x01 Tomorrow

Episode 9- Been Off

Sydney wears different patterns of polka dots

Soft Stares from Carmy

The Sorta Ask Out

Carmy Cares

Feeding Fak

Season 3 -Surrealism and its Psychoanalysis of Carmy Berzatto

Claire & Carmy- The Game of Telephone

Carmy Wasn't Entirely Checked Out

3x09 & Self- Actualization

Sydney's Purpose

3x09 Apologies Part 4

Claire is an Addiction

Is There Meaning Here

Syd & Carmy Communication

Syd & Carmy- Communication 2

Syd & Carmy- Communication 3

You Don't Think I Can Do It

You Don't Think I can do it Part 2

Pearly Dew Drops Drop

A Series of Almost Perfect Hangouts

Will be updated daily.

If you wish to be on a taglist message me or reply in this post.

[sundrop-writes]

Your First Kiss With Jason Todd

Jason Todd x Gender Neutral Reader

Summary:

Jason always thought he hated you. He did hate you.

Until he didn't.

Until his love for you ruined him in ways he couldn't even imagine.

Jason Todd x Gender Neutral Reader. Frenemies to Lovers. Pure Angst (Hurt, No Comfort). Set during Season 3.

Word Count: 8,200

DC Titans Masterlist | AO3 Link

Detailed warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: This fic is almost entirely angst - hurt, no comfort. This fic does not have a happy ending!!! So be warned of that before you enter here. Jason and the reader are described as ‘hating’ each other, but they are more like frenemies/annoyances - they have a playful banter (at the time, even they don’t know that they like arguing because it’s sexual tension and passion for each other); the reader is completely gender neutral - the only pronouns used for the reader are you/yours; this is mostly written from Jason’s POV (which is where most of the angst comes from); Jason describes himself as a ‘zombie’ or ‘half-alive’ - but he is fully alive and has all of his mental faculties, he is just freaked out about the fact that he was resurrected; the reader does not have any meta powers, but is described as being very good at combat (this does not denote the reader’s body type); mentions of sex and some sexual themes - but there is no outright smut and no detailed descriptions of sex; mentions of negative stereotypes surrounding frat boys/frat houses - including STDs and group sex (mentioned in a negative light); mentions of Jason masturbating (and thinking about the reader while doing it); mentions of Jason’s canon trauma (being kidnapped and tortured by Deathstroke, dropped off the building); mentions of Jason being killed by the Joker (and being ressurected by Crane); mentions of the reader mourning Jason’s death; mentions of drugs and drug addiction (based around the canon storyline of the anti-fear gas); mentions of Jason’s trauma surround his mother’s drug addiction; mentions of Jason killing Hank (as in the canon); the reader is kidnapped (by Crane or someone who works for Crane) and held hostage, and later rescued by Jason; somewhat graphic descriptions of violence (Jason beating up Crane, other background instances), gory descriptions of a death toward the end (mentions of acid burns and choking on non-breathable air); major character death - the reader character does die. Like I said - no happy ending. Sorry not sorry.

A/N: This is set during Season 3 - and this does feature spoilers for Season 3 if you haven't seen Titans before. So if you wanna watch the show spoiler free, definitely avoid this fic. I was imagining this to be set around episode 6 or episode 7, before Crane's plan to use the ice cream factory is taken down by the Titans, but obviously Jason breaking away from Crane's control so early goes against the canon - so there's that. Also, if you wanna pair some music with this for something truly heartbreaking, I would highly recommend the classic Running Up That Hill by Kate Bush, or the highly underrated Colorado Sunrise by 3OH!3 (the lyrics are way more depressing than people realize, and I love it as a whump song. oomf). I also feel like the song Cloud 9 by Beach Bunny would go so well with this fic, but in like - the most devastating way. I haven't written something this cruel since I wrote Ghosting and I had so much fun doing it. You can't leave me alone with whump for too long, I turn into a monster. I need to go back to smut again quickly lmao.

...

Jason Todd was in love with you. 

It was something that he hated himself for. Actually, it was one of the most infuriating, devastating facts in the world. But it was true. You were someone who was so entirely amazing. You were beautiful - literally the hottest person Jason had ever met who wasn’t photoshopped or catered to be some unrealistic daydream. You were clever and smart and strong. You could kick anybody’s ass on any day of the week and still have enough energy left to tell them how much of an idiot they were and list all of the reasons why. 

And you would definitely never love Jason back. There wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell that he could ever have someone like you. 

So he kept all of that stupid, idiotic love to himself. It was a secret that he had sworn to die with - and technically, he already had. 

Jason tried not to linger on the very fucked up, seemingly impossible fact that he had come back from the dead. And now he was existing as some weird, fucked up zombie thing - resurrected from having his skull caved in by the Joker to do Jonathan Crane’s bidding. This definitely wasn’t what Jason would have wanted out of a renewed life - but hey: when an Arkham prisoner gives you rotten lemons. 

When Jason wasn’t beating down drug dealers, stealing money, or strapping bombs to people - when he was trying his hardest not to focus on the fact that he had died and he was now living some strange half-life, reliant on Crane’s drugs, he was thinking about you. He thought about you a lot. 

He hadn’t come into contact with you since his strange foray back into the land of the living. That was probably for the best. He knew that you had freshly come back to Gotham, upon Dick’s request. Nightwing had called for backup from all the ex-Titans to help end Red Hood’s reign of terror. Jason wanted to stay as far away from you as possible. 

Genuinely, he didn’t want you getting caught in the crossfire of whatever Crane was planning. He wished you had stayed out of Gotham, but he knew that you were too loyal, too good not to come to the aid of the Titans when they needed you. He couldn’t reveal himself to you just for a taste of nostalgia - one last argument before you sold him down the river for good. But fuck - he thought about you a lot. 

When the two of you had first met, you were the last person he ever thought that he would surrender that stupid, soft label of love to. Even months into first knowing you - he would have said that he hated you. He would have told anybody that he found you to be the most annoying person on earth. 

Your relationship used to be the worst kind of dance. 

Every single time that Jason opened his mouth, you said something to contradict him. To a point, he believed that you didn’t even fully stand behind the things you said - you just enjoyed arguing against him. That you did it for sport. You used every single last bit of your time and energy to get under his skin. From mocking him to calling him a fuckboy to prodding at his grammar, poking holes in his points by smugly correcting him. He always found you to be the most infuriating person in any room. But it seemed that the more frustrated he got with you, the more cool headed you remained. 

He tried to mock you back, and you shrugged it off. Every time he became visibly annoyed in your presence - you giggled. He wanted to strangle you. 

And it was one fated day that he realized the line between heat fueled by frustration and heat fueled by lust truly weren’t that different. 

… 

“Jason! I thought I smelled you coming down the hall!” 

Jason groaned when he heard you make this comment. 

He thought that for once, he could have some peace to train alone - but it appeared that he would have no such luck. You were already in the training room, holding a long bo-staff as you ran some drills. Apparently, you were eager to exercise your mouth too - already whipping off clever insults the minute that Jason entered the room. 

When all he could muster was a glare in your direction, you let out a giggle. His blood boiled. 

“Between that god awful Axe body wash and that alcohol based aftershave that you like to drown yourself in, you smell like a walking frat house.” You continued, blabbering on even though Jason had made no efforts to engage you. At least not yet. “Just throw in some Busch Light and weed, and I might be able to catch gonorrhea just from the stench.” 

That was the nerve that hooked Jason into the conversation. First of all - he smelled fucking delightful. He always made hygiene one of his personal priorities. He was absolutely not one of those guys with crusty, sweaty balls. And second of all - he was not one of those STD spreading manwhores. He was clean in all senses. He always used a condom. 

“Sounds like you’ve got experience with that.” Jason quipped back. 

He looked to you for some kind of reaction, some inkling that he had gotten under your skin even a fraction of the way that you did his. His movements were rough with annoyance as he began wrapping his knuckles with tape so he could have a few rounds with the heavy bag - mostly out of a need to pound out his frustration on something. He was getting too angered with your presence in the room and not wanting to snap and take it out on you. (He already had enough on his record with Bruce, and despite popular opinion - he was trying to improve.) 

When you weren’t quick to respond, Jason continued. 

“You used to letting frat boys all over you? You seem like the type of person who would enjoy a good, sloppy frat house train. Twenty guys, one after the other, none of them knowing your name, just because you’re so needy for a good fuck.” 

Jason grinned, feeling like he had won this conversation with the essence of shock alone. 

But no. As always, you remained cool. You grinned right back at him, stepping toward him, crowding into his personal space as you said your next words in a low, smooth voice. 

“Sounds like you spend an awful lot of time picturing me running a train.” You smirked. “Is that why you’re always so late getting up in the morning? You wake up and the first thing you do is get a hand on your dick, imagining me getting fucked by a lineup of guys? Probably just wishing that one of them was you.” 

Jason’s face fell flat. 

You were so strikingly confident in your words that it made his stomach twist. Facing him down, speaking such filthy words without flinching - embarrassment and heat collided inside of him. Even more so with what you did next. 

You put a hand out in front of your crotch, mimicking the motions of jacking off while you mocked him in a broken voice. 

“Oh, oh fuck Y/N! Come on! Take my sloppy, frat house cock!” 

You then mocked a whiny series of moans that must have been Jason’s fake orgasm - and while Jason’s insides bubbled with a confusing heat, you quickly dissolved off into laughter. 

“Shut up.” Jason snapped, forcing his eyes down to focus on the process of taping himself up - praying that you wouldn’t see the heat that had spread across his cheeks. “You’re the fucking worst.” 

“Only when I’m with you.” You replied, blowing him a kiss - to which he stuck his middle finger up at you. 

He was eternally thankful when you went back to your own training in silence, only taking occasional glances up in his direction. 

… 

After that point, Jason had to admit to himself that he was attracted to you, at the very least. He could no longer deny that you were insanely attractive; you were a very, very hot person. And somehow, even past your annoying habits, he was being drawn into the orbit of your gorgeous looks and your wonderfully cocky, filthy mouth. 

But he still hated you. He definitely still hated you. 

He hated it even more when you became right - and you did become the object of some of his more heated fantasies. He became downright annoyed at the times he had his hand around his cock and imagined himself hate fucking you - imagined forcing every cocky retort out of your mouth, imagining you breathless and needy beneath him, begging for more with every hard push of his hips. 

He hated how everything changed after Doctor Light. 

Jason wasn’t thinking about your stupid beautiful cocky mouth after that. His mind was full of glass and he was being shredded from the inside out. He came home broken. After everything that happened with Deathstroke and Doctor Light - he was some fragile bird; some chewed up, used, pitiful thing. He didn’t have the energy to fight you anymore, not even for sport. 

So after he was rescued, still floating in numbness, he didn’t know what to do when you burst into his room unannounced. You practically shoved the door off its hinges, and stormed across the room toward him - tears hot in your eyes. You pounded curled fists against his chest, screaming at the top of your lungs. Half of your words were static in his ears, but the tone of your voice pierced through his heart like an arrow. You called him stupid, asking where in his empty head he had gotten the idea to go off by himself. 

Jason didn’t have it in him to fight you. So he broke down. 

He felt like the world’s biggest idiot for crying in front of you. But his throat was tight and he choked on the tears - he was too tired. He just couldn’t hold them back. He screamed back, and asked you to lay off. To get off his fucking back. 

You looked shocked. Like you had swallowed a piece of glass. 

You surprised him when you uncurled your fists and wrapped the most tender, gentle hands around his back, and for the first time since he had known you - you embraced him in a hug. He was weak and he needed it more than he was willing to admit, so he let you. He sobbed against your neck, his own cries too loud that he missed the timid sound of your apology. 

That wasn’t the only time you surprised him that week. 

He knew it was because he was some broken little bird, but you started taking care of him. You brought him plates of food without being asked, and when he attempted to shove them away - you refused. You told him to eat before you had to ‘shove it down his fucking throat’. 

You didn’t mock him. You didn’t correct him. And you surprised him even more when you turned the sharpness of your tongue on the others when they tried attacking Jason. They accused him of planting booze in Hank’s room or drawing crosses on Rachel’s mirror to fuck with her, among other things. And you popped veins in your neck going on a winding rant about how stupid and baseless their accusations were. 

Jason wasn’t sure if you knew it, but you jumping to his defense wrapped him in a blanket of protection that he had never before felt. It was so entirely strange, but welcomed coming from you. Especially because he knew that it was genuine. He knew that you didn’t have any ulterior motives for doing this - for some reason, you just wanted to help him. 

When you extended an invitation toward him to come with you as the group dispersed, torn apart by Dick’s nasty, festering secret - Jason felt welcomed by you. He knew that the dynamic between the two of you was changing at a breakneck speed, and he had to embrace it. He found himself eager to follow the weird, newly developing kinship that he had with you rather than wanting to stay in the empty coldness of the Tower with a brooding Dick. 

From there, it was really difficult for Jason to pin down the exact moment that his feelings transitioned toward you from casual lust to something more. He couldn’t tell exactly when it turned into that panic-inducing, ‘oh my god, I’m fucked’ feeling of being in love. After leaving San Francisco, during the entirety of the time that the two of you were in Gotham together, your relationship remained completely platonic. 

It was a few short weeks spent kicking ass as the best vigilante duo the city had ever seen, but there wasn’t a single moment Jason could point to where the two of you lit up with that romantic spark. It wasn’t some romcom bullshit come to life. It was just the two of you being friendly for once. The two of you helping each other survive. 

Back then - Jason wanted you, badly. Even if he didn’t know just how badly, he wasn’t going to fuck up the whole dynamic just to get laid. He felt safe with you. He kicked ass with you. He was good with you. And during that short time - he was happy. So he wasn’t going to do anything to risk that happiness. Happiness was too rare for him. So why the hell would he try putting the moves on you, scare you away, and fuck it all up? 

… 

A little slice of that happiness came in the form of Hal’s Diner. It was a place in downtown Gotham, open twenty four hours, and you and Jason had gotten into the habit of stopping there after your patrols. 

The two of you would kick some ass - break the legs of some drug dealers, make sure that women got home safe if they were walking late at night, keep the streets a little safer. And then you would change out of your patrol outfits and head to the diner, just as the sun was rising over the scummy streets of Gotham. You would get breakfast and Jason would get dinner. He would steal one of your eggs and you would take half his burger, and you would always comment about him putting way too much ketchup on his plate. 

It was harmony. 

“You know, every time I see you make a grown man cry, it brings me such intense joy.” Jason grinned as he said this, reminiscing about a beautiful moment from earlier in the night. 

He spoke about it in the same manner that someone might reminisce about seeing a relative or a cute puppy. But this was natural for the two of you - since you had taken up vigilantism as a duo, violence was a sweet art for the two of you. 

“Well, if he would have left that girl alone the first time I asked, I wouldn’t have broken his arm.” You shrugged, speaking very casually about it yourself. 

You then picked a piece of bacon up off your plate and took a bite, grinning at Jason fondly. You did appreciate it when he complimented your skills. 

Jason chuckled. 

“You know, it is nice to see you using your powers for good instead of evil.” He commented. 

“My powers?” You parroted back, your mouth half busy with chewing, your words slightly muffled. 

You didn’t have any metahuman powers, so this comment did leave you slightly confused. 

“Yeah.” He nodded, entirely confident in the statement he had to follow. “Your endless amount of energy to harass people and be endlessly annoying. The powers you used to spend all your time using on me.” 

“You used to deserve it.” You were quick with your tongue as usual, not missing a beat with this statement. 

Jason’s only rebuttal was to pick up a french fry - one not doused in ketchup - and throw it at your head. You flinched slightly when it bounced off your forehead - but when it landed in your lap, you easily picked it up and put it in your mouth, not thinking twice about doing so as you tossed Jason a wicked grin. 

That. That must have been the moment. 

That was the moment he realized that he was truly in love with you. You grinning at him from across the table, your smile lighting up your whole face, playing around with him like he actually made you happy. Like he could spend the rest of his life making you happy. 

That’s why it hurt so much more when your phone buzzed on the table a few minutes later. When you told him that it was the Titans - Gar in trouble. That’s why it hurt so fucking much when you left. 

Jason knew, in hindsight, that he should have gone with you. But he flailed like a rabbit caught in a snare, and rather than just agreeing with you, he felt the trap tightening around him, and he opted to chew off his own foot rather than simply letting you help him free. 

He stupidly argued that it was some test from Dick. That the Titans could deal with their own problems. Jason knew that deep down, he was still tender from everything that had happened - Dick dropping him, even by accident. The accusations, the secrets. The rejection. He felt like he was laying down a line - he was letting you make a choice. 

Him or the Titans. 

But it shouldn’t have been a choice. It was Gar. Jason should have stood by his friend. He should have gone with you. 

Deep down, Jason feared that if he did go with you - the Titans wouldn’t want him back. He feared another cutting rejection. They would simply bench him again, they wouldn’t even need him to help save Gar. They wouldn’t want him to help. He was useless, after all. He was careless and stupid. That was why he needed you to choose him. To stay. 

That was what his mind was screaming out as you looked at him, disappointment flooding your eyes as you questioned him about Gar, about going back to the Titans. 

Stay. He silently begged. Pick me. 

And watching you snatch up your jacket in a huff and get up from the table, your food barely touched - his eyes boring into your back as you retreated - it was like having his heart carved out of his chest. And because he was so fucked up, he just sat there. He couldn’t bring himself to do anything about it. He didn’t chase you. 

He let you go. 

Having you suddenly disappear from his life was like missing a limb. Jason was constantly aching around your non-presence, constantly missing you. He felt torn up from the inside out, wondering if his frayed nerve endings would ever heal themselves. When he went to Donna’s funeral, he stared at you from across the tarmac - telling himself that if you even so much as glanced in his direction, he would cross that sickly one hundred foot black sea and talk to you. He would make the leap and apologize. 

But you were fettered and stubborn and you kept your head straight. You knew it was the ultimate punishment not to acknowledge him. So the moment that the plane took off, Jason shoved on his helmet and sped off on his bike.

He easily became numb after that. 

He went back to Bruce - to lay low and lick his wounds, or because it was the only place he knew, he wasn’t sure. He tried to be a Robin that wasn’t with you. It didn’t work. He felt more broken than ever. It was cheesy, pathetic bullshit - but he talked about you in therapy. Leslie encouraged him to reach out to you, but every time Jason’s fingers hovered over your contact in his phone, his hands shook, and all he remembered was the look of pure scorn you had given him before you snatched up your things and left the diner that day. 

He thought of you as he suited up to go after the Joker. He considered how easy it would be for the two of you to take down the stupid clown together - how flawlessly the two of you worked as a team. 

Jason thought of you as he drew his last breath, soaked in blood and struggling past the world-ending pain. He wondered, in a haze, if you were warm in your bed in The Tower while he was pressed into the cold ground, taunted by the laughter that rung in his ears. 

… 

Jason didn’t know how hard you cried for him when you heard the news of his death. 

You wouldn’t have dared to say that the hole in the middle of your chest was caused by love - caused by the heartbreak of a lover being stolen. But you certainly felt robbed when you heard that the Joker had killed him. You seethed and you heavily considered marching toward Gotham to seek revenge. 

You knew that Dick was angry with Bruce for finally giving in to what the Joker wanted and killing him. For finally ending their sick, twisted game. But when you found out - you were glad that the clown was dead. You wrapped one of Jason’s stolen shirts around your pillow, and you slept a bit easier at night. 

…

Jason knew that he should have left town. 

Crane claimed that Red Hood was going to be the next Batman - that he was going to be something the Bat never could. That he was going to actually keep the streets safe. But so far, all Jason had done was steal, kill, terrorize, torture. Crane spoke of omelets and breaking eggs - pigs and bacon, and ‘marketing’ himself to the public. But truly, it never made any real sense to Jason. 

Jason knew that now, he was the type of man lurking in the night whose arm you would have broken if he was lingering too closely to the vulnerable. And you would have been right for doing so. 

Jason was tired. He felt lost - directionless. He was getting tired of Crane’s bullshit. He missed you. But he knew that he couldn’t just go running back to you. You likely wouldn’t have accepted him back into your life if he did. 

When Crane called him in that night, wanting to discuss ‘the game plan’ - Jason was worn. His patience for all of it was already wearing thin, and what happened next - it truly caused him to snap. 

Jason showed up in full gear, wearing the costume of an alias he no longer believed in; foolishly dressed up as someone he had truly begun to resent. He was holding his helmet in hand, his heavy boots clunking on the floor as he dodged around Crane’s egghead lackeys - a random group of people who were working to convert the anti-fear gas into a larger batch. He knew that they were aiming to get more and more people in the city hooked; if Jason hadn’t abandoned his morals in this new life, he might have cared more about the consequences. 

Instead, he made a B-line for Crane, who was typing away at something on the computer. 

“Jason, my boy!” Crane grinned at him, giving a false, performative grin over his shoulder. “Lovely evening, isn’t it?” 

“What do you want?” Jason asked, his tone flat. 

He was far too tired of Crane to engage in more word play or stupid riddles. 

“Never one for pleasantries, are you?” Crane chuckled. 

Jason didn’t offer him a reply - seemingly confirming his theory with this simple act. 

Truthfully, he wasn’t. He wasn’t feeling very pleasant today. He hadn’t felt very pleasant any day since he had been so rudely pulled from the morgue and zombified to do someone else’s bidding against his will. Being an undead puppet didn’t really make a person all that pleasant. 

Crane reached into the pocket of his oddly quaint grandpa sweater and pulled something out - a small glass vial, containing some clear liquid. It looked harmless - like water. But Jason knew Crane, and he knew that whatever it was must have been entirely dangerous if Crane was carrying around such a small dose of it. 

“Do you know what this is?” He asked, giving the vial a small shake, jostling the liquid inside to emphasize his point. 

Jason hesitated before he shook his head in the negative. He hated to appear clueless and stupid around such an intelligent man, but he didn’t want to guess and be wrong. He knew that being misinformed around Crane was dangerous. But being cocky and pretending to know more than Crane was even more dangerous. 

“This is a very highly concentrated form of liquid Methadone.” Crane explained. “It’s a highly addictive substance. And I think it’s going to give the mass market version of your formula that little extra kick that it needs, ya know? Keep the people coming back for more!” 

He let out a bright chuckle, as though he was talking about a cleaning product that was marketed on an infomercial or some kind of great recipe for soup. That was one of the things that scared Jason the most about Crane - his ability to talk about life changing, deadly things with such jarring enthusiasm. He truly thought of bringing people their worst nightmares and their most painful deaths as ‘beautiful work’. 

“What about it?” Jason prodded quietly. 

He knew that Crane hadn’t called him here just to brag about a new idea to add something to the formula. He needed Jason for something. 

Jason just hoped that he wasn’t looking to use him as a guinea pig again. He would likely rather die again than go down the path of heavy drugs. One thing he had vowed - he wouldn’t end up like his mother. 

“Well, you see, my boy, that’s where you come in.” Crane grinned at him. “Due to its highly addictive qualities, Methadone is also a highly regulated substance. But because I am the wonderfully well-connected man that I am, I happen to know that there is a very large stash of it just sitting there, ripe for the taking, in this quaint little building uptown.” 

Jason’s gut stirred with suspicion. 

“Where uptown?” He asked. 

“Well, it’s just-” Crane stuttered, and then sighed, deciding to get it out and over with. “The Wayne Memorial Cancer Research Facility.” 

Jason glared at him. 

“But see, it’s fine! Because I happen to know someone who knows their way around the Wayne Tech security systems very well. So Red Hood breaks in there, gets me my-” 

“No.” Jason said flatly, before he turned and started to walk away. “Find somebody else. We’re done.” 

Crane had threatened to replace him before. Crane had no-so-subtly threatened to kill him alongside being replaced. Maybe that was a good thing. Maybe Jason would be better off dead. Maybe Crane would find out that Jason was irreplaceable after all. Maybe Jason was a dirty, seedy criminal shaped by life for only one thing: ruining the lives of others. If Jason couldn’t do that, he wasn’t sure what he would do. 

But he wasn’t going to fucking do this. 

Killing was one thing. Stealing from drug dealers and mobsters was another. What he had done to Hank had crossed too many lines - but it didn’t even begin to approach the lines that this crossed. 

Stealing from a facility that Thomas and Martha had set up when Bruce was just a child, shitting all over their legacy, using skills that Bruce had taught him in order to do it? That was too far. Jason couldn’t say that he had morals anymore, but he still had that voice of common decency in the back of his head yelling at him to stop it. Maybe it was your voice, correcting him at every turn the way you used to. 

He should listen to that voice. 

He should leave town. 

“Hold on, hold on there, Jaybird!” Crane called after him. 

The pure annoyance that the nickname caused was the only thing that stopped Jason. He considered turning around and shooting Crane just to shut him up. 

“See, I think you forget how this works.” The man went off again - talking in that humming tone he always used that made Jason’s ears numb, made his brain switch off. “Every loyal dog gets a treat. A little motivation to get that Pavlovian mind barking in the right direction.” 

Jason turned back around then. 

“Nothing you say ever makes any fucking sense.” He barked out, ready to leave Crane with these as his last remarks before he left Gotham forever. 

But then Crane tapped at a few things on his keyboard and pulled something up on the monitor - a dark, grainy video feed that had Jason squinting his eyes and walking closer to get a better look. 

When Jason was able to truly take in the scene - his stomach dropped. 

It was you. 

You were sitting alone in some anonymous, concrete warehouse - probably in the industrial district of Gotham, if Jason had to guess. Crane didn’t like to keep his insurance policies too far away, he liked to play it close to the vest. You were tied to a chair, duct tape tight over your mouth, very much there against your will. You were looking straight ahead, with the camera angled down from the top corner of the room. Even through the grainy, black and white footage, Jason could see the wetness of tears streaking down your face. 

You were terrified. 

Jason’s helmet clattered to the floor, slipping from his grip as the shock overtook his system. 

For the first time in weeks, fighting through the numbness of the drugs and the hazy shock of his new half-life - he was terrified too. Then he was angry. Rage bubbled up inside of him like a sharp, acidic bile. 

“What the fuck have you done?” Jason growled out, the anger setting his jaw so tight that the words could barely escape between his teeth. 

“I told you - every loyal dog gets a treat.” Crane said, a barely contained glee filtering through his voice as he peered over Jason’s shoulder at your weeping face on the screen. 

He clapped a large hand on Jason’s shoulder, and Jason felt himself nearly choke on his own tongue - so swollen with anger that it barely fit in his mouth. 

“So, go fetch, doggie.” Crane continued. “Go get me what I need. Otherwise, that sweet little treat of yours is gonna play dead.” 

Crane leaned over and whispered those last words into Jason’s ear - and that was what truly caused him to snap. 

In a flash, Jason grabbed the hand that was on his shoulder, whipped Crane around - there was a loud crack as Jason broke Crane’s arm. The egghead types who were working on the formula all paused; some of them gasped or hid behind things, but none of them were brave enough to intervene. Jason shoved Crane’s face into the monitor, cracking it out like a spider’s web but never fully obscuring the image of that dark, cold warehouse - the place where you were alone and terrified. 

He twisted Crane’s broken arm, making a sound like glass grinding in on itself, and the man let out a howl. 

“I think you forget how this works.” Jason barked at him, his voice so dark with rage that it almost sounded like he was wearing Red Hood’s voice modulator even though his helmet was on the floor at Crane’s feet. “When dogs get pissed off - they bite.” 

He twisted the injury again, and Crane let out another bitter howl. 

Jason demanded to know where you were, and Crane squeaked out an address. It was in the industrial district, so it checked out in Jason’s mind. It didn’t seem like a trap or a false answer to waste his time. 

Jason shoved the pathetic, useless man to the ground, kicked him in the gut for good measure, and then leaned down to grab his helmet before shoving it on. He would need it in case Crane had anybody stationed there, guarding you. 

Crane shouted something at him as he walked away, but Jason was barely paying attention - now very singular minded on his mission toward you. 

“You have to learn to play by the rules, Red!” Crane choked out. “You won’t like how this ends! I made you! I fucking made you!” 

… 

Jason was surprised to find the building empty. No guards, seemingly no bombs, no gas canisters. At first, he thought it really was a trick, a misdirect to waste his time. But when he had just about given up hope of finding you, searching one of the back most rooms that used to serve as overflow storage for Ace Chemicals - he found you. Concrete and anonymous, some of the beams having eroded away in places from improper chemical storage. 

When you saw him stalking toward you - his gun drawn, heavy boots thudding against the floor, modulator puffing out heavy, mechanical breaths - you let out a terrified whimper past the duct tape and more tears flowed freely down your face. 

Jason felt a twinge of guilt. Of course. You had no clue it was him. 

Perhaps he could get away with the mercy of never revealing himself to you. He could keep his mask on, release you, drop you back off with the Titans and then leave town. But eventually, Dick would tell you who he was. 

At the very least, he could give you the comfort of seeing a familiar face after the hell you had been through. You were wearing a sweatshirt and simple cotton pants, and running shoes - it looked like you had been plucked off the street during a jogging session. He could only imagine how much Crane’s lackeys had scared you. 

Once he was confident that the area was secure, he holstered his gun and then reached up, removing the face mask from his helmet and tossing it aside. 

“Hey, hey, it’s me.” He told you - attempting to be gentle and soothing in his voice. 

He approached you slowly, not wanting you to be scared as he reached to his belt for a knife - only with the intention to cut the ropes around your torso, wrists, and ankles. 

He watched your expression as you flashed through a range of emotions - deep confusion, a bit of relief, sadness, and then strangely - burning anger. You glared at him with the most intense rage he had ever seen from you - more intense even than the day you had stormed into his room and called him stupid and suicidal for going after Doctor Light without backup. 

Jason was slightly afraid of the lecture that would come next, but nonetheless, he knelt beside you and began cutting you free. 

The minute that one of your hands was free, you reached up and ripped the duct tape off your mouth. You took only a fraction of a second to wince in pain from the tender skin of your lips being disturbed before you began verbally tearing into him. 

“Jason Todd!” You screamed at the top of your lungs, so loudly that Jason was sure some of the edges of the corroded concrete pebbled off and fell down just from this. “Jason fucking Todd! I should have known you had something to do with this!” 

“Wh-?” 

Before Jason could question your odd choice of words or even recognize it as an accusation, you raised your other freshly free hand and slapped him squarely across the cheek - it was a hard, skull-shaking clatter. It had Jason dizzy, falling back onto his ass and dropping the knife before he could finish cutting the ropes around your legs. 

“Fucking ow!” Jason griped, reaching up to grab his now very red cheek. 

“You are such an asshole! Of all the completely idiotic, stupid things you have ever done-” 

“I didn’t fucking kidnap you! Okay? I didn’t do shit!” Jason quickly argued back, finally now realizing that you thought he had put you here in the first place. “I’m here to rescue you!” He said each of these words slowly, looking you in the eyes, hoping that his point would get across more firmly this way. 

There was a tense moment as you stared back at him with your jaw locked. It was likely that if your feet hadn’t still been tied, you would have run away - or kicked him. Jason was thankful that you couldn’t do either at the moment.  

“Why?” You asked, finally breaking the tension. 

“What?” Jason gaped. 

This was the last thing he had been expecting. 

He was saving you - why were you questioning him? 

“Why are you ‘rescuing’ me?” You asked, taunting his phrasing of it with a mocking tone and large air quotes. He now regretted freeing your hands. “So you can bargain me off to Dick for ransom money? So you can put a bomb in my chest?” 

You said the last part with intense disdain, tears dancing in your eyes.

So you did know what a monster he was.  

He was surprised that you hadn’t hit him harder. 

Jason heaved a sigh. He reached over and picked up the knife, very slowly, very tentatively resuming cutting the ropes on your legs to free you. 

“I’m just freeing you so that you can be free. That’s it.” He said quietly, defeat lacing through every inch of his voice. “You don’t deserve this.” 

He cut the last rope and folded the knife, sticking it back in his belt. He stood up then and caught a glimpse of your face - you were wearing the most complex expression he had ever seen. Perhaps confusion, perhaps anger. Maybe somewhere deep in your eyes - hurt. 

He turned and moved to leave, hoping you would simply follow him out of the confusing maze of the building and he wouldn’t have to drag you out kicking and screaming. 

“That’s not an answer.” You told him, your tone sharp and certain - the same tone you always used to correct him. 

Jason whipped back around then, heaving a sigh as he looked at you - standing in the middle of the room now, arms folded over your chest, glaring at him on the spot. Cocky and so sure about yourself. Too damn certain and immobile in your points. Infuriating. 

“Why the fuck do you have to make everything so damn complicated?” Jason shot back, annoyance and dread tight in every inch of him. “Why do you have to interrogate me about every damn thing that I do?” 

“Because you make stupid ass decisions when I don’t.” You easily fired back. “Now tell me: why are you doing this?” 

“Because I wanted to.” Jason huffed. 

“Why?” You prodded again. 

He let out another hot huff, and you didn’t let it go. 

“Come on Jason!” You shouted, increasing in volume as you became more frustrated with his lack of an answer. “You didn’t just develop a conscience all of a sudden! Why did you feel the need to suddenly drop everything and come to my rescue? What makes me different than Hank? What makes me different than-?” 

It was the annoyance grinding on him. It was a combination of your nagging voice, the lack of drugs in his system for the first time in weeks. The rawness of the world ragging on his last good nerve. The sound of your voice putting him in line - exactly where he was supposed to be. The way you reminded him of the truth now more than ever. 

“Because I’m in love with you!” Jason shouted. 

It was almost… angry. It was a declaration that hit you like a whip - more like an insult than something warm and kind. It wasn’t made of sweetness, like some moment from a film with a gentle piano riff wrapped around it. It was real - made of the haunting kind of passion that kept Jason awake at night. 

Your eyes widened. Jason’s breathing stilled as he waited for you to react - to say something. 

“Oh.” Your voice cracked around this syllable, and your eyes danced with more tears. 

Jason felt his own heart crack apart inside of his chest, more terror flooding him. 

He had died with the secret because he had never wanted to live up to the embarrassing vulnerability of confessing it. In the deepest part of his mind, he had lived this horror a thousand times. Him finally creeping out onto the edge of oblivion - speaking those words. Confessing. And then you stabbing him in the heart, rejecting him. 

The reality of it ripped through him so much harder than it ever had in his nightmares. 

Any last tiny piece of his soul that had survived being murdered by the Joker had just been shattered by you. 

“Yeah. Fucking oh.” Jason echoed back, his own tears clutching at his throat. 

Seeing him with that naked vulnerability dancing behind his eyes - it reminded you of the same person who came back from being kidnapped by Doctor Light. It reminded you of the real Jason you had gotten to know. 

In that moment, it all came crashing toward you. You gasped harshly as you could barely breathe around it. 

That hole in your chest had been shaped like a lover - it had been shaped like him. Filled with the pain of letting him get hurt, leaving him alone in Gotham to be murdered by the Joker. Filled with the doubt and confusion of never knowing what could have been between the two of you if you had chased those flirtations a little bit farther. 

And now, he was standing right here in front of you, somehow perfectly alive and well - and there was only one possible thing you could do. 

“Jason.” You gasped out his name, unable to fathom more words. 

Before he could move, you reached out and grabbed both sides of his face, one of them still singed with a burning ache where you had slapped him so hard - and you pulled him into a kiss, hard. 

It wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t dainty or smooth like some Hollywood love confession - it was hungry. Bordering on feral as you both fought to consume more of the other person, bleeding out little moans and fighting for breath past each other’s lips. Jason’s hands rushed to embrace you, wrapping around your back and grabbing a needy, possessive handful of your ass while you kept your grip tight on his face, keeping his face forcefully close to your own as you devoured his mouth. 

You felt some of his tears escape - such a rush of emotions making him raw and unable to hold them back, and you moaned pitifully into his mouth as he wetness slipped underneath your palms. Whatever it was - his pain, his pleasure; you would take it. He was all yours now. 

… 

Far off, on the other side of Gotham, Crane chuckled quietly to himself as he watched the scene unfold. He had pulled up the camera feed on a separate tablet, seeing as Jason had used his head to crack the monitor. With his broken arm bound in a temporary sling, he used his one good hand to pull something out of a drawer - a remote with a single button. 

“For these violent delights have violent ends,” He recited to himself, still grinning widely as he looked at the two lovers in the grainy, black and white footage. “And in their triumph, die like fire and powder. Which as they kiss, consume. Even the sweetest honey is loathsome in his own deliciousness, if the taste confounds the appetite.” Crane poised his finger on the button. “Therefore, love moderately.” 

He pressed down, and dissolved into more epic laughter as he watched what came next. 

… 

You were only human, and you could only kiss Jason for a few minutes before your brain demanded oxygen. As much as you hated to pull away from the sweet, bruising sting of his lips, you forced yourself back and immediately took in a sharp breath that turned into a rolling pant - Jason let out a needy whine in protest. 

With his arms holding you so securely and the dizzying heat now flowing through you - you almost didn’t catch it. But it was there, in the background, something steadily present that wasn’t there before. 

Beeping. A small, electronic beeping. 

“Do you hear that?” You asked Jason, squinting your eyes with confusion and looking around, trying to find the source of the noise. 

He did hear it. 

“Fuck.” Jason mumbled. 

Panic flooded him. The whole thing had been a trap. 

He pulled away from you hesitantly and grabbed his mask up off the ground, snapping it back on. 

“We have to go. Now.” He told you, his voice now sharp and robotic through the voice filter as he grabbed your wrist and began dragging you away - you became limp to his direction for once and simply followed, fear tight in your gut once again. 

Jason didn’t want to consider the possibilities, but he knew it could be anything from a large bomb, meant to tear you to shreds, to a large dose of fear gas waiting to be deployed. And he didn’t have an antidote at the moment. He needed to get you out of the building and transport you to safety. 

When the two of you came to a door - one of the many that Jason had passed through on his way in - it snapped shut in Jason’s face. It was on some kind of mechanical locking system, that much was apparent. Jason rushed forward, trying to pry it open - but it was welded steel, and it wouldn’t budge. 

Jason heard more slamming - more metal forcing itself shut on the same locking system. 

“Jason?” You croaked, that unsure terror back in your voice again. Something so rare for you. You were looking to him for answers. You were looking to him to rescue you. 

Overhead, the last bits of light were shut out - glimpses of the street lights outside - as thick metal shudders collapsed down over the windows. The room was sealing itself shut, becoming air tight. 

“Stand back.” Jason told you, not waiting to see if you followed the instruction before he pulled out one of his guns and began shooting at the door’s heavy metal hinges. He knew it was futile and he feared that one of the bullets might ricochet off and hit you, but he didn’t have many options left. 

Then he heard it. The gentle hissing of gas being released into the air. 

Jason was naive to have hoped that it was Crane’s classic Fear Gas - that would have been a merciful walk in the park compared to what he had planned for you. Betraying Jonathan Crane meant that Jason had to be truly punished. 

Jason turned to you, wrapping his arms around you, as if trying to shield you from the air itself - but it was too late. You began coughing and struggling to breathe, and Jason looked on with confusion as his chest twisted with guilt. 

With his helmet on, he felt nothing. For the first few moments, he didn’t even understand what was going on as you gasped for air, struggling to form a word as you choked on each breath. Jason had no clue what the substance was or how he could fix it, looking on in horror as thick fog clouded around your ankles - your eyes bulging out of your head as you struggled for oxygen. 

“Y/N?” Jason gasped, holding you by both shoulders as you became weaker and leaned on him. “Y/N?” 

You couldn’t answer him. 

You continued to wheeze, your breath hitching against your throat harshly. As the fog reached up to touch your face, it left angry, blistering marks in your skin. Unlike Jason, you had no armor to protect yourself - and somehow, Crane had turned the air itself acidic. Your eyes became wrecked with bloody red streaks and your face swelled as you continued to choke. 

Jason’s insides screamed, but he felt too still. 

As more of the fog touched you, some of the marks on your neck and your cheek blistered more and opened up, bleeding out pinkish bubbling puss as Jason continued to hold you - he didn’t know what else to do. 

All he could do was hold you. 

A harsh foam seeped out of your mouth as you choked on your last half-breath, and Jason felt a stinging pain consuming him - he wasn’t sure if it was the acidic fog finally breaching through his clothing, or the biting pain of having you limp in his arms - dead, as he huddled there on the floor. 

“Come on.” Jason wept, steaming up the inside of his helmet as he recycled back his own breath now. He reached up to your cheek, accidentally skimming off a layer of your marred skin with his gloved thumb as he tried to wipe away some of the teary blood that had leaked from your eyes. “Come on, Y/N. Wake up.” 

Jason simply wept. And he held you. 

As he looked at the camera feed, Crane smiled. 

“This is what happens when you don’t play by the rules, Red.”

...

A/N: SOOOO obviously this ending leaves us with a lot of questions - did Jason survive? I think this can be interpreted one of two ways: one, Jason did live. He managed to escape somehow, and he had scars all over his body from the acidic fog, and he enacted a very vicious, bloody, torturous revenge on Crane before going into hiding forever (or before using Red Hood to give actual justice to innocent people who needed it, his scars always a reminder of who he lost). Or - he sat there in shock and eventually choked to death as well. Or he pulled the whole 'my life is not worth living anymore' thing and just took off his helmet on purpose. So you can imagine that either of those things happened next.

Also, if you didn't catch it (or, if you're not a Saw person) - this situation was heavily inspired by the final plot twist trap in Saw X. I love the acidic fog, and I feel like Crane could be a trap guy. The Titans version of Crane could be good friends with John, imo.

Also, if you enjoyed this fic, check out my DC Titans Masterlist for more of my other fics!! And please consider reblogging and commenting on this fic to tell me what you liked about it.

[fanfics4all]

Fire and Ice

Request: Yes / No Fluffcember Day 13! 

Don’t be shy, request things! <3 Have a nice day/night

Caitlin Snow x Male!Reader 

Word count: 780

Warnings: Just cool fluff!

Y/N: Your Name 

Y/L/N: Your Last Name

Prompt(s): Fire and Ice

PLEASE DO NOT STEAL MY WORK, I WORK HARD ON MY FICS AND IT’S NOT COOL TO STEAL SOMEONE ELSE’S WORK! 

If you want to be on the tag list for anything (My series fics, specific character fics, or just all of them) All you have to do is send me an ask and I will add you! 

Masterlist 

If you enjoy my work, you could also show support by buying me a coffee! 

(Not my photo, credit to whoever made it!)

*Caitlin’s POV*

I never expected to fall for anyone again, let alone someone with powers similar to Ronnie's. However, life was unpredictable, and when I met Y/N Y/L/N, a quiet, kind man with a fiery power running through his veins, my guarded heart began to melt. 

We met one night at S.T.A.R. Labs, Y/N had been hurt after helping evacuate a burning building, his burns healing quickly but leaving him exhausted. Barry brought him in and I treated him, carefully checking his injuries and listening to his story. He explained that he had the ability to control fire, and his power had developed a strange twist. He could heal others along with himself with his flames, though at the cost of exhausting himself. 

At first, we were just two metas trying to understand each other’s abilities. I shared my experiences with Killer Frost, and he listened patiently, always interested and never judgemental. It was rare for me to feel understood, and I found myself drawn to his warmth. 

Over time, we started seeing each other outside the lab. We’d meet for coffee at jitters, walk through the city’s parks, or sit by the river, talking until the sun dipped below the skyline. I was cautious, my emotions tangled and conflicted, but I couldn’t help but feel safe with Y/N. 

One snowy evening, as we walked along the waterfront, the city lights casting a soft glow over the water, Y/N took my hand. I felt the heat of his skin against mine, like a gentle ember in the cold night. My powers, reacted instinctively, cooling my skin in response. It was like a delicate dance of fire and frost. Our powers balanced each other in a way that felt oddly perfect. 

“Do you ever worry about… us?” I asked, looking at our intertwined fingers. 

“Our powers, I mean. They’re so different.” Y/N smiled, his warm eyes meeting mine. 

“I think that’s what makes it work. You bring balance. Fire can be destructive, but it can also protect, warm, and heal. And ice… ice can be beautiful, pure, and it can soothe.” He said softly. He looked down, a hint of vulnerability in his voice. 

“You make me feel like… I don’t have to burn out to help people. Like there’s another way.” My heart swelled at his words. Here was someone who saw me as both Caitlin Snow and Killer Frost, who didn’t fear her powers or see them as a burden. He saw her as a whole. 

A few weeks later, Central City was hit by a heatwave, extremely unusual for the season. Team Flash speculated that it might be caused by another meta. We quickly discovered a rogue meta manipulating the temperatures. The city was in chaos, the oppressive heat becoming dangerous. Y/N insisted on helping, despite the toll his power would take. Together, Y/N and I devised a plan to bring the temperature down. We worked in tandem, he’d absorb and redirect the excess heat, while I would channel my ice to cool the surroundings. It was a risky maneuver, one that required complete trust between us. 

We stood side by side, facing the rogue meta and the blustering heat he emitted, I glanced at Y/N. He gave me a reassuring nod, his hand finding mine, grounding me. I took a deep breath, feeling the cool energy of Killer Frost rising within me. Together, we unleashed our powers, an extraordinary display of blue ice and red fire intertwining in the air. The cold surged from me, creating a wave of frost that clashed with the flames, while Y/N absorbed the tempered in intense heat. For a moment, it was like we were one. Our powers blend in a perfect balance. 

When it was over, the meta was subdued, the heatwave dissipated, and the city was once again safe. I felt exhausted but victorious, and as I stumbled, Y/N was there to catch me. His arms were warm and steady. 

“You did it.” He whispered, holding me close. I looked up at him, my breath coming out in a puff of frost against his cheek. 

“No. We did it.” I said softly, a small smile on my lips. 

Standing amidst the melting ice and the fading embers, I knew I was in love once again. Y/N had shown me a world beyond fear and restraint, one where fire and frost could coexist, each making the other stronger. He leaned down to kiss me, his warmth melting away the last of my doubts, I knew I’d finally found the love that was like Ronnie’s.

Tag list: @les-bio-lie @tashy-bear @ashwarren32 @hollie-blogs-blog1 @lover-of-books-and-tea @nerdygaloresposts @teenwolfbitches28 @kmc1989 @drw0301bieber @lady-of-lies @ravenmoore14 @ravenempress101 @cillianchamp @rowanthomasknapp @rachelxwayne @ready-4-fanfiction @madammarvellous-blog1 @bruisedfists-and-splitlips @therealchoni 

[kiaratheronappreciationweek]

It's now Day 4 of KTAW!! We're halfway through the week and the entries we've gotten so far have been amazing. Can't wait to see more from you all!

We have two themes, again, for tomorrow.

Our first is a skill and trait that most of the Theron family is great at - Diplomacy! Kiara has been a great example of diplomacy-centric politics ever since we have met her - evaluating the MC's ability to navigate the social season a mere 3-4 events in. Hakim, her father, is a diplomat too who uses his reach and skills to make Cordonia a better country, as does her mother Joelle. It would be great to explore what diplomacy looks like to Kiara and the Therons.

Our second theme is Nature. You can interpret this in different ways - natural surroundings, nature vs nurture, you name it!

Any content is welcome!! Just make sure your work centers Kiara, and presents a positive depiction of her. Fic, art, meta, headcanons, edits, icons, interactive media, even simple character appreciation posts!! We also accept WIPs, so if your piece isn't entirely complete by the end of the week, fret not - you can still send us the WIPs!

The themes are simply inspirations. If you bring a piece for one of the days later, it's entirely okay...just make sure you tag the posts with the day you meant it for! We will always be keeping a bonus week in case you couldn't complete the piece during the week itself, so our official deadline for pieces will be June 1st!

We'd also like all of you to know that KTAW 2024 will be open ALL YEAR ROUND. So if you're unable to finish a piece before June 1st, pls do send it whenever you're ready to (and tag us!), and it will definitely be up on our masterlist!!

Be sure to do the following when you make your posts:

1. Use the tags #kiaratheronappreciationweek and #KTAW in your posts. Make sure to tag the day as well (#KTAW Day 1, #KTAW Day 2, etc)

2. Tag @kiaratheronappreciationweek as well as hosts @lizzybeth1986 and @sazanes in your work!

Fan Community blogs are super important to our promotion of events, so we'd definitely love for you to check out some of these awesome blogs and their challenges:

@choicesficwriterscreations - Primarily fanfic and fanart (no AI allowed). Check out their rules and roster of events!

@choicesmonthlychallenge and @choicesmaychallenge24 - Any and all content welcome! This month's prompts are delightfully Greek mythology-themed!

@choicespride - Any and all content welcome, as long as it centers LGBTQ+ characters and/or themes! They will be hosting this year's pride event soon!

@choicesholidays - Any and all content welcome, as long as it is centered around one of the holidays listed! Currently, they are hosting Spring Fling!

@choicesprompts - Any and all content welcome! Currently no events, but you could check out all the cool stuff they've been up to so far!

@choicescommunityevents - Any and all art welcome as long as it is on-theme! Currently hosting the AAPI Heritage Month!

SO excited to see all your entries!!!

Happy Kiara Theron Appreciation Week, everyone!!

[humbledragon669]

Good Omens Season 1 Write Ups Masterlist

Episode 1 - In The Beginning

Part 1 - Introduction and The Garden

Part 2 - Eleven years ago

Part 3 - Five years later (allegedly) and The present day

Episode 2 - The Book

Part 1 - 2 days before Armageddon and 1656

Part 2 – 11 years ago and The Present Day/Thursday (2 days to the end of the World) (up to Aziraphale and Crowleys’ arrival in Tadfield)

Part 3 - Present Day/Thursday (2 days to the end of the World) (from Aziraphale and Crowleys’ arrival in Tadfield up to their departure from Tadfield Manor)

Part 4 – The Book Write Up P4– Present Day/Thursday (2 days to the end of the World) (from Aziraphale and Crowleys’ departure from Tadfield Manor)

Episode 3 - Hard Times

Part 1 – The Garden of Eden (4004 BC), Mesopotamia (3004 BC), Golgotha (33 AD), Rome (42 AD) and the Kingdom of Wessex (537 AD)

Part 2 - The Globe Theatre London (1601) and the Burbage Meta

Part 3 - Paris (1793) and St. James’s Park (1862)

Part 4 - London (1941) and Soho (1967)

Part 5 - Friday (One day to the end of the World) up to "the break up"

Part 6 - Friday (One day to the end of the World) from "the break up" scene

Episode 4 - Saturday Morning Funtime

Part 1 - Saturday (The last day of the World) up to The Fields of Megiddo

Part 2 - Saturday (The last day of the World) from The Fields of Megiddo to "You're better off without him."

Part 3 - Saturday (The last day of the World) from "You're better off without him." to "You bad angels!"

Part 4 - Saturday (The last day of the World) from "You bad angels!

Episode 5 - The Doomsday Option

Part 1 - Saturday (The last day of the World) up to "the wiggle on"

Part 2 - Saturday (The last day of the World) from "the wiggle on" to "He was waving"

Part 3 - Saturday (The last day of the World) from "He was waving"

Episode 6 - The Very Last Day of the Rest of Their Lives

Part 1 - up to the dissolution of the Horsemen

Part 2 - from the dissolution of the Horsemen to Sunday (the very first day of the rest of their lives)

Part 3 - from Sunday (the very first day of the rest of their lives) up to the departure of Shadwell and Madame Tracy

Part 4 - from the departure of Shadwell and Madame Tracy

Script to Screen comparisons

Episode 1 - In the Beginning

Episode 2 – The Book Part 1 – large changes

Episode 2 – The Book Part 2 – deletions, additions and amendments

Episode 3 – Hard Times Part 1 – large changes and deletions

Episode 3 – Hard Times Part 2 – additions and amendments

Episode 4 – Saturday Morning Funtime Part 1 – large changes

Episode 4 – Saturday Morning Funtime Part 2 – deletions, additions and amendments

Episode 5 – The Doomsday Option Part 1 – large changes and deletions

Episode 5 – The Doomsday Option Part 2 – additions and amendments

Episode 6 – The Very Last Day of the Rest of Their Lives Part 1 – large changes and deletions

Episode 6 – The Very Last Day of the Rest of Their Lives Part 1 – additions and amendments

Deleted scenes

Book to screen comparisons

Part 1 – new elements and confirmed information

Part 2 – differences

Other

Opening and Closing Credits