#related to my ao3 fic in a very specific way

[binomech]

some opinions on fanfic trends for Disco Elysium on AO3 for the past 2-ish years; i address racism, ableism, jean and kim tropes, accesorization of harry and the way the game themes appear to have warped.

some of you may know i've been reading every fic published on the disco AO3 tag chronologically since 2019 for a little over a year and jotting down some trends (not a proper statistical study, just some tracking of when certain tropes are introduced and when and how they reproduce because i like observing that kind of thing.) there's been an uptick in trans(masc) Kim and Jean character studies since late 2022-early 2023, among many others, but these ones were like overwhelmingly prolific once they were introduced.

harry, kim and jean are overwhelmingly the characters with most fanworks in the tag. and having read a little over 4k works it turns out that people engage in a very distinct way with them for the most part that tracks with the growth of the trans Kim and Jean character studies as a trend.

the disco elysium fandom's english-language writers are, according to my cursory snooping, overwhelmingly trans, some flavor of gay, white and from north america and western europe. given personal anecdotes, i also suspect they are upper middle class (though not as statistically huge as the previous things) and struggle with mental health. in the past decade or so a lot of fanworks have followed a trend of exploration focused on catharsis and personal relatability.

now, kim and harry appear so much in the text with so much detail that there's plenty of personal details to pull from to write them, where as jean's total presence in the game (rarely achieved in one run but i'm taking into account all his mentions and lines) is smaller so it follows that people need to fill in some gaps and there's more characterization freedom. jean is white, younger than both harry and kim, canonically depressed, non-canonically confirmed by his character player an amphetamine addict but presented as a functional person during the game, and covers a very specific narrative hinge that i understand as relevant: he's a bridge between pre-Martinaise Harry and his Martinaise self.

he's objectively a very comfortable character to play with because he's mostly a blank slate except for his relation to Harry and his vitriolic grief towards him. so logistically i understand why people who struggle with mental health, are white, are anywhere between 17 and 35, are functional and able-bodied and may or may not have a complicated relationship with a close person who struggles with addiction or other health issues might go "YES, GOOD CATHARSIS NARRATIVE FOR ME". but the sheer amount of works that value Relatability over engaging with the characters or the themes has resulted in a very strong ripple. which leads to trans kim.

the game paints a deep and vivid image of kim, both from within harry's own perspectives and the objective things he says out loud. he's a walking contradiction, he's alienated from his body and selfhood, he beat himself into submission to stay alive. he's a walking reminder of his assasinated communist parents, the people who killed them paid his salary, his body (racialized, disabled) is both a hindrance to his assimilation and a tangible proof that he could have belonged somewhere but doesn't, that no matter what he does it will be considered first. so he watches his words, his movements, his appearance. so he partakes in hypermasculinity. he's canonically gay, mixed race, diasporic seolite, and disabled. and somehow, the only one of this that is recurringly explored in most fanworks is his homosexuality, usually in the form of being a guiding figure to harry or as a Fellow Gay Cop to jean, or eyes, or someone else.

now, we have the trans kim trope. my opinion on the trope isn't relevant to the point i'm trying to make, but i will say i think transmasc kim is something i enjoy in theory, i think it's a worthy exploration that works very well with the hauntings of embodiment and perception that exist in kim's canon self. but it's very jarring when all of these tales of gay trans kim refuse to engage with race, or with physical disability. like, after you've read 800 trans kim fics you start noticing how solid that avoidance is, how big the elephant in the room is, and i can't help but think that, coupled with the explorations of Jean, the issue is: the white ablebodied writer is unwilling to engage with race and disability.

my charitable reading of this is that the white ablebodied writer doesn't want to write about what they don't know, they don't want to overstep. my neutral reading of this is that the white ablebodied writer doesn't consider how sexuality and gender's material realities are tied to race and ablebodiedness in the real world because they are the Default Categories and it didn't occur to them that kim's experience of them might overlap. my least charitable reading of this without directly falling into the assumption of ill intent is that the white ablebodied writer is uncomfortable with the idea of the fact that their experience of gender and sexuality isn't universal and it's not as emotionally cathartic to think about how they might be racist and ableist because they put on horse blinders and they're trying to write things they like, and understanding this is unpleasant and doesn't belong in their feel-good hobbies.

people love to talk about kim's body without acknowledging the way asian masculinity and femininity exist in relation to whiteness when it's harry or jean in the room. people love to talk about kim's body without engaging with the power relations that exist in many disabled people's sexuality.

the tropes' strength lies in the relatability factor (very high) and the willingness of both author and audience to engage with the canon material for the characters they are writing (very low). and so you end up with a lot of jean character studies about his feelings towards harry (when everyone but kim in the game also knows both harries, but jean is prioritized consistently) and a lot of character studies about kim (that ignore most of the lived experiences of him because they're directly tied to his and his parents' race and alienation that are not particularly cathartic for the white author and reader)

one of the big themes of the game, if not the biggest, is failure. specifically it asks the player to think about what to do when you have failed and you know there are no blank slates, and asks you to empathize not only with harry, whose every thought you're privy to, but to everyone you talk to that has the same rich landscape beyond your brief interaction. when relatability is prioritized in fanworks, this question falls apart, the purpose becomes to find ways in which these characters are like you (the author, the reader) so you can afford them the level of humanity needed to feel emotions about them.

harry's tropification follows four large trends: self-loathing, aggressive addict, psychic omniscient prophet, overwhelmingly emotional and adoring puppy. some authors sometimes are capable of depicting both, usually as if they are unrelated and it's a harry-esque contradiction, but it's truly baffling how rare it is to find stories that engage with all of them or with multiple of them as inextricably bound together like canon material does. harry needs to be relatably lovable (heartbroken, self-loathing, fixable by love, fixable by the universe, capable of change that gets exponentially better) or relatably hateable (physically and emotionally abusive, manipulative, unreasonably needy).

most fics in the relatable lovability fall on the kim/harry ship, most fics in the relatable hateability fall on the jean/harry ship. here's where it ties into the big tropes for kim and jean: the fanworks about a game that asks a question about failure and questioning certainty become stories about inevitability.

jean's vitriol in the game comes from the same place as harry's self loathing: a visceral response to decades of failure. they're not objective truths (i'm thinking about the mirror reveal being intended as a way to make the viewer realize harry isn't a reliable narrator at all, but especially about himself: you see a regular guy, conventionally handsome but clearly in pain and growing old and sick. he calls himself horrible shit, however).

playing up jean's part as the Bridge is comfortable because it allows the player to separate Harry's failures from their agency as a player (something that greatly drives the point of the game home, emotionally speaking -- you're not that different from Harry. Harry's not that different from anyone else he meets. the irreversible failures exist for all of us, as do the chances to try again.) if jean is right in resenting harry, and moreover, he's objectively describing harry's behavior, harry's failures become logical and inevitable consequences of his Way of Being. if Harry calls kim a slur, or threatens children, or scares civilians, that's just because that's how Harry is (according to Jean and Harry's own brain), so the possibility that one of your tries might be meaningfully good becomes... less weighty. it's a fluke, and you'll fail again, so don't get your hopes up. it's almost an excuse to believe that there's nothing new under the sun and going back to old habits is inevitable, but the conclusion becomes "so nothing i do really matters" instead of "it's hard and painful to try again when you've failed so many times before. what does this say about the person who tries?". and in that way jean is an interesting character because understanding why he resents harry for being able to try more freely than him without the weight of memory is important to the theme. what has to click to start climbing out of the grave? can anyone do it? will i ever do it? why now, and why not when i tried to pull him out?

and similarly, when we write about kim, we have to confront what makes him who he is and not another generic character to write, and the fact of the matter is that being a cop, being visibly of seolite heritage, having PTSD, having a visual impairment on record that interferes with his cophood, his cophood being the only identity he appears to have had a choice over, how he treats harry because he's a cop vs. other harry parallels who aren't, how he treats harry whether harry respects him or not... they're important. and trans kim could be a way to approach these themes but it's currently existing in a vacuum of authorial catharsis, and the refusal to address the real politics that give emotional weight to disco elysium is becoming a worrying, overwhelming trend. i urge you all to think about these things a little.

[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.

[otomiyaa]

The Kiss

Dr. Ratio x Aventurine

A/N: Somehow I saw this art and a few minutes later I wrote the whole outline for this fic. P.S. I wrote this on my phone so I hope it didn't turn into a disaster lol.

Summary: No plot, just kisses and tickles... (Also on AO3)

Word Count: 1.1K

A casual fling. Friends with benefits. Body research? Maybe a test? A calculated scheme? Or... Meaningless love?

No, no. He would never use the word love.

Aventurine thought about the many ways Dr. Ratio would potentially describe what they shared. The relationship between them that kind of involved the physical activities one wouldn't just share with anyone.

He continued to stare at Ratio, specifically at his lips. Yeah. From kissing to getting handsy to, at times, even getting naked and devouring each other... As he continued to find himself in these situations once in a while, he wondered what excuses Dr. Ratio would have ready for them.

Not once did he explain himself. It often just happened. And not a word about it was spoken afterwards, even when Aventurine would try to tease him about it. If he kissed him, Ratio would kiss him back. Heck, last time it was even Ratio himself who started it.

Aventurine couldn't help but smirk and tingle with confidence. Was he that irresistible to the usually cool and collected doctor?

"Gambler. Are you even paying attention to what I am saying?" Ratio asked in an irritated tone, inviting him back to the conversation. No, apparently he was not paying attention to the work-related matter at hand.

"No," he admitted, and he strode towards Ratio. Oh how he loved to be alone with him like this, to do freely as he pleased. He grabbed him by the collar and yanked him forward, almost resulting in a headbutt. But instead of hitting his head, he captured his lips in a well aimed open mouthed tongue kiss. Random, but so very good.

Ratio's startled reaction gave him the perfect chance to kiss him long and deep, and he couldn't help but let out a huffy chuckle mid-kiss when he noticed Ratio stumbling backwards. So with both hands on his hips, Aventurine shoved him until he was with his back against the wall.

Then slamming a hand next to his head to assert dominance, Aventurine kissed him some more, his body burning with lust, adrenaline and confidence. And Ratio? Wasn't even trying to push him back but kissed him just the same. Yeah, explain that, doctor.

Then, when they finally broke apart and Aventurine granted him a moment to breathe, he smirked at him and licked his lips.

"What's wrong doctor? Did I catch you off-guard?" he asked. He stood on his toes to get some more of that when all of a sudden he was slammed with his back against the same wall he was just pinning Ratio against. Doctor had effortlessly swapped their positions and was now looking like the predator.

"You are infuriating," was all he said before he used the same method as Aventurine; he practically shoved his tongue into his mouth and quite literally sucked the life out of him.

"Hmh..." Aventurine's arms moved up and hesitated. Wrapping his arms around his neck would be considered too romantic. His hands ended up landing on his shoulders and he squeezed them roughly, digging his fingers into them and pulling Ratio even tighter against him. Ratio's hands on his own body trailed down, making him jump and tingle under his touch. They managed to expose some bare skin and as soon as those fingers touched him there...

"Hngh!" Aventurine jumped when the touch was rather specific. And again, fingers brushing against his lower sides, so he quickly tried to break off the kiss to ask Ratio what the fuck was wrong with him. But Ratio wouldn't let him. Aventurine was stuck in his kiss, and those nasty fingers started to increase their demanding touches.

It fucking tickled. Like hell. Aventurine squirmed and shook, but when it went from casual soft brushing and scratching touches to simply digging and clawing at his poor defenseless torso, he realized this was no mere accident.

"Hmmmhh stahh-hmh!" Ratio only shoved his tongue deeper into his mouth, kissing him with... passion might be the wrong word, but there was definitely a lot of determination.

His fingers climbed up and wiggled between his ribs as if they were longing to pry his body open. Instead it tickled Aventurine until giggles were starting to spill out despite the exhausting kisses.

"Rahahatio! Hah- stohohop it mahahan!" He tried to squirm and struggle free, his hands pushing at Ratio' shoulders. Then when he moved them to shove at his chest, Ratio captured both his hands with ease and pinned them above his head.

"Quiet," he demanded before kissing him further, but the damn tickling returned too, worse than ever! How could he possibly be quiet?!

"Hmmmmmmfhh!" Aventurine was on fire. Helpless to the ticklish sensations that invaded his trapped body, starting at his armpit and traveling down his ribs and side, then back up again. He arched his back and struggled, moaned and let out muffled cries and giggles. None that convinced the doctor that this kiss of death and tickles was in fact killing him.

He felt even more helpless when Ratio released his arms again and it didn't change anything. He was only tickled with both hands, fiercer and more ticklish than he had experienced before. He shook on his legs and eventually fell down. The humiliation and disgrace were nothing compared to the tickle attack that followed. No more kissing, just Dr. Ratio and his ten cursed fingers that knew exactly where to get Aventurine to leave him cackling and squealing.

"Stahah-ahahahah nohoho! You're sohoho- wahhhahhah!"

"Speak full sentences," was Ratio's cold reply. His actions were anything but cold though. His wiggling and digging fingers left Aventurine burning. His throat was equally on fire from the amount of laughter it had to endure.

"I cahahan't breheheathe! Rahahatio!" Tears rolled down his warm cheeks. He curled up but was just as easily uncurled again, with one of Ratio's hands on his thigh, digging and squeezing him to not miss a single opportunity of tickling him. Ratio's other hand used its damned fingers to spider at his helpless tummy.

"Plehehehease Rahahatio what thehehe hehehell!" Aventurine laughed breathlessly. It felt as if Ratio would never stop. But then finally, when there was nothing Aventurine could do except moan and whine in a miserable heap on the floor, Ratio got back up.

"What's wrong, gambler? Did I catch you off-guard?" he asked, firing Aventurine's very own words right back at him.

"We'll continue our meeting next time," he added before leaving Aventurine just like that. Hot, tired and messy on the floor. Damn.

Geez. What a petty doctor. Why did he always have to be the better person? Aventurine wiped his burning lips and squirmed as the tingling sensation still dominated his body even now.

... "Just you wait, Ratio..." he mumbled to himself with a smirk. Looked like he needed to up his game next time...!

[cilil]

Hi, do you have any advices for budding writers on AO3 or here?

Hey! :)

I've given this some thought and compiled what I hope might be some helpful pointers, but if there's anything else or anything specific you want to hear more about, feel free to ask again. Also I'm assuming this is about the amazing craft of fanfic and not, uh, building a platform or whatever (I wouldn't be very helpful with that, I'm a nobody x)).

Share what you feel comfortable sharing.

So since you're asking about budding writers on AO3 and Tumblr, I take it you're at a point where you feel comfortable sharing your writing online, which is amazing. Nevertheless, I feel the need to once again mention (just for anyone who may be in the same or a similar situation) that it's completely alright not to be comfortable with it (yet) or not to share everything you write. I share almost everything simply because I'm annoying and it makes me feel accomplished and since I've grown pretty comfortable with it, I might as well; but not everyone feels that way and feelings also change. It's completely alright to write just for yourself or a small circle of friends.

Don't worry too much about "being good".

I will be the first to admit that I deeply relate to struggling with perfectionism when it comes to writing (and other creative pursuits). However, as someone who's been reading fic for many years, tends to be into quite niche and obscure things sometimes and is rarely spoiled by big fandoms' abundance of food, I want all writers, especially new ones, to know that you don't have to write the most amazing, perfect, publishing-ready pieces. What matters is your passion and creativity, which will show in your writing regardless of skill level. Not to mention that fic is free and in fact a tool for many to experiment.

That's not to say you can't strive to improve or be good - by all means, I find it admirable if you want to hone your craft and make progress as you continue to write. Just don't let perfectionism ruin your fun and stifle your creativity.

How to get better without trying overly hard.

Aside from just writing, writing and writing (that is the most important part though), how do you improve without making it a point to do so? Well, if it works for you to read/watch guides or you enjoy specific writing exercises, that's great, but one thing that I find gets overlooked a lot in writing spaces is simply: Reading. Just reading for fun.

I find that I often discover little things in other people's writing that I really like and then I think to myself "wow, that's really neat how they did that, maybe I could take a page out of their book" (pun intended) and make it a point to pay attention to these things when I write. Essentially, it's like creating a nice patchwork blanket which is your style, made up of your own voice and preferences as a writer and cool stuff you picked up on the road.

Let me just name some examples, which, yes, are also an excuse to shamelessly blow some writer friends of mine a well-deserved kiss of appreciation. @sauron-kraut writes incredibly polished short stories with beautiful wording and atmosphere that have a lot of little hidden things to discover and dissect, and I want to steal her ability to set the stage and hide those easter eggs. @a-world-of-whimsy-5 is an absolute legend when it comes to writing medieval and medieval-adjacent stuff, and I learned so much from her fics. @i-did-not-mean-to has a way of writing with such esprit and wit that I always end up in a good mood after, a style of narrative voice I've adored for over a decade, and I've greatly improved my humorous writing in particular thanks to her. @crackinthecup has the marvelous ability to craft extremely emotionally evocative scenes, which have encouraged me to be more courageous and experimental in my sentence melody and structure. @tragedybunny has a way of writing that reminds me of coming home to a warm and comfy place, and I will find out how she did it and how I can do it as well.

So as you can see, it can be super helpful to compare notes with your fellow writers. Never be discouraged by someone else's ability; instead learn and expand your own.

Feedback, criticism and community.

Let me just get one thing out of the way: You don't have to take criticism from everyone. Or at all. As far as I understand, the fanfic community has come to to agree that we're doing this for fun and don't give criticism unprompted/when we aren't sure it's wanted or welcome. As a general rule: Take criticism from those you would also seek advice from. Ask for feedback if you feel comfortable, and if not, that's a valid boundary to have and I will gently smack anyone who presumes to pick apart writing that was made for fun and generously shared with the community for free.

The community aspect, however, should be taken into account on other fronts. While I won't tell anyone they have to interact and believe that, in an ideal world, everyone's writing would just speak for itself, it is helpful to engage with the community. Things you can do (both on Tumblr and AO3 if also applicable/possible) include: Respond to people interacting with your works, interacting with other people's works (for example while you're doing your reading sessions and looking at other writers' styles) and just overall being present, being talkative, going with the flow.

Again, this is not a must. But I will say that pretty much all of us want positive responses and interactions on their work and that just won't work if you expect everyone to show up for you all the time and never show up for anyone else. Engagement, passion and community are our "currency" in the absence of money and reciprocity is an important element of that. A lot of friction and complaints in the fanfic community regarding lack of interaction or entitlement are rooted in misunderstandings of this fundamental principle.

But don't take this in a cynical manner. Seek out what you enjoy, share the joy and passion and you'll make friends just accidentally - which is the part that I find makes fandom on AO3 and Tumblr so much fun! (I don't even want to be a "traditional" author anymore, I want this instead😁)

Find your groove and groove along.

Lastly, make sure your writing is fun for you or else it'll become a chore and eventually get ruined for you as a hobby. This is unfortunately a continuous task as your needs and interests shift - for example you might be in the mood to do an entire drabble challenge one month and during another month you feel so drained that you couldn't do another one. Or you might want to write something different for a change. Or whatever it may be.

Either way, one recent lesson I've learned is that I got too tied up in obligations and it left no space for spontaneous inspiration, so I never got to write what I wanted to write in the moment and it pushed me quite close to burnout. Do yourself a favor and always hold that space for yourself. In practice, this could for example mean that you do one event and on the side write this cool new idea you had, instead of doing three events - which is fun and games until it starts getting too much and you don't have time for your passion projects.

Finding your groove also includes the whole technical aspect, such as which writing programs you use, which device (or none at all), where you write, how to make yourself comfortable, how to get in the right headspace for things. I would also like to encourage all of you to be a bit crazy and whimsical about this: For example I've gone to the perfume store, picked out a scent for a specific character in a specific scene and sniffed it while writing the description several times now. Do what it takes. And say goodbye to your squeaky clean search history - you will research some weird stuff just to get that one line right.

So yeah, these are just my random thoughts on fic writing and what has been helpful in order for me to have lots of fun with this hobby. Happy writing!

[toast-the-unknowing]

on fanfic plagiarism

Almost five years ago, in January of 2019, someone I'd never met before reached out to tell me that one of my Pynch fics, "Word on the Street," had been plagiarized.

I remember that the stolen fic was posted in k-pop fandom, though not what specific band it related to -- I'm not into k-pop, or really into pop music at all.

I remember that the person who messaged me told me that they had found my fic because the plagiarist had a reputation for stealing fic, so when they'd posted a new story, this person had known to do some digging.

I don't remember what the plagiarist's username was. I remember scanning the stolen story, trying both to read every detail and to avoiding taking any of it in, because looking at that right-but-wrong, not-quite-there, uncanny-valley-ness of it made me queasy.

I remember being darkly amused that the plagiarist had cut out the reference to the main character suffering physical abuse at the hands of his father -- I guess it didn't make sense in the context of the new character. It's almost like the story wasn't written for him. It's almost like someone wrote the story about Adam Parrish, instead.

I filed an AO3 complaint, on the grounds that this was a blatant and unarguable violation of their plagiarism policy. Within twenty-four hours, they got back to me, and the story was removed.

It was a weird, uncomfortable, gross feeling, knowing someone had taken words I'd written and passed them off as their own.

But at the same time -- "Word on the Street" was a silly thing I dashed off pretty quickly, during a period of my life when I was doing a lot of writing. It hurt to have it stolen. It was a violation. But…I had other words, that were more important to me. Maybe that was a buffer.

-

Last month, about six weeks ago, someone I'd never met before reached out to tell me that one of my Pynch fics, "there's talk going 'round this town," had been plagiarized.

I was, bizarrely, amused.

I was less bizarrely furious. I was understandably, relatably, I would say rationally, furious. But in a way (and as always, when I say in a way, I am calling back to the scholars of overthinkingit.com for whom in a way is meant as the thing I have just said or am about to say is false) -- in a way, I was amused.

The plagiarist clearly did a 'find and replace' on the character names, to replace Adam and Ronan's names with those of k-pop characters. They did a bad job of it, since the name "Ronan" still appears in one paragraph and the name "Parrish" still appears in two paragraphs. The fic is here, in case anyone doesn't believe me, under the name "i do(n't remember)". At first when I complained about the fic on tumblr, I didn't mention the name, or which fic they'd stolen, because I was worried about anyone…I don't know, making a scene. I've stopped caring. AO3 user springguk is bad at find and replace and they should feel bad. About their computer skills, and also about their blatant plagiarism.

springguk also did some more edits to my fic, I have to give them credit for that. I wrote "there's talk going 'round this town" within a relatively short time span, for me. I tend to either finish things within one week, or else take several months. I believe this one took about five or six weeks completely to write -- I was very inspired.

(I was inspired, specifically, by the press coverage of Winona Ryder and Keanu Reeves 'discovering' they might be 'accidentally' married. I mention that in my author's notes. springguk doesn't mention what 'inspired' them in their author's notes. I wonder how they talk about it with friends. They do, in their author's notes, include a link to their ko-fi, and a request that people buy them a coffee.)

If I'd taken longer with this fic, I might have made some edits. Even at the time, I knew I was being self-indulgent in letting the scene with my teenage female OC talk at such length with Ronan about what his non-canonical film career had meant to her, a person the audience didn't care about. But I had fun. I liked Fox. I didn't want to cut her, and what the hell, it was fanfic. I decided to self-indulge.

I was darkly amused to find that springguk did cut out the scene with Fox from their plagiarized version. Maybe springguk is a more disciplined editor than I am. Maybe springguk just didn't have a good k-pop character to map Fox onto. Maybe springguk didn't even realize that Fox was an OC. Do you know anything about the fandom you steal fics from, springguk? I can't help but wonder. Have you read The Raven Cycle? Do you care about teenage OCs who steal cars because of fake films that are clearly meant to be stand-ins for The Fast and the Furious franchise?

Maybe springguk just didn't give a fuck, because none of their heart and soul was poured into this fic. I cared too much about Fox. springguk doesn't care about a single word in the fic they published. Why would they? They didn't write it.

I'm being a little mean in naming them so many times. But I'm able to, this time, because although I filed a plagiarism complaint with AO3 six weeks ago, springguk's stolen fic "i do(n't remember)," is still available to read on AO3 to this very day. I don't have to wrack my brains to remember what their username was, or which k-pop band they recast my work with. I can just look at their fic with its 24 comments and 151 kudos. Hell, maybe that fic is even better than mine, if you don't mind that by cutting the sequence with Fox they've sacrificed a fairly substantial development in the romantic relationship, and also if you don't care that at one point the characters names switch from Jeongguk and Taehyung to Ronan and Parrish, because seriously, for fuck's sake, if you're going to steal a fic at least do a goddamn ctrl+f at the end.

I was mad. I was amused. I made a complaint that the AO3, six weeks later, has still not acted on. I mostly moved on.

-

Tonight, someone I'd never met before reached out to tell me that one of my Pynch fics, "while we're on the subject, could we change the subject now," had been plagiarized.

I wanted to vomit.

I was supposed to be playing Dungeons and Dragons online with friends tonight; I spent the entire call unable to focus on anything anyone was saying. I had to keep reminding myself that I was on camera and my face wasn't supposed to look like that.

"while we're on the subject, could we change the subject now" is the first of a series of, currently, twelve fics. skytoseungmin, the person who stole it to pass it off as their own work, knew this. Their stolen version was published as part one of a series, though they hadn't published any of the sequels. Presumably, they wanted to wait long enough to make it plausible they'd gone and written the follow ups, instead of just finding them.

skytoseungmin likely didn't know that this fic and this series are intensely personal. They didn't know that the apartment that Adam -- Seungmin, in their ill-gotten version -- lives in, that was based in part off of the apartment I lived in for a year in Pico-Robertson with talldecafcappuccino. They didn't know that the 7-Eleven Adam buys coffee at is the same one I used to tease talldecafcappuccino for buying coffee at. They didn't know that the strip club where Adam and Ronan have their humorously ill-timed romantic revelation outside of, that was the strip club I used to use as a landmark when giving people directions for how to navigate the confusing as fuck freeway exit I lived near, which once caused me to accidentally tell my highly Catholic parents "just go past the strip club and you're good!"

skytoseungmin didn't know that the apartment Adam -- sorry, Seungmin, thoroughly, they were better with find and replace than springguk -- lived in, was also based off of my ex's apartment in Palms, where I as the mere visiting girlfriend was never allowed to park in the parking lot. Where I would sometimes have to spend twenty or thirty minutes circling the neighborhood before I could find parking, often a walk of several minutes away. skytoseungmin doesn't know that when Ronan's car get towed from a McDonald's parking lot, that that was a specific McDonald's on Venice Boulevards, the same one my ex's asshole roommate used to just roll his eyes and say that I should park at. skytoseungmin doesn't know that I once wished passionately that I had just parked in that McDonald's parking lot and risked getting towed, on the occasion that a man followed me several unlit blocks from my car. skytoseungmin doesn't know that when I talk about how helping someone park is the truest love language there is in Los Angeles, that that was what I meant. Has skytoseungmin ever had to circle to half an hour to find parking in Los Angeles? Has skytoseungmin ever loved someone enough to do that, instead of saying, fuck it, they can come to me or we're breaking up? Has skytoseungmin ever loved someone in Los Angeles enough, to do as my ex did, and come running as fast as humanly possibly when their girlfriend called them whispering and crying on the phone, someone's following me, please, I'm scared, I wish I just parked at the McDonald's?

"while we're on the subject, could we change the subject now" is a very personal fic.

It isn't half as personal as some of the fics that come after.

skytoseungmin marked their plagiarized version of the fic as part one of a series. Were they planning on stealing part two, where I, through an alternate universe characterization of Ronan Lynch, dig into my experience of grief and trauma surrounding my grandmother's dementia? Were they planning on stealing any of the explicit fics, where I play with kink and desire in ways I haven't even exposed to my actual sexual partners, but where I felt able to through the guise of fandom? What else was skytoseungmin planning on stealing, with charming little author's notes apologizing for how they missed the fandom-relevant date they were shooting for, because they were so busy with exams, tee-hee! Why the excuses, skytoseungmin? how long does it take you to ctrl+f, even if you are more thorough about it than springguk?

If I seem too accusatory and mean-spirited toward skytoseungmin, well, the LA verse is a very personal fic.

And it's also, it turns out, only one of eight different fics that they stole from me.

I didn't even notice at first, to be honest. I was too stunned. But my friend Jessie, my Lady Galahad, went to my defense and clicked through to the author's page, while I was still reeling at the horrible possibilities of part one of a series. It turned out, of eight fics on skytoseungmin's author's page…I had written every single one of them.

Some were short and pretty lighthearted, things I hadn't had to invest too much of myself into -- like I said, sometimes, I can write a fic in under a week.

Other things…

They stole the space western AU.

I don't think I can articulate to any human being how much that hurt me, to look at it, to see.

I wrote that as a thank you gift for someone who donated to Fandom Trumps Hate.

I spent nearly two years of my life on it -- two years during which, because of mental health issues and life situation changes, my words per year dropped precipitously. I still haven't recovered. I still think of what a failure I am for not writing more, currently, actively, and I remember how the space western AU was both a symptom of that and a defiance of it: yes, writing has become fucking hard, fucking NEARLY IMPOSSIBLE, but I'm still doing it, goddamn it, you can't stop me, even if all I produce is the tiniest trickle of words a month. it can still add up, somehow, if we just keep TRYING.

To see the space western AU, casually nestled amongst a half dozen other fics that were all apparently casually dashed off in the same month…I know it was theft, I know it was a lie, but it still felt like a slap in the face, why can't you write this fast?

Jessie, my Lady Galahad, went on a campaign of commenting on all of skytoseungmin's (my) fics, and I am so thankful. The k-pop fans who heard Jessie have been reaching out, to her, to me, to each other on Twitter, and I am so thankful for them too. skytoseungmin has deleted all of their (my) fics on AO3, and their entire AO3 account, and their entire twitter, apparently. Maybe they were hoping to get enough clicks to parlay them into some kind of book deal, and they'd now rather give up what was a low investment effort on their part than be associated with accusation of plagiarism.

I suppose they can always start over with a new user name and someone else's fics if they really want to.

I suppose they can always start over with a new username and my fics, if they really want to.

And after all, AO3 has still not reached out to me about springguk, and "i do(n't remember)" is still sitting there. Maybe springguk is also going for a book deal. Who knows?

Why complain about any of it?

In a way* (and remember what "in a way" means), isn't it a compliment, if someone loves the words I wrote, even if they don't know it was me that wrote them? toast-the-unknowing and shinealightonme, if they're the same name (and they are), then why not springguk or skytoseungmin, too?

Am I making too big of a deal out of this? Does everyone just have their work stolen from them, all of the time? Is that simply the cost of doing business in an era and an ecosystem where we all can copy and paste twenty-four thousand words with greater ease than our ancestors could transcribe a single phrase? Are more prolific, more famous, more successful fan authors looking at my piteous cries and thinking, bitch, you've only been ripped off by k-pop fans ten times, come back when you have real problems?

And yet in a month, a year, a whole life phase of not being able to write as much as I would like to, because of my health, because of my work, to have someone else just casually pass off the words I have managed to eke out, as though they have no value, as though it were no more than photo copying a shitty flier to stick under a windshield wiper…

I can't imagine springguk or skytoseungmin give a shit how I feel about any of this. At best, they roll their eyes; at worst they laugh to know they hurt me -- and what's the difference between the two? I'll never know either way.

I know that some of the people they duped do care, and are also upset. That helps. And also, it doesn't help.

I just fucking hate all of this, and if all I have are words, and if my words are valuable enough for someone to steal, then here, here are enough of them to choke on. I know I did.

[erisweekofficial]

Today we're highlighting @acourtofladydeath, creator and mastermind behind @polyacotarweek. She's written so many amazing pieces about Eris across multiple ships and genres. And if you find yourself wanting to explore other characters, she's got you covered with her masterlist of 30+ works on AO3.

🧡 Looking for something deeply emotional and poignant? Please start with LD's favorite fic, All Things End (Azris). 🎧 It even has a playlist. 🎧

🔥 If you're looking for a good horny time, try Welcome to the Family, which features Elain x Eris or Rules are Rules (Azris). You're in for a good time with those two. Especially if you like Beron.

Read on to learn more about LD's writing process + some advice for writing about Eris...

What themes do you like to explore in your work with Eris?

I really enjoy exploring the juxtaposition and depth of Eris. He needs to act a certain way to protect the people he loves and keep his place within the Autumn Court under his father. But does he want to act that way? How soft is he, or is he actually as mean as he seems? I like when he's a bit of both. I think he's a very protective person, and I enjoy exploring the different ways that manifests with different people. I also think he's experienced a lot of trauma in his life, and I'd be remiss if I didn't say I enjoy exploring that and how it influences both his external and internal persona.

What other characters do you enjoy writing about alongside Eris?

Three favorites, three different relationships: My favorite person to ship Eris with is Azriel, and I love writing different iterations of their relationship. Some are softer, others are spicier, and then there's the really sad takes. There's so much give and take with these two and it's so fascinating to play around with. I love writing Eris and Nesta as best friends. Their wit is so well matched, as is their lived experiences with their siblings and parents. They have so much overlap, and you can write them funny or feeling and any combination in betwell. Plus, who says friends can't fuck? Not me. The third person is Lucien. I really enjoy exploring their familial relationships. Were they close as kids? If they hate each other, have they always? How does this relate to their relationships with their parents and other brothers? There's so many different ways to skin this cat and I want to write them all.

What's your favorite piece you've created featuring Eris and why?

I hemmed and hawed over this question forever, but I think the fic that fits best is "All Things End." This fic is pure bittersweet angsty sadness. What if Beron's torture gave Eris incurable dementia? How would his mate, Azriel, their children, and Lucien handle the situation? CW for dementia, death, and grief. I created two playlists for this fic: one that's a direct accompaniment and another that's an extended cut. The direct playlist is timed to the reading length of the fic, and specific songs play during specific scenes to enhance the reader experience (AKA bring more tissues).

Do you have any advice for other creators wanting to make eris content?

Eris is a character that we don't know much about compared to others in the series. When I go to write him I start with what we do know: his father's abuse, he's a general, he protected Lucien, we don't have the whole story about the Mor situation. He's cunning, so you know that what you see isn't all there is. I like to build backward. What from canon do I want to focus on? How does canon tie into whatever type of fic I'm writing? Why does he act the way he acts, and how does that tie into his canon history and the plot/theme/characterization of my fic? This helps build up the layers that are so integral to who I think Eris is as a character. Complex, captivating, keeps you on your toes. And don't forget his gold jewelry.

[anghraine]

Okay, breaking my principles hiatus again for another fanfic rant despite my profound frustration w/ Tumblr currently:

I have another post and conversation on DW about this, but while pretty much my entire dash has zero patience with the overtly contemptuous Hot Fanfic Takes, I do pretty often see takes on Fanfiction's Limitations As A Form that are phrased more gently and/or academically but which rely on the same assumptions and make the same mistakes.

IMO even the gentlest, and/or most earnest, and/or most eruditely theorized takes on fanfiction as a form still suffer from one basic problem: the formal argument does not work.

I have never once seen a take on fanfiction as a form that could provide a coherent formal definition of what fanfiction is and what it is not (formal as in "related to its form" not as in "proper" or "stuffy"). Every argument I have ever seen on the strengths/weaknesses of fanfiction as a form vs original fiction relies to some extent on this lack of clarity.

Hence the inevitable "what about Shakespeare/Ovid/Wide Sargasso Sea/modern takes on ancient religious narratives/retold fairy tales/adaptation/expanded universes/etc" responses. The assumptions and assertions about fanfiction as a form in these arguments pretty much always should apply to other things based on the defining formal qualities of fanfic in these arguments ("fanfiction is fundamentally X because it re-purposes pre-existing characters and stories rather than inventing new ones" "fanfiction is fundamentally Y because it's often serialized" etc).

Yet the framing of the argument virtually always makes it clear that the generalizations about fanfic are not being applied to Real Literature. Nor can this argument account for original fics produced within a fandom context such as AO3 that are basically indistinguishable from fanfic in every way apart from lacking a canon source.

At the end of the day, I do not think fanfic is "the way it is" because of any fundamental formal qualities—after all, it shares these qualities with vast swaths of other human literature and art over thousands of years that most people would never consider fanfic. My view is that an argument about fanfic based purely on form must also apply to "non-fanfic" works that share the formal qualities brought up in the argument (these arguments never actually apply their theories to anything other than fanfic, though).

Alternately, the formal argument could provide a definition of fanfic (a formal one, not one based on judgment of merit or morality) that excludes these other kinds of works and genres. In that case, the argument would actually apply only to fanfic (as defined). But I have never seen this happen, either.

So ultimately, I think the whole formal argument about fanfic is unsalvageably flawed in practice.

Realistically, fanfiction is not the way it is because of something fundamentally derived from writing characters/settings etc you didn't originate (or serialization as some new-fangled form, lmao). Fanfiction as a category is an intrinsically modern concept resulting largely from similarly modern concepts of intellectual property and auteurship (legally and culturally) that have been so extremely normalized in many English-language media spaces (at the least) that many people do not realize these concepts are context-dependent and not universal truths.

Fanfic does not look like it does (or exist as a discrete category at all) without specifically modern legal practices (and assumptions about law that may or may not be true, like with many authorial & corporate attempts to use the possibility of legal threats to dictate terms of engagement w/ media to fandom, the Marion Zimmer Bradley myth, etc).

Fanfic does not look like it does without the broader fandom cultures and trends around it. It does not look like it does without the massive popularity of various romance genres and some very popular SF/F. It does not look like it does without any number of other social and cultural forces that are also extremely modern in the grand scheme of things.

The formal argument is just so completely ahistorical and obliviously presentist in its assumptions about art and generally incoherent that, sure, it's nicer when people present it politely, but it's still wrong.

[kcscribbler]

Christmas Fic Masterpost

Figured I'd toss this up in case anyone's looking for holiday-themed stuff, specifically. All fics here are either set around holidays or themed accordingly, and I make no claims as to their literary quality, lol.

My BBC Sherlock and ACD Sherlock Holmes fic are not included in the list as they're not on AO3 yet, but they are available on request.

Star Trek TOS

Of Luck And Miracles (4.2K, Kirk & Spock)

A deliberately plotless piece of Original Series fluff for those of us who don't feel very Christmassy this year.

A Celebration in Infinite Combinations (60K, gen ensemble & OC)

The first year of the five-year mission is a critical time for the crew of the starship Enterprise. With a new chain of command, a new crew, and a new captain who must prove himself to both, all must work together and learn to function not as a crew, but as a family. Ten mini story arcs revolving around ten sets of characters, all converging in the last chapter.

Gifts (7K, Kirk & Spock)

Five times Jim and Spock gave each other something, and one time it wasn't necessary. Early-era TOS.

Star Trek AOS

New Beginnings (1K, Kirk & McCoy)

Jim's never really celebrated Christmas before, at least not with someone who actually wanted to be there. This is…new. (It's super weird.)

One Step Forward (9K, gen, Kirk & Spock focus)

Grounded on Yorktown base for the winter holiday season, the remaining crew of the U.S.S. Enterprise deal with being haunted by metaphorical ghosts of Christmases past. Full warnings inside fic.

Loki Series

A Light in the Window (5.5K, Loki & Mobius)

On the eve of the multiversal war, the God of Time and Director of the TVA rendezvous one last time in a tiny beach house in the Florida Keys. Set near the end of the Storyteller 'verse, about twenty years after the events of Ready or Not.

A Green Christmas (14.6K, Loki & Mobius)

Holiday fluff and potential tree-related punnage, that's all. You've been warned. Part Five in the Storyteller verse, set a few weeks after the events of To Begin Again.

BBC Merlin

None Goes His Way Alone (25K, gen ensemble post-S2)

Merlin has always thought that the sorcerer chooses the familiar; his new familiar begs to differ. Canon-compliant not-quite-fix-it fic for S5 finale.

And for anyone who, like me, is feeling a little jaded about the holidays, you can find a 100% angst-free, silly or fluffy self-recommendation for each fandom below the cut. 💙

Star Trek AOS

All's Fair (9.4K, gen ensemble cast)

He needs a staff that will call him on his bullshit, not blindly obey his every command; one that actually enjoys his company rather than tolerating it with a fake smile. One who has somehow, despite all odds and his own initial intentions, wormed their way under his skin to wrap around his heart. It would kill him to lose them, now. Also now, he wants to kill them. It balances out, somehow.

Star Trek TOS

Action & Reaction (2K, gen Triumvirate)

Or, The One With the Checkmate. Tag scene to A Piece of the Action.

Loki Series

Crossword Clues (2K, Loki & Mobius)

The infirmary of the TVA is where non-jet-ski magazines go to die.

[sorion]

Okay, so I'm doing something I wouldn't normally do and share the opening of my next fic. (I just thought the scene ended on such a funny note 🤣)

There's a new character (based on a prompt by Stargirl40 on AO3), and I haven't decided on her colouring, so that might yet change. The snippet is also unedited, and this will be a series of three stories.

Have fun 😽

👻💕😻

“Well, this is unexpected.”

Unexpected was one way of putting it, even though it wasn’t entirely unexpected for Edwin, who spoke the words.

“Oh, not another one.” That was Charles.

“Charming,” said the detectives’ guest who had claimed Edwin’s desk chair and was waiting for them, her mesmerising bright green eyes sharp. They also had slit pupils.

Crystal and Niko merely exchanged an eloquent look, but the look said the same thing that both Edwin and Charles were thinking.

“My apologies, Your Majesty,” Edwin said and took one step forward with a polite tilt of his head. “My colleague has a very fixed opinion of your… cousin?”

The guest grinned, pleased. “My favourite cousin,” she specified.

“That doesn’t spell trouble at all,” Charles muttered sarcastically.

Edwin loudly and pointedly cleared his throat and approached his desk. “Your Majesty, if you could please move to a seat intended for our clients.” When she didn’t move, he raised an eyebrow. “I expect that is what you are in this context.”

She sighed deeply but stood, sauntered around the desk, and demonstratively dropped into one of the two chairs in front of the desk, then she looked over her shoulder, grinning specifically at Edwin.

“I can see why he likes you.”

Edwin bit back a grin that was too wide for the occasion, but he didn’t quite manage to not return her cheeky look. Instead he went to his now free seat, sat and watched Charles, Crystal, and Niko find their seats with a routine that had developed in the past months since Niko had been returned to them: Crystal picked up a notebook and sat on the couch, Niko chose the chair next to their guest as a sympathetic presence (which had often worked before), and Charles sat on the windowsill (which had become is customary spot after a very intense discussion with Edwin that had circled around the decorum or lack thereof of sitting on the desk).

“Now,” Edwin said, pleased with the setup, and put his folded hands on the desk. “Your Majesty, as I understand it, you have emerged victorious from a recent power shift in London. Is that correct?”

“How do you know about that?” Charles wanted to know.

Edwin smugly ignored the comment and sent the client a prompting look.

“That is correct,” she confirmed.

“And you wouldn’t expect us to interfere in such struggles anyway, so, how can we help?”

For the first time, the client looked uncomfortable and shifted in her seat.

“There will be a crowning ceremony in a few days…”

“Full moon?” Edwin asked for clarification, already taking notes.

“Of course.”

“And?”

She paused again, averting her eyes. “There has been… activity. Not related to my dominion but to the detriment thereof.”

Niko leaned closer. “Threatening activity?” she asked, her warm voice doing its magic, and the client returned her look, straightened, and looked at Edwin again.

“Yes, threatening is right. I have managed so far to protect my subjects, but whoever – or whatever – it is is getting stronger, and I have not yet been crowned.”

“Which means,” Edwin completed, “you may have the power but not the, uh, clearance, so to speak.”

Crystal frowned. “Your cousin never gave the impression that he is interested in clearance.”

The client’s jaw locked. “It’s not that simple,” was all she was willing to admit.

Edwin tactfully didn’t voice his thoughts (and knowledge) on that particular matter.

“And whoever is after you for whatever reason is likely to grow stronger until the full moon as well.”

The client bit her lips, still annoyed. “So it would appear. I don’t suppose I have to explain to someone as prolific as yourself and your team what would happen should I be killed and the throne remain unclaimed.”

“No,” Edwin said, though he was quite sure that he would have to explain some things to the others later.

“And you are certain that it is not another cat monarch that is angling for a power grab? Because, as I said, we cannot be involved in such matters.”

“And I wouldn’t ask you to,” the client said, sounding insulted. “I can take care of my territory and my subjects, and I have already taken care of the rivals who were… in the running.”

Edwin raised an eyebrow. “You have also taken care of your predecessor,” he pointed out.

“Yes, well, he needed taking care of.”

Edwin smiled benignly. “We may not get involved, but I have noticed his… dedication to his responsibilities dwindling of late.”

“The lazy fucker didn’t take care of my cats!” the client spat.

“Not to imply anything,” Charles spoke up, “but what would happen if you are not crowned by the full moon?”

The client glared at him so scathingly that Edwin quickly intervened. The last thing they needed was Charles pissing off another cat monarch.

“The Cat Queen is more than a ruler,” he said quickly. “Cats are inherently magical; some can move between realms or planes, others are naturally amplifying magic by their mere presence. They are a… power network, for lack of a better word, but I have the feeling that whoever is trying to prevent the coronation from happening is after just that. The network would be out of control and with it much of the magical energy in the city, never mind what would happen to all of Her Majesty’s subjects. Full moon is the deadline.”

“That… doesn’t sound good,” Charles agreed.

“No,” the designated Cat Queen of London said smugly and sought out Charles’ eyes with her disconcerting green ones. “I have taken over from my predecessor and disposed of the competition. Their power is already mine.”

“We can’t have the city unravel like that,” Edwin stated firmly. “And we have four days.”

Crystal leaned forward in her seat. “Did your favourite cousin tell you to come to us?”

The Queen smirked at her. “He may have mentioned the Dead Boy Detective Agency before, but I have been in this city since long before any of you were here, and I know it well. I didn’t need the pointer.” She cleared her throat uncomfortably. “Admittedly, his glowing recommendation helped with the decision to come to you. Asking for help is not in my nature.” She shared a look with Edwin that seemed to express something, but none of the others caught what it was.

“You will be well compensated, of course.”

“Of course,” Edwin said. “But, to be frank, we can’t afford not to take this case. The consequences would not be in anyone’s interest, certainly not ours. Finding out whose interest it does serve is a top priority.” He nodded decisively and stood.

“The team will briefly discuss our procedure going forward. We will meet you at your dwellings.”

She nodded in agreement.

“I assume you’re taking over your predecessor’s location.”

She smiled coldly. “Of course. Though that is another thing he has let slide.” She nodded once more. “Do not dawdle.”

With that, golden flames wrapped around her, and she disappeared.

“Edwin…” Charles began, hopped off his seat and moved to stand next to Edwin and frown at him accusingly. “You knew there was a Cat King in London? And that there will be a Queen?”

“Yes, well,” Edwin started matter-of-factly, “it seemed prudent to stay informed about the political structures in the city, after our visit to Port Townsend made me aware of previously unnoticed powers at play.”

“Have you met that previous king?” Charles sounded increasingly suspicious.

“Very briefly, and his impending demise was foreseeable.”

“Another frisky fucker?”

Edwin couldn’t hold back a snort. “Hardly. I would go so far as to call him repulsive.”

“Oh, yeah? So’s Whiskers.”

“That is uncalled for,” Edwin replied mildly, disinclined to rise to the bait. “As for the Queen, well, she is quite formidable but has shown no interest in me, and she is not to my tastes. So, there is no need to worry about me. She is just another client.”

Charles mulled that over and had to come to the same conclusion, but one part of him didn’t like it at all. He groaned. “Fine.”

Edwin huffed a little laugh. “And it really wouldn’t do to get on the local Queen’s bad side, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I am going to really hate this,” Charles noted.

“I think she was amazing,” was Niko’s assessment.

“I can’t wait to see where this is going,” was Crystal’s.

Edwin looked just as pleased, and Charles squeezed his eyes shut to hide from the impending doom he could see approach.

[djarins-cyare]

Hi, thanks for checking out my writing!

I write purely for Din Djarin (though I read and rec other Pedro Pascal characters and other Star Wars media). Whilst not all my stories include smut, they usually contain adult themes and language, so they’re suitable for over-18s only 🔞

My writing is extremely detailed and character-oriented, and I research and proofread/edit thoroughly. I never start publishing something until it’s fully written. As a result, producing content takes me a while, but I hope this ensures that my completed works are high-quality, immersive experiences for my readers.

My preferred format is OC/Reader, by which I mean I keep physical descriptions blank or vague to allow as many people as possible to relate to my protagonists, but I fully develop their backstories and personalities to ensure dynamic characters. I mostly write female protagonists, and I use a combination of second-person (reader’s POV) and third-person (Din’s POV) perspectives.

Please feel free to JOIN MY TAG LIST

**The emojis assigned to each fic below indicate moods rather than specific genres and are open to interpretation**

PUBLISHED WORKS:

🔷 Be-All And Endor [406,690 words]

My magnum opus; this is a novel-length slow burn set after season 2. Din has a bounty on Endor and gets more than he bargained for when Reader accidentally almost runs him down with her speeder in the forest. Over 1.7K kudos on AO3. [😍+🥰+🥵]

🔷 Never Look Down [13,160 words]

Two-part mini-series set on Nevarro after season 3, wherein Din falls for Grogu’s babysitter but resolves not to tell her… until a drunken misunderstanding results in some revelations. [😍+🫣 and a hint of 🥵]

🔷 Din Djarin: The Contractor [1,001 words]

A silly little imagine-turned-one-shot that evolved from pics of Din holding a toolbox and the memory of Joel telling Ellie he used to be a contractor. Reader needs a repairman, and guess who shows up… [😡->😈]

🔷 Wedding Day [178 words]

I noticed Din’s very formal stance in a turbolift in s3e6, photoshopped him in front of a wedding arch, laughed at the obvious pun, and then wrote some questionable free-form poetry to post it with. [Pure 🥰]

🔷 The Long Goodbye [45 words]

Flash fiction in 280 characters or less. An examination of why Ahsoka came looking for Din in ‘Chapter 13: The Jedi’ rather than waiting for him in Calodan like he asked. [🥺]

CURRENTLY BEING WRITTEN:

🔷 Hush [✨due for release Jan ’25✨]

[snippet 1] [snippet 2] [snippet 3] [snippet 4] I was assigned the genre ‘secret relationship’ in a roll-a-trope writing challenge, so this fic follows Din and Reader embarking on a clandestine liaison that they have to hide from Karga… because Reader is our favourite High Magistrate’s niece. Multi-chapter; features sneaking around, flimsy excuses, near misses, and furtive smut. [😏🤫🥵]

🔷 Held Is The Seed

[details & snippet] [snippet] A four-part smutty series. When a guy in a cantina claims Mandos make poor lovers, Reader leaps to Din’s defence and lists several ways in which he could, in fact, be exceptionally talented in bed. Din overhears and later offers to prove her assumptions true one by one. [😍->🥵]

🔷 To See A Thousand Things

[details & snippet] [snippet - 1st one down] An extremely smutty, angsty piece based on five firsts and one last. Din has something casual going with a gun shop owner over the years, but they both discover that anything long-term will inevitably transform into something that runs deep. [🥵+😭]

🔷 Aruetiise

[snippet - 2nd one down] One-shot based on the idea of Din and Reader both coming up with reasons they can’t be together, none of which are the same and all of which are idiotic. An argument finally leads to a conversation about it. [🥺…🥹🥰]

🔷 Final Sanctuary

[snippet - 3rd one down] [snippet] Smutty one-shot (will be lengthy) based on a fantasy Din has when his shipmate spills white dip on her chin, and how he manages to figure out flirting and make his fantasy a reality. [🥵->🥰]

🔷 Din Djarin In Jarringly Domestic Situations

[details & snippet] [more details] Space romcom involving a series of encounters in which Din meets the woman of his dreams, but each time, it’s in an embarrassing or awkward situation. [😍😳🥴]

FIC REQUESTS:

Requests are open, mainly because having a deadline and someone waiting on me often helps motivate me to finish! I’m a slow writer, though, so whilst I’m happy to receive anon asks with requests, I also welcome DMs which will allow me to have a more open dialogue with you about when and how I can accommodate your ideas. I promise I don’t bite, and I love getting messages. 💙🩵

I’m flexible in terms of content, but please bear in mind that smut takes me a lot longer to write, and I lean towards fluff rather than angst (though I’m not opposed to the darker end of the scale). I’m also not a fan of breeding kink (sorry, I firmly believe Din is a reluctant father who loves Grogu but would have to be brought around to the idea of one day having his own) or age gap/daddy kink (I’m only 8 years younger than Pedro 🫣). Otherwise, please feel free to suggest anything that takes your fancy!

Ideally, short prompts or ideas for one-shots are best because I’m the girl who got over 400k words out of “slow burn set on Endor”, so the more complex your request, the bigger the undertaking, the longer it’ll take me to research and write (and the longer you’ll be waiting).

HOW TO SUPPORT ME:

If you’ve enjoyed my writing, please consider heading over to AO3 and adding some kudos to my fics there. Also, please consider reblogging any of my fics/series masterlists here on Tumblr. Both these actions increase visibility and help new readers to find my work long after publication. I don’t have a Ko-fi because I value online encouragement and marketing assistance more than cold, hard cash.

I also see spinoff media as the highest form of flattery, so if you feel like doing anything creative based around the universes I write, rest assured I’ll be here cheering you on and crying over how much I love you! It’s my dream for my writing to inspire others, whether it’s playing in my sandbox with me or crafting something of your own.

Thanks for your support; it means the galaxy to me! 💙🩵

🌀 I do NOT consent for my stories to be copied/reposted on any other site, nor stolen, scraped or reworked by AI 🌀

[yourlocaldisneyvillain]

Hi😊 i hope you're having a nice day!

Could i request a Larissa/21-22 Student reader(young teacher if you're not comfortable writing it with a student)fic with prompts 1 and 50 please? (Smut)

R have a big crush on Larissa. One night, she was walking past Larissa's room when she heard moans, she couln'd believe what she was hearing, she stopped and decided to take a peace of paper and write #50 on it with a 💋 with her lipstic (yea she's dumb like that), not writing her name and slip it under Larissa's door and ran back to her dorm. Larissa had no idea who could've wrote that and she was very embarassed that someone heard her..yk... The next day when Larissa walked past R in the hallway, she thought she saw a weird look in R's face and then she saw the lipstic, that lipstic, and it just clicked in her head. She always thought R was a bit of a tease with her but she never thought anything about it, but now.. Larissa decided to go to R's dorm, not knowing what she would do when she'll reach it. And what she heard throught that door, she thought that maybe she could pay R back for what R has done to her.😉 She openned the door slowly so R won't hear her and closed the door behind her, then she wispered #1. And then it would end up full of smuth, you can add as many kink as you want, even toys if you like, please?😊 (was this request too specific? I hope not😕)

Thank you if you decide to write it, i really love your fics and i really wanted to ask one too! And thank you even if you don't, for reading this!💋

A way too shy anon😅

i took some liberties with your request, i hope you don't mind! i made reader a 27yo phd student and it's a non-magical au! also..... i know i was probably expected to write a short, smutty thing, but before i knew it had a plot and it was 4000+ words whoopsie please don't hesitate to leave a comment on ao3, it makes my heart sing! <3

without further ado, enjoy some larissa x reader smut :) tags: car sex, mommy kink and idk how to tag adkjfshgd

You walk through the dark, empty corridor that leads to Professor Weems’ office. Most people have retired for the evening — it’s late, way too late for an official meeting, but given that lately you’ve been getting rather friendly, you hope she will excuse the informality. You know you will probably find her there, as she often works long into the night — and you really need her help with this chapter. The deadline for your PhD is rapidly approaching and you are still nowhere near done. 

She truly is a great mentor — always happy to meet with you and answer any questions you have, ready to spend hours going through your work and analysing materials you brought her. You somehow always end up spending a lot of time together — more often than not ending up in deep and heated discussions about various subjects (that sometimes relate to your work, and sometimes don’t) after you’ve finished discussing your thesis. You feel like you could talk to her the entire day without getting tired — she is remarkably intelligent, knowledgable on many subjects — her taste in art exquisite, and her takes are often unique. She always leaves you with several book recommendations (“Read this, darling, I am very curious what you will think about it,” she usually says and writes down a title or two, “read it when you find the time for it, of course — you have a thesis to write,” she winks — you somehow always find the time, sometimes sacrificing those few precious hours of sleep). 

Larissa Weems is also very, very attractive. She is an unusual looking woman — very tall, imposing, with platinum blonde hair and a peculiar fashion sense — she dresses like a movie star from the 1940s — but she is ridiculously charismatic, expressive, charming. Her laugh is contagious, her eyes bright and sparkling — you can’t be blamed for being absolutely enamoured with her.

You thought about asking her out once you get your PhD— age difference be damned. You are a 27 year old woman — you are free to do as you please. It’s just that, well — she is your mentor,  at least for now, and even if she wasn’t, she is just way out of your league. You don’t even know if she likes women, (probably not, knowing your luck) — and if she does, there is no way she would like you (even if you did have a very interesting discussion about sapphic undertones in The Marriage of Figaro — that scene between Susanna, Countess Rosina and Cherubino is rather… sexually charged — she seemed to share your opinion).

Lately, you feel your relationship has reached a deeper level — your meetings would almost always end in a nearby bar, where you’d relax with a glass of wine and continue your conversation late into the evening. Last time, she got slightly tipsy and became rather touchy-feely (she seems to be one of those people who are get very affectionate when drunk)— putting a hand on your shoulder, brushing against your leg under the table (then immediately apologising and pulling away), and when you got back to campus, she hugged you before parting ways. You can still recall very vividly how warm and soft she was and how she smelled faintly of sweet perfume and red wine. Since then you can’t stop imagining her touch — in very inappropriate ways. You try your hardest not to get too invested, though — she is your mentor, first and foremost. 

For all those reasons, you conclude she won’t be terribly upset at you if you barge into her office at this late hour. Worst case scenario, she tells you she’s too busy right now. 

You are just about to knock on her office door when something stops you dead in your tracks — a sound.

A moan.

You stand in front of the door. You hear nothing for a couple of seconds and almost knock again, certain you’ve imagined it (because why would anyone be moaning here at this hour?), but then you hear it once more.

It’s coming from her office. Is she with someone (your heart sinks at the thought, and you immediately scoff at yourself — as if you ever had a chance)? 

You know the appropriate thing would be to leave immediately, but something keeps you there, standing in front of the door, listening. 

The moans continue, and there is no doubt about it — that is her moaning, and there is no one else with her. It’s very clear what she is doing.

You should leave, but you stand there, frozen, listening. You don’t really want to go. 

Her moans sound heavenly — they send delicious jolts straight to your core. You can’t help but wish you were the one making her moan. 

Later, when you get back to your room, you don’t know what possessed you to do what you did. Might have been sleep deprivation, caffeine overdose, or lack of proper meals from days of working on your thesis non-stop, might be that she is the most attractive woman you have ever had the pleasure of knowing and her moans were just too much for your tired brain to handle — but you take a piece of paper out of your notebook and write a very inappropriate thing on it.

I thought your laugh was the prettiest sound in the world. I was wrong — it's your moans.

You stare at the note for a couple of seconds. The moans coming from her office are getting louder — she must be getting close to… 

…your brain short-circuits at the thought.

Without thinking, you place a kiss on the piece of paper, leaving a coral-coloured lip-print on it. 

Inside her office, Professor Weems keens. 

You slip the paper underneath her door and run back to your room. 

You continue working through the night, falling asleep on your desk around 5am. You wake up at 8, and by then the whole episode feels like it might have been a fever dream.

You still need her help with the chapter, however, so you send her en email asking if she could squeeze you into her schedule today. You get an answer almost immediately.

I am terribly busy today, but I could see you during lunch break. We could eat out together and go over the chapter, if you’d like. Please send it to me beforehand so I can read through it and make notes! :-) 

Sent from my iPhone

(You find her boomer smileys very endearing.)

You try your best not to think about last night’s events. You are lucky she can’t recognise your handwriting, given that you always write everything on your laptop. 

You steal an hour of sleep, take a shower and put on some lipstick and mascara before leaving to meet her at cafeteria for lunch. If you’re lucky, you will succeed at pretending last night never happened.

You are not lucky.

You can’t stop staring at her mouth as she talks, as she chews her lunch, imagining all types of lewd sounds coming from it. It’s downright erotic, the way her lips move — no one should look that sexy chewing food.

“Darling? Are you with me?” she asks, making you snap out of your inappropriate daydream.

“Hm? Yeah, I’m sorry, I’m just a bit spacey today,” you answer, embarrassed, wondering if she caught onto your staring.

“How many hours of sleep have you gotten in the last couple of days, darling?”

“Uhm… in the last three days, I think I got about ten hours combined.”

“You really should take better care of yourself.”

“I know, but there’s just so much work to be done,” you sigh. “Is it supposed to be this hard to get your PhD?”

Professor Weems chuckles (the loveliest sound). “I’m sorry to inform you that it is — at least if you want to do it properly.”

“How was it for you? When you were getting your PhD, I mean? It’s hard for me to imagine you going around disheveled and sleep deprived. You always look so put together.”

“Ah, darling, it’s one of the perks of reaching a certain age — you can finally afford some of life’s little luxuries, such as sleeping six to eight hours a nigh. However, I absolutely did go around disheveled and sleep deprived. I was living off of caffeine and salted crackers — I was a rather pitiful sight. I’m glad I did it, but I’d never go back.”

“So you’re telling me life is easy in your forties?” you tease.

“I said easier, not easy. I do still get terribly stressed about things. I was rather stressed yesterday, as a matter of fact. I have so many things to do today, and I will be working late again.”

“And what do you do to relieve the stress?” you ask before you can stop yourself. You know very well what she did yesterday to relieve the stress.

“Oh, this and that. Usually I watch something that takes my mind off work.”

(“Porn?” you think.)

“I think we should get going though, darling — lunch break is almost over. Let me just fix my makeup,” she says and pulls her signature red lipstick and a compact mirror out of her bag. She fixes the edges of her lipstick expertly.

“Do you need to fix your lipstick, darling?” she asks, handling you the mirror.

“Oh, I might, actually. Thanks.”

Only when you’re done fixing your makeup and you hand the mirror back to her do you realise she has just watched you put on the same lipstick you used to leave a lip-print on that wildly inappropriate note you slipped under her door. 

You look at her, your stomach twisting with anxiety, searching for any sign of recognition on her face.

Her face is unreadable, but you wonder if she holds eye contact with you a little longer and a little more intensely than usual. You might just be imagining things, though — you are terribly sleep deprived.

“Thank you, darling,” she says, giving you a bright smile. “Shall we?”

The cafeteria door is a bit narrow, so you step back to let her pass first, but she puts a hand on your waist and gently pushes you past her. Your shoulder brushes against her as you do so. Being this close to her makes your heart beat faster and your limbs turn to jelly.

You look up at her (she is so tall). She’s smiling at you. It’s a bright, toothy smile that makes your insides melt and your brain become mush. 

“I will be working late tonight, so if you need any help you know where to find me.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t wanna bother you.”

“I can spare an hour for my favourite PhD student.”

“Your only PhD student.”

“You should just accept the compliment, darling.” She squeezes your shoulder and winks. “Good luck with your research. Try to squeeze in an afternoon nap. Ta-ta!”

She turns around and walks in the direction of her office, leaving you standing in front of the cafeteria like an idiot. As she walks away, you stare at way her hips move in the tight skirt pencil skirt she’s wearing. After a couple of seconds, you realise your mouth is open, so you quickly close it before anyone notices you are behaving like a horny teenager. 

You slowly drag yourself to your room. As you sit down and start going through the notes she gave you during lunch, your thoughts keep drifting to her ass in that pencil skirt. You sigh.

This is going to be a long day.

By the time evening comes, you are nowhere near finished with the chapter that was giving you grief yesterday. You know what needs to be done and you have finally found the right source to support your argument, but you have a hard time concentrating, and that makes you work in an excruciatingly slow manner. Your thoughts are scattered and you keep thinking about the deadline that looms over your head. Stress and sleep deprivation are truly starting getting to you (it also doesn’t help that your thoughts keeps drifting to Professor Weems and her tight pencil skirt). You wonder if you should take a quick power nap, but you are so caffeinated and anxious you doubt you could sleep if you tried, despite being exhausted, so you continue to push through.

It’s around 9pm that you hear a knock on your door. Before you can react in any way, the door opens and Professor Weems is standing in your room.

“I hope I’m not bothering you, darling. I just wanted to check how you’re doing before I retire for the evening.”

“Not so well, I’m afraid. I am nowhere near done with this chapter. I know what I need to do, it’s just that it’s going so painfully slowly.” You bury your head into your hands and let out a frustrated sigh. “I’m sorry I’m being so whiny about this. I am just so stressed.”

Professor Weems approaches your desk and sits on it. Her thigh is just next to your head. You look up at her.

“Darling, you are working yourself too hard. I would tell you if I thought you are terribly behind with your research, but I honestly think you’ll make it. Don’t forget, I have to sign my name on your work — I would never lie to you about your progress to make you feel better — so trust me when I say you should let this go for tonight and come back to it when you’re less sleep-deprived.”

“But—”

“No buts. Come on, I am taking you out for a glass of wine. You should relax. It’s painful to watch you like this.”

You would never decline a glass of wine with Professor Weems, so before you know it you are sitting in that bar near campus having a glass of red wine (that turns into two and then into three glasses). The alcohol is getting to you, since you haven’t eaten that much today — you feel warm and fuzzy and slightly drunk.

Professor Weems seems to be getting tipsy as well, because she is getting very touchy with you again. She laughs at your stupid jokes (her laughter is one of your favourite things about her — loud and unabashed and melodious) and touches your shoulder often, sometimes letting her hand linger way longer than necessary. At some point in the evening her leg touches your own underneath the table.

She doesn’t move it, nor does she apologise. 

“You were right, Professor Weems, I did need this,” you say. “I’ve been feeling really out of it for the last couple of days.”

“Oh, I told you already, call me Larissa, darling. Professor Weems is so formal.”

“Are you big on formalities, Larissa?” you ask. You decide to try and push your luck — your confidence is not that high, but you are not an idiot. You are pretty certain she is flirting with you, unless you are completely delusional because of sleep deprivation. 

“Usually yes, but as you’ve probably already concluded by my taste in literature, I do think life would be terribly boring without letting the irrational, passionate streak in us win sometimes. As is the case in many literary classics — the plot simply couldn’t move forward without one of the characters disregarding propriety and doing something reckless and passionate.”

“I agree. I often wish I had the courage to do something like that in real life — my life would be so much more interesting.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, darling. I do think you have what it takes.” She gives you a big, bright smile. “Oh, wait a second, darling, your lipstick is smudged. Here, let me.”

She leans forward and takes your chin in her hand, then brushes along the corner of your lip with her thumb. Her touch sends a shiver down your spine and makes your entire body hot with desire.

“That’s a lovely colour, darling. Coral suits you very well.”

She knows. She must know. 

She leans back into her seat. You decide to be bold.

“You know, I am still feeling a little bit tense. You said you like to watch something to relax — but I prefer more physical ways of relaxation. Do you have anything to recommend in that area?”

“Do give me an example, darling, what do you do to relax that’s physical?”

“Oh, I’m afraid what I do wouldn’t be appropriate to engage in at my workplace.”

There is a definite red tinge to Larissa’s cheeks.

“What’s life without a little excitement?”

“Very boring, I suppose.”

For a couple of seconds, there is silence. You are looking at each other, both of your cheeks slightly flushed from the alcohol. The tension in the air is thick and heavy.

The next thing she says takes you by surprise. You didn’t expect her to be that forward.

“Tell me, darling, did it turn you on when you heard me yesterday?”

“I—” you open and close your mouth like a fish. You can’t believe the words that just came out of her mouth — to hear her say something like that is something straight out of a wet dream, something that would only happen in your wildest fantasies. 

“I usually do it to relax — it’s a purely physical thing, but lately I have found myself thinking about you,” she continues. “Tell me, do you think of mewhen you touch yourself?”

You look her straight in the eye. “Yes, I do.”

You look at each other for a moment. Desire lingers in the air. She is first to break the silence. 

“Before this escalates any further, I want you to know that the last thing I’d want is to put you in a difficult situation or make you feel like you are obligated to do something. If you don’t want this, just say the word and we shall never mention it again.” 

She pauses. She seems nervous — you’ve never seen her nervous before.

“And please know that whatever you decide, it will not affect your thesis in any way. I would hate for you to be under the impression that this is transactional. I am genuinely interested in pursuing something beyond friendship with you, but I am ready to put that aside and prioritise our professional relationship if that is what you want.”

Your heart breaks as you decide to do the right thing.

“Maybe we should wait until I finish my thesis, and then… continue with this,” you say. “As much as I’d like to, it really wouldn’t be professional of us.”

“Of course. That would probably be best.”

She moves her leg under the table so that it’s no longer touching yours —- you can’t help but feel disappointed. There is a moment of awkward silence. She clears her throat. “We should probably go then, not let this escalate any further.”

“Yes,” you agree. “Let’s go.”

The walk to campus is silent and awkward. 

“It’s rather late,” you say. “I do hope buses still drive. The night lines are scarce in this part of town.”

“Oh, I can drive you home, if you want,” she says quickly. “I didn’t offer because I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“I mean, if you want to. We will have to spend time a lot of time together until I finish my thesis, we might as well practice not being awkward around each other. Not that I wasn’t awkward before,” you say, attempting to lighten the mood. “You always made me nervous.”

She chuckles and the air seems less heavy. “I didn’t know I was so scary.”

“You’re not,” you say, but you don’t elaborate further (what you want to say is you look like a movie star, you are intelligent and absolutely brilliant and I am nervous because I have a huge crush on you — but that would be inappropriate given the circumstances).

The drive to your apartment is silent. The tension that built in the bar didn’t dissipate into thin air when you decided not to act on it — instead it intensified — it lingers around, hot and heavy, clouding your judgement, making you sweat even though it’s a chilly night.

She parks in a free spot just in front of your apartment building.

“I’m sorry, I acted very unprofessionally,” she starts. “As your mentor, I should have ignored your advances, but instead I flirted with you and encouraged you.”

Her red lips move in the most delicious way as she speaks, and you find yourself staring again. You remember the sound of her moans. It’s difficult to think about anything else.

“I feel terribly ashamed. I promise I will maintain a strictly professional demeanour from now o—”

You pull her into a bruising kiss. She squeaks (you find that adorable).

Pushing you away, she tries to be reasonable. “We shouldn’t,” she says.

“What’s life without a little excitement? What a novel without the protagonist disregarding propriety and pushing the plot forward?”

“I—”

“Please, Larissa, I believe you when you say my thesis won’t be affected. We are both adults. We want this. Tell me, do you want me?”

She looks at you. Desire dances in her eyes.

“Yes.”

That is all you need. 

You kiss her again, then climb over to her seat, somehow managing to straddle her lap. She abruptly pushes the car seat backwards to give you more room — you gasp in surprise and she swallows your gasp with a hungry kiss.

The way she kisses you is passionate, ravenous, desperate. You grind against each other, your hands are everywhere, and her skirt is already bunched up around her hips (the sight of her soft, white thighs in garters drives you crazy). It’s hot, it’s dirty, and it’s not something you thought a put together woman like herself would ever be caught dead doing.

“I never imagined you’d enjoy a dirty car fuck, Larissa,” you whisper into her ear as she kisses your neck. She bites it and you gasp. 

“And I never imagined you’d be such a naughty slut, grinding your pussy against my thigh, but here we are.” 

She makes even something that cheap and filthy sound delicious. It shouldn’t turn you on so much, but it does.

“Say that again,” you breathe out, continuing to grind against her thigh.

“You like it when mommy calls you a dirty slut, hm?” 

She grabs your hair with one hand and slides the other one down into your trousers, feeling your drenched underwear. 

“Mmm, fuck,” is the only thing you can say.

“So wet and needy for me already, darling?” she coos at you. “Tell me, did you imagine me doing this to you as you touch yourself, hm? Fucking you with my fingers, fast and hard, like a common whore?”

She slides her hand inside your underwear and pushes a finger into you, then, when she feels how wet you are, two. You whimper. She curls them and you cry out. “Say I’m mommy’s little whore. I want to hear it.”

“I— I’m mommy’s little whore, fuck—”

She starts fucking you, fast and hard, and there are no coherent thoughts left in your mind. She is grunting and groaning with you — it make you delirious with desire. You want to make her moan like she did last night.

You somehow manage to pull yourself together enough to bury your own hand between her soft thighs and feel her wetness. She moans as you circle her clit and her fingers lose their rhythm for a second, which allows you to put together a coherent sentence.

“Like that, mommy?” you breathe out. “Did you imagine this when you touched yourself yesterday?”

“Yes,” she whines, “please, don’t stop.”

You have no intention of stopping. You continue to circle her clit even as she starts to fuck you harder. Her moans are obscene and loud and for a second you remember that any passerby could see you, and probably hear you, but you don’t care. If anything, that turns you on even more.

What sends you over the edge is her orgasm. Her body tenses up, her moans become hoarser and strangled, and a combination of swearwords and moans mixed with your name leave her lips as she tips over the edge of ecstasy. It’s the most erotic thing you have ever witnessed. She tries to fuck you through her own orgasm, but she doesn’t manage to keep the relentless, steady pace she had set before. It doesn’t matter — you grind on her hand and cry out as you ride out intense waves of pleasure that make your limbs tingle.

She gently pulls her fingers out of you. You stay still for a while, wrapped around each other, breathing heavily, your faces buried in each other’s necks. 

“Fuck, that was hot,” you say after a while.

She nods against your shoulder. “It was.”

“Wanna do that again sometime… mommy?” you pull away, looking at her with a shit-eating grin plastered on your face.

“If you call me that any time we aren’t fucking, I will end you.”

You laugh, and after a second she laughs as well. 

She is so pretty when she smiles — you love how those little lines around her eyes become more prominent.

“I should probably go, though. We are in the middle of the street and it’s like, 3am,” you say.

“Yes, you probably should.”

Before you go exit the car, you kiss goodnight. It’s the sweet and soft — it makes your heart flutter.

“Good night, darling,” she whispers as you get out of the car.

“Good night, Larissa,” you whisper as you watch her drive away.

As you brush your teeth, take a quick shower and get cozy in your bed, the only thing you can think about is Larissa. When you fall asleep, you dream of her sweet kisses. 

When you wake up in the morning, you feel well-rested for the first time in weeks.

[sundrop-writes]

Emergency Contact

Jason Todd x Gender Neutral Reader

You choke on your words, but you swallow them faster.

Just want you to be my Emergency Contact.

Summary:

After Jason miraculously comes home from his brush with Deathstroke, you’re both feeling it in very different ways. You have an unexpected physical wound from the battle, and he has many (very expected) emotional wounds. You help each other heal. Even if it’s very stubborn on both your parts.

Jason Todd x GN!Powered!Reader. Enemies/FWB to Lovers. Angst and Hurt/Comfort. (Slight Smut). Set during Season 2, Episode 5.

Word Count: 10,400

DC Titans Masterlist | AO3 Link

THIS IS A RE-POST. This is a fic from my old blog (a blog that was shadowbanned, forcing me to move). This fic is not stolen, it is completely mine, and I am just re-posting it to help people find my new blog, and to make my masterlist complete when I post new fics for this fandom.

Detailed warnings and author’s notes below the cut.

...

Warnings: general emotional angst, Jason has a self deprecating inner dialogue, (kind of) enemies to lovers - more like annoyances to fuck buddies to lovers, friends with benefits to lovers, the reader and Jason have a bantering/argumentative nature to their relationship, the reader is meant to be 100% gender neutral (the reader is never referred to in the third person, so there is no need to use they/them pronouns, but the reader is not called she/her or he/him), Jason calls the reader ‘babe’ (imo, a completely gender neutral term and he would call anybody that), mentions of alcohol (Jason drinking a beer), the reader character has ice powers (not entirely relevant to the plot but I couldn’t help myself lmao).

sexual themes throughout, mentions of sexting (no detailed descriptions), mentions of sexting in public, mentions of the reader character sending nudes to Jason (no detailed descriptions of the photos), one scene with detailed smut (but it is not the primary focus of the fic), the reader’s genitals are not described in any specific way, some dirty talk, Jason is more dominant and the reader is more submissive, penetrative sex, Jason is annoying even during sex, Jason has a pain kink (even when he’s a dom, he’s a painslut, I don’t make the rules), scratching/marking (Jason receiving), slight humiliation kink.

mentions of canon level violence, mentions of kidnapping (in alignment with canon), mentions of Jason being beaten by Deathstroke, mentions of Jason’s near-death experience (being dropped off the building), gun violence, the reader is injured - has a bullet wound/bullet fragment in their stomach, mentions of blood, descriptions of first-aid, mentions of puss from an infected wound (theoretically, not something that happens in the fic). That should be everything.

A/N: The title for the fic comes from a song by Pierce the Veil of the same name. It’s a newer song, and it’s one that I absolutely went to when looking for a title for this fic. The concept of becoming someone’s emergency contact is about upgrading the relationship from casual to much more serious, and just the whole song, and specific lyrics in it suit this fic so well. I highly recommend listening to it paired with this fic.

This was based on a request from my old blog, but obvi I don’t have that ask anymore - the request was about Jason getting shot and having his wound attended to by the reader, but I changed it to the reader getting shot cause I thought that was more interesting and less common. If the person who made that request sees this and finds my new blog, I hope you enjoy it! And in general, I hope everyone who reads this enjoys it.

This is another re-post from my old blog, and I do have a sequel for it in my drafts, which I am not actively working on. And before I post the sequel, I do plan on tweaking this and revamping it a little, but I figured I would repost this for now just to have the masterlist complete on this blog.

...

If asked, you would be hard pressed to explain your relationship with Jason Todd. 

The best way you could describe it would probably be - friends with benefits? 

But most of the time, the two of you weren’t even friends. You weren’t the type to hang out casually, or spend time alone together if it didn’t involve ripping each other’s clothes off. 

If you ever exchanged secrets or those precious bits of your most raw selves, it was by mistake. It was through sarcasm, or coming off the tired lips of someone who had just been exhausted by a few orgasms. The two of you knew each other well, quite literally inside and out. But you always made a deep, concerted effort to hold each other at arm’s length. And maybe that’s part of what all the snark and harsh words were for. 

It wasn’t all arguing. You were friendly. You could be civil, at the very least. 

Right from the moment you had first met Jason, you had found him to be so damn annoying, a shitstain on the earth - yet, someone you couldn’t stay away from. The line between flirtatious banter and a truly grinding argument was always so thin with the two of you. 

… 

You hadn’t expected that your life would be truly changed when you walked into that safehouse in Chicago that day. You truly thought nothing of him when his eyes landed on you - in those moments, a completely anonymous stranger, raking his eyes over you like you were a piece of meat. It was a gaze that immediately made you feel naked, something that made you want to smack him. You told yourself it was because he was being a pervert, not because of the heat that curled in your gut at feeling so intensely desired by him. 

He had been sitting on the couch sipping a beer like he owned the place, his thighs spread wide in a way you immediately decided was arrogant and annoying rather than hot - showing off his muscle tone as if it was trying to break through his jeans. Definitely annoying. Definitely the stance of a fuckboy trying to look bigger and badder than he was. He definitely was not attractive. 

When Dick led you, Rachel, Gar, and Kory further into the condo that seemed far too conspicuous to be a safehouse, the stranger you would later come to know as Jason quickly spoke up. 

“Who are your friends?” He asked. 

As he rose from the couch, his eyes lingered on you. Though his words seemed more out of curiosity, you couldn’t help but feel that bite of something more salacious lingering in his voice. 

It caused you to scoff and roll your eyes. 

“Not important.” Dick declared, his voice snippy. He was clearly annoyed with this new guy, and you could tell that your perceptions of him were definitely not ill-informed. 

“Who’s he?” Kory asked, going for the obvious question. 

“Not important.” Dick parroted out the words again, sounding much shorter with his patience. 

“Anybody want a brew?” Jason asked, motioning with the beer bottle in his hand. 

“Brew?” You twisted your eyebrows with disgust, staring him down as you commented on his odd choice of slang. 

He didn’t get to reply, as you were trampled over by Gar’s enthusiastic voice in your ear. 

“I do!” He said, raising his hand with excitement. 

“No, you don’t.” You quickly told him, reaching out to grab his hand and put it back down. “It’s disgusting.” 

You had a grand suspicion that Gar had never drank beer before, and he had no idea what he was truly asking for. Rather, he was simply taking advantage of trying new things because Dick and Kory were incredibly slack parental figures and he was away from home for the first time. 

“No, no one wants a brew.” Dick sighed, shaking his head. He threw Jason a small glare and you resisted the urge to laugh. 

“That can’t be Adamson.” Kory said, motioning toward Jason. 

This left you confused. But you didn’t question it. 

“He’s not Adamson. Adamson’s in the bathroom. Unconscious.” Dick explained. 

“Hi, I’m Rachel.” Rachel told Jason, offering him a sweet smile - being her usual sweet self. 

“Jason.” He introduced himself, in that moment, finally giving you a name to that obnoxious face. 

“I’m Gar!” Gar said with a grin, to which Jason nodded. 

Jason caught you glaring at him, and looked you up and down again, as if trying to willfully tear off your clothes with his eyes. It made your skin itch with heat and you would forever deny that it was a feeling you liked. 

“What can I call you, babe?” He asked, his voice entirely slimy, the kind of tone he would have used to recite cheesy lines to Tinder dates, you were entirely sure of. 

Before you could come up with some clever reply, Dick sighed in frustration and started balking again. 

“Okay, who we all are doesn’t matter right now.” He pressed, his neck so entirely tense that veins began to pop from the skin. “Can we just chill out, relax, sit on the couch and watch TV or something?” 

It seemed that he wouldn’t get his wish. 

Gar quickly charged around the table, finding something else to get strung up about. 

“Yo, when did you get another one?” He asked, putting his hands on both of the expensive cases on the long dining table - a copy identical to the one you knew to be containing Dick’s Robin outfit. 

It made you curious, and the answer that followed certainly surprised you. 

“That one’s mine.” Jason said, his chest literally puffing out with pride as he stated the fact. 

“No way.” You scoffed. 

“Yes way.” He quickly argued back, the whole exchange sounding entirely juvenile.

“This one’s yours? Wait, you’re Robin too?” Gar quickly put the pieces together. 

“I thought you were Robin?” Rachel commented, tilting her head toward Dick with curiosity. 

“I am.” Dick said firmly. 

“He was.” Jason corrected, a cocky smirk forming across his lips. 

“Batman really lowered the height requirement, huh.” You said. 

The words flew from your mouth before you could stop them, seeing as it was likely the only thing you could nitpick about Jason’s appearance. Between his stunning sharp jaw, his piercing blue eyes, his oddly appealing wild hair, his muscle tone being somehow visible beneath his baggy clothing - all of it made you equally frustrated and annoyed with him, and your baser urges couldn’t resist the low-hanging fruit. 

You felt victory and a slight pang of guilt when Jason deflated because of your comment, shrinking back into himself at your words. 

He didn’t have anything to say in return, he simply sipped his beer. 

“Wait, how many Robins are there?” Gar said, beginning to excitedly ramble at the thought. “Are there a lot? Cause I would love to-” 

“Okay, quiet.” Kory cut him off, clearly becoming annoyed with all of this dancing around the point as much as Dick was. “Sit.” 

Her words were firm, and you couldn’t help but to listen. You found yourself collapsing to sit on the couch while Rachel and Gar took seats at the dining table. Jason continued to linger in the middle of the room, staring at Kory and Dick as their frustration filled the air. 

“Bathroom.” Kory told Dick, and then they left to deal with whoever - or whatever - Adamson was. 

Jason sighed and took a seat beside you. When his eyes fell on you, you set your jaw and glared at him. You didn’t give away a single ounce of the heat you were feeling as his eyes locked with yours. 

“Even if I am the shorter Robin, I can assure you that everything else about me is… very long.” He lowered his voice and whispered those last words, crowding into your personal space as he did so. 

It sent shivers down your spine, his silken voice making the words sound too tempting. Even if you twisted your face and said ‘gross!’ causing him to dissolve into laughter, you didn’t make an effort to move away from him or put any space between your two bodies on the very large couch. You told yourself it was because you were tired from a very long day of travel, not because you were enjoying the smell of his strangely expensive cologne from this close by. 

His grin was still entirely smug, and you couldn’t stand it. 

When he raised the beer bottle up to his mouth again, you reached over and put a hand on his forearm, forcefully dragging his arm down as you made a snide comment. 

“That shit is disgusting, why the hell do you drink it?” You asked. 

You found your face drifting toward his again and if asked, you would say it was a form of intimidation - not that you were being drawn in by an unconscious attraction to him. 

“Because I can.” He replied, just as snide as he slipped your grip and sipped on the drink. 

You mocked his words in an entirely childish voice, and then you raised a single finger up to it and skimmed along the neck of the bottle. It took only a single moment of concentration with your skilled powers to freeze the beer inside solid. He thought he felt an extra chill coming off his hand, but convinced himself that he imagined it. But when he kept it tilted and nothing came out to meet his lips, he shook it and then stuck an inquiring eye inside the bottle. 

When he saw that it was completely frozen, he looked over and saw you grinning, and little did you know - that was the moment he became completely taken with you. You were one of the most annoying people he had ever met, and he found himself so intensely attracted to you. 

Even if it was getting under your skin by arguing with you or fucking your brains out, he knew in that moment - he had to get inside you and drive you insane the same way that he knew you would for him. 

… 

When Dick left to go check on his old circus friend Clay, Jason winked at you and said ‘don’t miss me too much’. You made a show of putting a finger near your mouth and audibly gagging. 

Later that night, when Jason didn’t return, you hated the curl of disappointment that panged in your stomach. You wanted to hit yourself for staring at the door, waiting for the second Robin to come in behind Dick. 

You hated yourself even more for replying to Jason’s texts. 

Apparently he had taken your phone out of your jacket pocket when you went to the bathroom (not to see Adamson - a different bathroom, to pee). And he had put himself in your contacts as ‘Hot Guy’. He had also sent himself a text from your phone that read ‘omg Jason you’re so hot, will you fuck me?’. And then replied to it from his own phone with a picture of his cock. 

Unfortunately, the only thing you could mock about the picture was poor lighting. 

When you told him as much, he quickly remedied that with several more pictures - ones with better lighting. He sent a video with very distinct audio. You would deny that you rushed to put your headphones in to listen to it while you sat on the train with Kory and Gar. You would deny that it drove a hard, hot pain between your thighs. 

You dug through a folder and sent some pictures of your own. You told yourself it was to prove to him that you were too good for him - to show off something he could never actually have. To tease him. 

You would deny that you loved the compliments he gave you, that you ate up the affection like a plant lovingly soaking up the sun. 

When you were sexting him, you had no clue that you were ever going to see him again. It was almost mindless, something for a dopamine hit to distract yourself from all the chaos going on around you. You weren’t doing it because you actually liked Jason. You didn’t have any real attractions toward him, or any real plans to carry out all of the bold things you said in those messages. 

You had no clue that you’d end up living together. 

When you did find out that Dick would be taking Jason into the newly reopened Titans Tower along with you, Gar, and Rachel, you didn’t make a big deal of it in your mind. When Jason made flirtatious remarks toward you in person, you brushed him off. You put up a wall. 

You told yourself that he was nothing more than a cocky, shallow guy who would use you for sex and then throw you away - something you could never actually build a proper relationship with. And if you were supposed to live together, be some kind of team like Dick expected you to be, then you couldn’t be messy. You couldn’t get emotional. 

You had no clue that on one of those first nights living together, your self assured discipline not to give into your lust for him would break like a wafer cookie, and you would be in his bed faster than a sea turtle running into ocean. 

… 

“Fuck, babe, you feel so good on my cock.” Jason grunted, his face buried in your neck as he thrusted deep inside of you. The loud squelch of artificial wetness coming from between your thighs as he worked his hips, working you open with a needy, demanding pace. “Bet you love this cock, huh? Tell me how fuckin’ much you love it.” 

“Shut up.” 

The words came from your throat as a weak whimper, much less powerful than you had intended. 

You didn’t want to give him any more power than he already held over you - he had you weak and willing on his cock, something you would have never admitted could be true until it was happening in these moments. 

Though you would never admit it aloud, you loved the way he handled you. Having you pinned against the bed with his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips, having you breathless and moaning as he fucked into you with fast, obviously skilled strokes. Your nails cut into the flesh of his back, and he let out a low rumble from his gut as the sharp sting sent a wave of pleasure through him. 

You hated the twinge of lustful embarrassment that curled in your gut when he chuckled at your words. 

“Oh, you want me to shut up?” He asked, slightly breathless from the act himself, moving one hand beside your head to raise himself up slightly to look in your eyes. 

He was sweaty, disheveled, his hair a mess, his muscles taught with the effort as he continued to pound into you. You hated that you had imagined him much like this before, and that this outlived all of your fantasies. 

“Yes.” You fired back. “Just shut up and fuck me.” 

He bit his lip - something you didn’t know was him trying to hold back his orgasm, so utterly turned on by your bratty defiance, the twinge of a whimper in your voice as you said those words. 

“You weren’t tellin’ me to shut up when I was texting you.” 

He said, all hot breath fanning across your chin, his hips spearing forward in sharp, hard hits that made your skin smack loudly together. It made you work hard to suppress moans deep in your chest in a way that was painful, like venom inside your lungs. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of your sounds, of knowing just how good he was fucking you - even if he could see it written all over your pleasure twisted face. 

“You only begged for more when I was tellin’ you how I was gonna lay you on my bed. Take you apart… make you scream my name.” 

He reached his other hand from your hip to the point where you were joined. He began touching that tender place, making sharp, vicious strokes that were almost vengeful. Tears easily gathered in your eyes and he let out another chuckle when you choked on a deep, pleasurable wail. 

“Tell me, how many times did you touch yourself reading what I wrote?” 

He asked, leaning down to whisper the words right in your ear. 

“How many times did you cum thinking about me?” 

“I didn’t.” You choked out, digging your nails deeper into the skin of his back, causing him to grunt as the pain mixed with the pleasure flowing through him. 

“Sure, babe.” He smirked down at you, turning that look into something absolutely pavlovian that would forever make you feel his cock deep inside of you when you saw it, rather than feeling annoyed. 

Maybe from that point on, it was a bit of both. 

In an effort to shut him up, you reached up and claimed his lips. It was supposed to be a kiss, but it was mostly teeth. When you bit down on his bottom lip, snarling, he tasted blood and the way he moaned at the pain was absolutely unmistakable. It was something you remembered and used against him many times after that. 

… 

You wouldn’t allow yourself any room for self hatred when it came to that break in your self control. When it became an ongoing thing, you spun it as positive in your mind. 

It was just sexual release. You and Jason both needed it. It paired well with intense training and the heavy studying that Dick made you do. It lowered your stress levels a lot, and it helped you get through the day. 

The more time you spent around Jason, the more you got to know him, and the more you came to realize that he was nowhere near shallow. You easily saw that he was caring, deep, complex, troubled. The more time passed, you found yourself falling for him and the more you deeply denied it. Because it was just sex. 

Things were good between the two of you, and you knew that if you added anything else to the mix - any complicated, mushy feelings - you would fuck it up. 

You were especially reminded of this - how important it was not to fuck things up - just a day or so before every other force aside from you railed Titans Tower and began royally fucking things up. 

… 

It was a morning just like any other at Titans Tower. It was delightfully quiet - even though Dick demanded that everyone get up at ungodly early hours to begin training, you had somehow managed to wake up before everyone else and you were enjoying the peace it brought you. 

When you got up to see that Jason was already in the kitchen, standing at the counter as he munched on a bowl of cereal, you wanted to scorn the idea that your peace would be interrupted. But instead, you found yourself willfully suppressing a smile. 

You yawned and walked over to the counter, grabbing a bowl from one of the cupboards, thinking that cereal was just the right idea on his part. A deep frown cut through your face when you poured out the rest of the cereal box he had left on the counter, and a very measly amount fell into your bowl. 

“What kind of asshole only leaves three fucking cornflakes in the bottom of the box?” You scoffed, causing him to chuckle. 

“Learn to count, babe.” He told you, speaking with his mouth half-full. “That’s more than three.” 

You rolled your eyes. You were likely exaggerating - but still, it seemed rude to you to leave such a small portion, barely a handful, in the bottom of the box. 

“Or did I make you cum so hard last night that I knocked the common sense out of your head?” He added on, throwing you that signature smirk that made heat bloom between your thighs. 

You let out a sarcastic snort, giving him a purposefully disgusted grimace as you lifted the bowl up and dumped the remaining cereal into his portion instead. 

“You might as well take these.” You told him. “And don’t flatter yourself, you’re not that good.” 

You moved behind them, distracting yourself from the conversation by making a cup of coffee. 

“Oh really?” He perked up, rising to his full height, pure mischief in his voice. “It didn’t sound like it last night.” 

Much to your horror, he then began imitating your moans. 

“‘Oh, Jason! Oh, fuck me! More!’” 

It was a cartoonish, pornographic imitation, something he likely wouldn’t have done if the others were anywhere within earshot. Oddly enough, even though your relationship was casual, you still kept it guarded and private, as though it were some precious secret that needed to be kept from the others. 

“‘Jason, please, your dick is the best! Oh, make me cum!’” 

But that was the farthest thing from your mind as embarrassment curled in your stomach, the reaction he likely wanted to draw out of you. You hated that you didn’t truly know if it was accurate or not, because sometimes - yes, he did fuck your brains out and make you completely mindless on his cock. 

But you would never admit that he was right. 

“Shut up.” You sighed, causing him to dissolve into laughter, feeling as though he had won. 

But you wouldn’t simply leave it at that. 

Instead, as you pushed the button on the machine and your coffee began to drip, you turned around and gently placed your fingers on the side of his cereal bowl. You froze all the milk inside of it solid, making it into one large frozen chunk with the spoon stuck inside when he wasn’t looking - distracted, staring at your face, looking for any trace of the reaction that he had drawn out of you. 

You just glared, and he smirked once more. 

When he picked up the spoon again and went to take another bite, the entire bowl came with it. He sighed in defeat when he realized what you had done. 

“You know, it’s so damn annoying when you do that.” He sighed. 

“I know.” You grinned at him. 

He couldn’t help the butterflies that fluttered in his stomach at this. He resisted the urge to grab you by the sides of your head and steal the grin of your mouth with his own. He told you that it was out of annoyance, and not affection. He told himself those lines were most definitely not blurred when it came to you. 

… 

Confessing your feelings to Jason would not have been your choice. 

Given the choice, you would have let your feelings quietly live and die inside of you. You would have just kept Jason as a friend. You would have even dropped the amazing sex if it meant staying on good terms with him. 

But the stakes rose pretty quickly, and things were taken out of your hands. The choice was stolen from you and Jason entirely against your will. 

When you found out he was missing, supposedly kidnapped by Doctor Light on the heels of some misguided plan - something inside of you shattered. Up until that moment, if you thought it was just a stupid crush, or an infatuation inside of you that would easily fade with time - you quickly found out that you were wrong. 

You went through the stages of grief like a rocket. 

Denial. Staring at the door, waiting for him to walk inside at any moment. Just like you had back at the safehouse.

Anger. Being so pissed at Dick at the other older Titans that you could barely breathe. How had they let this happen to him? How could they make him feel so inadequate that he felt the need to go out on his own, half-cocked, clearly doing something in the name of looking for their approval? 

Bargaining. You would have traded places with him. You would have been the one, alone and scared and stranded if it meant that he got to be at home safe. You would have gone with him to carry out the stupid plan if he had only asked. Why hadn’t he asked you? 

Depression. You wept in your room, hands clasped over your face, letting out chest-shaking sobs as you thought of the possibility of him never returning home again. You realized the possibility of him dying was very real and it made your lungs burn. 

And then finally - Acceptance. You finally accepted that your feelings for him were something bigger, and if it meant that you were the only person in the Tower who truly cared about him (probably aside from Gar) - the only person who didn’t just see him as a pawn to be used against Deathstroke - then you had to do something about it. 

So you laid out your love for Jason. You put it all on the line for him. You accidentally confessed to him, showed your feelings in a gesture so quiet it screamed. 

You knew that for someone who stepped up to become Robin, someone who scorned cops for pummeling down on the innocent when they were supposed to be protectors - stepping up to try and save his life meant a love bigger than anything else you could have done. 

And he was terrified of it. There was a big justice in your love for him. And to him, there was an even bigger justice in giving you an out to escape it - to escape loving him.  

… 

Hectic. 

That was easily how you would describe the last few days at Titans Tower. 

Between the unexpected arrival of Rose - Dick taking on another stray because, like Rachel said, he couldn’t resist a bird with a broken wing. Finding out that she was related to one of the deadliest men on earth that the Titans apparently had previous history with. And then Jason going off on his own without telling you, some botched hostage trade, and the group picking up yet another stray - a strange boy who had saved Jason’s life. It was all a blur of hectic chaos that had you snapping your neck to keep up. 

Sleep was scarce and you couldn’t remember the last time you’d had a proper meal. 

But you weren’t truly worried about any of that. 

Dust had been kicked up around your life, and you couldn’t wait for it to settle before you made your next important decision. 

Even though the wounds were still tender, you knew that things were safe for now, and your number one concern was Jason. 

The minute he had gotten in the door, even though he was slightly hobbled and clearly sore from whatever Deathstroke had done to him, he rushed out of your sight. He was clearly eager to get away from everyone like a wounded animal sulking away to lick his wounds in peace. And when you had chased him, ignoring a nagging pain in your own side from the fight, he had slammed his bedroom door in your face, entirely uncaring of the fact that you called out his name, concerned for him. 

The rest of the group was distracted with Conner - not knowing what he had been shot with or how to fix it. You hated it, but in the eyes of the group, yet again, Jason and any of his problems fell to the back burner. 

After you had taken a short shower and changed your clothes, you found yourself here. Standing in front of Jason’s closed bedroom door, hoping not to face another cold rejection. 

You wondered if he would be sleeping, wondered if you should interrupt his peace. But you knew that sleep was unlikely after everything that had happened. 

So you took the leap. 

You raised a fist, once again pushing down that stinging pain coming from the right side of your stomach. You reasoned that it was probably nothing more than a bruise forming there. And you knocked on the door. 

A few moments later, the door was jerked open, and Jason glared at you. 

His eyes were dull and tired, and there was a large bruise forming on the side of his mouth. Probably one of many others that you couldn’t see, from the way he had been walking earlier. He likely hadn’t been sleeping, but you had disturbed him. 

“What the hell do you want?” He grumbled out, his voice dull, lacking any true fight. 

“I wanted to check on you.” You told him, entirely honest. “I know it might seem stupid, but I wanna see how you’re doing.” 

Jason scoffed and rolled his eyes. 

He wanted to agree that - yes, it was stupid. It should have been obvious how he was doing after being kidnapped, beaten, and dropped off a building. But he was an idiot who had gotten himself thrown headfirst into that mess, thinking he could handle it. And he didn’t need to go crying to you about how badly he had fucked up. He had made a poor choice and he deserved all of the consequences. It was a simple fact of life. 

“I’m doing just fine, thanks.” Jason said, entirely snide and sarcastic. “Look, I don’t need your help, okay? So fuck off.” 

It was a set of harsh, cutting words. But he thought getting distance from you would be best. This whole thing had woken him up from the sweet little fantasy the two of you had been participating in. He was a natural born fuck-up. And sure, he could have you for a while, play around a bit - but he could never truly make you happy. Eventually, he would fuck you up too. He was a harsh poison and it would be better if he got out of your life before you felt the full effects. 

He moved to shove the door closed and upon instinct, you reached up and fought him on it. Unconsciously, you winced as a sharp pain came from the injury in your stomach, reaching for it with your free hand as you held the door open with the other. It should have been no big deal. With your meta abilities, you usually healed quicker. You weren’t even used to feeling it when you got hurt. You were probably just feeling it worse because you were tired. 

You tried to ignore the pain. But in a moment, Jason’s eyes went wide with worry as his gaze darted from your face, knit with pain, to where your hand was nursing the injury. Any sense of smarmy discontent dropped from his features, immediately being replaced with a softness and worry for you. 

“You’re hurt.” He said quietly. 

He let the door fall open again, reaching for your hand to inspect the injury himself. 

“I’m fine.” You played the card this time, exchanging his lie for your own. 

It was an odd play. He had lied about not being so torn up inside, emotionally devastated as he was, and now you were lying about not being physically injured from the fight. The two of you made an odd, but perfectly matched pair. 

Jason barreled right past your words, and you were easily pliant to his touch as he removed your hand from the injury. You certainly were not expecting for him to find anything incriminating under your hand. But he glared at you when he found bright red spread across your palm, a glossy wetness leaking through your shirt. 

“You’re bleeding.” He grunted at you. 

Clearly, he was disappointed in the fact that you had neglected to bring this injury to the group’s attention. Pissed off at the fact that you weren’t in the medbay with Conner receiving some treatment right now. 

Maybe you could blame it on the chaos. Maybe you could blame it on the fact that with everyone so emotionally distraught, you didn’t want to be just another problem for everyone to fuss over. 

“Whoops.” You breathed out sarcastically. “I didn’t even notice.” 

That last part was honest. In all the adrenaline, all your worrying over whether or not Jason was going to live as you watched him dangle so high off the ground - you truly hadn’t paid any mind to the injury. 

“You didn’t-?” Jason huffed out in anger, but didn’t bother finishing the sentence. 

Perhaps he partially understood himself, knowing how the adrenaline from a fight could stamp out pain. Or perhaps he knew how truly stubborn you were and he didn’t want to waste his energy arguing with you. 

“You need this treated.” He added on. 

No matter how fucked in the head he was, he never wanted to see you hurt. That was something he would definitely waste his energy on - wearing down your stubbornness until you let him or someone else in the house take care of the injury properly. 

“Conner is worse off than I am.” You shrugged. “He needs the attention more.” 

“Then let me help you.” He said, an impatient nagging rising up in his throat. “Bruce gave me some first aid training. One thing that means I’m not totally useless.” 

The words made your chest ache for him, a pain that easily competed with the bleeding wound. 

“Jason-” 

You wanted to argue with him. You wanted to tell him he had infinite worth to you. 

But of course, he cut you off. 

“Just go sit on the bed.” He told you, quiet, but a firm command that you couldn’t ignore. 

He gently pushed past you, on a quest for some supplies to patch you up with. You then found yourself drifting into his room almost mindlessly, your hand clutching the wound again upon instinct. It was a place that you felt oddly at home. The nights you had spent in that bed since coming to Titans Tower, your head delightfully empty as he had fucked you hard and fast - they were by far your favourites. 

You would say it was because of the sex, and not just because you got to be wrapped up in Jason’s arms. Maybe everything had changed. Maybe your answers were different now. Maybe you were raw and tender and Jason wasn’t prepared to chase you in that devotion. 

But that was just the thing. With you and Jason, there was never any sense of devotion. You and Jason were always hard and fast. Teasing each other, verging on the edge of vengeful. It was a flame that burned intensely hot - but it was never anything soft. It was never anything that prompted you to knock on his door so late, wanting to check on his well being. It was nothing that prompted you to make chase to put your life on the line for him. 

Even just knowing that he had the intent to attend to your injury, called himself useful because of it - the thought cradled you like a warm blanket. It had you balancing on the edge of a dam holding back a barrage of feelings that you had been quelling down since the moment you had first put your lips on his.

“I told you to sit.” Jason’s voice came from behind you. 

He had raided the infirmary and now had a handful of supplies - luckily without anyone seeing him or questioning why. When you turned to him, he was closing the bedroom door behind him, sealing you both in with this newfound soft intensity, the tired lull of two people unwilling to hold back that softness anymore. It was entirely dangerous, and entirely life-saving at the same time; and neither of you realized it. 

“Since when do you get to boss me around?” You told him, your voice low and lacking any true spirit or sarcasm. 

It was in the same vein as the banter the two of you usually threw around - bickering about who was a bigger asshole, who was more stubborn, who was better in bed. 

You expected some kind of sexual comment in return. You could almost hear it now - he was the boss of you because he made you melt on his cock, made you mindless and dumb with it. 

But, no dice. 

The longer you stared at him, catching bits of the fresh pain swimming through those gorgeous blue eyes, you wished so badly for the mischief and sarcasm and light to come back and bite you the way that it used to. 

It only made your stomach churn harder at the whole situation. Things had officially changed between you and Jason. You had yet to find out if it was for the better, or for the painstakingly worse. 

Jason sighed through his nose. 

“You can be such an asshole sometimes.” He told you. Coming from him, and given the nature of your relationship, you knew it was almost a compliment. “Will you just sit down and let me help you?” 

Even though you were utterly terrified of the swelling of emotions you felt, bound to come to a head - you did. 

You sat on the edge of the bed and he placed the supplies beside you. 

When he mumbled out a quiet ‘lay back’, and you did, his cool fingertips at the hem of your shirt pulling it upward felt strangely more intimate than any other time you had been in this same position. It wasn’t heady, you weren’t granted the distraction of his mouth on yours and his tongue shoved between your lips while a harsh throbbing nagged between your legs.

This was quiet, and calm, and gentle. 

When you caught his eye above you as he wiped away the blood with some clean gauze, you saw nothing but pity and worry and sparkling affection for you. You almost dared to call it something as epic and dangerous as love, buried deep in his eyes. He worked with the most delicate touch, almost as if he was afraid to break you, before he glanced down and inspected the wound. 

His brow furrowed with even more intense worry, guilt nipping at his insides when he got a good look at it. 

“I think I see a bullet in here.” He told you, and then he moved around the bed and grabbed his phone, turning on the flashlight to have a better light to inspect it. You felt intensely naked, intensely caught when he began shining the light on your stomach with a harshly inquisitive look across his face. “Definitely something shiny. You got shot and you didn’t fucking tell anyone?” 

It was only then that you realized when you had gotten the wound - the exact moment clicking into place in your mind. 

“It was only a ricochet.” You argued quietly. “It’s not that bad.” 

Jason scoffed and rolled his eyes, and began sorting out his supplies, preparing to pull out whatever was lodged inside of you. 

… 

Dick explicitly told you to stay put. 

They only wanted the more experienced Titans, the Varsity squad on the case when dealing with Deathstroke. He blamed young naive incompetence as the reason Jason had gotten captured in the first place. You blamed him and Bruce pushing Jason out, making him feel like he needed so desperately to prove himself. But it was something Dick wasn’t ready to hear - an argument you weren’t going to have with the very stubborn team leader. 

Instead, you went for the silent route. You trailed the rest of them out of Tower, and when Dick strayed away from the rest of the group, his head on a swivel as he glanced back and forth, seemingly wanting to assure that none of the others were following him - you followed your gut instincts and went after him. 

You hid in the shadows and the moment that Deathstroke hit the button and those panels scrolled up, revealing Jason stranded on that scaffolding - you couldn’t help yourself. 

“Jason!” 

You screamed out his name, you leapt forward. 

Dick didn’t have time to scold you, not before the gunfire started. 

Kory came out of nowhere - seemingly, she had the same idea as you. Putting her life on the line for an emotionally repressed man that she hadn’t admitted her feelings for. But she was there because she was in love with the other Robin. (Or rather, a man who claimed over and over again that he wasn’t Robin.) 

Things quickly became a blur - flashes of flame as Kory fought, battling with the muzzle flashes from Deathstroke’s guns, limbs flying as they fought each other. You didn’t see it, but Deathstroke raised and aimed at you as you rushed toward the window, blindly going after Jason. In response, Dick charged forward, redirecting the gun as he pulled the trigger. You heard the sharp ‘ping’ sound of metal on metal - what you couldn’t see was the bullet hitting one of the metal beams in the ceiling. But you certainly felt it when it sliced into your side. 

At the time, it was nothing compared to the fear you felt for Jason. 

His eyes were wide with terror, and you could only focus on getting him to safety. You had no idea that a large part of his panic came from seeing you in the building. He had hoped that Dick would keep you away from all of this. But there you were, standing a few feet away from a man with a gun who was shooting around wildly. Jason would have delighted in being dropped off the building to his death if he had to see you get fatally shot when he could do nothing but squirm on the other side of the glass. 

You put two hands on the glass, banging on it - of course, it was no use. It was inches thick, meant to keep people from going through it at this height. Working entirely on instinct, you put your palms flat across it and began forming ice crystals over it, hoping to make it rigid and breakable if it was frozen. 

Once there was enough ice, you quickly looked around and spotted a metal pipe there for the in-progress construction of the building, so you grabbed it and rushed to smash the glass with it. You felt victorious as it shattered, and Jason flinched away from the shards, putting you one step closer to freeing him. 

Though the moment the glass was cleared, leaving the wind whipping around you, his first words of greeting to you were not celebratory. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” He barked at you, clearly angry with you. 

You felt a dull ache in your chest at this. You thought he might be relieved, happy, pleased. At the time, you couldn’t interpret his harsh reaction as worry for you possibly getting hurt. 

Nonetheless, you ignored his harshness. You would save him, whether he wanted to be saved or not. You draped your body through the window, reaching out to him. You made an effort to keep most of your weight planted on the floor of the building, in case the scaffolding wasn’t stable enough to hold two people at once. 

“What do you think?” You replied, pure sarcasm dripping through your voice as you reached behind Jason and began fiddling with the rope around his wrists. 

The position put the two of you in intensely close proximity. Jason caught a whiff of your unique scent, the shower gel you used that mingled with your body’s natural oils; and he felt so painfully at home. For the first time that night, he held back tears. He couldn’t help but to lean his forehead on your shoulder, taking comfort in having you so near after being on edge and terrified for so many hours. You resisted the urge to run a hand through his hair, to cradle him and give him further comfort. You forced yourself to focus on the task at hand - getting him to safety. 

Behind you, at the very back of the room, Dick and Deathstroke wrestled with the remote for the explosives attached to the scaffolding. 

Just as you managed to get Jason’s wrists freed, Deathstroke hit the switch, and the bombs went off. 

… 

You winced loudly as Jason dabbed at the wound with disinfectant. 

“I would say sorry… but, you’ll thank me later when this isn’t swollen and leaking puss.” He told you, throwing you a small smirk. 

It was smug. It was the usual kind of humor that he gave you. 

It was comforting to know that every trace of the Jason you knew hadn’t been stolen by Deathstroke. 

You held your breath as he pressed down with the medicine-covered gauze again, drawing much less of a reaction out of you this time. 

“Great mental image, Jay.” You replied, your voice dull. It lacked any of the true bite you wanted to deliver in response to him. “I’m sure it’s such a turn-on thinking about my puss.” 

It was meant to be a joke. But even unconsciously, it was an acknowledgement of that dangerous line - the line between truly caring and just using someone for sex. The line between having someone in your life as a body to get off with, and being so… homely with them. 

You and Jason were towing that line dangerously. It was a thread that you were balancing on, and it would either break, or you would cross to the other side and be forever bonded to him. 

Jason shrugged. “Maybe I don’t have to be turned on by you all the time.” 

There was more stuck in his throat. Another dangerous acknowledgement of that line. 

‘Maybe I just have to care.’ 

Both of you lulled into silence because neither of you dared to say it. 

After a few moments, Jason put down the gauze and hesitated to reach for the tweezers. He knew that pulling the bullet out would be painful, but inevitable. It was a lot like the state of your relationship with him. Break it off, and find happiness elsewhere, or acknowledge this big thing swelling to fruition between the two of you. Have Jason fuck it up eventually. Painful, but inevitable. 

“You shouldn’t have to be hurt like this.” Jason said quietly. “You shouldn’t have gotten hurt for my sake.” 

There it was again - words with a dangerous double meaning. 

You looked up at him, pure pain knit across his face, and for a moment he looked from the tweezers to you and he could hardly stand holding your gaze. 

‘It’s worth it.’ You wanted to say. ‘For you, I’d bear any pain.’ 

The words lived and died behind your eyes, and your tongue decided on something else entirely. 

“It’s nothing.” You told him. 

You downplayed the pain, pretending that the injury was only a minor inconvenience for you. And in the grand scheme of life, it was. With time, it would heal. Losing Jason would be something you’d never heal from. 

Jason shook his head at this statement. 

He forced himself to reach for the tweezers then. He handed you his phone, a silent agreement that you would hold the light as steady as you could. He knew you well, too well, and he knew that you needed something else to focus on to push away the pain. He put his free hand on the plush of your stomach, pulling back slightly to hold the wound open while you held the light on it. 

When the sharp metal of the tweezers breached your wound, you wanted to swear. You wanted to call him an asshole as the pain shot through you. You wanted to scold him for leaving the Tower and being kidnapped in the first place. But you knew that even if it was playful or sarcastic, fueled by the bite of your pain, it was not what he needed to hear right now. So instead, you held your breath, and gripped his phone hard, keeping the light steady as you bared the sharp shocks of pain. 

After a moment of digging around that felt like an eternity, he pulled out the fragment and held it up to show you as you collapsed back against the bed, panting with tears stinging the edges of your eyes. 

“It’s not nothing.” He declared sharply. 

You couldn’t conjure a response. You knew he was right. And you didn’t want to be forced to admit it. 

Instead, you turned off the light from his phone and relaxed into the bed, closing your eyes as he walked around to the trashcan and threw out the bullet fragment. It fell into the bottom of the plastic wastebasket with a very small ‘ping’ - making you wonder how something so small could cause so much trouble. 

Jason quickly returned to you, dabbing more disinfectant into the wound in a way that made you groan and flex away from the touch. Once again, he did not apologize. 

There were a few moments of muddy silence with nothing but your slightly labored breathing, trying to contain your sounds of pain so as to not make him feel any further guilt about the whole incident. 

Your mind churned, and you couldn’t help the next words that came from your mouth. 

“I meant what I said.” You told him. 

At the sound of this, his hands immediately stilled. You felt his eyes on you, and you forced yourself to open your own and look up at him once again. He stared you down with intense examination. He looked for any ounce of falsity, any sign that you were lying, even posturing to make him feel better after everything that had happened. 

He didn’t find any. 

You thought he might acknowledge you, that he might say something back to return your mighty words. Instead, he simply reached for more gauze, and began putting a final bandage on your wound. 

… 

The explosion caused a sharp rattle through your ears. It shocked you and made you dizzy and put the whole world off-kilter. The only thing you could perceive past the mind-numbing hum in your brain was the feeling of Jason’s rough glove gripping tightly onto your wrist, so you gripped back as hard as you could. 

When you blinked open your eyes, you were half-hanging out of the open window, the edge of the floor cutting into your waist as you held onto Jason by nothing but his wrist. His whole body weight created a harsh burn, straining on the muscles in your shoulder as you watched him dangle hundreds of feet above the street. 

Panic flooded you. 

You scrambled to reach out with your other hand, and the moment you moved, your shirt slipped against the sleek, polished material of the floor and you began sliding out the window. You gasped and Jason stilled his panicked flailing immediately. 

“Don’t move!” He shouted. 

“Give me your other hand so I can pull you up!” You shouted back. 

Beyond the unpleasant hum of your eardrums rattling, you still heard chaos behind you. Gunshots, the grunts of fighting, Kory and Dick’s voices yelling. They were busy with Deathstroke, they couldn’t help you or Jason. 

Jason looked up at you with glassy eyes. 

He knew that with all his gear weighing him down, even with the training you had been doing, you wouldn’t be able to pull him up. Not by yourself. And if you weren’t careful, his body weight would just pull you out of the window and cause you to go tumbling down to your death along with him. 

When you saw that frown etch across his lips, that filthy look of dawning - you glared at him. 

“Give me your other hand!” You screamed, your voice raking across your throat like hot coals. A hot boiling rage at the fact that he seemed almost determined to die. 

There was one thing he was determined about. If he was going to die, he wasn’t going to take you down with him. 

His gloved wrist started to slip from your nervous, sweaty palm, and you tried hard to hold on tight. You formed large shards of ice, hoping you could create some kind of bond there by freezing your hand to his. But it would only be temporary with gravity trying to tear the two of you apart. 

“You have to drop me, Y/N.” He said, nothing but pure mourning on his lips. “I’m dead weight.” 

You both knew it was a horrendous double meaning. 

He thought he was a dead weight to your life. 

“No!” You immediately defied this thought, that feral rage ripping at your throat once again. “I’m gonna pull you up. I’m gonna pull you up!” 

You reached your other hand down and tightly wrapped both of your hands around his wrist, yanking upward. The harsh movement caused you to slide even further out the window. You were now dangling dangerously over San Francisco with only the thickness of your thighs giving you any real stability on the intensely high up floor. It made you dizzy, and the only thing you had to focus on were the wet wells of Jason’s eyes staring up at you. 

“It’s no use!” Jason said tearfully. 

You ignored him. 

You cast your chin over your shoulder, and began shouting. 

“Help me!” You screamed, trying desperately to get the attention of Dick or Kory. “Help me! Fuck!” 

“You have to let go.”

Jason’s words immediately shifted your focus back to him. 

But of course, you refused. 

“I’m not letting go of you!” You declared sharply. “Not that easily.” 

As he stared up at your tearful eyes, he knew that you meant it as more. 

Unfortunately, it was the one thing he was terrified of. 

He thought that you saw him as some shiny perfect thing, something good and worth having in your life. He thought that you were incapable of seeing the poison, the true fuck-up that he was. If you didn’t let go of him, sooner or later, just like everyone else in his life, you were going to get burned. 

So Jason did what he had to do. 

He began prying your fingers off his wrist, trying his best to keep you stable while he forced himself from your grip. 

“No!” You shrieked. “No, no, no-” 

You didn’t have much room to fight him about it without falling out of the window yourself. 

You made a move to readjust, to get a tighter grip on him - and it was the one deadly move that caused him to slip out of your touch completely. 

You were forced to watch on in chest clenching horror, blinking through heavy tears as he began hurtling toward the ground. 

… 

If not for Conner - a literal miracle - swooping in and saving Jason at the last second, then you would have spent the rest of your life regretting those moments, wondering what you could have done differently to save him. 

When Jason finished taping down the bandages, making sure the wound was clean and secure, he laid his palm flat on top of it. It was a kind of ‘kissing it better’ that instantly spread warmth curling through your gut. It was a touch so incredibly tender - especially compared to the heated, aggressive groping you were used to from him - that it caused a whimper from the back of your throat. 

You knew it was unlikely, but you hoped that he hadn’t heard it. 

“All done.” He said quietly. 

You instantly felt regret when he took his hand away and began tidying up the medical supplies. But you forced yourself to sit upright, now feeling only muscle soreness and a much duller pain coming from the area. You felt intensely thankful for his care as you pulled your shirt back down, righting your clothes back into place. 

“You’re free to go now.” Jason told you, his voice still low, as though a single decibel would shatter the delicate peace between the two of you. 

You felt your heart sink. 

In an instant, you understood what it was - he was concerned about your physical wellbeing, but he didn’t actually want to have you around. Just like his reaction to you showing up at the hostage exchange - he didn’t want your presence there. 

You heaved a sigh and got off the bed as Jason busied himself with gathering up the used gauze to throw it away. As you put your hand on the doorknob, you couldn’t quite bring yourself to leave. 

It was something else. 

It had to be something else. 

Jason hadn’t let himself drop off a building in some desperate ploy just to get away from you. He had been trying to save you. 

He was so utterly willing to give his life for yours. 

And now he was trying to back down from that. 

You turned and faced him, leaving the door closed. When he turned from ditching things in the wastebasket, he froze. He was entirely surprised that you were still there.

The two of you locked eyes, both staying still - like a predator and prey locked in a stalemate, wondering who would run first. 

In this situation, you weren’t sure who was the prey. 

You were both so vulnerable. 

Jason thought it would be selfish to get caught up in all of this, to finally admit those dangerous feelings he had for you. When he cared for things, he usually ended up breaking them. Of course, it was never on purpose - he was an idiot. Everything he touched, he fucked up. He had made that more than evident with his last braindead plan, the outing to prove that he was worthy of being Robin. Something that had gotten you shot, probably could have gotten you killed. 

If you stuck with him any longer, you probably would end up being killed. And he would never forgive himself for that. 

He would be better off ripping himself from your hold, as much as it hurt. Giving you a dose of that heartbreak now so that you could get over him and go after better things. 

As you stared at Jason, you could see all the pain boiling underneath his surface. You wondered what he was thinking, what the hell he was churning over in that intense brain of his - but you didn’t dare to ask. 

You knew that he needed to be held right now - in every sense of the word. You knew that he needed to be cared for the way he had cared for your wound, pushing past the pain in order to heal. You wondered if he would lay down and bear it or if he would continue to fight you. 

You were the one to bravely step forward. Though Jason was tempted to ask you to leave, that thing inside of him yearning to marinate in his isolation because he deserved it, he pushed it down. He let his hands naturally come to sit on the plush comfort of your waist as you put a gentle touch on both his shoulders, leaning into his body ever so slightly. 

You laid your forehead on his cheek, right next to that ugly bruise that had been left on him, and he let out a contented sigh as he felt your warmth envelope him. For the first time since his feet had touched the ground, he felt calm. He felt safe. 

You smoothed a hand across his shoulder, and raised your head, using your touch to gently tip his face toward yours. He quickly realized that your intention was to kiss him. And something ached in his heart - something painful and longing. He knew that it would not be needy and haste with the intention of pile-driving toward sex like your other kisses had been. He knew that it would be the metamorphosis of your relationship that he was not prepared to go through. 

He nuzzled along your forehead, gently stopping you. 

“Please don’t do this.” He murmured quietly into your skin. 

He knew that it would break him. 

He knew that this was the moment - like Gatsby reaching up toward the stars - this would be the moment that he was tied to you forever, damned by his love for you. Only, much different than Gatsby, he wasn’t destined for some grant fate if he didn’t have you. He was on a one way path to a messy death, and he was determined not to take you down with him. 

Tears pricked the edges of his eyes at the thought. 

You pulled back, just enough to properly look him in the eyes, and your own tears formed when you saw that pathetic puppy dog looking back at you. 

“Why not?” You demanded, much sharper than you intended. You knew he was fragile and you didn’t want to upset him any further than he already was. 

“You know why.” He replied, his voice barely scraping above a whisper as the emotion clutched at his throat. 

Jason wanted to hold onto you forever, but he was also a realistic person. He expected that any minute now, you would rip away from his arms and charge out the door, entirely angry with him, and this would finally be over. You would finally be safe from him - safe from any nasty fate his life could conjure up for you. 

You hated what he was asking of you - asking you not to care for him anymore. As if you could somehow switch it off. Impossible. 

“I meant what I said.” You repeated yourself, still entirely firm in this conviction. “I’m not gonna let you go that easily.” 

You leaned in, planting your lips on his in a light kiss. A pained sigh ripped through you when he didn’t make any moves to kiss you back. 

“Jason, please.” You whimpered out desperately. “If you get to bandage my bullet wound, then I get to do this.” 

Jason wanted to spell it all out for you, plain and dirty. He wanted to get angry, he wanted to scream. He wanted to rush along the inevitable. He wanted to tell you what a poison he was to the world, that he deserved to die and you deserved better things. But he had the utmost feeling that you wouldn’t listen. 

“Please, stop pushing me away.” You whispered against his lips. 

Instead, he listened to your plea. He let himself indulge in this selfish softness for once. 

He reached up and grabbed your jaw, pulling you into a firmer kiss, declaring every ounce of passion and terror that he was feeling in those moments. You answered it all right back - digging your fingers into the shoulders of his shirt, letting out a hot huff against his cheek as you leaned into his body. 

He would never be perfect - but he was yours.

...

The sequel to this fic is now posted, but I do highly encourage you to leave a comment on this fic telling me what you enjoyed about it before you continue on reading.

Keep Reading Here: The Jaws of Life - Jason Todd x GN!Reader

[tswaney17]

Happy New Year Tay! You are one of my favorite writers in this fandom. I wanted to ask you a few questions about your writing process:

What fic of yours would you recommend to someone who had never read any of your work? (In other words, what do you think is the best introduction to your fics?)

What are some tropes or details that you think are very characteristic of your fics?

How do you find new fic to read?

Who do you read?

How do you decide what to write?

Are there any tropes you dislike?

What's your favorite AU that you've written?

What highly specific AU do you want to read or write even though you might be the only person to appreciate it?

If you wrote a sequel to [insert fic], what would it involve?

If you wrote a spin-off of [insert fic], what would it involve?

If you wrote a prequel to [insert fic], what would it involve?

f you wrote a “missing scene” in [insert fic], what would it be?

What other websites or resources do you use most often when you write?

Would you rather write a fic that had no dialogue or one that was only dialogue?

How long did it take to write [insert fic]? Describe the process.

Does anyone read your fics before you post them? If so, who?

Have you ever written something that was out of your comfort zone? If so, what was it, and how did it affect your approach to writing fic thereafter?

What aspects of your writing are inspired by/taken from your real life?

Do you visualize what you read/write?

Promote one of your own “deep cut” fics (an underrated one, or one that never got as much traction as you think it deserves!). What do you like about it?

Did any of your fics get surprisingly popular (whatever that means to you)? Which ones? Why do you think they were so successful?

Do you tend to reread fics or are you a one-and-done kind of person?

Link a fic that made you think, "Wow, I want to write like that."

Have you ever received a comment that particularly stood out to you for whatever reason?

What's something you've improved on since you started writing fic?

Do you prefer writing on your phone or on a computer (or something else)? Do you think where you write affects the way you write?

What's the last fic you read? Do you recommend it?

What are you currently working on? Share a few lines if you’re up for it!

Aww, nonnie. 🥲 Thank you so much! And Happy New Year to you too!! 🥂 I hope I answered these okay. LOL.

What fic of yours would you recommend to someone who had never read any of your work? (In other words, what do you think is the best introduction to your fics?) Oh man, that's hard. I'd say Secret Sessions for canon-related, and IDBTWY or Accidental Chemistry for modern.

What are some tropes or details that you think are very characteristic of your fics? Probably slow burn. And pregnancy AU. I know it's not everyone's favorite, but I always end up writing Elriel pregnant. LMAO.

How do you find new fic to read? Frankly, since I've stopped writing, I've been devouring fanfic. I hit up AO3 nearly every day to see if there's anything new. And I have this logic that if I subscribe to a crap ton of fics, I'll hopefully get an update to at least one of them weekly. It's not a flawless system but I get the most out of it.

Who do you read? I honestly read everybody as long as I am confident that Elriel is endgame. I will side-eye anything that as El*cien or Gw*nriel as a potential pairing and will skim first to ensure I'll be able to make it through the story. But I have my go-to's like @nikethestatue and @dottielovegood (amongst many others), and I've found some newbies (or new to me) on AO3 and have been devouring their fics. A few that come to mind are @jasmineandcedar and @merakimoonglade but there are many more.

How do you decide what to write? Through utter chaos that is my brain. Sometimes I'll see little things on Insta or Pinterest that'll spark ideas while others will just kind of hit me out of nowhere. Kind of like this feral Az/Elriel miscarriage that's been floating around in my brain for weeks.

Are there any tropes you dislike? I am over the girlboss warrior trope. There's so much of that written that it's just boring to me. I also hate the cheating trope. I just can't read those.

What's your favorite AU that you've written? Honestly, that's hard. IDBTWY has a very special place in my heart, but Secret Sessions might be the best writing I've ever done. I'm also a sucker for Accidental Chemistry too.

What highly specific AU do you want to read or write even though you might be the only person to appreciate it? Probably that feral Az/Elriel miscarriage I mentioned above. It'd be very angsty and heartbreaking but so delicious. Oh! I also have this Archeron-witch AU that's been wracking my brain forever that's based on The Originals. I have a few scenes of it written but just couldn't get into the right headspace to bust it out completely.

If you wrote a sequel to [insert fic], what would it involve? Hmm. Secret Sessions deserves an epilogue and I did start to write one a long time ago. But the idea sputtered out and I never got more than a page written. Also, my fic Queen of Monsters would definitely benefit from a sequel but I'm just going to leave that one alone.

If you wrote a spin-off of [insert fic], what would it involve? I could see writing a spin-off for IDBTWY for each of the other siblings tbh. I have no idea what those stories would include, but I think it's the best setup for any sort of spin-off. Or maybe a next-gen for IDBTWY. I have thought of things for the kids if that ever came to pass.

If you wrote a prequel to [insert fic], what would it involve? Frenemies would probably benefit from a prequel. You very much jump right into the mess but elaborating on how Elain and Az worked together before they fucked would've been interesting.

If you wrote a “missing scene” in [insert fic], what would it be? Lucien realizing the bond is broken in Secret Sessions. I had so many people ask about what he felt and if the bond was gone and I just left it up to interpretation.

What other websites or resources do you use most often when you write? I honestly don't use a lot of resources when I write. I Google things when I need to do some research and I have Grammarly to assist with the grammar side of things (which is far from perfect), but other than that, I really don't have much else. Big fics get inspo boards on Pinterest though.

Would you rather write a fic that had no dialogue or one that was only dialogue? No dialogue. There are some really amazing writers in this fandom that can invoke such an intense emotional response from readers simply by describing the scene without having the characters speak at all. I feel like both @dottielovegood and @violetasteracademic are exceptional at this. I would love to be able to do this as well as them.

How long did it take to write [insert fic]? Describe the process. IDBTWY took four years and it was chaos. I didn't really have an outline that went further than chapter 7 until I was well into the 20s and finally outlined the remaining 15 chapters. Do not recommend at all. I'm honestly surprised how much I was able to loop back in later on in the fic despite my unorganization of it. @nikethestatue can tell you I often went to her and asked if something occurred in my fic because I couldn't even remember. LOL.

Does anyone read your fics before you post them? If so, who? No, I don't have a beta reader and I probably should. I do give out snippets to friends though, but mostly to be a tease.

Have you ever written something that was out of your comfort zone? If so, what was it, and how did it affect your approach to writing fic thereafter? LMAO. Unholy (my Azriel priest fic) was so far outside my comfort zone. Not just because I'm not religious and likely wrote phrases and scenes that didn't make sense to the setting, but just the idea of having Azriel as a priest fuck Elain on the goddamn altar of the church. Good lord, I blushed writing it and I blushed reading it even to this day. I honestly haven't written anything since this, but I think it helped me to push through my mental barriers of writing something so outrageous.

What aspects of your writing are inspired by/taken from your real life? I know I've said this a few times, but Accidental Chemistry is loosely based on my best friend. Some of the things Elain experienced happened with her and the fic honestly hit home because of the close, personal ties. Also, Elain's obsession with creamer in every fic is my self-insert and you can't take that away from me. LOL.

Do you visualize what you read/write? Always. I often think of scenes when I'm laying in bed trying to sleep at night. I don't know if it helps put me to sleep or keeps me up because I'm constantly turning things over in my mind.

Promote one of your own “deep cut” fics (an underrated one, or one that never got as much traction as you think it deserves!). What do you like about it? Who's Afraid of Little Old Me, my Tangled Retelling fic. I absolutely loved writing this one and doing the role reversal swap on Elain and Az was such an interesting story to write. It barely got any traction in comparison to others and I was honestly surprised by it.

Did any of your fics get surprisingly popular (whatever that means to you)? Which ones? Why do you think they were so successful? IDBTWY became fairly popular tbh, likely because the fandom was wildly engaged at the time when I first started writing it. But A Surprise Bun got more popularity than I thought it would. Enough so that I wrote two extra parts for it (technically three since it was originally intended to be a one-shot). I loved writing the dynamic between Elriel and Cassian.

Do you tend to reread fics or are you a one-and-done kind of person? I'm a heavy rereader. I will go back and reread specific scenes, entire series, etc. Don't threaten me with a good time.

Link a fic that made you think, "Wow, I want to write like that." There are so many creative writers out there and I know that I'm missing a lot, but @impossiblescissorspeachpaper, @merakimoonglade, and @violetasteracademic have incredible prose and dialect in their writing. I am envious of their talent. Truly.

Have you ever received a comment that particularly stood out to you for whatever reason? I've received such amazing comments from readers and I treasure every single one. But there's been a handful of times where somebody has said that my fic was the first they read in the acotar fandom, or that it's their favorite ever, or that they were so invested in it even though they don't ship Elain and Azriel...and just reading those comments makes me feel so valued. To say that about my writing is such an honor.

What's something you've improved on since you started writing fic? I think my style of writing has definitely improved since I started. If you compare the first part of Across the Hallway (my very first fic) to my most recent ones, especially ones like Wildest Dreams or even my A Hundred Lifetimes, A Hundred Worlds, I'd Choose You series, you can definitely see the difference in my writing.

Do you prefer writing on your phone or on a computer (or something else)? Do you think where you write affects the way you write? I'm a laptop writer. If I write on my phone, I'll note it because it will likely have more errors. I've only written two fics on my phone tbh. My "fast phone fics."

What's the last fic you read? Do you recommend it? I read Wonderstruck by @mirrorballpages and it is phenomenal. Highly, highly recommend it.

What are you currently working on? Share a few lines if you’re up for it! Oh man. I've got wips for Accidental Chemistry, this Italy-based heartbreaker that will likely never be published. I've got pieces of a post-acosf fic that will never see the light of day. Random scenes for that witch AU. I haven't been writing fic since Elriel Month, tbh. I've been more focused on my IDBTWY rewrite for publishing. But... I suppose if I do end up writing fic again, it'll be Accidental Chemistry. So here's an unedited snippet of it.

It was something he noticed the other night when he cradled the boy to his chest, promptly getting him to finally settle enough to fall asleep. He wasn’t sure if it was the sound of his heartbeat or the warmth of his skin or the deep sound of his voice as he softly sang a lullaby his mother used to hum to him or a combination thereof, but Oliver always seemed content in his arms.

[kings-highway]

Fanfic Writer Review

Thanks you the wonderful @mania-sama for tagging me for this and letting me inflict my thoughts upon all of you <3 love you asshole :)

Many, many words below the cut!

“How many works do you have on Ao3?”

Sitting pretty at 47! I have deleted a few fics in the past but I have never orphaned any or posted anonymously, so the count is accurate.

“Your top 5 stories by kudos/likes?”

In the Woods of Japan - 1,969 kudos

Should surprise nobody to find this one is my most beloved! Ironically this is also the second story I ever posted to Ao3 - writing it was like a fever dream, posting a chapter almost every day or every second day for a bit. I truly, truly think that writing this fic was one of the best decisions I ever made, if you all and the haikyuu community hadn’t shown me so much support, I have no idea what I’d be doing now - it broke me out of a 3-4 year dry spell where I hadn’t written anything at all, and has directly led to me not only writing regularly now but finishing original stories as well and truly even if it’s not my favourite piece in my library, I will never regret deciding to attack Daichi with a bear. Also shoutout to the only story I ever let Daichi be bisexual in. Finished writing this story and then stole his labels forever. Bitch never figured out his identity again.

All for the Love of an Energetic Redhead - 1,185 kudos

The success of this story is so funny to me. Sometimes I have an idea on whether or not a story will be well received, and other times the story is Energetic Redhead and you post it and are immediately flabbergasted by how many other people wanted Kags and Ushi to get blackout drunk and fly around the world. Ironically, the only reason this got written is because I don’t have the art skills/patience needed to make a comic I wanted to, based on the only two red-haired characters, but wanted to push my “two autistics vs. two energetic but VERY different redheads” agenda. It would have gone something like “several panels of Ushijima and Hinata standing side by side, Ushijima is distracted by something while Hinata motor-talks about all things volleyball. Ushijima suddenly interrupts him, realizing who he is and saying: You are not my usual redhead-” and the panel is interrupted, cutting to Kageyama trapped in a dark room with Tendou.”

Competitive Fake Dating - 1,061 kudos

Sometimes as a fanfiction writer, you have to remind yourself that you are a fanfiction writer. It’s all fun and games writing massive, sprawling stories with deep themes and complex character relations. But this is fanfiction, bitch, sometimes you have to make your blorbos kiss for points.

Imperfect Facial Symmetry - 916 kudos

Oh, what can I say. This one truly is special to me. 100% one of my favourite fics of all time, there are only very few things I would change about it, but most of those being wishing I could go back and add more, drag it out. I don’t like stories or headcanons that make Tendou out to be attractive or even “attractive in a weird way” I think his character is far more interesting if you allow him to be conventionally unattractive, and I think pairing it with a version of Ushijima obsessed with the limitations of his own self expression, to rewire the definition of “attractive” into “lively” and “expressive” is such a good representation of why I love this ship specifically. There are a lot of headcanons present in this story that I since used in pretty much every other. God I could talk about it / them / this story for fucking ever.

American Summer - 882 kudos

Sequel to #1, In the Woods. What can I say, you go for a bear, you escalate to an American named Adam. I did NOT want this story to be the way this story ended up. Earlier drafts of the story included stargazing on the top of a rented motorhome, losing your virginity in the back of a car, getting into a fight with a couple of 22 year olds outside of a bar, visiting national parks, overcoming jealousy for your boyfriends’ trauma-bonded found family, and slowly beginning to let go of that trauma. INSTEAD after writing a couple chapters I remembered you can’t legally rent a car at 18/19 in California and I had to rapidly adjust, and apparently instead of a coming-of-age vacation my only other idea was serial killer so. Uh.

“Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?”

So-so. I WANT to reply to every comment, but I have a really severe kind of social anxiety, so I don’t reply most of the time. I’m too afraid of looking really conceited and egotistical, if I reply to a comment about the things they like about the fic with the things I liked about the fic or just agreeing with them, I’m just hyping myself up as if I wasn’t the author and keeping all the attention on me, if I just thank them and nothing else, I feel like I’m not appreciating it enough and they’ll be offended by my shorter response, if I make a joke or be funny, 90% of the time I don’t get a reply back, and then I sit there with a stomach ache of anxiety wondering if they were annoyed by me trying to be silly. So. I really, really, try my best to reply to comments, especially at the last chapter of a longer fic, or if there’s a direct question I’ll always answer those, but otherwise I get nervous and can’t bring myself to hit enter on the responses. But I love all the comments I receive so much and I really am trying to get better at engaging with people.

“What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?”

Has to be Astrophilia. I don’t enjoy angsty endings most of the time, I don’t think the world needs more stories about people failing to be happy, or suffering needlessly with no reprise. Astrophilia was originally going to be a hardcore angst ending with them definitively dying in space/losing the ability to communicate with Earth, but as per the previous reason given, I just didn’t see any value in that story, and wanted to give it more of my usual spin. (No hate to people who do like angst, I just don’t.) Most of my angst is found in the middle of my fics, where it belongs :P (the catharsis of recovery is important to me!)

“What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?”

All of them? I think ignoring the one-shots that exist only to be fluffy, and thinking about what really qualifies a happy ending, I would have to go with Soulmake Adventures. Sure, there’s no fairytale happy ending to it (which is the point of that story) but in that I think that’s the happiest ending. Each character is explicitly given long, healthy lives filled with new experiences and growth and change, and are not bound to static one-note love stories. Their happy endings are not defined by the satisfaction of the romance story that was contained in Soulmake Adventures, but each of them achieving a level of self-actualization that allows them to take control of the choices they make and live for themselves first.

“Do you write crossovers?”

In theory? Yes. I just don’t have a reason to :)

I would LOVE to do a SK8 + Haikyuu crossover though. I think Langa and Kageyama need to be locked in a room together.

“Have you ever received hate on a fic?”

Not really. One comment comes to mind but I also don’t feel like giving enough description that would allow someone to track it down, feels mean to put a spotlight on someone, especially because I've never received hate, with such a strong word. Just… disappointment or confusion.

Oh, except for this one time this crazy person told me I’d stolen the plot of Sharkboy and Lavagirl. smh.

“Do you write smut? If so, what kind?”

Yes? No? I think sex and physical intimacy is one of the most interesting ways to explore relationship dynamics and emotions, so I tend to use sex a lot in my stories, but as most would know I rarely, rarely write graphic sex. “Smut” I think has the connotation of sex that’s meant to be hot, which I’ve never done. If you see characters fucking in my stories, there’s a purpose to it. BUT that being said never say never. Sex is just sex, if I think of a good story idea that uses it, then it will be.

“Have you ever had a fic stolen?”

I think? I had a ton of my stories being hosted on one of those data scam sites or whatever. I truly just. Whatever.

“Have you ever had a fic translated?”

I think so! I’ve had many people approach and ask me permission to, but I can’t say for certain if they ever got completed. I think so.

“Have you ever co-written a fic before?”

No! I do love the idea of collaborating on a fic, but I hate the idea of co-writing. There would have to be a premise that lets us write our own halves (dual perspective, maybe?) that’s relatively separate. Otherwise, the actual process of two “writers” on a fic sounds absolutely terrible. What, gonna share a google doc and take turns writing lines? I would go crazy with control-freak energy. BUT the idea of collaborating on a story in other ways and sharing credit for ideas and working together to make it good would be awesome.

“What’s your all-time favourite ship?”

*glances at my Haikyuu themed fanfiction blog and Ao3 account*

S… Sculder… (Mulder/Scully - X-Files)

It’s really really hard to decide, “all-time favourite” comes with a huge weight to it. Amy/Rory from Doctor Who is also really fucking high on that list, as is Ten/Rose to be fair. But then I think about where I am currently, and in terms of energy/thought put into a ship, that shit has to be DaiSuga, right? In terms of favourite, clearly… but… if we’re going with Haikyuu, a relatively recent love of mine, I think UshiTen is more compelling…

BUT if we’re talking about ships that take up my brainpower, ships that live rent-free forever in my head, it’s going to be my original characters, always. I have a handful of personal characters from original stories that never leave my thoughts. The real answer would probably be two of my OCs. If you know you know.

But that’s a stupid answer so I’m gonna go with Sculder because they are perfect.

“What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?”

There are SO many WIPS that’ll never get finished, but I think the answer that serves this question the best is a WIP in my scrap folder called “The London Reconnection,” which follows Suga about 5 years post leaving Japan to study English Lit in London, and is working towards his masters. He had effectively lost a lot of his cultural roots and really enjoys the lifestyle of London, especially the teas, and although he had always planned on eventually going back to Japan after getting his masters, as he gets closer to that, he’s started considering staying in London and staying forever. Which, at the time, doesn’t hurt so bad - he hasn’t spoken to anyone back home in three years, and the last time he went for Christmas, he didn’t even bother checking in with his friends… though a wrench gets thrown into his confidence for what he wants and his plans for the future when, literally out of nowhere, Daichi shows up in the library he works at with his little sister, having come to support her while she receives an experimental treatment for a rare disorder, and they’re expecting to stay, possibly indefinitely. Suga hadn’t spoken to Daichi in quite a few years, but had always considered him “the one that got away” (though they had never officially dated.) So suddenly, his perfectly curated London lifestyle is tipped on its side due to the dropped-in presence of an old, familiar face and one that can barely speak a lick of English, let alone blend into the London culture. Cue English lessons, lots of metaphors about teas, identity, and falling in love with someone you used to know intimately, but don’t really know at all anymore. I think about it like 3 times a week but more than likely will never write more than the 4k or so I put down for the first chapter…

“What are your writing strengths?”

Fuck if I know, my man. I think dialogue? I get a lot of compliments regarding how natural my characters feel, how much they seem like real people, so I think that has to be one of the strongest points of my writing. I also think I’m very funny. Humour is 100% subjective so this doesn’t really count, but I love some of my own jokes in my writing. Write to make yourself laugh, friends, that’s the key.

“What are your writing weaknesses?”

The fact that if a scene bores me I’ll just straight skip it. I tend to rush scenes that would be realistic simply because I don’t care about them, certain characters or plot lines getting abandoned because writing the necessary scenes for them to really work just sounds boring. Even if I think the scenes or characters are good and important and very interesting, if it bores me I just… can’t force myself to do it. I also really struggle with combat and action sequences, anything that requires “choreography” of any kind, I think I tend to under-explain each scene in an effort to avoid over-explaining an action sequence, which results in muddied and confusing character motions with little context.

“What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?”

I don’t think I have any thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic? I’m sure this is related to some kind of fan-debate about this, but… I’m not sure what the camps are. If I write Dialogue in another language in a fic, and the perspective character doesn’t speak that language, I italicize it but otherwise write it like normal dialogue. If the character does speak that language, I italicize it but write it in English and make a note in the dialogue tag that it was in whichever language. I think, though don’t hold me to this, spoken dialogue should always be written in a way that the reader can “hear” which would unfortunately have to include the phonetic anglicization of languages that don’t use the latin alphabet IF you’re writing in English (or converting it to whatever language you’re writing in.) This is due to the enjoyment of the reader being able to “hear” the story or keep the immersion. If I’m reading a story, and it presents to me, in dialogue, a string of sanskrit, just skipping over that without hesitation. No idea. Character may as well not have spoken, can’t hear it. BUT if it’s in the text of the book, describing the writing they’re reading, signage, or anything else, then it should stay in its original written form, perhaps translated elsewhere in the story if needed. I don’t think authors are required to translate spoken dialogue if the perspective character can’t understand it. HOWEVER that is also my opinion for, like, original fiction stories. Because fanfiction is supposed to be for sharing, I can understand wanting/expecting a translation of whatever cute or funny quip the characters are making in the language. I, personally, have never provided translations for any of the languages I use in my fics. Sorry.

“What’s a fandom/ship you haven’t written for yet but want to?”

I have no interest in writing fanfiction for other fandoms. As mentioned above, if I had to pick one I might go with SK8, but I’m not really a “fanfiction writer” in the sense that when I read/watch media I get overwhelmed with the urge to write stories for them. I don’t even really read fanfiction. Haikyuu is special in that, these little fucks satisfy my creative urges and that’s all they have to do, it’s not really about any hyperfixation on the media or interest in writing fanfiction as a whole, y’know. Besides, if I started writing for other fandoms, that would give Daichi a break from me and I can’t allow that.

That being said, ships I haven’t ever written for… I have a SemiShira WIP in progress that hopefully will be finished Kogagoshi as well I’m a fan of, if you can believe that. FukaTora, too. Honestly I have a dozen AsaNoya WIPS, and considering they’re one of my favourites the fact that they’ve never been more than a background ship/side pairing is a SHAME. Same with AranKita.

“What’s your favourite fic you’ve written?”

Time Enough to Risk it All has to be my favourite, just because it’s, well… it’s what it is. I think it’s tight and well contained, it doesn’t suffer from my usual rambling, missed plotlines or dropped ideas that I scrapped after I started posting. It feels cohesive and tightly knit and it ends the same way. Not too many things going on. However, I will say, Imperfect Facial Symmetry is really high up there as well, as is The Stoplight Demon even though it was not everyone else’s favourite. I do think if I can finish “This is Not the End” the way I want to, and have it be what I hope it’ll be, it will become my favourite. But I still have time to ruin it, so we’ll see if Time Enough keeps its title :)

Tagging: victims!

@harumin24 @vvalllerie @reviiely

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Role Reversal

Roman kept mentioning that he doesn’t like transformations and it kept reminding me of Patton turning into a giant frog and Janus disguising himself as other sides. It would be very cool and epic if you could make some Roman angst based off this concept (no pressure obviously) – anon

The song "I Am in Great Pain, Please Help Me" by Crywank reminds me so much of Roman (specifically, your brand of Roman angst). I was wondering if you had the spoons for it, to write something inspired by it? No pressure to, ofc! – anon

Perhaps something where Roman is comforting Logan and then after Roman leaves, Logan is like, “Wait, shit, I should have been comforting YOU!”. You know the scene in What Makes A Perfect Gift where Logan asks for Roman’s input and Roman looks genuinely surprised? The angst potential for Roman not thinking he’s needed at a BRAINSTORM is so slept on. I know you’ve had a lot of Roman angst asks lately so I understand if you don’t want to do it, but I definitely wanted to ask just in case! – anon

Roman angst disguised as Logan centric. Logan Sherlock fic about him trying to figure out why Thomas’s mental health is so bad. – anon

Read on Ao3

Warnings: roman being insecure, logan being insecure

Pairings: logince can be platonic or romantic you decide

Word Count: 3143

Logan feels stressed about Thomas's mental health and goes to Roman for help discussing a possible upcoming video, only for Roman to accurately guess that Logan's feeling insecure about his own role in keeping Thomas happy and healthy. Little does Logan know: there's more going on than meets the eye and it isn't until later that he realizes Roman's far more fragile than anyone could've guessed. After that, well, there's really only one course of action.

If Logan had not been paying very, very close attention, there is every possibility that he could have missed it.

He almost did; despite being entirely focused on his goal, he has to admit that it wasn't something he saw as necessarily related, and as such, dismissed initially as not relevant to solving the problem of why Thomas's mental health had been in a steady decline since the wedding. However, upon further reflection, he can conclude that not only was the sudden tightening of Roman's expression related, it was most likely the strongest indicator he's seen since he began.

"Sorry, Specs, I think my hearing cut out of a second there." Roman scratches the back of his head almost sheepishly. "Can you—can you say that one more time?"

"I believe it would be helpful for Thomas for us to do another 'low-key' video, as it were, and for you and I to work together."

"Yes, I heard that part."

"As we want to focus on recapturing some of Thomas's whimsy and zest for life—" here Roman's expression quirks towards amusement— "it would be apt for you to try and recreate some of the dreams Thomas has held onto in the past."

"Right, but not like—"

"Including transforming into those he aspired to be or the roles he aspired to fill," Logan finishes, frowning when there's that momentary tightness in Roman's smile again, "do you concur?"

"I—so I'm all for helping Thomas fall in love with his dreams again, you know, but, um…" He twists his fingers together. "I'm not sure that this is…the best way to do it?"

"You are the embodiment of Thomas's Hopes and Dreams. Who else would be better equipped to help me?"

Roman blinks as if he hadn't been expecting the comment. Which is in and of itself a little odd; Roman typically never passes up the opportunity to remind them of his standing in Thomas's psyche, nor to claim credit for half of the things Thomas does even when it's far more of a group effort. "Right, but I don't see how me turning into various things would be helpful."

"Thomas is a very visual learner. It's been proven in the past via various theater productions and other activities that he thrives in environments where he can immerse himself in what it is he's doing. By having you, his Creativity, directly mimic the dreams he wishes or wished to obtain, we draw a more substantial connection between the Thomas that he is now and the Thomas he aspires to be."

Roman's mouth works. Logan frowns.

"If you have something you want to say, Roman, by all means, speak your mind. This brainstorm won't be nearly as successful if only one of us is contributing."

"Where is this coming from, Logan?"

"I'm not quite sure what you mean."

"This." Roman gestures back and forth between them. "This sudden need to 'fix' Thomas. You've been pretty clear with the rest of us that you don't think staying 'in his head' would be helpful, not when you're working so hard on your lists that you want him to do."

"Well, it's been pretty clear those aren't working, so—"

"But they have been. You know they have been—we all celebrated when Thomas finally managed to clean his kitchen and you were right, he did feel better afterwards. Your methods were working, are working."

Logan swallows. He did feel very accomplished after the last bowl had been placed in the cupboard, and no one had been happier than he when Thomas not only made himself dinner but cleaned up afterwards, but this was different. "Thomas deserves the drive to go after what he wants as well as doing the maintenance required to sustain his current lifestyle."

Roman nods. "And what sorts of things are those?"

"Roman, I don't understand—"

"Please," he interrupts, holding up his hands, "humor me?"

"You're the one who's Hopes and Dreams," he protests feebly, "you're Creativity. I'm not going to be good at coming up with them."

"Just try. You're better at it than you think."

"O-oh." He blinks. "Thank you, Roman."

"Of course."

"Uh—well, I think Thomas has a passion for filmmaking that he hasn't fully realized in shooting the YouTube videos due to the constraints of the channel."

"Okay."

"He's been enjoying doing the modeling shoots for Instagram as well. And he has a few shows that he wants to catch up on—not a dream, I know, but something he wants to do."

"That's good, Logan. What else?"

"Does he still have the dream of being an actor? On a more professional level?"

"I believe so, yes."

"Well, there you are, then."

Roman nods. "And if we go off of your transformation idea, what—what exactly would I be transforming into?"

He furrows his brow. "Well, you would be—if you were doing—I suppose you—ah. I see your point."

"It's not that there's something Thomas isn't that we need to make him into," Roman says quietly, "we can just remind him of the things that are already inside him that he can chase and pursue."

"…that is a very valid conclusion to have reached."

"He doesn't have to work all the time—I think both you and I know the dangers of letting yourself believe you can," he says with a gentle nudge to Logan's shoulder, "he can give himself time to rest and work on things that he wants to, not things that he has to."

"And I suppose making another video would be counterproductive to this aim, as it requires a level of work that would not be outweighed by the reassurance it might provide."

"I don't know if I would've said it nearly as well as you, but yeah, pretty much."

Logan sighs, closing his notebook with an almost despondent flap. "Then I suppose I have nothing else to work on."

"Good."

He frowns at Roman. "'Good?'"

"Well, now that means you can do the things that you want to do."

"M-me? What on earth are you talking about?"

"Did we not just go over how important it is to not be consumed by work all the time?"

"Well, yes, but—"

"Did we not just talk about how it's necessary to rest and do the things you want to do from time to time?"

"I don't—"

"Did you not just say that you have nothing else to work on right now?"

"I know what you're doing," he says, meaning for it to come out accusatory and missing dreadfully, "it's not going to work."

"Me convincing you to take time for yourself and enjoy spending your time how you want to spend it isn't going to work?" Roman grins, leaning forward onto his elbows, propping his chin on his hands. "Are you sure?"

"Roman," he warns.

"What? It's not like I was the only one who came to this conclusion about Thomas a second ago, you were instrumental in figuring it out, Specs."

"Roman."

"And we all know that you're way smarter than I am, so if you're going to take your own advice—which you should, then—"

"Alright!" Roman laughs as Logan buries his face in his hands, trying not to smile too obviously at the praise or blush from how many compliments Roman's just given him, "you've made your point, you can stop now."

"I think you mean I've just reiterated your point, but that's alright." A warm hand pats his shoulder. "You're doing great, Logan. You don't have to stress out about this right now. Thomas has earned a break and so have you, okay?"

"…I suppose there are a few things I've been waiting to do that could occupy my time."

"There you go!" Roman claps his hands and gets up, affectionately ruffling Logan's hair and dodging his attempts to swat him. "Let me know how it goes, I'd love to hear about whatever you're working on."

Logan aims another swat at his shoulder and misses, watching Roman sink out. He shakes his head, unable to keep the growing smile off his face as he thinks about his own projects. Yes, there are several things he could do, he could work on refining the data for the experiment, he could read that study he's been eyeing for a few days, he could look over the manuscript he's drafting…

It isn't until he gets back to his room with a different notebook open on his desk that he pauses.

Why had Roman been upset at the suggestion of transformation?

They had agreed upon resting and doing what they wanted, letting Thomas do what he wanted. They had agreed that resting was good, pursuing one's own passions was good. What about transformations had rankled Roman so? He hadn't directly addressed it—something virtually unheard of for Roman. Perhaps it had been something to do with the act of transforming itself? But no, Roman had always been among the first to thrill at being someone else, or pretending to be someone else. What had caused such a dramatic shift?

What sorts of transformations had they done recently? There had been the whole thing with Remus—Logan suppresses a shudder as he remembers Remus's song and everything that happened in it—but Roman had been unconscious for most of it. Aside from that, it had been…

Well, Janus had been transforming into them more often than not, but that was him, mostly, not Roman. And Patton had become the giant frog, but that hadn't really affected Roman that much either. No, the last time Roman had been the one transforming, it had been…for…

Logan stands up, eyes still fixed on a point in the distance as his mind races.

Roman hadn't transformed for himself. It had always been at the whim of someone else. Roman was Hopes and Dreams—Thomas's Hopes and Dreams. Roman did things for Thomas. He was Thomas's wants. Despite how often they all called him selfish, he…he didn't really fight for the things that he wanted.

Could he name a single thing that Roman wanted that wasn't something for Thomas?

I think you and I both know the dangers of believing you can work all the time.

There's nothing that Thomas isn't that we need to make him into.

"Oh, Roman," he whispers into the quiet room, "when did you get so good at hiding?"

He doesn't want to know the answer, but his mind is already coming up with a helpful list of every time he can remember where Roman let himself get pushed to the side, overruled, scolded, overlooked, for the sake of someone else. He thinks about the times where Roman had been obviously uncomfortable with what they wanted him to do, and then did it anyway. He thinks about how long it's been since he's actually heard Roman say what he wanted, not what Thomas wanted, not what Patton or Janus or even he wanted.

How long has it been since someone wanted Roman for Roman?

He looks back down at his desk and pulls out a different notebook. He's underestimated Roman. He won't go into this upcoming conversation unprepared.

***

He knocks on Roman's door as softly as he can, waiting for the quiet come in to push it open. Roman looks up from his—

Oh.

Oh.

Oh, no.

"Oh, Roman," he murmurs before he can stop himself, crouching next to Roman's slumped figure and carding a hand through his hair, "I'm so sorry."

"N-no, I'm sorry, 'm sorry, I can—" he scrubs a hand harshly across his face— "it's fine. What, um, what do you—"

Another sob interrupts him before he can finish asking if Logan needs anything, which only makes his chest ache all the more. He eases himself down next to Roman's buckled legs and wraps a comforting arm around his shoulders, pulling him close enough to wipe a thumb across his cheek.

"Shh," he says when Roman tries to speak again, "don't stress yourself. I'm not here for anything other than this, little one."

The pet name rolls off his tongue before he can stop it, but at the slightly wounded noise that leaves Roman's lips, he resolves to use them as often as he can. He scratches his nails lightly against his scalp, shushing him again when he tries to stifle another sob.

"I'm here because I realized I'd hurt you earlier," he continues, still speaking gently, "and I did not attempt to comfort you in any way. No, no—don't pull away from me, dear. Shh, don't fret, don't fret, I'm not upset—look at me, Roman, do I look upset?"

Roman's eyes, still filled with tears, roam frantically over his face. Logan keeps his expression as soft and open as he can, letting the concern write itself plainly over the furrow in his brow. After another moment, Roman sniffles and he's already reaching for the tissue box he can see perched haphazardly on the end of the desk. He takes it with a grateful mumble and blows his nose with a honk.

"You were right. You don't need to change to be worth something, or to be fixed. You don't need to become something you're not—oh, darling, hush, now," he says when Roman's eyes grow wide with distress, "I'm not angry, I'm not—oh, you poor thing."

For Roman had begun to sob in earnest, trying in equal parts to pull away from Logan's embrace and push himself near into his chest. Logan slides an arm under his legs and pulls them into his lap, tucking Roman's face into the crook of his neck and kissing the crown of his head. There's a moment where Roman tenses and he fears he might pull away, but then he all but collapses into him and buries his nose in Logan's shirt.

"There you go, little one, shh, it's alright. You can cry, crying is good. You're alright, you're safe, I'm right here." He runs his hand up and down Roman's back. "Shh, shh, that's it…that's it, my dear."

"Sorry—'m so sorry—"

"Shh-shh-shh, no apologies from you, not about this. You're overwhelmed and overworked, it's perfectly alright for you to be emotional right now. You can let it out, I don't mind at all. In fact, I'm here to help."

"Help?"

"Mm. You took great pains to comfort me earlier, even when I did not ask, and you," and here he gives Roman a little shake, "have not let anyone comfort you in quite a long time. So yes, I am here to comfort you, to help, and if that means letting you cry in my lap for as long as you need, then that is what I shall do."

"It's so hard," comes the sniffling whisper from under his chin, "I keep—I keep trying to be what they want but they don't know what they want and then it's my fault and I can't—they keep changing and wanting me to change and I can't—"

"Shh, shh…hush, my dear, it's alright. That's right, just let me hold you…"

They spend a great deal of time like that, curled up on the floor. Logan keeps carding his hand through Roman's hair, soothing away the more violent of sobs with gentle touches up and down his back or patting his chest. How long has Roman been holding this in? How long has it been since their prince has let himself fall apart without remorse? And how long has it been since they took pains enough to notice?

He pulls himself from his own thoughts when Roman's head turns, bumping slightly against his chin. He tilts his head to press a kiss to his temple, leaning back just enough to see the blotchy face come into view. Taking another tissue, he carefully dabs up the last of the tears he can see, holding it so Roman can blow his nose again.

"…thanks, Logan."

"Of course, my dear." He raises an eyebrow at the little shudder that goes through him. "No?"

"N-no, yes. Yes. Very much yes. Sorry."

"None of that now, my dear. Do you feel any better?"

"A little bit."

"That's excellent. Shall we sit here for a little longer, or do you want to move somewhere a little more comfortable?"

"C-can we just stay here for a little longer?"

"Of course we can." He runs his thumb over Roman's cheek again. "I am truly sorry it took me so long to figure out what was going on, little one. But I'm here now."

Roman averts his gaze and once again Logan is struck by how different Roman is right now; no longer does he see their fiery prince who so eloquently made him take his own advice mere hours ago, instead he sees a shell of a Side who shies away from a gentle touch like a dog too scared to eat. The comparison alone is enough to coax him to lean forward and kiss his cheek, cuddling him against his chest.

"I'm here now," he repeats, "let me look after you."

"You will?"

"Yes, Roman, I will. I'm right here—" he pulls him a little closer— "I've got you, little one, you're alright."

"I don't know what to do."

"Right now?"

"…anymore."

Logan's heart clenches in his chest and he forces the ache away, running his thumb over his cheek once more. "Well, what do you want to do right now?"

"I want to stay here."

"Then we shall stay here. And when you're ready to figure out what you want to do next," he says, adjusting them until they're both comfortable as can be, "I will be here to help."

General Taglist: @frxgprince@potereregina@gattonero17@iamhereforthegayshit@thefingergunsgirl@awkwardandanxiousfander@creative-lampd-liberties@djpurple3@winterswrandomness@sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes@iminyourfandom@bullet-tothefeels@full-of-roman-angst-trash  @ask-elsalvador @ramdomthingsfrommymind@demoniccheese83@pattonsandershugs@el-does-photography@princeanxious@firefinch-ember@fandomssaremysoul@im-an-anxious-wreck@crazy-multifandomfangirl @punk-academian-witch@enby-ralsei@unicornssunflowersandstuff@wildhorsewolf @thetruthaboutthesun @stubbornness-and-spite @princedarkandstormv  @your-local-fookin-deadmeme @angels-and-dreams@averykedavra @a-ghostlight-for-roman @treasurechestininterweb @cricketanne @queerly-fluid-fan @compactdiscdraws@cecil-but-gayer@i-am-overly-complicated@annytheseal@alias290@tranquil-space-ninja @arxticandy @mychemically-imbalanced-romance@whyiask@crows-ace @emilythezeldafan@frida0043 @ieatspinalcords @snowyfires@cyanide-violence@oonagh2@xxpanic-at-the-everywherexx@rabbitsartcorner @percy-07734@triflingassailantofmyemotions @virgil-sanders-the-gay-emo@cerulean-watermelon@puffed-up-bees@meltheromanstan@joyrose-fandomer@insanitori@mavenmush@justablah65@10paradox10@uhhh-hi-there-i-am-nervous@cutebisexualmess@bella-bugatti-frogetti-baguetti@ultrageekygirl@raven1508

[autistic-katara]

ok i might get blocked by a couple ppl for saying this but the Jackson’s Diary fandom is seriously making me wanna become a proshipper out of spite (read the post before blocking me or whatever please)

like idk if u guys have checked the fandom tag on ao3 recently but theres been a bit of drama surrounding the fact that someone posted a smut-fic of Exer (an 18yo) and David (an almost 18yo, who was aged up A FEW MONTHS for the fic) and they were harassed into taking it down and making a fucking apology post ON AO3, THE PROBLEMATIC FANWORKS WEBSITE.

and this fic was tagged 100% correctly like it was very explicitly tagged as smut n stuff yet there were still a bunch of comments being like “uhm what did i just read 🤨” and when i made a comment defending the authors right to yk, not be harassed for making not even rlly problematic content someone who clearly would suffer withdrawal symptoms if they turned twitter off for too long started arguing with me abt how “erm ackhtually we should be allowed to comment harassment under ppls harmless and explicitly tagged fics cause theres no smut in this fandom and it shocked us” and u could just rlly tell they felt they were more righteous than God in their opinions and yeah so cut to tonight when i’m scrolling through the tag and i see a post titled “i’m so sorry” in which the author made a post basically being like “i’m so sorry for posting that ik it was disgusting it has been permanently deleted” which in the comments a few ppl were telling them that what happened sucked n stuff (myself included // judging by their reply they only did this to stop the harassment which yk, completely fair) and i went back to scrolling since i wanted an actual fic not fandom drama but like 2 posts down there was another post titled “please stop” or smthn like that where someone else made a post basically being like “guyssss can we please not write smut of these characters this fandom is so wholesome i dont wanna ruin it 🥺 anyways sorry this isnt a fic this just needed to be said lol” and like dude, my guy, WHAT THE FUCK?!

this is AO3, this is a fanwork archive that as far as i know was created (at least partially) due to the fact that ppl kept getting their “problematic” works taken down from other sites and the creators wanted to yk archive all fanworks. this is NOT a social media site where u can make callout posts abt how what someone else posted disturbed ur pure wholesome chaste scrolling by daring to uploaded something with *gasp* consensual sex between 2 consenting adults?! (or canonically 1 consenting adult and 1 consenting gonna-be-an-adult-in-a-few-months-but-isnt-much-younger-than-the-first-guy but u get the idea)

like guys, ao3 is not twitter. it is not tiktok, it is not tumblr, its not youtube, its not even wattpad. it is not a social media platform, it is a fanwork archive, specifically one that lets u post whatever kinda content u want (yes, even smthn depicting 2 consenting adult/almost adult participates that are in no way related having sex, ik its crazy what they allow online these days).

and look honestly the callout post wouldn’tve annoyed me this much if it was posted on yk an actual social media. like if it was posted on twitter or tiktok or on youtube as a video essay or even on here, like sure if i saw it id be annoyed that this fandom cant handle the tiniest bit of non-puritanicalism and fuck, maybe if it was on here id even drag myself into a pointless days-long argument that causes me suicidal levels of stress but on archive of our fucking own itself?! for the millionth time, IT IS NOT A SOCIAL MEDIA! u dont make posts like that that u want the rest of the fandom to read or whatever on there because its not that kinda website!

anyways yeah i hope i explained the situation ok, u might be able to check it out urself if u feel like it and yeah idk this whole thing just kinda felt like a wake-up call for me like yes i find incest and pedophilia disgusting OBVIOUSLY and i dont like ppl romanticising it in fiction but idk i’ve seen ppl talk abt toxic antis before and show screenshots of conversations where theyve acted super shitty but idk seeing this all unfold in person and having to argue with these hardcore antis just- i dont wanna be associated with these ppl, if these are what alotta antis r like i dont want anyone to assume i agree with them like at all, whether its other antis, proshippers, or ppl like me who have a super complicated opinion on it. like they harassed a person into taking down their smut and made call-out posts on ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN abt how they dont want their wholesome pure fandom corrupted by gross dirty irredeemable sex. and just yeah hope no mutuals i seriously care abt unmoot or even block me over this since ik a few of u r antis but yeah srry for this i just kinda seriously hate this fandom right now :)

also incase anyone is typing out a “kill yourself pedo” reply/rb rn; i turn 15 on Friday, i am 2+ years younger than ur innocent bb minor boy David and his definitely not already a legal adult boyfriend Exer so yk