#not having close friends anymore doesn't help it

[elyxir1zz]

★ — New years party

CW : Sevika x reader, a tinnnny bit of jayce x reader, making out, no porn, but suggestive dialoge, making out, modern au, vi and sevika are besties, pure fluff, no use of y/n

A/N : this was gonna be a christmas fic but i wasnt able to finish it till today sooo...hope you guys enjoy! oh AND im working on the eneimes to lovers fic, it should be out tommrow night (hopefully)

Sevika was friends with your sister, vi. They had started working together at a mechanic shop and had their lunch breaks together which was code for smoking weed for an hour then coming back to work, handling heavy machinery. Eventually vi invited Sevika to a new years party. Sevika wasn't really one for non rave parties but vi told her that there were cute girls there. So sevika agreed, however there was a ugly christmas sweater contest but no matter how much vi begged so she threw on a pair of baggy jeans and a cropped tank top 

You and Jinx sat on the couch, you were painting her nails for the party as she watched some hallmark movie ekko put on. Then vi walked in “so i invited a co-worker to the party” vi said sitting next to you and jinx “uh seriously, is it that divorced dad who got drunk at the halloween party?” you ask furrowing your eyebrows “no-” vi began to say before jinx interrupted “ooo maybe it's that frat boy who got caught with that 50 year old professor?” she asked and you nodded looking at her “no its not-” vi ventured “is it-” “LET ME TALK” vi shouted “jeez” jinx rolled her eyes

“It's a woman and her name is Sevika,” Vi exclaimed crossing her arms “is she old?” Jinx asked, “is she hot?” you giggled “oh! Is she a milf?” jinx suggested “you know you will find that out when she gets here” . Vi stood up walking out of the room “was that seriously all she came in here for?” you roll your eyes “i know right just send a text, this isn't the 1850s” jinx grumbled “wait did they have texting then?” she continued “uh i don't think so..maybe?”  you shook your head as jinx pulled out her phone, searching it up “no they didn't” jinx sighed “you know if texting was a thing we would have avoided a lot of wars” you said “probably”

“Hey is something burning?” ekko yelled from the other room, you and jinx exchange looks “the cake!” you yell remembering you and jinx made a cake and put it in the oven like 45 minutes ago “oh shit” jinx can't help but laugh as you both run to the kitchen, jinx opens the oven and a bunch of smoke leaves it, you cough as she took it out, setting it on the counter “it can be saved right?” she asked “uhhh. Probably” you say “let's put some icing and cherries on it” she countered 

Ekko walks in “uh is everything okay?” he asked raising an eyebrow, you and jinx look over “yeah! Just the cakes a little crispy” jinx smiled as ekko approached “i dont think-” ekko touched the cake “this is cement, jinx. This isn't edible” ekko looked back to jinx who was making a very sad face “you know what? Maybe it is salvageable, I'm sure it’ll taste great.” ekko sighed and patted his girlfriends back “i knew you were gonna come around” you smiled, watching him walk out of the kitchen 

“So, is jayce coming to the party tonight?” Jinx asked as she began icing the cake, looking at you “uh..i asked him too, but lately he's been a little…” you look off to the side “a little..?” jinx retorted “distracted? I guess?” you sighed leaning on the counter “what do you mean?” she countered “well he's just like, he's becoming a little soft..the bedroom” you and jinx were comfortable talking about your personal lives, being so close in age and all “like he cant get it up?” jinx bit back a laugh, earning a frown from you “no! He's like, i don't know…I just feel like i have to do everything” 

You sigh holding your forehead “he just doesn't seem interested in me anymore..i mean have i changed? Did I gain weight?” Jinx was appalled that you doubted yourself because of him “no, and even if you did it would be completely normal, humans biologically gain more weight in the winter then the summer and besides, he's not worth it if he sees you like that.” jinx ranted “your right” you say looking at the floor “What if he's gay” Jinx asked. “i don't think so, i mean he looks like he's enjoying it so” you ponder “maybe he's bisexual?” jinx added “maybe…” you cross your arms “lets just..enjoy tonight, okay?��� you add the cherries onto the cake “of course” jinx replied softly

“Do we have to listen to Christmas music when christmas was 5 days ago.” ekko groaned, leaning his head back. Everyone was chatting, drinking, or making out somewhere. Jinx rolled her eyes “yes it's in season.” she scoffed. Vi looked over at the door where she heard the knocking, opening it and seeing sevika “vika!” Vi greeted moving to let her in “vika?” sevika asked looking at vi with a raised eyebrow “sevika? seVIKA? It's a nickname, something you call someone to shorten their name” vi laughed

“I know what a nickname is, vi” sevika rolled her eyes “my question is, why did you give me one?” she asked “i thought it was time id give you one of my famous nicknames” vi snickered, wrapping her arm around sevikas shoulder “i feel so special” sevika said sarcastically, walking into the living room where everyone was “this is my sister jinx, i have another somewhere around here but she's probably making out with her boyfriend.” vi frowned  “That's her boyfriend, Ekko and my fiance, caitlyn.” Vi smiled “and everyone else you can find out for yourself” she continued patting sevika on the back “let's get you a drink.”

You were looking for your boyfriend, knocking on all of the doors before opening them “jayce?” you call out walking down the hallway. You reach the final door, sighing as you open it “jayce?” you flip the light switch on The first thing you see is jayce on top of viktor “TURN THE LIGHT OFF!” jayce yells as you scream, turning the light off and slam the door you turn around running down the hallway and down the stairs. Your hand was resting over your mouth in shock 

Sevika looked at you as you ran past, seeing nothing but beauty in you “who-” sevika coughed “who was that” she looked at vi “that was my sister” vi sipped her champagne. “I'll be right back” jinx looked at ekko “of course..” Ekko muttered quietly, worried about you. Jinx walked out onto the backyard porch. Finding you leaning against the porch “Is everything okay?” jinx closed the back door behind her. You turned to her with a cigarette in your mouth, struggling to light it “I thought you quit.” Jinx said with worry laced in her voice “I'm trying!” you snapped, finally lighting it and breathing the smoke out 

Jinx frowned, she walked over, leaning against the railing next to you. You felt the guilt stab itself into your chest “im- im sorry” you say softly. “It's okay- just- What happened?” Jinx asked as you offered the cigarette to her. She hesitates before taking it and bringing it to her lips “jayce is cheating on me.” you say bluntly earning a cough from jinx “oh my god” she breathed heavily. “Yup.” you sigh “do you know who?” Jinx asked. Viktors face flashed in your mind. “No- i didn't get a good look at them” you lie

You hear footsteps behind you, you turn around. “I thought you quit.” jayce chuckled nervously as you twirl the cigarette in your fingers, shooting him a look as Jinx walks past him and into the house “im…sorry” jayce said looking at the ground “i'm sure you are.” you turn your back on him “i- it's not like i never loved you” jayce pauses “i did.” jayces voice ran down your spine. “But, i started liking viktor and he made me feel different. Like you did when we first met.”

Tears betrayed your eyes, squeezing them shut as you wiped your cheeks “why didn't you break up with me as soon as you felt yourself losing feelings” your voice broke. “Did you invite him here on purpose? Just so i would find you 2?” you muttered. “Do me a favor, get out of my life, including vi’s.” you continued “what? You can't just-” “get out.” you cut jayce off and he scoffs and leaves. You breath, take a deep breath in, going back inside. Luckily nobody questioned you, everyone was still chatting and listening to music as you walked over to the kitchen island where sevika and vi were. you took a bottle of whiskey and started chugging it

Vi smelled the stench of cigarette on you. Sevika did not, since she was used to the smell and just ignored it subconsciously.  “i thought you quit” vi said for the 3rd time “leave me alone!” you snap again “jeez im sorry” vi rolled her eyes. You scrunch your face, mouth full of whiskey as you swallow it. Sevika couldn't stop making glances at you trying to look longer each time “problem in paradise?” claggor walked over, grabbing a beer from the fridge 

“No everythings perfect!” you say, squeezing your eyes shut. “Pretty boy seemed pretty upset when he left with that viktor guy” claggor walked over “he's fine” look off to the side “were on a break.” you look down at the counter avoiding all of their gazes, vi exchanges looks with claggor. Sevika couldn't help but feel just a little joy. I mean yeah she felt bad and all but it meant you were up for grabs. “Where's your sweater” you ask looking at sevika, switching the subject “i hate sweaters” sevika was caught off guard at the sudden question 

“Seriously? How boring.” you roll your eyes looking off to the side. “Why are you calling me out when you're not even wearing an ugly sweater?” sevika smirked, looking down at you “i can't help if everything looks good on me” you giggle. Sevikas cheeks turned red as you walked away, she was definitely checking your ass out “dude.” vi pulled sevika out of her daze “uh- what?” She looked around  “That's my little sister.” Vi scoffed, crossing her arms “yeah right sorry.” Sevika looked off to the side. 

You walk over to jinx and ekko “hey pretty lady” jinx smiles as you sit down next to her on the couch “i need to get drunk” you say drinking the bottle of whiskey “you need to? Or want to?” Ekko asked, you shoot him a glare “jinx control your man” you look at jinx as she laughed. “Fine, get drunk, see if I care, ” Ekko jokes. You take another sip of the bottle, setting it on the side table “so, do you need a place to stay tonight?” Jinx asked “I don't know” you rub your forehead “well if you don't want to go back to the apartment, our place is always an option.” ekko said, resting his hand on your shoulder. “Thank you guys.” you smile softly. “Okay enough with the sappy stuff” jinx sighed “Let's do the resolution game!”

Everyone gathered in the living room sitting in a circle, everyone was given a piece of paper to write down their resolution. Sevika thought for a moment, maybe learn to cook? She just wrote something stupid down. Not really paying attention. You on the other hand wrote down “get more bitches” you snicker as you put it in the bowl. When everyone was done they started passing the bowl around. Caitlyn mixed the bowl up before pulling a paper out, reading it “this just says scissor city..” caitlyn sighed “violet” she turned to her fiance “what- im not all about sex you know” vi said earning an eyebrow raise from caitlyn “but i did write that, yes.” vi muttered. Everyone started talking 

You sigh walking away from the circle. You find yourself in the library of the house, of course caitlyn would have a library in her own house. You sigh, closing your eyes, lifting your head. “Are you okay?” you turn to the voice seeing sevika standing there “yeah, i just got lost. I've never been in such a big house.” you laugh. “Me neither, i don't think anybody needs this much space.” she walks forward “where were you trying to go?” she asked, sitting on the couch. You sit next to her 

“The void” you whisper in response “really? Mind if I come with you?” sevika requested. “Maybe, can you drive?” you tilt your head “wait, you don't have your license? How old are you?” Sevika chuckled. You blush in embarrassment “i- um…i just never got around to it” you lie. The truth is, you failed, like, 3 times “oh really?” sevika asked in a certain tone that ran shivers up your back. Fuck that was so hot. “Yes really!” you groaned and rolled your eyes. 

Jinx narrowed her eyes, looking around for you. Vi also noticed sevika was missing “where did sevika and my sister go?” vi asked everyone shrugged, not even noticing. Jinx went upstairs looking for you, and sevika I guess but mainly you. She sighed opening every door

Sevikas mouth clashed with yours. Her hand resting on your lower back. And her mech hand against your cheek. Her tongue fought yours for dominance as your hands rested in sevikas hair. She moans into the kiss. You giggle, pulling away to catch your breath. You lean your head back, holding onto her so you don't fall onto your back. “You're such a dirty dove,” Sevika whispered in your ear. She kissed your jaw and your neck before returning to your lips, she bit your bottom lip. You moan, she chuckled 

“I've barely touched you and yet your coming undone already. I guess the golden boy didnt do a very good job” sevika said seductively, you nod as she laughs. Taking the wonderful view she has of you in “your the most gorgeous girl ive ever seen” she smiled 

There was a crack in the door, jinx picked on seeing you and sevika making out. Her lips pulling into a tight line, she hesitated busting in on the both of you but she stops herself “she needs this.” jinx tells herself. 

[titaniumshortcake]

I honestly don't get the hate for Neve as a whole. She's one of the better and more well-rounded characters in the game. Granted, some of the opinion that I formed of her comes from the fact that there was actual friction between her and my Rook. She got seriously hurt and lost a friend at the start of the game. I didn't save Minrathous, so she lost her city, too. More than that, she outright says her apartment was blasted by the dragon. She doesn't have anywhere but the Lighthouse to call home anymore.

The way Neve deals with that grief seems to be to wall herself off and bury herself in work; keep people at arm's length for the sake of not getting hurt again. More than once, Neve rebuffed my Rook's offers of help and attempts to mend bridges. The way that things played out? She had good reason not to want Rook around her and it made sense that it took time for her to let me back in.

(Which, incidentally, I think makes her friendship/romantic dynamic with Lucanis more interesting. These are two people who could and would call each other on their bullshit because they know exactly what is going on with each other. They could pick at the scabs and cut right to the heart of it all. It'd be messy, even ugly sometimes if they choose the wrong moment, but that understanding does pave the way for them to lean on each other.)

All of that and the above post is good characterization. There are bumps, of course, because not all of Veilguard's writing is stellar. If Neve and I could have aired all the dirty laundry in a screaming match, I would have felt that. It would have hurt and I would have welcomed that pain as a consequence of what I'd chosen to do.

If the response to Neve's anger/lack of sympathy/flirting with Lucanis is to get your hackles up and downplay her good qualities, there might be some things about your internal preconceptions that you need to examine more closely. Because I don't see anything in Neve that I didn't also see in some of my other favorite characters.

No, Neve is not unreasonable, mean or stupid (all things I’ve seen people describe her as) for not showing much sympathy towards Solas during the reveal of his regrets or during his memories in the Crossroads.

She witnessed him kill her friend the very first time they made contact. She never knew Solas, only the Dread Wolf. She didn’t hear fond stories of the Inquisition about the sad apostate from Varric, but she did have to drag his cold body from the ritual site.

Mythal, whatever part she played in the past, didn’t make Solas angrily plunge that dagger into his own friend. It was his hand, his doing. And Neve was there through all of that.

Her perspective around the table is equally important in order to get the full picture.

[magnoliapromenadegalleria]

TLDR:

-People have a hard time connecting with Kant because his main motivation, Babe, is not around much.

-Kant and Bison are both guilty of lying to one another. Interested to see how they navigate their relationship now that they are both on to each other.

I've had this thought in my head since last week, but never got around to writing it down. I think part of the reason people, not me because if Kant had one fan it would be me, have such a hard time getting behind Kant's reasoning and motivation, is because we aren't that familiar with the object of said reasoning. Babe is Kant's motivation. He's the only family he's got as far as we know, and he's Babe's guardian. It's not only a question of if Kant doesn't do what Capt. Crunch does he will be sent to jail, it's if Kant doesn't do what Capri Sun does he will be sent to jail, and Babe will most likely go into the system because there's no one else. That's simply just not an option. Kant wasn't stealing cars because he liked the thrill of it, he did so because he needed to take care of his brother, and he was desperate. We joke that Kant is a terrible criminal, but I think that's the point? From the pieces that we can grasp, he was/is a criminal out of necessity after his parent's sudden death, and not just for the thrill of it. He wouldn't be in his current situation if he was great at it.

When you write it out like that, I think it makes one more empathetic to his plight but the problem is we don't really know Babe. I wrote in a previous post that Fadel and Kant are the same in different fonts. Both are protective of their brothers and will do anything to protect them, but the stark difference is we know Bison. He's a fleshed-out person and we feel bad for him. We don't know Babe. We know that he likes Shakespeare, he gets bullied, and he's Kan't brother. That's it. We go episodes without seeing him, and his absence leads one to forget that he's the main reason Kant is doing any of this at all. He just looks like a sleaze trying to stay out of jail.

With each episode, it is becoming clear that Kant is failing horribly with not becoming attached to Bison. He lies and has a healthy amount of fear of Bison, but his gestures are honest. He can't help it, he's been into Bison since before he knew what he was. He's not just sweet on Bison because he has a role to play, he's sweet on Bison period. With them living and working in such close proximity anyway, they were bound to be a thing.

But.

That's not what happened, and he can't even fully explore his feelings because this cop is threatening him and has put him in an impossible and dangerous situation with no resources or protection, Bison is a killer, and he's stressed out by both. There's definitely nuance and reasoning there with Bison, but baby boy is still incredibly lethal. Kant's head has got to be stronger than his heart and his other head, and as much as he likes Bison, he loves his brother abundantly more, and that's reasonable. He also does not know Bison. I wrote something last year while watching Only Friends about Sand and Ray's relationship that I think can be applied here. Kant and Bison are not getting the same insight into one another, for clear reasons. They're open with each other, but they are not completely honest with each other for, again, reasons.

Kant is lying to Bison, but Bison is also lying to Kant. Kant knows Bison is lying to him, but being a sweet-faced assassin is a pretty big omission. Bison is under the impression that he's killing bad people, but Kant isn't privy to that and only knows that under that pretty face with dreams and an artistic spirit with a love of cats lies a killer. Someone who could kill him and his brother and not think twice about it. Obviously not, but Kant does not know that. Someone who just as easily lies to him about a big part of his life, and with a lot more ease. Bison doesn't want to be an assassin anymore and wants to live his life, but as far we know he does not lose sleep over any of his kills, and that's still scary. Again, nuance there, I got a whole thought process on other mother raising children to be disposable assassins, but this post ain't that!

It's been touched on many times that Bison knows there's something up with Kant. He is a perceptive little thing, so there's no way he doesn't know Kant is not being truthful. Fadel has pointed out and Bison does not listen. Bison knows. Deep in his bones he's always known, but I think he didn't want to believe it because he's fallen for Kant. That may not have been the initial goal, he just wanted freedom and Kant's hot, great motivators, but dammit if he didn't fall for the guy. I have a similar theory about Kant. Let me explain, don't touch the mic, let me explain. Kant knows Bison's other occupation. Capt told him what was up and he hasn't been completely comfortable around Bison because he knows this information, but I don't think it really clicked for him until he went into Bison and Fadel's secret room. Not because he didn't believe it, but because he didn't want it to be true. I think he wanted Capt. to be wrong about this because he's fallen for Bison too, and not only that, he's falling deeper despite all that. Which is a terrifying revelation. And Bison protected his brother twice now? Kant might be better at keeping himself than the other three, and he might be lying to himself out of self preservation, but he's just as gone. Now that both know about the other, I'm so ready for them to finally be truthful and truly lay themselves bare without deceit between them.

...This got away from me, but whatever.

One last thing! I think this scene above is after all truths and betrayal are out in the open because that looks like a taxi, probably stolen, Kant looks like he might be wearing some sort of uniform that hides his tattoos, and Bison is wearing a hat to hide his identity. Okay, I'm done.

[missgallavjch]

i feel so love-starved it makes me feel so miserable

[wereh0gz]

Sonic au where everything's the same except the werehog was feral during unleashed. Nothing else abt the plot changes bc at his core sonic is still himself BUT he's more Creature. Bigger, fluffier, can't talk, overall more animal-isms. Yeah

[pony-unicorn]

One thing that I've been thinking about is how people that aren't from a minority, in this case specifically not being black or a woman, talk about how they want to see diversity on screen but that's not true, they don't wanna see all types of people having the right of being represented (and represent) with the same freedom, what they really want is to have those people just standing there, so they can feel better about themselves and how they're such good people for creating or consuming things that have representation on it without actually looking into the quality of the representation or if it's good or not.

When (most) people from a social majority say they want representation and diversity the only thing that they want is to feel morally superior without having to actually have to do the job of doing something good. Because when they see a female black character that isn't the black friend stereotype and whose function isn't making the white and/or male character feel good about themselves, who's not their sidekick, who has her own storyline and this storyline isn't helping the white male character, Edwin, progress his storyline you act like this!

Let's be honest, a copious amount of you are all just a bunch of sugarcoated racists and misogynists. A lot of you wouldn't like Edwin and Charles if they were girls and Edwin specifically a girl of color, because you already don't - and for precaution, if it doesn't apply let it fly-. When I was watching Dead Boy Detectives for the first time my main complain is how extremely close Crystal's personality is to Charles and Edwin, almost none of the decisions Crystal makes is something that either Charles or Edwin, but mainly Edwin, wouldn't make. I don't think them having such similar personalities is a problem anymore but this is a thing for another post.

What you like in Charles and Edwin isn't really who they really are, you're nothing but just glad and comfortable of seeing more white and/or male characters on your tv screen. Crystal is one of the best written black female characters I've seen recently exactly because she's not written with the function of being your white dude protegee's spiritual guide. She's well written because she's her own person and she's allowed to just be as any other character.

crystal willingly made someone walk into traffic. she sucks lmao

yeah, she did suck. and then she lost her memories and the memories of the way she was traumatized all her life and realised she had been a shitty person and is actively making efforts to be better. no one is saying she didn’t used to suck, she absolutely did. the difference is both that she was a vulnerable child with powers that were so much bigger than her and she didn’t know how not to abuse them, and that she acknowledges how shitty she WAS and is repentant and is working to be better

[alren-ki]

.

[spotaus]

Pt 22! (An actually sweet one!)

[rixsjwb]

waist problem geto suguru x reader

part 2

suguru has a habit of always putting his hand on your waist, even when you're both just close friends.

whether it's needing to get past with a 'my fault', his hands have a magnetic pull to the curve of your waist, whenever you're hanging out with the group of friends satoru, shoko, sukuna and toji and some others, you've become almost touch blind or lost all feeling on touch whenever suguru holds your waist. he does it so much that you don't even notice it anymore until people point it out.

" are y'and suguru a thing or..." You hear satoru say, " Why would you think that?" You say out of genuine curiosity.

you can feel suguru apply comforting pressure to your waist, which slides down to your pudgy, curvy hips, his vainy hands flexing.

"You flirt with everyone all the time. You don't see me asking if you're together." You shrugged, you lean your head on sugurus chest that he seems to bring you into.

eventually, satoru drops the accusation but doesn't seem fully convinced, but you don't mind.

the assumption continues to flow around in the group, sugurus hands always all over your body, hips, waist, and even going as far as to hold you from just under your breast to give the push up bra effect, ogling at them too.

pulling at the belt loop of your jeans before sliding a hand to rest on your waist, whenever he's sitting down while you're standing near him, he can't help but wrap an arm around your hips. leaning his head against your hip.

whenever he's down he pulls you by the waist snuggling into your chest, and on a rare occasion he would squish your boobs like a stress ball. which always made you laugh at the funny feeling.

overall, you can't ever keep him from not gripping your waist. He'd pull you closer to rub your stomach, letting some fingers slip up your shirt, but nothing too crazy.

note: THANK YOU GANG FOR ALL THE LOVE AND SUPPORT, especially you guys in the comments😋😋, this is the most likes I've ever gotten on a post, and I'm honestly baffled but I'm greatful, thank youu all😍😍😝😋😊🎉🎉😈😈🥹🙏🙏

note 2: part 2 is out!!

[djenxuelmxue]

The main thing tho is! That I feel like dad feels like I'm taking up too much space as it is. Like he's obsessive about not wasting money and I'm literally wasting money by being here. He is retired so I'm putting pressure on him. And I have less money yhan before so i have even less ability to move out so I feel trapped.

And i feel unwanted. That the space I'm taling up is too much. That I don't deserve to breathe the air bc im a parasite. I feel totally trapped and pressure builds from feeling like I donr have space ro more and breathe in.... like i have to do something but idk how--

I am trying to achieve my dreams and I spent all morning yesterday making my new planning document for this year. Certainly THIS year it will work. But if i just have to get something asap to pay the bills-- not be even more of a burden when my money runs out-- I will be too exhausted to work on my dreams and do some menial job I hate. I've done those mind number jobs before and far from leaving room for creativity they totally sapped my mind and body of any energy so . That's not the future I want.

[psychoticallytrans]

I do wish that "oppositional sexism" was a more commonly known term. It was coined as part of transmisogyny theory, and is defined as the belief that men and women, are distinct, non-overlapping categories that do not share any traits. If gender was a venn diagram, people who believe in oppositional sexism think that "men" and "women" are separate circles that never touch.

The reason I think that it's a useful term is that it helps a lot with articulating exactly why a lot of transphobic people will call a cis man a girl for wearing nail polish, then turn around and call a trans woman a man. Both of those are enforcement of man and woman as non-overlapping social categories. It's also a huge part of homophobia, with many homophobes considering gay people to no longer really belong to their gender because they aren't performing it to their satisfaction.

It's a large part of the reason behind arguments that men and women can't understand each other or be friends, and/or that either men or women are monoliths. If men and women have nothing in common at all, it would be difficult for them to understand each other, and if all men are alike or all women are alike, then it makes sense to treat them all the same. Enforcing this rift is particularly miserable for women and men in close relationships with each other, but is often continued on the basis that "If I'm not a real man/woman, they won't love me anymore."

One common "progressive" form of oppositional sexism is an idea often put as the "divine feminine", that women are special in a way that men will never understand. It's meant to uplift women, but does so in ways that reinforce the idea that men and women are fundamentally different in ways that can never be reconciled or transcended. There's a reason this rhetoric is hugely popular among both tradwifes and radical feminists. It argues that there is something about women that men will never have or know, which is appealing when you are trying to define womanhood in a way that means no man is or ever has been a part of it.

You'll notice that nonbinary people are sharply excluded from the definition. This doesn't mean it doesn't apply to them, it means that oppositional sexism doesn't believe nonbinary people of any kind exist. It's especially rough on multigender people who are both men and women, because the whole idea of it is that men and women are two circles that don't overlap. The idea of them overlapping in one person is fundamentally rejected.

I think it's a very useful term for talking about a lot of the problems that a lot of queer people face when it comes to trying to carve out a place for ourselves in a society that views any deviation from rigid, binary categories as a failure to perform them correctly.

[mostly-imagines]

The Alchemy vol. II

jason todd x fem!reader

aka the progression of your relationship with the red hood

part one

warnings: depictions of blood and injury, standard gotham violence, jason doesn't know how to have feelings, reader is angry, threats against readers life, implied concern of sexual assault

It might be a matter of deficiency in self-preservation skills, how the sound of your window sliding open does nothing to phase you. You don’t know if that’s your fault or his.

“How’s it goin’ down there?” You mumble, not sitting up from your position on the couch.

He pushes the window shut in his wake, huffing. “I am up here for a reason,” he says factually.

You crane your head back just in time to see him tug the red helmet off his head, setting it down on your side table. He has on his under-mask that covers the lower half of his face. You don’t like that one.

He glances around your apartment as he approaches with slow steps. “Why are all the lights off?”

“Forgot to turn ‘em on,” you tell him simply.

He frowns at you, confusion evident.

You pay him no mind though, taking an exaggerated breath and pushing yourself up off the couch before trotting over to the kitchen. You open the fridge and scrummage for a water bottle. Jason thinks it’s odd how long it takes you to find one in your own fridge. 

Once it's (eventually) in your hands, you chug down several gulps and toss the half empty bottle towards the counter where it lands with a sloppy thump and rolls.

When you return, he’s leant against the armrest of your chair, watching you. You stop in the middle of the room, a contemplating stare on the floor. He tilts his head at you, wondering what you could possibly be thinking so hard about.

You take a deep breath before plopping down to lay on the carpet all in one go. 

He peers down at you, barely trying to hide his amusement. “You’re drunk.”

You shake your head, “I’m not sober.”

“That’s—yeah.” He stands all the way, coming to lay down on the floor next to you, using significantly more coordination than you had.

He lays in between you and the couch, though it doesn’t seem you’d left him much room. If he minds, it doesn’t show. “What’d you do?”

“I jus’ went out with my friend,” you tell him, closing your eyes. “She moves pretty fast..”

It occurs to him that you might be laying on the ground because you got nauseous. He turns to look at you, scanning you over. “You good?”

“I feel great,” you keen. “I feel…swooshy.”

He gives you a bemused look. “Dizzy?”

You shake your head with a great deal of consideration on your face, “No, not even dizzy, just…swoosh.” You throw out a hand with a theatrical flick.

“Mhm.”

You pucker your lips to the side. “You come here a lot,” you comment, clearly working up to some greater observation.

“You’re in my neighborhood,” he shrugs. 

Your head tilts, “You live here?”

He pauses before correcting himself, “My territory.”

You hum, “Still. There has to be other people around here you know. ‘Specially if you’re passing out on balconies on the reg.”

He frowns, “I try not to make a habit out of it.”

You continue on, “Why do you always go to my apartment? There’s—”

“I don’t always come to your apartment—”

You deadpan, “You’re here like three nights a week. And I don’t even help you that much anymore, you’ve used up my whole first aid kit.”

You can literally feel the eyeroll like you have a sixth sense for it. “That thing wasn’t exactly impressive to start with..”

“Did enough for you, didn’t it? Anyways, my point is: I think you like me,” you say with a nod.

That has him going absolutely rigid, “What?”

“I’ve heard you’re an asshole.”

“What?”

You nod, “Like, people that run into you. They say you’re kind of a dick. You help ‘em ‘n everything, but also while being a dick. Sometimes.”

“Okay...”

“But you’re nice to me. Sort of,” you squint. “I think you like me.”

He hasn’t felt this straggled in a conversation in a while. “I—well I’m not here because you’re a world-class medic.”

You scoff, “There’s no world-class medics..” But then your tone switches up, into something lighter. “We’re friends aren’t we? I think we’re friends.” 

He shakes his head, staring up blankly. “Sure, we’re friends.”

“We’re friends and you like me,” you reiterate.

He really wishes you’d stop saying that. “Okay.”

“I like you too. Even though you’re kinda sketchy.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that.

You hum into the silence, looking up at the ceiling. “J…James, Jack, John…”

He smiles, gaze dancing across the egg-whitened popcorn texture of the ceiling. “I’m not going to tell you.”

You ignore him, “Jake, Jaden, Jason, Josh, Joe, Jesse…”

You’re about three shots too drunk to notice the way he briefly stiffens. 

“Juuhhh…” you lull your head to the side, the letter fading out slowly as you look into his eyes. If you focus, you think you can make out a few of those little specks of green again.

He seems to already be running his own study on your irises, his eyes now softer than you can remember seeing them before. 

His next words are whispered, the sounds barely escaping. “You’re pretty.”

What?

“What?”

“What?” He seems taken aback by his own words, like he also wasn’t expecting them to climb out of his mouth.

You can literally feel sobriety seeping back into your blood. “I’m…pretty?”

He blinks a few times, apparently trying hard to decide on what position he’s going to take here. “I—well…yeah.”

You blink once, relaxing. “I think…I think you’re pretty too.”

“What?”

“We can’t do this again.”

He breaks eye contact, looking almost dejected.

You turn your head down to where his hand thrums against the carpet. “I mean, I know I haven’t seen your whole face in one go, but I see the top half now and the bottom before, so I…maybe I shouldn’t be saying this.” You reset with a shallow breath, “I don’t know what your whole face looks like.”

“That was,” he blinks, eyebrows raised. “Fascinating.”

“Thanks,” you say flatly. You close your eyes again, though this time you remain facing him.

He feels a slight pang of guilt for the way he continues to ogle at you, eyes tracing over every detail of your face. But that ounce of guilt does nothing to outweigh the reward of gazing upon you. He didn’t mean to say it but he definitely meant it: you’re really fucking pretty.

Your eyelashes flutter for a moment before stilling, a display of peace washing over your features. It’s when your breathing steadies over and your face relaxes completely is when he starts to feel like a creep. It takes a lot of strength for him to force his eyes shut, depriving himself of the view.

And he doesn’t do it on purpose, but after a few moments his inhales and exhales take to the same rhythm of yours. The thin layer of the rug isn’t doing much to protect his back from the hardwood below and he’s pretty confident later he’ll curse himself for lying like this for so long. 

But as he lays, he doesn’t find himself focused on the dark red-gray of his eyelids like usual, so much as the warmth from the proximity of your bodies. He’s usually so concentrated on whatever the hell is going on in his head and it prevents him from really truly resting, but now, the only thing taking up his attention is physical sensations.

He feels this warmth in his heart that if he didn’t know any better, he’d call burning. His hands feel numb and he can distinctly feel the beat of his own heart in his chest, thrumming away.

He presses his lips to your forehead with a feather light touch, slow to pull away. He doesn’t make it all the way back to his original position before his movement lulls and his body relaxes again, joining you gladly in unconsciousness.

Gotham City has a particular gift for inconveniencing you at the worst possible moment and doing it multiple times a week.

Tonight's round of problems resulted in an entire city district getting shut down, the district which is regrettably right between your job and your apartment.

So on top of having to hole up into your work for two hours longer than you were supposed to, it took you an extra 45 minutes getting home while trying to maneuver around every other person in the same situation. And just to cement the quality of this night, the door to your apartment building slams nice and hard against your side and the light in the hallway is out.

You groan when you fail to get your key the lock the right way for the third time, lodging it in a final time and shoving the door open. You flick on the kitchen light and dump your bag onto the counter, kicking the door shut behind you.

You take a deep breath, eyes closed, as you lean your head back against the wall. The second you crack your eyes open again, a pile of red mass on the floor behind your couch catches your attention and startles some energy right back into your chest.

“Oh, shit,” you scurry over towards the window, crumbling down onto your knees in front of him. Your eyes dart across the red helmet, trying to makeout any signs of consciousness. “Hood?” 

There’s no response from him, no movement. You tug his helmet off, finding him eyes-closed with blood running down the side of his head. You push a hand down on his chest armor, shaking him. “J? J!”

His eyes flutter open slowly under his domino mask, adjusting to the light. With the disorientation on his face he looks younger, more his age. His hair is tousled up and you can make out some distinct curls in it when it's undone like this. 

He grimaces, gloved hand coming up to his head. He looks wearily at the blood on his fingers, before plopping his hand back down and blinking up at you. “Hey..”

You sit back on your heels with a sigh, “What the fuck?”

He makes a strained effort to sit up on his own so you try to heave him up by his forearm. As he comes up all the way you glance behind his back at a bag crumpled discarded on the floor. You can barely see some sort of fabric poking out the top. “What is that?”

“Huh?” He throws back a tired glance, “Oh. They're..curtains.”

“Explain.”

He looks at you blankly, “You don’t have any curtains.”

You blink. “Explain.”

“It’s dangerous for people to just be able to look in and see you. So. Curtains.” For a guy who reads Dostoevsky, he’s not much of a wordsmith. Though that could be the concussion. 

You reach around him and pull some of the fabric out of the bag, inspecting the linen. They match the theme of your living room.

You set it back down, blinking. “Thanks.”

He only gives a half-hearted shrug.

You look back at him, “How bad is the…?” You gesture to the side of your head.

He feels at the blood again, “It’s mostly just a cut. Shoulda stopped bleeding by now.”

You nod, “I’ll, uh—I’ll clean it up.”

He looks at you, shaking his head. “You don’t need to. Your kit’s almost empty anyways.”

“I restocked it,” you tell him, rising to stand. He lets you go retrieve your aid box without protest, listening blankly to the faucet run in the bathroom while you’re gone.

You return momentarily, damp rag in one hand, kit in the other. “Here, sit on the couch,” you tell him, nodding him up. 

He lugs himself up off the hardwood and onto the cushion with a groan. You position yourself on the cushion next to him, leaning over to inspect the cut. You brush through his hair as gently as you can, though you have to suspect he wouldn’t have minded either way—if only based on the pain threshold you know him to have.

As much as you are completely in his space, you’re having trouble getting all the access you need to fix him up right. You turn and adjust your angle this way and that but none of it works. 

You huff, sitting back. “I can’t..”

He nods his permission at you without delay, and you shift yourself over to sit fully on his lap, straddling him on the sofa. You put your focus into cleaning his wound, but you have to notice how deep he’s breathing and how he’s seemingly trying very hard to avoid eye contact. You’re sure your own breath is uneven and telling, and frankly you’re kind of hoping he has a concussion just so he might not notice it.

An unexpected sting has him flinching and grabbing your hips on instinct, a certain heaviness lingering in the air after contact. His hand tenses and he’s about to remove them from you completely when you manage to catch his gaze, and the few moments of silent eye contact are enough to convince him to stay. He forces his hands to relax against your waist, his fix on your face wavering before fizzling away completely.

You go back to dabbing at the blood and it’s clear that his thoughts get the better of him quickly. “You should move.”

“But then where would you go?”

He makes a rumbling noise from the back of his throat at that, saying nothing more.

You continue to wipe away at the blood until you can’t see it anymore, beyond the slice of the cut. You misjudge your own spatial awareness as you pull back from him, and the tips of your noses graze. Though the contact surprises you, you don’t move away from it. You become very acutely aware of his touch on your waist, how warm it feels atop your shirt. 

His head leans forward just barely before stopping. He retreats slightly and his body ultimately decides to come closer. He doesn’t stop until his lips, slightly parted, skim across yours.

Your breath catches as he looms nearer, lips touching against yours softly. He tests that pressure out for a moment, before moving to kissing you with more intent. You kiss him back, and though there’s an increasing resolve on both of your parts, the connection itself remains gentle, reposeful.

The last slight movement of his lips gradually slips away as he rests his forehead against yours.

A long beat passes before he’s tightening his grip on your waist and pulling you up to stand. You aren’t given the time to process the shift as he’s moving straight past you, head down. He pauses only when he gets to the window, back turned to you.

“Sorry—I’m…” his shoulders drop, “Sorry.” 

He climbs out and scales the fire escape in total silence until he’s gone completely.

You stand frozen in position, staring at the window with incredulity burning across your face.

What the fuck?

Two weeks pass of voided midnight visits. 

You’re not sure what to make of that. He kissed you, not the other way around. You couldn’t possibly have done something to upset him or throw him off since he’s the only one who did anything. All in all, it’s a little disappointing.

There had been tension there and it wasn’t shocking for you to learn that he wanted to kiss you. It was a bit of a surprise for him to actually do it, though not a bad one. But you were thrown for a grand fucking loop when he immediately bailed out.

Maybe you can’t read him as well as you think because you’d expected him to at least say something about it. It was a borderline given that he would come back and there would be a bonus surplus of tension but then there would be a resolution. Because he wouldn’t kiss you and then never come back. Nobody would do that, it doesn’t make sense.

It’s a little more than embarrassing to admit that you’ve been purposefully staying home in the hope that he’ll drop in. After fifteen nights of disappointment, you decided to put your focus elsewhere.

You’d asked a friend of yours to go out with you tonight, and never one to decline a night out, she agreed happily. 

The bell above the door jingles as you crack it open, peaking your head in. You find Chloe quickly, stood behind the bar with bottles in hand.

“Hey gorgeous,” she smiles at you, waving you in.

You step in, air conditioning hitting you hard. The sparkles on her cocktail dress catch your eye as she turns this way and that, trying to find the right spot for the whiskey. 

Chloe hums to herself as she searches, honestly taking a bit longer than she should. “You been cool?”

You nod, “Yeah, just—you know…” She doesn’t. Your affiliation with the Red Hood is something you’ve kept to yourself, though you don’t know why. It would be safer, more responsible to let someone else know about these drop-ins, but something about it feels personal. A strange feeling to tack onto it, you think. A regrettable one, at least. 

You take a deep breath, “You’ve been busy. Jessie call out again?”

She laughs dryly, “Oh yeah, of course. But it's fine, I love staying over an hour after close.” She sighs, “I’m almost done anyway.”

You circle around the bar, looking over the several yet-to-be-sorted bottles. “You need help?”

“No, there’s—” she cuts herself off as she looks over at the front door, face dropping. “Oh, shit. Duck.”

“Wha—” she yanks you down to the floor to crouch awkwardly behind the counter.

You hear the bell ring as the door swings open, followed by several pairs of footsteps and low voices.

“—Christ, if she forgets to lock the door one more fucking time I’m gonna kill her.”

You look at Chloe through furrowed eyebrows, her grip on you still tight. She shakes her head and puts a finger to her lips.

A second man mutters something you can’t make out.

The first voice continues, “Go around back and lug the crates in, we gotta start packing that shit.” 

Another voice, “The crates? They’re not here..”

There’s a heavy beat before the first voice speaks, “What the fuck do you mean they’re not here? She needs them now.”

“Well…the first shipments will be in later this week. The next batch’ll take until the end of the month, probably.”

A sigh, “Dumbass…”

The first voice huffs, “The end of the month? Are you fucking kidding me? I told you to get that shit ready weeks ago and you’ve got it coming in at the end of the month?” 

“I’ll…I’ll see what I can do to get it sooner.”

“Yeah, you do that,” he grumbles. “Motherfucker. I need a drink. Get a bottle of something.”

One of the men rounds the counter, tracks falling short at the sight of you and Chloe huddled against the counter.

“What the fuck?”

You and Chloe are wide-eyed and frozen as he sneers down at you. Still, he looks like he’s trying to be tougher than he is, compensating for size that he does not have, with an attitude that doesn’t match up with the way he sped around the counter to get the other man a drink.

Another guy comes around and you quickly recognize him as the man in charge. He frowns at Chloe, sighing, “You’re not supposed to be here still, Chloe.”

She shifts her weight, “I was just…finishing inventory…”

The bossman’s eyes move to you, laced with nothing but inconvenience. “Oh and you brought a friend. Great.” 

“Mr. Murray, we were just ab—”

He’s quick to cut her off with a hand, “Chloe. Stop talking.”

Her face falls flat and her words die off without hesitation.

“Get up.”

She’s pushing herself off the ground instantly while you’re still on the floor catching up with what the hell’s going on. As she moves out from behind the bar, you scurry to follow her. Your arm bumps against hers as you fiddle with the seams at the bottom of your outfit.

You dressed to go out with your friend on a Friday night, not to meet three mobsters in a closed bar with no witnesses. That’s to say, you’re feeling a little exposed.

You stand in the center of the bar, the three men looking various degrees of annoyed looks across their faces. Though the oldest looking of the bunch has something else in his eyes as he looks you up and down, in no rush to hide his engrossment in your bare legs.

“How old are you, honey?” Even without the blatant ogling, that’s never a good question to hear from a fifty year old man.

Your eyes avert to the floor, lips pursing. 

“Hey, don’t be rude. I asked you a question.” He nudges your chin up a bit rougher than necessary, forcing you to look him in the eyes. 

Somehow, you feel like there’s no answer here that would help you. 

The man at the bar serves as an unexpected saving grace of sorts, muttering, “We don’t have time for this.”

Your pursuer shakes his head, looking you over in a way that makes you feel very small. “I think we got plenty of time.”

“I disagree.”

All heads whip to the doorway where the Red Hood leans against the frame, checking his phone. A never invited but always welcome addition to the party. At least for you.

The man in front of you instantly steps back, putting some distance between the two of you. Hands across the room instinctively fly to holsters only to begrudgingly relax at their sides, probably figuring drawing on Red Hood isn’t in their best interest. Though your focus lies on the bell above his head that didn’t make a peep whenever he came in.

Hood shuts his phone off and puts it away with a quiet sigh before glancing up at the tension-filled room. He literally double takes when his helmet scans past you. You somehow feel more in trouble now than you did two minutes ago. 

“Hood..” the bossman says measuredly. “What are you doing here?”

He stares at you for a second longer before tearing his gaze away. “Just thought I’d check up on you, Murray. Make sure you’re not causing trouble in light of our agreement.” He makes a point of looking back at you and Chloe at that last part before looking to Murray expectantly.

He waves that off easily, “This is nothing. Just two late-shift employees.”

Hood takes a piqued breath. “You picked a bad time to lie to me,” he says flatly.

Murray shakes his head, “Look, we’re just cleaning up a mess. No harm.”

“Really?”

“This clean up benefits you too, they heard too much. The one girl—Chloe, get out. She’s fine, she’s not talking.”

Chloe wastes no time exiting hastily. Bye Chloe.

He continues, “We only need to kill one of them.” He says it like this is an ideal compromise. You’re feeling differently.

Hood huffs, pulling out a gun from his holster. “I’m thinking it’s implied that killing innocent people is a form of causing trouble. Which is in direct violation of our agreement.” He cocks the gun, pointing it at Murray’s head.

Murray steps back dramatically, throwing his hands up. “Hey, an alliance is an alliance!”

Hood wavers his head to the side, “Alliance is a strong word. Temporary tolerance maybe…”

The short man pipes up, “Okay, calm down, calm down. Nobody needs to get killed. We can cooperate.”

“That’s the spirit,” Hood quips, lowering his gun.

The older one shakes his head, “We don’t have anything on her, she’ll talk.”

The short man demurs, “We don’t know that—”

“She saw too much, we can’t have her walking around with that information,” Murray says, moving towards you. 

Hood puts his hands up like some kind of mediator, “Nobody’s killing anybody.”

Murray scoffs, “You were gonna kill me!”

Hood's hands drop as he stands in full, “And I still might!”

Boldly, Murray steps up to him.

But Hood looks down at him, easily a full head taller than him and at least twice his muscle mass. “Let's weigh out your odds here, Murray. Is that a fight you’re winning?”

The look on Murray’s face tells you it’s not and he struggles to maintain this chest to chest confrontation.

It only takes him a moment of wavering to decide to back off, though he sure as hell doesn’t look happy about it. 

Hood pushes past him, grabbing you by the arm and pulling you towards him. 

Murray splutters, watching you go. “You can’t—I-I know people.”

“I am people,” Hood grumbles, steering you towards the door.

Though you can be sure they have them, no one voices any objections aa he pulls you outside.

His stride doesn’t even falter as he marches you down the sidewalk in the direction of your apartment. Aside from the sound of the breeze wisping past your ears, it’s silent between you.

After two blocks you get the strong impression that this muted exchange of energy is just going to keep on, so you force yourself to find something to rattle off about. “That uh, that seems like something he’s gonna be mad about.”

He huffs, “Yeah, well he can get over it or die so I guess it’s a personal choice.”

You frown at his tone, “What’s your problem?”

That was, apparently, the wrong thing to say as his head snaps in your direction. “Why the hell are you out here?”

His sharp attitude has you stumbling a bit. “Why are you out here? You have a concussion.”

“I don’t have a concussion,” he grumbles. “And I just saved your life so maybe complaining about it isn’t your best move right now.”

You try to stop and face him but he doesn’t let you, keeping you moving along with him. “That’s what we’re doing? Really?” 

Are these about the social skills that you had expected from him based on your first meeting? Yeah. But that first meeting was months ago. He’s proven again and again that he has half a brain and the ability to read a room so you’re really not fucking sure what the hell his problem is. He won’t acknowledge that he kissed you and all but jumped out your living room window, but he will snap at you for asking about his concussion that there’s no way he doesn’t have. Especially if he’s acting like this. 

He ignores your comment, blatantly at that. “Did they say anything about a drug shipment?”

This is what we’re talking about? Sure. Fine. At least you’re talking. 

You open your mouth briefly before closing it again, eyes narrowed. “I don’t know.”

He tries again, “What about Nocturna? Did you hear that name?”

“I…I don’t know.” You weren’t exactly taking notes behind the bar counter. 

His head drops down heavily, “Okay, I think I’m seeing a trend for how this conversation’s gonna go...”

You gawk at him, astonished that he thinks it’s you who’s handling this discussion poorly. “You cannot be serious right now.”

He sighs, slowing as you approach the steps to your building, “Just—why’d they let Chloe go?”

You blink a few times, “I mean, she has a drug problem…” You guess that might be where she’s getting them from…

He nods solemnly, “Okay.”

You huff, turning to walk up the steps, shoulders heavy. You hope he’ll come up with you and maybe, just maybe, address the elephant in the room. 

“Are you—” you turn around to face him again, met with nothing but vacant air. 

A deep, tense, breath from you before calling out, “Really?”

One month. One month. And he decides to show up tonight like it’s no time lost. But there was some fucking time lost.

Count ‘em up, that’s one period, two paychecks, three grocery trips, four laundry days, and thirteen showers. And that stupid fucking vigilante ransacked your head during every single one.

You went through the five stages of grief for this bizarre, undefinable relationship and then discovered about six more while you were at it. 

So when you walk out from the bathroom, you’re a little pissed to see him sitting there on your living room floor, helping himself to a glass of water. 

Maybe it’s his domino mask that gives his expression the illusion of neutrality. Or maybe he really has no idea how insane it is that he would occupy your apartment like this after skipping out on you for an entire lunar cycle.

He leans against your armchair, inspecting a scratch on his lower arm. You enter silently, watching him the whole time as you make your way over to the far end of the couch.

He doesn’t look up at you though, not until after a minute or two of silence. 

“You got any bandages left?” he asks, throwing a glance over his shoulder. 

You stare at him incredulously. 

After ten seconds with no response from you, he turns around fully, frowning. “What?”

“Are you kidding me?”

“I—” he squints, eyes flickering across your face. “No?”

You continue to gawk at him, not trying for any words.

He stares back, eyes wide. “I don’t know what you want me to say...”

You tear your gaze from him, preferring to stare at the wall. “You know what, I think I know what your problem is.”

He gives a laugh with little life to it. “I only have one?”

You bite down on your lip, “You only have one I’m ready to kill you over.”

He sits with that for a minute. A long minute, before asking softly, “What is it?”

You shake your head, glaring at an unoccupied nail in the wall. “That you’re an idiot,” you mutter. You start to walk away before turning around again after a few steps. “Where the hell have you been?”

He blinks, “Uh, there’s just been a lot of—”

“Bullshit.”

He’s about to argue his point, but quickly decides to concede, “Yeah.” He takes a deep breath, sitting back. “I…wasn’t prepared for this conversation,” he says carefully.

You scoff with a nod, “Yeah, neither was I, but it’s happening. I m—what did you think was going to happen here? I—you kissed me, you kissed me!”

“No I—” he huffs, “I shouldn’t have done that, okay?”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

He sighs, throwing his hands up at his sides. “What do you want me to say?”

You shrug without genuinity, “Anything that could possibly rationalize that sequence of decisions. You kiss me, run away, ghost me for a fucking month, and then show up again like nothing happened.”

He shuts his eyes, shaking his head. “I know, I know, I’m sorry!”

“I’m not asking you to be sorry, I’m asking you to pick a fucking lane and stick to it!”

He falls silent at that, eyes on the floor. It’s quiet for long enough that you start to think he’ll accept the silence as his cue to leave. You’re not sure if you want him to or not.

You take a deep breath, eyes closed. “I need you to start being straight with me. Now.”

He doesn’t look up, taking his time to find his words. “I am sorry,” he tells you. “I…I’m not good at this. I’m not good with words so I shouldn’t have fucking done it.”

Honestly you weren’t expecting him to actually come up with a reason, so you’re not prepared to weigh out whether or not it’s a good one.

“I like you...a lot. And I didn’t know—I don’t know—what to do about it so I kissed you and I didn’t think it through, and…I guess I panicked.”

That’s more than enough for you to warrant looking back over at him. It doesn’t take long for your gaze to start shifting around awkwardly while you scratch at your neck. “I would’ve taken you for more of a fight over flight kinda guy.”

He nods to himself. “Jus’ depends..” he says quietly.

And then it seems neither of you have anything else to say. You’ve run out of angry words to spit and he’s run out of apologies and excuses. But neither of you feel like you’re done.

The quiet lingers on for a painful amount of time. Your annoyance dissipates into something else, something more uncomfortable, but you couldn’t find a name for it. It’s got your thoughts going faster though and your chest feeling more hollow. Maybe not hollow…maybe just softer. 

He cuts through your thoughts before you can, “Are you mad that I kissed you?”

You shake your head, “No. I’m mad about what happened after.” You’re just mad about what happened after. Should’ve said just.

He thinks about that for a moment. 

“I can be honest with you,” he tells you. The way he says it, it’s somewhere between a peace offering and an assurance to himself.

You look at him again. He reads oddly vulnerable for a man his size with his reputation. You believe him. 

He goes on, “I trust you, you know? I want you to trust me too, if you can.”

You blink a few times, processing. “I…I don’t know anything about you.”

He nods, an anxious aura radiating around him. He leaves you hanging for longer than a few moments, getting you convinced that the conversation is just going to end there.

It doesn’t though, and after a few minutes, he sits up and reaches up to his mask.

It has you sitting up too, like he just pulled out a gun. Your hands fly up instinctually, as though this is completely uncalled for, as if he’s crazy for doing it.

He pauses his movements for a moment, making eye contact with you. His eyes reaffirm his words. He trusts you and he wants you to trust him.

You allow your hands to relax onto your lap and he continues on, taking his mask off.

You’re not revealed to much more of his face than you’d already seen before, but entirely in view like this, he’s a sight. You try not to stare but there’s little reward to removing him from your sight whereas the alternative…

All together like this you can see how his features balance his face out so nicely and make for a warm countenance, if not rough.

He takes a deep breath, setting his mask to the side. “My name is J…” he says with assurance. “Todd,” he tacks on.

You don’t mean to, really, but you’re sure the frown on your face is evident as puzzle pieces start forming and connecting in your mind. 

J…Todd…J…Jay…Todd…Jason…Todd…

Your mouth hangs open, “You’re Jason Todd. You’re de—” Well a couple things are starting to add up. “How are you…how are you not—”

He waves that away, tiredly. “It's a long story. Not particularly happy, either.”

Autopsy scar. Fuck. 

“I mean, I’ll…” he hesitates, “I’ll tell you if you want me to.”

He says it, but discomfort is painted across his face. You’re quick to shake your head, “It’s okay.”

He nods, likely relieved.

You stand up from your seat, crossing the room to sit down next to him. You’d half-expected him to tense up, but his body relaxes when you lean back against the chair.

You close your eyes before asking, “Who’s Nocturna?”

“She’s just this woman that’s been causing trouble for us.”

You don’t say anything and he continues on, shaking his head. “She’s more annoying than anything.”

You open your eyes, looking over. “Yeah?”

He shrugs, “Just trying to take over the underworld, the usual stuff. Nothing you need to worry about.”

You give a laugh that’s barely more than an exhale, relaxing your body completely..

There’s the slightest lull in activity before he sets his hand down on the floor, right on top of yours. The sounds of your breathing are the only thing that fill the room for a few minutes, save for the occasional car horn.

He glances at the clock on the wall, nearing midnight. “I have to go...” He says reluctantly.

You try not to let the disappointment show through your body language. “Go where?”

He pauses before telling you,  “A cemetery.”

You nod vacantly, “Oh. Just for fun, or…?”

He gives a dry laugh, “Just meeting an associate. They’re a bit dramatic, so.”

“Yeah, I’d say.”

“I’ll come back—I’m going to come back,” he mutters against your hairline.

You don’t respond, but you both know he’s good for his promise.

He looks around your apartment for a second before seemingly getting an idea. He pushes himself up off the ground and heads for your kitchen. You watch as he rips a sticky note off the deck on your fridge and scribbles something down on it. 

He returns to you, kneeling down and pushing the square of paper into your hand. “Here,” he says, looking you in the eye. “If you need anything. Anything.”

You engulf the note in your palm, nodding sincerely. His eyes flicker across your face, like he’s thinking about something. He hesitates for a moment, turning towards you, away from you, then towards you again. He holds the back of your head tenderly before pressing a sweet kiss to your forehead.

You look at each other up close for a second with nothing short of starry eyes before he turns away and ducks out the window.

You open up your palm and look down at the paper, at the ten digits scrawled across it.

Huh.

Must be official. 

🧨 reblog or die (this is a threat) 🧨

[riaki]

i literally cant stop thinkin’ about highschoolbully!gojo who used to be your ride or die ‘til he started getting attention from those popular jock type guys who are always assholes to everyone. and him being.. well, him means he preens under attention no matter who it’s from, so naturally he started to gravitate towards that group and their little troop of cheerleading fangirls. and then he started distancing from you and without either of you really realizing it, you’ve slipped between the other’s fingers. but the way he acts towards you makes you think he let you fall without moving a muscle to slow you down.

soon enough, a year swings by and by the end of it he’s gone from your life, save as just another face in the gaggle of boys who make crude jokes and laugh at smart kids and pop milk cartoons during lunch just for the hell of it. but you’re minding your own business, ‘cause you’re mature enough to realize that people come and go, no matter how close you might’ve been and you think it’s unfortunate that so many memories could be thrown aside in a blink of an eye, but it makes a lot of sense when you walk past satoru and his friends bullying some random kid. you don’t know him, but you’ve heard enough to realize it’s his girlfriend satoru’s flirting with while his ‘gang’ kick at the kid. and it’s sickening, but you don’t say anything when you walk by.

and when you don’t ever see the kid afterward and catch the dark eyebags under his girlfriend’s eyes, you come to the cruel realization that satoru isn’t the boy who’d bandage the scrape on your knee you got from tripping in the playground or buy you a soda because he’s noticed your sweat when you were walking home and you don’t have any money left on you.

it’s a glass half empty, half full type of situation. on the one hand, you don’t have him anymore. on the other hand, you don’t have him anymore. that is, you lost your best friend, but you’ve also lost someone who has the potential to absolutely ruin your life. and you don’t know whether to be glad or not, so you just mind your own business even if it hurts a little when he ignores you, stops tossing paper at your head in class (unless it’s to embarrass you) and stops walking you to and from school.

but the cherry on top of the shit cake is that he doesn't get it. so when he approaches you in the library one day after satiating the need to tear pages from books and make them into paper airplanes to throw at people, he doesn't seem to understand why you try to ignore him, or put off his attempts to hold a convo. but the worst part is that he's just sleazy and clueless about it. it's like he took an eraser and wiped every single year of your friendship off the chalkboard with one fell swipe, and you wish he'd done that too to the less-than-appropriate messages he and his friends had written towards one of your classmates.

he doesn't understand why you're hesitant to talk, and that's what makes it the worst. he always thinks he's in the right, and he keeps setting you off and it sucks that he knows exactly what sets you off. "i'm an asshole? what're you talking about? really, you're in over your head. you never change." he laughs, and you ignore him, and he gets bored, and he's about to leave when he spots your wallet open next to your book, on the table. there's a polaroid peeking out, and he recognizes the tufts of white hair to be him. but there's a weird feeling in his chest, and he thinks he gets it from you, so he leaves because he thinks you're weird.

and it goes on; you practically become a nobody in satoru's eyes, because of that weird, weird feeling you give him. it's unfamiliar and he's never gotten it before and he doesn't like it. but it's unavoidable when your professor pairs you two for the end-of-term project. and of course, you're ready to do all the work, because that's how it always was between you when you were kids. but sometimes he'd surprise you by helping, and he'd show you that he was actually intelligent just to earn your praise because he liked it. but he ignored you, and you did everything, and it would've been okay if not for his friends egging him on to present your entire project when the day came and leave you with no content for a grade.

that's the first time it hits him: does he really want to do that? but it's not like it'll be the first time; you've always taken the hits for him, because you're naturally smart and you'll pick yourself back up in no time, and you get why he does it, so it'll be okay. so he agrees, and he enjoys the time he gets to spend with you through it, but the nagging weird feeling that blooms in his chest like a pesky weed only grows stronger. that's all his feelings ever seem to do around you.

but before you know it, presentation day swings around. you had coffee this morning (on his card), and you're ready enough to shoot him a small smile that sends his heart a-flutter. so you go up, feeling up to the task and ready until— he starts talking, and talking, and talking, and people don't think that he's taking your words out of your mouth because he's intelligent when he wants to make you praise him and you don't get the chance to get a word in and you notice the guys are laughing and hitting each other's shoulders to themselves in the upper rows and before you know it it's over. people are clapping but moreso they're looking at you and they're whispering— but it's terribly loud and they don't bother to hide it. they call you things that shouldn't bother you but they do anyway, because it's satoru's fault, and you're such a fool for thinking you could have it your way again.

so you leave class early, excusing yourself and ignoring the way your professor gives you a distasteful look and scribbles something next to your name. you're out the door in a second, neglecting your bags and satoru's a little lost because— didn't he just do good? people were clapping, and laughing with him and not at him, but it's attention either way so he doesn't mind. so why do you? why did you look at him like he stabbed you in the back? and his friends are calling his name, and he wishes he could chase after you and do something but he doesn't.

and it's a little sickening what they do next; one of their girls grabbed your bags and tossed it to them, and they've started rifling through it as if they own it, tearing up your shit and dumping everything onto the ground and he's kind of just... glued to the chair by his feelings. his heart feels like it's been patched together and the weird fuzzy feeling he had in his chest that's been cultivating has extinguished to be replaced with something he realizes he's only ever felt when it comes to you— guilt.

he's so lost in his thoughts that he doesn't realize his friend is silently offering him something— nudging his side to get his attention. he takes it without really realizing he moved his hand, and his silent friend with the gauges in his ears and the dark hair gets up and leaves without another word. when satoru looks down, he realizes he's been given your wallet. "the reward for betraying your baby," they call it. like all you're worth is the money in your account.

he's a little curious. that's how he's always been; asking you questions, rummaging through your stuff, laughing sheepishly and shaking it off when you caught him red-handed. so he opens it up, ignoring your sad little cards and the funny look on your license. he's looking for something, subconsciously; but he doesn't find it. there's no white tuft of hair to suggest his presence in your life; just empty black leather. nothing else.

and he doesn't see you after. or the following day. or the following weeks; weeks that turn into months that turn into the end of school and he's graduating but you're not by his side. and neither are his so called 'friends'; the only thing he has to their name is your own ruined friendship. it's a shame; he feels alone. very alone. no fuzzy weird feeling, not even that thing people call guilt. no attention to chase, and connections are ever harder to make. it shouldn'tve mattered that much, right? it was just a presentation. why wouldn't you just come back to him like you always did? were you not still friends...?

but the blood is still on his hands, and he doesn't manage to ever wash it off. guilt has a way of festering; of weighing on the heart 'till there's nothing left to feel or think but unfortunate circumstance and what could've been done differently. it just sucks that he never tried hard enough to keep you from slipping between his grasp. and now, he doesn't even have a polaroid to your friendship's name.

pt.2

[ozzgin]

You've heard of a yandere having their plans foiled by a too-willing Reader. How about a yandere who is sabotaged by their own clumsiness? Hear me out pls. Content: gender neutral reader, male yandere, obsessive behavior, parody

Clumsy!Yandere who is obsessed with you but cannot properly show it due to his repeated failures. He does his best to stalk you, but he always ends up getting lost. Christ, you're a fast walker. Did you have to pick the busiest street? He's tried to counter it by hiding a tracker in your bag, but on multiple occasions he stumbled upon a dead end, staring at his phone map with a shameful grimace. Perhaps that wasn't the right turn, after all. How was he supposed to know where north is? Sigh.

Clumsy!Yandere who has tried many times to let you know about his unhinged feelings. Most recently, he sent you a long letter confessing his maddening love for you, how he wishes you wouldn't look at anyone else but him, how he's often considered just cutting up all those pesky acquaintances of yours. Then you'd have time just for him. You'd smile for him only. The next day, you greeted him with a kiss on the cheek. "You're my best friend, too", you exclaimed cheerfully. He demanded to see the envelope, then stared at the contents in disbelief. He forgot to include half the pages.

Clumsy!Yandere who is close to giving up on kidnapping you, because he always messes up somehow. He successfully managed to break into your apartment at night, determined to cuff you away. Your bed was empty. "Where the hell are you?", you texted him. "I thought we're having a sleepover at your place. I've been knocking for 10 minutes already." Ah. He gathered his tools, embarrassed, and scurried back home.

Clumsy!Yandere who had to call you in hiccups because he couldn't untie himself anymore. He wanted to practice his rope skills in case you'll end up rejecting him, but the knots refused to come undone. You found him tangled next to his bed. "Don't worry, your secret kink is safe with me", you told him reassuringly. He wanted to vanish in that instant.

Clumsy!Yandere who wanted to pull you in a possessive embrace, but instead tripped onto the floor. You helped him up and gave him a worried hug, asking if he's hurt anywhere. A win's a win, he thought to himself with a smug grin.

Clumsy!Yandere who will definitely make you his one day. Just wait. He's relentless in his pursuit. You may have to offer a helping hand, but he doesn't need to know that. Let a man chase his dreams.

[citruslullabies]

Curly Mouthwashing headcannons

Romantic

Pre-crash Curly:

He is just so sweet

Curly is a very nice guy, but with you it's just deadly how nice he is

He's not one for PDA. Captain and all, gotta keep a professional look, y'know?

But whenever you two are alone, I like to think he likes to have his arms loosely wrapped around your hips and his head resting on your stomach

His favorite places to rest his head are on your stomach and chest

Yes ladies, gentlemen, and lades, he doesn't mind those weird noises everyone's stomach makes. And he doesn't mind hearing your heartbeat hammer out of your chest

But I imagine that Curly has a big thing for smells

The captain woke up with a groan, sighing and taking his first conscious breath of the day. His senses are flooded with the smell of you all around him, making his brain numb as he smiled and leaned further into you to drown in the smell.

Smell like vanilla and this can will literally die

He seems like he loves smells like vanilla and lemon

But he loves the way you practically swallow him while with your eyes

The way you look at him with such love and adoration, and not just because he's the captain

It makes him swoon every time

Fantasizes about marrying you and starting a family, but wouldn't push for it first. He wants to wait for you to be ready

You're his sweetheart and he loves you so much

Post-crash curly:

He wishes you didn't have to see him like this.

He feels like the shell of who he once was

Not the strong captain you loved, but rather a failure who can't do anything to help anyone. Not even himself.

Whenever you come and spend time with him, his eye looks to you in yearning

He yearns to hold you like he once did. Yearns to talk to you like he once did

He wants nothing more than to call you beautiful and compliment the same outfit you wear every day

He wants to lay against your stomach or your chest

The only sense of familiarity in your dynamic is your scent flooding his senses and your eyes.

How can you still look at him that way??

How could you see a man and not a monster?

He was partially to blame for this, after all. He failed everyone and was paying the consequences.

But you looked at him with such love..

It killed him when he saw you at that table.

Platonic

Pre-crash Curly:

Kind smiles and fist bumps all day long

He offers help whenever he can, wanting to make sure you were comfortable. You were friends after all and his responsibility

You got a problem? Hes there to listen

He just.. can't do anything about it

He doesn't have much of a backbone, and you learn that quick.

You two grew close. Maybe even closer than him and Jimmy were

But after what happened with Anya..

You couldn't even look at him anymore due to his negligence

Looking at him made you sick. He was a good friend but a horrible captain

"look, I just- I don't know what you expect me to do about this." He says with a tired sigh, exhausted from the work of a captain and the never ending piling issues. He watched as your eyes narrowed in his direction as if he was as awful as Jimmy, but before he could speak, you walked off with a scoff.

Post-crash curly:

He feels humiliated, same as with romantic

But your eyes don't feel welcoming.

He feels nothing but pity but a sense of the feeling that he deserved this in your eyes

Every time you see him, you're quiet

He wishes he could talk to break the ice

He always was the ice breaker.. but not anymore. Not unless you counted the noises of choking and gargling on your own blood and vomit.

But he always felt a sense of emptiness when you finally left

He failed you. And he failed everybody else.

He just hoped you would forgive him

And that this wouldn't hurt

Thanks for reading!!

[bi-writes]

ok i have this idea for alpha!ghost and omega!reader. this is a very, very rough draft and is not even close to anything with real meat, but i would like to get some early feedback about this idea i have.

"I'm not here as a friend," she says softly, and you frown a little.

"Aren't...haven't we always been friends?" You ask, and Kate lets out a shaky sigh, nodding her head behind her.

"We need to talk. C'mon."

You retrieve the gun and holster it, fastening it around your thigh holster before you follow her. She has a car waiting outside, a big, black SUV with the door already open for her. When you get inside, she knocks on the divider, and the car immediately starts moving. You brace yourself against the side of the car as it speeds off, reaching for a seatbelt.

"Jesus, Kate, what's going on? I-I have training later, I can't--"

"You're not...going back to base," she says evenly. You frown a little, leaning back in your seat, and you put your hands in your lap as you try and get a read on her. Even exhausted, Kate is hard to decipher. She has a stone-cold expression, calm and unbothered, and you curse her CIA training for making her impossible to understand, to even get a glimpse of what she might say next.

"Okay," you scoff a little. "Then where am I going?"

Kate sniffs a little, crossing her arms over her chest. She doesn't break eye contact with you when she says, "Wheels up in 30. I have an assignment for you." She reaches under the seat, pulling out a manila folder, setting it down beside you. When you pick it up and flip it open, you narrow your eyes.

"I'm..." You shrug your shoulders, "I'm not CIA. You don't give me orders."

"As of one hour ago, you're mine. And this...this is your duty."

Your eyes blur as you skim the text on the pages. You flip through the papers flimsily, getting more and more irritated until you throw it at her, your chest rising and falling fast as you pant, barely able to see her through your tears.

"Kate, don't do this," you beg her softly. "Please don't do this. Please. You fucking promised me, you promised--"

"You need to understand that I don't have a lot of fucking choices," she says sharply.

"Kate, I'll do anything, please," you gasp. You reach over and grab her hands, tugging her towards you. "You know. You know what...w-what I've been through, what this all is, you know...please. Please..."

"I can't--"

"I'll be yours," you try, squeezing her palms. "Just claim me yourself, a-and...and we don't have to do this, w-we can...I-I can go back to--"

Her face contorts, offended, disgusted. You try and swallow down the sting of her rejection, but you cannot help yourself. You would do anything to not be subjected to this fate, to the fate she promised she'd save you from. The only alpha you have ever trusted, and she's pulling away from you, bit by bit.

"I could never do that to you," she interrupts, shaking her head. "I couldn't."

"But you'll do this instead?"

"It's the lesser evil," she says finally, pushing your hands back. "And in my world, that is the best I can hope for."

"It's punishment!" You cry, and she reaches over, cupping your cheeks, pulling you close. "A-And for what? For being something that I can't change?!"

"It's mercy," she whispers. "I can't protect you anymore, do you understand? They don't want you there. Even taking meds, even spraying yourself to shit, they don't want you, and I can't protect you if they send you away, do you understand me?" You start to cry, closing your eyes, and you hear the familiar voice in your head sing. She's desperate, slipping through the cracks, and you squeeze your eyes shut as you try and force her backwards. "I have to get you out of there, and this is the only way."

"Please..."

"I can't protect you," she says gently. "But he can. And he'll be good to you. I promise, this...this I can promise."