#yes I want violence done to anti

[leobashi]

You cannot underestimate him. He may be tiny, but he is still stronk 💪

[lafemmemacabre]

I think part of the problem with even supposed "progressives" in the US who want to consider themselves anti-imperialist but still defend their soldiers, is that they seem to be under the impression that all their troops do in the global south is land there, kill the local combatants, maybe sometimes killing some civilians By Accident, get traumatized, then go back home.

That's not what American soldiers do in our parts of the world.

Again, Richard Ramírez, the infamous Nightstalker serial killer, was inspired by a relative of his who was a Vietnam veteran to commit his horrendous acts of violence, and honestly from what I recall, the individual murders he committed paled in comparison to the crimes against humanity his Vietnam vet role model told him about and showed him pictures of.

American soldiers come to our countries to rape, torture, maim, and commit genocide. They rape children. They rape mothers in front of their children and husbands, then kill them all after toying with those civilians like a cat playing with its prey. They do that to entire rural towns.

They take pictures with the agonizing prisoners they're torturing. Winking, thumbs up, and cackling.

They annihilate entire bloodlines.

They arm fascist factions within our countries, train them, and leave them in power, so that those factions can pick up with the work of terror they started once they're gone back to the US.

They trample children with their tanks. Intentionally. As a joke between them.

They dangle their American dollars, which are much heavier than any of our devalued currencies, on the faces of hungry orphans to solicit them for child sex work. Children who were orphaned by the comrades of these very same predators to begin with.

They intentionally destroy our lands, making sure nothing else will grow again, or at least nothing healthy and thriving will grow again.

Yes, even if when they come back home to the US these vets are "nice" and polite. Even if they would never do that to a fellow (white) American. That's because they see other (white) Americans as actual human beings, while those of us in the global south are at best NPCs, and at worst detestable vermin to be exterminated in whichever way is most entertaining to the genocider in question.

And honestly? You guys' own thought process isn't too different from theirs.

If you're happy to brush off what's done to our peoples, all in the name of maybe getting a minimum wage raise or whatever the fuck it is that Biden is falsely promising AGAIN; then you, too, see us as either NPCs or vile vermin. You're just too lazy to actually come and maim us like your troops do.

[hardlyinteresting]

Love, Guilt and Other Wounds

Aaron Hotchner x female reader

When Aaron and his partner are taken hostage, he has to break her heart to save her life.

Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, a little bit of domestic fluff, mention of blood, injury (non-graphic), hostage situation, knives, cannon-compliant themes of violence, non-detailed discussion about religion (Christianity), themes of childhood abuse, please let me know if you want me to add anything else.

Word count: (less than I expected, sorry) 3.7k  Request here! | Masterlist

"Of course, I’ll hurt you. Of course, you’ll hurt me. Of course, we will hurt each other. But this is the very condition of existence. To become spring means accepting the risk of winter. To become presence, means accepting the risk of absence". - Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

Aaron isn't sure if he believes in a God or a higher power. He was taught to read scripture; and spent Sunday mornings perfecting his posture in church pews-- starched shirts and neckties pulled too tight. The preacher's sermons left him wanting-- wondering how this man of God could stand over his congregation preaching every week, and not see all the lies they were holding back. How could he not see the secrets Aaron seemed to read so clearly? At just fourteen Aaron knew who was having an affair and with whom. He could see which children feared their fathers. Every pew had another story, another family growing together, or falling apart. The hypocrisy of it all drove him mad, and he imagined standing from his seat to shout it, overwhelmed as he realized he had unintentionally become the keeper of everyone's secrets. He learned that everyone in that church was a liar in their own right, and he hated it. But, when he left for college, his mother called to ask if he was still going to church on Sundays, and he lied and said yes. 

He should have paid more attention. Maybe then he'd understand how he ended up here. Perhaps it's some sick retribution. A cosmic evening of the scales; his penance for his sins. He just wishes you weren't here with him. How dare he think he could love someone when all he's ever done is punish those who love him? His hands are stained with blood; he taints everything he touches. 

Very early on in his career, Aaron learned he couldn’t take cases personally. As devastating as it was to have another victim show up while hunting a killer, it wasn’t a personal failure. Compartmentalize. Use logic. Move forward. He repeated the process again and again. Logically he knows that he is not responsible for the actions of the aggressive sociopath who is now holding the two of you hostage; but, he blames himself for not keeping you safer, for bringing you with him, and for putting you in harm's way. He knows he will not recover if you don’t make it out of here. He won’t forgive himself. 

The profile said this man would be anti-social. Physically, he’d be small in stature. It was clear he’d been sneaking up on his victims. He had been taking couples, knocking out the men with a blow to the back of the head, and then the women. It’s a method that the team had seen before, common for UNSUBs without the social ability to lure their victims, or the physical strength or confidence to attack head-on. But they had not profiled that he would escalate to taking out his targets with a taser. 

After six days in San Diego, the team finally had a lead on two rental properties in the UNSUB’s comfort zone. One was an old tyre factory, listed as a multipurpose warehouse and storage space; the other was a large storage facility in an industrial neighbourhood. Both units had been paid for in cash, both offered the privacy and space required to hold and torture two people for days at a time. The team split up, Hotch and you arranged to meet the owner of the factory space to find out more about who the renter was and gain access to the property. With no response from the owner of the second property, Morgan, Prentiss, and Rossi headed over to check it out. 

The two of you had only been on the property for five minutes before Aaron had been incapacitated and taken out. He had foolishly made his way into the building while you ran back to the SUV to grab your jacket. Out cold, there was nothing Aaron could do to stop you from meeting the same fate. 

It’s not his fault. But he feels like it is as he watches you shiver from across the room. He can’t be certain how much time has passed, but it feels like hours. He can only hope that you’re being kept in the building you were attacked in, that the team will connect the dots and come and get you, but until then you’re stuck. He watches, nauseated as your eyes flutter open, and then shut again. You’re concussed, he doesn’t need to be a doctor to know that. His ears are ringing, and he’s sure the blow he took to the head has at the very least temporarily worsened his hearing. 

“Doesn’t the FBI have rules against fraternization?” The UNSUB wonders out loud, waving a knife around as he walks towards you. 

“What makes you think we’re a couple?” Hotch asks, as he tries to work his hands free from the rope that binds them behind his back, “She’s just a colleague”. 

It’s a lie. But it needs to be said. Compartmentalize. Use logic. Move forward. Buy time, shift the UNSUB’s interest away from the two of you. Ruin the fantasy.

“I think I’ve been doing this long enough to know a couple when I see a couple, Aaron,” the man taunts, obviously proud of himself. He’s feeling emboldened having taken two FBI agents, but that works in your favour. He’s getting cocky, too full of himself. It’s a level of confidence he isn’t used to having, it just gives him a higher height to fall from. Compartmentalize. Use logic. Move forward. “I think it’s time we wake your girlfriend up,” the man says, his hand gripping tightly at your hair, your head tugged back without remorse. 

Aaron resists the urge to cringe as he hears you groan, your face twisted with obvious pain as you’re rudely awakened. “She’s pretty. What’s she doing with you?” 

“I told you. She’s a colleague”. 

Your eyes are unfocused, scanning the room trying to make sense of what is going on. 

The man raises the knife, holding it to your throat. This time Aaron blinks, desperate to control his expressions and micro-expressions. In this scenario, the less he cares about you, the safer you are. 

It’s the burden of being tied to him. Time after time his love destroys people. 

The blade presses closer to your throat. Aaron controls his breathing. 

“Impressive agent Hotchner. But I’m still not convinced,” the UNSUB moves the blade but pulls your head back further. Your eyes meet Aaron’s, “Do what you’re going to do, he doesn’t care,” you say. You’re speaking to the man with the knife in his hand as much as you’re speaking to Aaron. He weighs his options, his heart pounding as he watches you hold your breath, willing the tears to leave your eyes. It’s the permission he needs but doesn’t want.  Compartmentalize. Use logic. Move forward. He knows you’re doing the same, telling him to break your heart to save your life. 

“Please, Hotc--”. 

He doesn’t let you finish, “Just shut up for once. Please,” he thinks the words cut through him more than they cut through you. Knowing his cruelty is a lie does little to soften the blow, and it breaks his heart to be the one throwing it. 

But this is all he’s good for, isn’t it? Letting people down. Surely it’s not just coincidence that so many of those who have dared to love him end up damaged. One way or another he destroys people. Who is he to say that he’s the one who is suffering when it’s he who does all the damage? 

Even as a child, he couldn’t help it. He thinks perhaps he inherited his sharpened tongue and lack of patience from his mother. She loved him in her own way but could never show it without first tearing him apart. Her biting words, and regular beatings. Prentiss had been right when she once said he was distrustful of women-- unfairly so. Not all women carry the hateful, spiteful heart his mother had. Very few had ever turned their rage at the world and their shortcomings into a personal and violent rage against him. He grew weary nonetheless. Better safe than sorry.

 At a young age, it became clear to him that there were few things, if anything, as important to his mother than appearances. On Sundays, she fussed over his clothes and his posture. She lectured him on table manners from the moment he could hold a fork. His room had to be spotless. His grades had to surpass average. Long before his brother was ever born, he learned how to live up to her expectations. But still, there was always something she could find him lacking in, an excuse to take her open fist or wooden spoon to his skin, a reason to send him to bed without dinner. He remembers crashing into the china cabinet trying to escape her one night. She was mortified on Monday when he had to walk into school on Monday with a cast around his arm. “Make sure they know this was your fault,” she told him. Perhaps I was built to fail, he had thought. She loves me and I embarrass her. I will only ever let her down. God, how disappointed she would be to see him now.  

Seconds feel like hours as the UNSUB leers expectantly. The man's mouth twists into a smile when he sees the tears forming in your waterline again. Aaron watches your fist clench presumably to distract yourself from the migraine that matches the pounding in his head, just as much as it is to pull your attention away from the hurtful lies he's about to weave. 

“You were supposed to have my back,” Arron spits with faux vitriol. “You had one job and couldn't even manage to do that”. Compartmentalize. Use logic. Move forward. 

“From the moment you showed up I knew you'd be a problem”. 

He continues to try to work his hands out from the binds. He can feel the knot loosening as he continues to buy the two of you time. “Aaron,” you beg, tears slipping down your cheeks now. 

“Following me around with some school girl crush. Look where we are now,” Aaron breathes. 

He can feel his father’s rage resting on his shoulders, as heavy as his hands were when he used to pat him on the back. It’s a quiet burning, far more silent than his mother’s anger, but it’s there and threatening him all the same. A silent shame; a fear induced by the knowledge that he’s failing but not being able to stop it. His father lived like a ghost in their home, just as Aaron has learned to haunt his life. He only ever raised his voice when he drank, but even then his hatred was self-directed. A sorrowful self-pity. A cry for help. The affairs, the gambling, the drinking; the man punished himself, stumbling home to a house with a vengeful wife, a silent boy, and a crying baby. It was a heart attack that finally killed him, but Aaron never doubted his father had stopped living long before that. 

Aaron breaks his own heart as he delivers each verbal blow. He hopes you understand. He prays that just maybe your concussion might leave the memories of this moment blurry. Selfishly, he begs you to forgive him, because he won’t forgive himself. 

He can see the way your wrists strain against your restraints. The UNSUB adjusts his grip on your hair as you struggle to distance yourself from him. Your eyelids flutter and he knows your vision must be swimming but you don’t give up. With a sadistic grin, the UNSUB wipes at the tear stain on your cheek with fake sympathy, grasping your jaw roughly he forces you to look straight at Aaron, “Poor girl… guess boss man doesn’t care about you after all. What a waste,” he sighs his breath heavy against your cheek, as he moves to hold the knife to your throat again, “She’s so pretty,” he directs his commentary at Aaron this time. 

“Oh, don’t get me wrong. I’ve slept with her. How couldn’t I when she was practically throwing herself at me?” The words taste bitter on his tongue as he speaks them. His stomach churns as he continues, “But what we have certainly isn’t love”. 

It couldn’t be further from the truth. Aaron grounds himself choosing to remember the quiet morning you two had shared only a few days earlier. Waking up without an alarm but with Jack sneaking in to jump up on the bed. As he watches you cry now he recalls how you had smiled so brightly at the little boy, ruffling his hair and cuddling Jack into your side. He had watched with a smile of his own as you bargained with his son, promising pancakes in exchange for ten more minutes of sleep on your shared day off. 

You crept into his heart so slowly he had hardly noticed. Until one day, he looked up from the bright pink sticky note you'd left on your recent report, reminding him not to work too hard; he knew, without a doubt, he was in love with you. 

For so much of his life, Aaron conditioned himself to expect a fight around every corner. He learned to make sacrifices from his happiness in fruitless attempts to keep peace. For the first time in forever he's been feeling like maybe, just maybe, he's enough. You’ve been more than patient with him; understanding his hesitance to open up to people again. You don't get upset with him for working late, but you scold him for not getting enough sleep and skipping meals. 

He smiles more. He cracks jokes the way he used to. You've helped him see the forest from the trees--  healed parts of him he didn’t know needed mending. He's tried to do the same for you. He's watched you open up and trust the team more. He's seen the way your confidence has grown and he can't take credit for your growth, but he's enamoured by the transformation just the same. 

You deserve better. You deserve better. You deserve better. The thought echoes in his head the same as it does most days. But now, it’s louder. The voice in his head matches the volume of the ringing in his ears, and the rushing sound of his pounding heart. Compartmentalize. Use logic. Move forward. He fights to remind himself, but the UNSUB is laughing now. Taunting you and your emotions, and there’s nothing Aaron can do but sit there and watch. He struggles to feign indifference, watching as you continue to make yourself smaller. It’s only then that he notices that you too are working your hands out of the rope that restrains you. The UNSUB was stupid enough to tie your wrist in front of you.

Aaron’s eyes focus on the bandaid wrapped around your index finger. You cut yourself making dinner last week. He could have sworn his heart melted when you turned to him holding your hand out, blood beading already. “Aaron, where do you keep your first aid kit?” you’d asked. Your brows furrowed, and your lips pouted. “In the bathroom, the cabinet under the sink,” he’d answered with no intention of letting you go off and tend to your wound alone. Instead, he guided you down the hall, his left hand looped in a gentle hold around your wrist, his other hand on your waist. 

Once you were sat on the countertop he took great care, making sure the wound was cleaned before he bandaged it. “My hero,” you teased, leaning in for a kiss. 

A simple cut he could manage to fix. Jack promised you could use as many of his Star Wars bandaids as you wanted while you healed as well. A little love and patience could make it better, a philosophy he adopted to heal Jack’s scraped knees, and schoolyard bruises. But the sight before him now is far worse than any kitchen mishap could be. 

Your nose is still bleeding. Bruises have already begun to form, red marks turning deep purple with every passing minute. He knows that your concussion is something you'll recover from. The contact burns from where the taser touched your skin will become new skin someday soon. The cuts and scrapes will scab over and then disappear. 

Aaron worries the damage he's done can never truly be ameliorated. Your compassion is unmatched. It’s what makes you a good agent, a good partner, and someone Jack can turn to. You are forgiving. God knows you've excused enough of his behaviour. But, he doesn't deserve to be absolved of this guilt. He will carry this day around in the darkest corner of his heart; the same place he holds the memory of Haley and how he failed her. The words “what we have certainly isn't love,” will linger uneffaced by time or kind words. 

The squeak of an old door opening piques Aaron's interest. The UNSUB doesn't react. Seemingly only interested in tracing the tear tracks on your cheeks. Your eyes are closing again. It's over now, he wants to tell you. He wants to hold you; comfort you; to apologise because you deserve to hear it anyway.

“Paul Simpson. FBI,” Morgan’s voice booms, “drop the knife and put your hands where I can see them”. Prentiss and Dave come to stand next to Morgan, their guns trained on the newly identified perpetrator. Aaron bites his tongue so hard he can taste blood-- it's all he can do to stop himself from bursting into a fit of bitter laughter. We win, he wants to say. 

Disarmed and handcuffed, Paul is escorted outside by Morgan and two members of the local police. Prentiss and Rossi make quick work of untying you and Aaron. 

“Aaron?” he can hear you mutter, breathy and quiet. 

“Yeah, I’m right here,” he promises kneeling at your side. Your eyes are glazed and unfocused as you nod and tip forward. Unconscious, your entire body falls forward into Prentiss’ arms. Aaron’s voice joins Rossi in calling for a paramedic. 

The doctors assure him that you’ll wake up soon. They dealt with his injuries quickly. Bruised ribs are the worst of his injuries. A cut at the back of his head and the taser burns were patched in only a few minutes, though he’ll readily admit he was far from a good patient. Too anxious to keep still much to the nurse’s dismay. 

You’re still asleep. A major concussion will have you out of the field for much longer than he knows you’ll be happy with. He makes a mental note to start setting aside some extra paperwork for when you inevitably start hounding him for something to do. With the lights in the room dimmed, and a comfortable silence settling he allows himself to indulge in the illusion that everything might be alright between you. 

With your hand in his, he breathes deeply trying to focus. He prays to a God he’s not sure he believes in. And when the quiet starts to get to him, he speaks out loud, as silly as he thinks he may look. He tells you about the phone call he had with Jack earlier and lets you know that Jack has a new painting he can’t wait to show you when you get home. Your hand squeezes his, encouraging him to keep talking.

“Aaron?” your eyelids flutter as you adjust to the light. The nurse had them turned to the dimmest setting but it’s still far more than you feel immediately capable of coping with. 

“Yeah, honey,” he affirms. You release the breath you’re holding your brow relaxing.  

“I love you,” you tell him. Your voice is steady and steadfast. Your resolve is impressive, unwavering and determined as you focus on making eye contact with him. “It’s not your fault,” you promise. He’s sure you don’t expect the weight on his shoulders to lighten instantaneously. You’ll tell him every day that he’s not to blame; intent on chiselling away at his guilt, shrinking it down before it manages to consume him. 

“I love you,” he swears. He knows it won’t squash any of the doubt he’s planted. Aaron knows there will soon be days that the niggling insecurity threatens to break what you’ve managed to build together; when the worry that you aren’t enough seems louder than it ever has before. He won’t blame you if you decide it isn’t worth the pain of staying with him. But, he’s hell-bent on loving you through it. He can only hope that it’s enough. 

[screamingfromuz]

Hi there! I am reaching out because someone sent me a question about how to help Gazan civilians without accidentally helping Hamas or spreading more hate against Israelis. I honestly feel lost on this myself, but as far as I can tell you are someone who has done real activism in Israel. Do you have suggestions for diaspora Jews who want to help fight for peace?

So a small disclaimer to the Gaza problem. We have 2 main problems with getting aid into Gaza, the first is the limited amount of aid that is allowed in, sending more money cannot make it go in faster. Problem number 2 is that much of the physical aid ends in Hamas's hands or in the black market and there is nothing we can do with that. I have heard recommendations to wait and see who opens a field hospital on the Rafah border crossing, and donate to them. Despite that, here are some charities to help Palestinians both in and out of Gaza.

I will admit, most of my activism is focused on deradicalization on the Israeli side and solidarity work, so I had to ask around for some of those charities. Some of the groups I know of do not currently have an international donation link, so if I get more good ones, I'll make another post.

Gaza:

Medical aid for Palestinians-

Anera-

Doctors without borders-

Palestinians outside of Gaza and Peace movements:

Palestinian red Crescent- they also work in Gaza, but as the main source for Palestinian ambulances in the WB, I put them here.

mistaclim (Looking the occupation the the eye)- this group is helping to protect Palestinians from the illegal settlers

Keshet- this is a big one. they support Bedouin communities in normal times, and now they are working on getting bomb shelters to the unrecognized villages, and providing a mental health first aid line.

standing together- totally biased, as I am a member of this organization.

Women wage peace- a feminist based solidarity group

Haqel- they represents Palestinians in cases related to land ownership and access. there work is still ongoing even during the war

Center for Jewish non Violence - a diaspora org that also does a lot of work in the South Hebron Hills.

[rayday-mayday]

I seriously don't get why antis believe that SA ( or just sex in general ) and violence are so far removed from each other. Like, of course there's how both rape/SA and violent actions ( murder, battery, etc ) are illegal and harmful, but there's a lot more on top of that that links the two.

Like, there's how SA aka Sexual Assault literally has the word "Assault" in it. You know, which is a crime of it's own that involves physical violence sometimes. Saying rape/SA of any kind and violence aren't the same/linked, inherently takes away the violence of rape/SA.

We could also take a look at the BDSM scene, where stuff like choking, spanking, bruising, biting, etc are quite common kinks that obviously go alongside sex, which, once again, links the two subjects.

There's cannibalism which is inherently violent, but often sexualized in multiple different ways. Be it the classical soft vore fetish art you see online, or the metaphors where cannibalism and sex are woven together to show some deeper meaning.

And there's also how classical horror media and ( fictional ) non-con media can produce similar reactions in people. I know personally that when I read yandere x reader fanfiction ( both with- and without non-con elements ) it gives me this form of rush that has helped me cope with the urge to be abused. And just here a bit ago I was playing Doors ( yes, the Roblox horror videogame ) which gave me a similar rush of adrenaline.

I know part of the appeal of monsterfucking at times also ties into the fear and horror of the creatures, which ties into the violence and destruction these monsters can commit.

There's also how both violence and sex can be practiced safely if everyone involved is consenting, and have the proper safety precautions in place; and how both can also be traumatizing if done without consent and/or without the proper safety precautions.

As you can see just by those examples, sex, violence, fear, and trauma are incredibly closely linked. This isn't to say that sex is bad or that violence is good, but that denying that all those subjects are tied together, or that saying they aren't similar, is just flat out wrong.

Tbh there's probably more examples out there, too, but those listed above are just the ones I can think of at the moment. Feel free to add onto this in the reblogs/tags/comments if you can think of any. I just wanted to ramble about this after I realized how similar the rush I get from horror games is to the rush I get when I read darkfiction.

[genderkoolaid]

lol you’re really slow if you believe that “transmisandry” is on the same level as transmisogyny. no one is denying that trans men face oppression because they are trans men, because they absolutely do! but a lot of the time, when you hear stories about trans men being assaulted or killed, it is purely because of misogyny; because they were perceived as a woman, if not for another outside reason. meanwhile, when a trans woman is killed, it is almost always because she is trans, not to mention that trans women have way more stigma against us compared to trans men. just look at who conservatives always blame for “gender ideology,” it’s ALWAYS a trans woman

"no one is–" yes they do. frequently people do exactly that. for example:

"trans men (mostly) get assaulted and killed because they are perceived as women." downplaying the role transness plays in the violence we experience is not much better than denying it happens at all. also calling me "slow" first thing in an ask is a bad idea if you want to seem reasonable.

First of all, people rarely ever admit that! People genuinely get pissed off at trans men for saying they are vulnerable to misogynistic violence while not being women. You are only admitting that trans men experience misogyny as an argument for why talking about anti-transmasculinity is BadWrong Actually.

Trans men are murdered and labeled women, trans men in abusive families and marriages aren't allowed to transition, so the vulnerability of trans men is never recognized. Woaaaah it's almost like.... the misogyny is intersecting with something..... being trans perhaps?

Second, "you only get murdered because people mistake you as a woman" is also an argument used against trans women, by people who are invested in ignoring the complexities of trans people's relationship with misogyny.

Thirdly, trans men do get assaulted and killed for being trans. Not that they always get enough police attention that the motivations or attackers will ever be known (very much the same case with trans women victims). Do you know any of their names? Do you talk about the violence done to them, ever? Not just Brandon Teena, but Ebeng Mayor? Myles Utz? Ahmed El-Tounsi? Gautam Ramachandra and Shaman Gupta? Zahair Martinez? Abhay Gondane? Ky Peterson? Jacob Williamson? Lourenzo Broken? Andrew Jonathan Blake-Newton? Camdyn Rider? Manoj? Do you ever think about them? Because I think the fact that we only talk about the violence against trans men when we are talking about how it barely ever happens and should be shoved aside to make space for the Real Issues says a lot.

Genuinely, what good do you think you are bringing to the world by sending me this ask?

[rhyaxxyn]

a writeblr resurrection

my name is rhyannyn, and i'm looking to get more involved into the writeblr community after a lengthy hiatus of getting myself and my works in order. i'm always willing to follow new people, and reconnect with writeblrs i knew a few years ago when i was consistently on tumblr (going as kennedy :b)

if you write any of the following, are intrigued by any of the following, or just want to hang out and rip my OCs apart (i've got a list of where you should start, by the way) please feel free to follow and I will follow back. i'm really looking to find writeblrs right now who blogs are focused on writing, as i always love finding new things to read, and new stories to support :)

tragic characters--characters who see no way out, characters who are icarus coded and sisyphus coded AND antigone coded, characters caged by their duty and love and faith and it destroys them

in turn, complex characters with really rich backgrounds

stories influenced by slavic cultures (polish heritage plays a large part in one of my fantasy cultures)

queer fantasy stories by queer voices

FANTASY! CONTEMPORARY FANTASY! SCIFI FANTASY! DARK FANTASY! HIGH FANTASY! URBAN FANTASY! I WILL SCROUNGE THE FLOORS FOR FANTASY AND GORGE MYSELF ON IT!

stories that are anti-colonizer. i like seeing indigenous people win, and i love stories with irish, native american, sammi, and kurdish influences. i like seeing characters cling to who they are and old gods and kind ways while colonizers try to take it away, and i like seeing indigenous people prevail.

worldbuilding with a major focus on family values, religion, and magic.

any and all things dark

slowburn lovers, slowburn friendships, slowburn found family. make it teeth-gritting and loving and heart gouging. i will devour it.

characters who are hurt and traumatized and it isn't the end. characters in the dark who keep going even when there isn't any light in sight.

all things divine and demonic and grimy. i have a taste for violence as long as it serves a purpose to the story and isn't done just for fun

this is a list of things i write, and what i particularly love to read in literature, but i'm willing to follow any writeblrs and hopefully connect with some new and old accounts!

again, i've been off of tumblr for an official two years now (yes my bad, but alas i had the strangest hyperfixation on the job i despise and totally disappeared), but i am holding myself by the throat and forcing myself to resurrect because i am trying to publish a book right now!

oh and my wip page sucks. please avoid it at all costs while i try to edit it :3

[sundrop-writes]

When Doves Cry

Jason Todd x Gar Logan

How can you just leave me standing - alone in a world that’s so cold?  So cold.  Why do we scream at each other?  This is what it sounds like: When Doves Cry.

This fic is dedicated to a husband who has never given up on me. 

Love is infinite, patient, and always welcomes you home.

Summary:

At Dick's insistence, Jason comes back to Wayne Manor to help the Titans end Crane's deadly plan. Jason doesn't want redemption or forgiveness - he's done believing that he's worthy of those. Once Crane is back at Arkham where he belongs, Jason plans to disappear, never to be heard from again.

But Gar - someone who never stopped loving Jason and never stopped believing in his goodness - has other plans.

Jason Todd x Gar Logan. Friends to Lovers/Lovers Reunited. Smut and Emotional Angst. Set during Season 3, Episode 13.

Word Count: 11,100

DC Titans Masterlist | AO3 Link

Detailed warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: this is a character x character fic - no reader character here; this is M/M; emotional angst - Jason's self deprecating inner monologue; Jason being emotionally constipated; mentions of Jason's past trauma - including being kidnapped by Deathstroke, and his canon suicide attempt; canon level violence (mentions of guns/gun violence, mentions of killing/mentions of Jason killing people); mentions of Jason's death and resurrection; mentions of Gar mourning Jason's death; mentions of Gar's canon trauma - being forced to murder people while under Cadmus' mind control, having brain surgery performed on him to achieve that mind control; implications of Dick/Hank/Dawn being in a poly relationship because I literally cannot help myself; mentions of Jason being injured from the confrontation that goes down at Wayne Manor in 3x13 (which is canon) - the injuries are vaguely described as 'bumps and bruises'; mentions of Jason's substance abuse - including the Anti-Fear Gas (which yes, even though it's fictional, is still substance abuse), alcohol, and implications toward other unnamed drugs; there is mentions of Jason/Rose - but in this version of things, their interactions were one single kiss and Jason never had any true feelings for her; because of his attraction to Rose - Jason is very much bisexual in this, and though it's not mentioned that Gar has been with a woman (or anyone aside from Jason lmao) - I always headcanon him as bi and write him as bi just so you know; mentions of Gar and Jason having a previous sexual relationship during their time living together at Titans Tower (but that relationship was purely sexual and not romantic); implications that The Pit changed Jason's body somewhat, including making his dick bigger; smut - M/M smut; biting/marking kink (from Gar toward Jason) - at one point, Gar bites down hard enough to draw blood; wet ?? humping/grinding; mentions of Jason and Gar masturbating; passing mention of sex toys (a dildo); anal sex with lots of (real!!!) lube; unprotected sex - they don't use a condom (but there is no mention of STDs and technically they are monogamous even if they didn't discuss it, but irl you should always use one!! don't be like them); Jason bottoming while Gar tops; scent kink - Gar and Jason both really like the way that the other person smells; Jason is a power bottom at first and then becomes more submissive; Gar is very possessive/animalistic during sex; some dirty talk; emotional/passionate sex; creampie kink - Gar cums inside of Jason and they both really like it; a warning for literally licking wounds - Gar licks a cut on Jason's forehead that he has from the fight (this IS NOT blood kink - it's about him caring for Jason because his animal instincts are telling him licking the wound will make it better/soothe it) (btw I am not shaming those with a blood kink, I have written blood kink before and I love it - I just wanted to clarify the tone of the moment); this fic does have a happy ending if that makes you more motivated to read it. I believe that is actually, finally it.

A/N: In case it's not already clearly labelled - there is no reader character in this fic! It is very different from what I usually write, but I felt very inspired and the request that @nctzenkane gave me was just too good not to write. Jason and Gar have so much chemistry in the show, they are such an obvious ship, and they never even got to say goodbye to each other. (The writers make it so convenient that Gar is just not in the room during Jason's pivotal moments - sigh.) Anyway - I love JayGar as a ship and I feel like this fic sums up everything I love about them, as well as giving them the ending they should have gotten. They should have ended up together and Jason should have gotten forgiveness from the Titans family. I hope you guys enjoy this fic even though it's not like my typical stuff, and if you sit this one out - please know that this one did wonders for my creative flow as a writer, and I will be back with more amazing things later. Also, I know that this fic is gonna make my Top Ten Favourite Fics of the year when I make that list for 2024. I was not at all expecting to write this fic but I absolutely love it so much omg. Also - even though I started my taglist a little while ago, I decided not to use the taglist for this particular fic because it's so different from my usual stuff. But the taglist will be used for all upcoming fics.

...

“I have to believe that this dude we fought alongside - my friend - he’s not all bad.” 

Gar purposefully put emphasis on those two words, trying his hardest to remind Dick of what Jason was to them. At least, what he should be. A friend. Even if Dick wanted to deny it, Jason had been a Titan once. He had been part of their family. Even if Gar was the only one who still remembered that; even if he was the only one who still remembered Jason’s good side. Even if Gar was the only one who had ever truly loved him - the others needed to remember what being a part of that family meant, and what their obligations were to Jason because of it. 

No matter what Dick claimed, Jason hadn’t turned into some evil villain overnight. He had his own reasons for what he was doing, and that meant he could be reasoned with. (Gar knew that it was difficult to reason with Jason - but he knew it could be done.) 

Dick’s silence was deafening. Maybe he didn’t want to tell his tender-hearted friend what he really thought of Jason now; those tiny streaks of things that he had been secretly thinking for a long time. Or perhaps - Gar was really getting through to him. 

Jason needed to come home. Despite what everyone else believed: he could be saved. 

… 

All of it was Dick’s idea. Gar still wasn’t even entirely clear on half of it, but the bulk of it involved using his newly acquired - still very undeveloped - ability of turning into a bat so that he could fly up to Jason’s unlocked bedroom window and breach the house’s security system undetected. 

No matter how much Gar stressed the fact that he can’t fly, Dick kept telling that it would be okay - that he just had to believe in himself, blah blah. The typical leader speech jargon that he used to convince people to do dangerous things. Gar felt like he shouldn’t have been so easily convinced, but he knew that a lot was on the line - he knew that Crane needed to be stopped. So he put aside sense and transformed, and flew off toward the window even though he barely knew how to control himself in this state. 

He was so damn dizzy when he landed. He could taste vomit swelling up inside his mouth and he forcefully pushed it back down. The world was spinning around him in an utterly cruel way and he could barely comprehend anything - he was naked and he needed clothes, so grabbing Jason’s shirt off the floor was nothing but pure instinct. The smell of Jason’s stupid strong cologne - so entrenched in the bedroom’s walls, mixed with the natural musk of sweat in the bedsheets - it should have made Gar even more dizzy and nauseous, but instead, it grounded him. It made him feel safe. 

Dig, if you will, the picture of you and I engaged in a kiss. The sweat of your body covers me.  Can you, my darling - can you picture this?

It was one of the only things that gave him a true, firm center while the world was spinning so damn hard, still undulating under his hands and knees while he dug his fingers into the expensive carpet, gritting his teeth with how much he absolutely hated the sensation. 

Gar and Jason have always been the same size. 

It was something they found out days into living together at Titans Tower, when Jason got out of bed and put on one of Gar’s favorite hoodies without a word. He never apologized for getting milk chocolate on it and letting it stain. From that point on, their wardrobe easily blended into one. Jason wore ‘nerd shirts’ with logos that he had no clue about the meaning behind, and Gar found himself wearing more black and more band tees with logos for bands that he couldn’t stand the loud, angry music of. 

After Dick had confessed everything that had happened with Jericho, Jason pulled away on the screeching tires of his motorcycle, and ended up taking some of Gar’s clothes with him. This left Gar with the pain of accidentally pulling something out of his drawer that still smelled like Jason - sleeping in sheets that definitely still reeked of that strong cologne. In fact, Gar had been wearing one of Jason’s black hoodies on the night that Cadmus had stormed the Tower - on the night his life had forever changed. 

In the present, when Gar left Jason’s room dressed head to toe in Jason’s clothes, it felt natural. It felt natural to be surrounded by that scent. It gave a certain kind of unconscious comfort to his overwhelmed instincts during such a chaotic time. It wasn’t even something he had put that much thought into. Instead, he was far more focused on using the remote Dick had instructed him to grab in order to disarm the alarm system - a task he was incredibly worried about getting right. 

With Dick in his ear giving him instructions to defuse the alarm, even with the terrible itch of anxiety creeping down his neck - he felt a certain sense of safety from being wrapped in Jason’s clothes. Even when the sound of gunfire came from down the hall - something that nearly paralyzed him with fear, part of him still foolishly felt bulletproof because of that familiar shirt on his back. 

When he rounded the corner, the first thing that truly made him freeze up during all of this was actually seeing Jason for the first time in so long. 

It was a true shock to his system. 

After all the talk of Jason - a death that he barely had time to mourn, so heavy in his heart and barely processed by his mind. After finding out that the person behind Red Hood’s mask had once been his best friend, somehow stolen from the morgue and woken up from what should have been a permanent sleep due to the treacherous waters of the Lazarus Pit. After spending all that time talking Dick’s ear off, trying to convince him to let Jason come home, where he truly belonged; after feeling so damn fruitless in doing so. After tracking down Molly, trying to stand united with one of Jason’s last true friends in an effort not to see him hurt. 

After all of that, everything Gar had been through over the past few weeks, actually seeing Jason in front of him - it was like having ice water poured down his back. 

He froze up standing there, and he knew that the expression on his face must have been that of dumbstruck delirium. 

He hadn’t expected their reunion to be anything like this. 

When Jason had first stormed out of Titans Tower, Gar had imagined that he would come back. Even after he had screamed at the top of his lungs, telling Dick to fuck off, and followed that up by screaming at Rose not to touch him when she had tried to grab his arm in some poor attempt at ‘comfort’, daring anybody else not to follow him - Gar had thought that it would be only a matter of hours before Jason came back. 

At the time, he had texted Jason after everyone else scrambled out like cockroaches fleeing from the light, and he had told Jason that it was safe to come back because they would be alone together (save for Conner’s unconscious body). He had expected that statement alone would cause Jason to eagerly come running back. 

He thought that it would be a predictable reunion. 

Jason would come back puffy-eyed and stinking of booze, stumbling, furiously denying that he had even been upset, saying that he would never let Dick Grayson get under his skin. Slurring his words while also denying that he had been drinking and driving his bike - because he didn’t want Gar to ‘narc’ on him about it. 

Gar would put him in the shower and douse him in cold water to sober him up while trying not to scold him about the potential of crashing the stupid speeding death machine due to being drunk. They would go to bed together and Jason would fall asleep holding onto him for dear life. And he would still make Jason the best hangover breakfast that vegan soy substitutes can offer (and Jason would complain about Gar not cooking with ‘real’ bacon, but he would still clean his plate). And Jason would sneak a kiss over the sudsy dish water that would turn into soapy grab-ass, and he would have wanted to fuck Gar across the kitchen counter just because nobody else was around to complain about it. 

(Maybe that last part was just a fantasy Gar cooked up with his hand on his cock in his bed at the Tower when he was missing Jason a bit too much. But still, it felt like something Jason would do.) 

When the days passed and Jason still hadn’t responded to him - still hadn’t come home, Gar tried to deny that he missed the mouthy asshole. He tried to weed those shirts out of his laundry so that he could stop being constantly reminded of Jason. He tried to keep his crying limited to the shower, or muffled into his pillow at night. 

And then, he didn’t have to worry as much about that stuff, because he got distracted and busy when Conner woke up. Introducing the clone to the world, teaching him to be a Titan. 

When he got his brain scrambled, between the taste of blood in his mouth and the distant sound of a done drill - memories of Jason flickered in front of him, and when he was present enough in reality, he knew that Jason running far away was a good thing. It meant that Gar couldn’t hurt someone like him. Someone he loved who didn’t have any meta powers to defend himself - someone who was only flesh and bone with no way to defend against a six hundred pound uncontrollable tiger pouncing on him. 

There were moments of mental clarity, tiny little moments when Mercy wasn’t humming in his ear. Moment when he prayed that he would never see Jason again - because he never wanted the blood in his mouth to belong to Jason. 

After Rachel helped him gain back control, he still wondered if he was capable of hurting Jason, even by mistake. He was almost glad when Jason rode away from Donna’s funeral in the opposite direction. (Almost.) Because that feeling of missing him came back harder than ever days after the funeral, when the dust had settled. When he realized that he was fully in control of his powers - working well as a Titan, and the only thing missing from the picture in his mind was having Robin right there by his side, working as the perfect duo Jason always knew they could be. 

When Gar found out about Jason’s death, he felt numb. It had never felt real. Sure, denial is the first stage of grief - but Gar never truly felt like he was living on the same earth where Jason was not. He felt like the world should have stopped. Or at the very least - he should have gone down with Jason. 

He kept imagining that someone would wake him up from the nightmare - that someone would shake him and he would wake up in his bed months earlier, with Conner still in a coma, only to find out that everything that had happened at Cadmus had been one big horrible dream. He would open his eyes to find out that Jason was still alive, waiting to sneak out and get veggie burgers with him at three in the morning. 

But no. There was a grave in the backyard of Wayne Manor with his name on it - even if Gar had seen it empty after Dick had dug it up in a manic state. Just to make himself feel like he wasn’t totally crazy, Gar had searched through Bruce’s files and found Jason’s morgue paperwork, wanting to fully confirm that Jason had even died in the first place. After seeing the attached photos of Jason’s bashed-in skull caused him to lose his lunch, he knew then that it was very much real. It wasn’t just a horrific dream. 

Jason had died and somehow been brought back from that. 

Even then, Gar imagined their reunion to be very different from this. 

But here he was - standing in one of the many hallways of Wayne Manor, staring Jason down like a deer in headlights, his heart pounding while his wide eyes fixated on the person he thought that he would never get to see again. Someone covered in bumps and bruises from a fight, looking much more worn down by the world than the guy who used to laugh at Gar’s shitty puns. 

Dream, if you can, a courtyard- An ocean of violets in bloom. Animals strike curious poses. They feel the heat - the heat between me and you.

Jason’s eyes flickered down and locked on Gar’s chest, or rather - fixated on his shirt. Jason’s shirt that Gar was wearing. In a moment, he felt more naked than he ever did when he stripped down in public to transform. He felt so fucking caught. Of course Jason knew that Gar was wearing his clothes. Gar could have claimed that it was out of pure convenience, but somehow, as if he was part animal himself - Jason’s pupils dilated and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed thickly. It was almost like he could smell the fatal yearning coming off Gar, everything about him that said: ‘I love you, I missed you, I need you’. 

“Jason-” Gar croaked out. 

There was no chance for conversation. 

A streak of movement behind Jason’s heavily armored shoulder realigned Gar’s priorities in a snap. 

“Look out!” He shouted, pointing sharply behind Jason before he ducked for cover himself. 

Jason didn’t hesitate - he fired his gun, taking the enemy out. He did a visual check of the hallway to make sure that nobody else was coming before he turned back to Gar - who was crouching tightly against one of the divots in the complex design of the old house. 

“I’m here for you.” Jason said - finding that he felt far too naked in his own way with how utterly vulnerable this sounded. 

Especially when Gar’s lips quivered, almost as if desperate to cry out for him, to thank him for coming home - something. 

“I’m here to help. Dick sent me.” He quickly amended, attempting to clarify that this was all business. 

Even though, with Gar’s large, glassy eyes staring him down - he couldn’t be sure that’s what it was. 

He didn’t have too much time to grind through the details of it, though. They had to get through the business aspects of it or there wouldn’t be any personal details left to untangle because they would all be dead. 

They split off, following a plan that Dick had carefully laid out, and Gar was proud when Tim and Dick led Crane out of the Batcave in shackles. 

With the relief of knowing that they had won, Gar quickly set about finding Jason once again - to thank him, to ask him what their next move was, to kiss him - he wasn’t quite sure yet. But he felt gleeful. 

All that glee was slashed when he caught Jason in his old bedroom, packing a bag. 

He had stripped out of his Red Hood armor from the waist-up, and Gar was met with the shocking sight of bright purple welts smothered across the broad of his back. It made Gar’s natural urge toward sympathy ache, especially when it came to Jason. But that feeling conflicted with nothing but boiling anger at the sight of him furiously stuffing things into a duffle bag he had placed into the middle of his bed - clearly trying to rescue everything he could from his old life on the way out. 

How can you just leave me standing alone in a world that’s so cold? So cold.

He was running away. Again. 

“Going somewhere?” Gar asked, trying to sound tough when his voice was trembling at the very thought of Jason leaving him again. 

If he was less mature, he would have dropped to the floor and thrown a catastrophic toddler fit, flailing his limbs and screaming at the top of his lungs. He would have demanded that Jason stay, telling him that he simply wasn’t allowed to leave. 

He knew that it was selfish, but it just made Gar feel so disposable. The fact that Jason came into his life, made him laugh, made him smile, fucked him like they were in love, made him care - and then he wanted to run away like Gar meant nothing to him. He knew that Jason had his own issues - a list of problems and past traumas longer than his arm, but Gar would have run away with him. Jason didn’t have to be sentenced to solitude. 

All these thoughts caused a sheen of tears to form in Gar’s eyes - the sadness battling with the anger inside his chest. He was threatening to spill those tears by the time Jason whipped around - partially startled, partially angry that his plans to disappear again had been disrupted. 

Jason mirrored back his own wet eyes at seeing Gar so upset, but quickly blinked the tears away. 

“I was never here.” He quietly croaked. “I can’t-” 

“You can’t ‘what’?” Gar barked back, cutting him off. 

This was the most cruel way that he had ever spoken to Jason, but he was fed up, to say the least. All of the emotions that he had been politely festering with now boiled over. The grief, the mourning, the loneliness - all of it spilled over at once. 

“You can’t stay?” He asked, raising his voice in anger. “You can’t admit that someone actually cares about you for you for once in your fucking life?” 

Maybe I’m just too demanding. Maybe I’m just like my father - too bold.

Jason’s face quivered at this. 

He knew Gar cared about him. Of course he did. But that was why he had to run. He couldn’t let Gar risk his place with the Titans for a murderous piece of shit like himself. He threatened to break into sobs and he forced himself to become steel. Without Crane’s drugs running through his system, he felt even more weak and chaotic - but he couldn’t let Gar be the drop of water that broke his dam after all these weeks. 

“I can’t stay.” He said solemnly, his eyes glued to the floor, refusing to look at Gar. “I - I can’t… stay.” It hung in the air for the moment as the words truly sunk in for him. He had been so busy packing in order to flee that he hadn’t even fully realized why. Now it was even more painful. “They won’t let me.” 

The realization pierced through Gar’s heart like a knife. 

This wasn’t just about him. Of course it wasn’t. 

The thing that he had been fighting for, fighting against all this time - the idea that Jason wasn’t even worthy to come home because he was some crazed killer. Gar wasn’t the only one who got a vote. Gar wasn’t the only one to claim love for him or deny him. 

If Gar’s love for him was the only thing that mattered, then the whole thing could have been smoothed over weeks ago. Maybe Jason wouldn’t have left in the first place. Maybe Jason wouldn’t have been balanced on the edge of a roof about to jump off while Gar had been sleeping. 

Gar wheezed out a harsh breath - almost as if the pain of the realization had literally pierced his lung, and he was having difficulty breathing because of it. 

“Stay.” Gar begged, hardly realizing that he was crying openly now. “I’ll talk to Dick, I’ll-” 

Maybe you’re just like my mother: She’s never satisfied.

“I can’t.” Jason said bitterly, entirely defiant. “You know I can’t. Not after everything that’s happened. Especially not after Hank.” 

There was a careful kind of mourning in Jason’s voice when he said the name - and potently, he flipped back around then, unable to face Gar after bringing it up. He continued to pack his bag as Gar stared at his back, his throat tightening harshly around everything that he had to say in reply. 

Gar loved Hank as a friend - as a mentor, someone to look up to. But even now, he couldn’t fully blame Jason for Hank’s death. He knew that it was all a part of Crane’s plan. He knew that Jason was sorry. Before, that fact was something he had based solely on his knowledge of Jason - but now he could base it on Jason’s very clear guilt towards the situation. 

Gar knew that if he told Dick that he forgave Jason for Hank’s death - it would put them on bad terms. Dick had known Hank for longer. And there had been something more there (something more between Dawn, and Hank, and Dick). Something that made that scar extra tender for Dick. 

Gar had to find a better way to explain it. Perhaps tell the team that he had once been a pawn himself - he had been to Mercy Graves what Jason was to Crane. And he knew that if she put him alone in a room with Hank and told him to kill, he couldn’t have been sure that his sterling morals and his willpower alone would have held up against everything that she did to him. 

Why was the situation with Jason any different? 

Why were they so determined not to forgive him? 

Out of the corner of his eye, something broke up his contemplative thinking - Jason slipped a tee shirt over his head, and Gar couldn’t ignore the glaring shade of green that said it was one of his. It caused a possessive streak to roll through him - he had a difficult time holding back a feral growl as it flared up in his throat. 

It made him only able to focus on one thing. 

“What about before?” Gar croaked out, disappointment apparent in his voice. 

Jason looked over his shoulder with gentle confusion, and he felt the need to clarify. 

“What about everything that happened before Hank?” Gar rephrased the question. “Doesn’t that matter?” 

Why do we scream at each other?

Jason wanted to say - yes, of course it does. 

But it felt so much more complicated than that. 

“Gar-” He barely choked the name out before he was cut off. 

Gar couldn’t stand to hear more excuses - more reasons as to why Jason was going to cut and run. He reached a hand up to Jason’s neck and pulled him into a kiss before anything else could come spilling from his mouth. 

It felt like trying to desperately claw his way into the front door of a home he once knew - a house that was now cold and abandoned as Jason stood stalk still, purposefully not kissing him back. Jason wasn’t letting him in - not giving him a single sign that there was any love left there. That there had even been love here in the first place. 

Deep down, Jason was terrified. If he gave in and kissed Gar back - he would be done for. He would be opening himself up to a world of hurt that he once thought he could erase with doses of Anti-Fear Gas. 

Gar was used to playfulness; teeth nibbling on his lips, laughter in the air. He was used to a hand reaching for the tie on the front of his sweatpants while that cocky voice muttered lustful ‘threats’ against his mouth - something about how he was ‘going to get it’ - when in actuality, Jason was always the one who ended up a moaning mess on his cock. 

Tears spilled hotly from the corners of his eyes and a sobbed choked out from the back of his throat when Jason was completely still against him. He was being so coldly denied - Jason was like stone, fighting off everything he had missed most from Gar because he still felt like he had to run, and this was nothing more than a distraction from that. 

“Please.” Gar wept against his mouth. 

It was one of the hardest things he had ever done, but - Jason didn’t move. 

This is what it sounds like: When Doves Cry.

Gar pulled back harshly then. When his wet eyes fell to the Triforce printed in the middle of Jason’s chest, further signaling that it wasn’t his shirt (because he likely had no clue what the symbol meant or what it even was) - Gar felt a wave of rage overtake him. He gripped the hem of the green shirt and didn’t hesitate to yank it up over Jason’s head. Rather than the typical heat that this action would lead to, there was nothing but bitter tension in the air as Gar waved the ball-up fabric in front of Jason’s face. 

“This is mine.” He choked out, barely holding back a wave of sobs. “So - so if you’re leaving, you can’t take it with you. You can’t be that much of an asshole. You can’t just take everything that belongs to me.” 

Gar choked on his own words, holding back more. 

They both knew that the words held a dangerous double meaning. If he was going to run, he would be taking so much that belonged to Gar - so much more than some fabric that they had once blissfully shared. 

He would be ripping Gar’s heart out of his chest and taking it with him. 

Jason looked at him with tears now leaking from his eyes. Oceanic blue swimming in bloodshot red - not a pretty sight, by any means. He took in a heavy breath, but his stomach was visibly trembling where he was holding in his own sobs. 

He wanted Gar to tell him to stay. He didn’t want Gar to be okay with him leaving - he wanted it to be such a fight that he couldn’t just walk away. 

Touch if you will, my stomach.  Feel how it trembles inside.  You’ve got the butterflies all tied up.  Don’t make me chase you - even doves have pride. 

Gar - still feeling the need to comfort Jason, even stewing in all his anger toward this man he called lover, enemy, or friend - dropped the shirt on the floor and reached out, smoothing his hands over Jason’s hips. He leaned in and laid the most feather-light butterfly kisses across Jason’s shoulder, and Jason choked on another sob. 

Gar smoothed a hand over Jason’s stomach, and under the intense heat of Gar’s large palm - his muscles calmed. Any cries of anguish died off inside of him and he was able to gather enough breath to speak as Gar laid a gentle cheek on his shoulder. 

“You - you can’t do this.” Jason whispered, the weakest protest he could have come up with. 

Gar only hummed in response. This close to Jason, he could almost feel that thing inside Jason, yearning for him, crying out to him. 

He knew that Jason didn’t want to leave. He knew that if he was patient, Jason would crumble to the need as much as he was. 

He already felt as though he had won. 

“You’re a fucking hypocrite.” Jason added on, his words slightly steadier now. He curled his fingers into the fabric of the shirt Gar was wearing - the one he had picked up off of Jason’s bedroom floor when he had landed. “This is mine.” 

Gar wanted to make some sarcastic jest about how he wasn’t planning on leaving while wearing it - but he became choked up at how the words sounded. As though Jason was truly claiming him - something he had been waiting to hear for so damn long. 

He lifted his head to ask if it was true - if Jason would stay for him or if they could flee together - but Jason caught the back of his neck and slammed their lips together, stealing any words that Gar was planning to speak. 

There was a certain fierceness that followed next - a battle of stubborn wills that was as stiff and tense as their words. 

Passion and love and anger are spears all lined up on the same fence, all equally sharpened - Gar was still angry with Jason for leaving in the first place and never coming back. He still blamed Jason for all those months of bitter loneliness that he had felt, for being left there in the Tower with no help when Cadmus had attacked. Deep in the back of his mind, there was a fantasy of the night they attacked - of Beast Boy and Robin operating as the perfect team to snub out evil. 

Jason was still mad at Gar for not chasing him, for not asking him to come home. Mad at him for not making more of an effort, for siding with Dick on seemingly everything. 

He had no clue how hard Gar had fought to bring him home. How much Gar’s voice had burrowed into the ears of the others, especially Dick, being the only remaining one to speak up, vouching for Jason’s good side. If he had been a fly on the wall, perhaps he would have bowed at Gar’s feet, thanking him. 

But instead - these lopsided views created a bitter stubbornness. Something that made the kiss feral and angry - gnashing teeth and hot, hard breaths as they grabbed and groped at each other, battling with their own anger and swelling up with that love they tried so hard to deny. 

Why bother staying so angry with someone if you didn’t care about them? Why take that much time and effort to be pissed off if you wouldn’t just forgive the person out of love at the end of the day? 

Jason ripped off Gar’s shirt - the borrowed shirt that only further reminded him of everything he had missed out on, the home he couldn’t come back to. He threw it to the floor, trying his best to forget about it - but this only made way for Gar’s hot skin underneath his own, forcing more temptation as they made more skin-on-skin contact. 

He let out a kind of wounded sound when Gar gripped the back of his head and swept down, his mouth tracing along Jason’s neck, digging his teeth in. He was still unsure if he was trying to claim Jason in that animalistic way and make it impossible for him to leave or if he was just taking that anger out on him, trying to cause a little bit of pain - trying to make Jason feel a fraction of what he had felt. Either way, his teeth were savage and frantic on Jason’s skin, and Jason’s nerves screamed pleasurably with the full effects of it. 

“Fuck,” Jason moaned out as Gar sunk his teeth in harder. “Fuck you.” 

Gar was about to make some clever reply - the typical ‘you should’ or ‘I’m trying to’. 

But he was caught off guard, silenced when Jason put a hand in the middle of his now bare chest and shoved him back toward the bed - causing him to sprawl beside the bag that Jason had been trying to steal away with. He poofed out across the luxurious, expensive mattress; there was a worrying second as he looked up at Jason when he believed that Jason might just pick up that bag and run. 

He could use this as his opportunity to flee. 

But instead, Jason eyed him up and down heavily - lustful eyes casting a thick gaze over Gar’s body. Looking over every inch of him carefully, from his now ruffled hair, down across his heaving chest, to the place where Jason’s borrowed pants were hanging low on his hips - the thickness of his hard cock very apparent between his thighs with no underwear on underneath them. 

Jason knew it was temptation. Fondness. 

At the time, perhaps he considered it ‘one last hurrah’. But in truth, it was the breaking point - the point of no return. The point at which Gar had truly hooked him in and reeled him back. Between those big, beautiful brown eyes staring up at him with a combination of intense affection and fear at the possibility of him leaving and that fat cock practically calling to him - Jason was done for. 

Jason reached for the button on his own pants, and Gar remained frozen for a moment. 

“Well,” Jason said impatiently. Gar still didn’t move, unsure what was expected of him in that moment. “Get your fuckin’ pants off. I know you’re not shy about stripping down, ya damn nudist.” 

Gar felt the tension leave his body with a stiff exhale. He wanted to make some smartass comment, but found himself lacking. Instead, he became distracted by rushing to get the pants off and watching the flexing of Jason’s muscles while he worked to get his own pants and boots off. 

All he could muster up was: 

“You - you’re an asshole,” Gar chuckled out, throwing Jason a genuine smile as he kicked the fabric off his ankles, leaving himself wonderfully bare in the middle of the bed. 

Gar’s eyes traced over Jason’s naked body - he seemed more thick and muscular than the last time Gar had seen him. Had he been training harder in the time that he’d been gone? Though his overall build was still much the same - matching Gar in stature, though Gar’s muscles were leaner and softer compared to Jason now. And if Gar wasn’t mistaken, Jason’s cock was bigger? Though that seemed more like a trick of the eye. (Though, it was still a good two or three inches smaller than Gar’s, which Jason often called ‘monstrous’ and joked that he could barely walk after taking.) 

Gar didn’t have too much time to admire Jason’s nudity before Jason was on top of him, bumping their cocks together as he climbed onto Gar’s lap. 

Gar let out a harsh growl from deep within his chest at the feeling of his sensitive dick being touched by someone else for the first time in months - for the first time since Jason had stormed away from the Tower in a fit. Since then, he’d had nothing but his own hand and distant memories of Jason fueled by the fading smell on the clothes he’d left behind. 

Even then, it’s not like he had the opportunity or even the desire to touch himself all that often - not with the chaos going on in his life. So having a warm body in his lap again - the warm body of someone he had missed so fucking much - it reignited the fire inside of him like poking holes in a gasoline tankard and lighting a match. 

“Fuck, Jay.” 

Gar reached up and tightly, possessively grabbed Jason by the ass, pulling him closer instinctively. This caused the echo of a whimper from within Jason’s throat as he bent down to take Gar’s lips again. Jason’s hands planted firmly on the hard muscle of Gar’s chest and Gar kept that needy grasp on Jason’s ass - wanting to keep Jason as close to him as possible. 

The touch quickly turned into moving Jason on top of him, grinding Jason’s body on top of his so that their cocks were gyrating together - a perfectly filthy clash of hot skin that fit together so well after they had been apart for too long. 

They moaned into each other’s mouths and Jason forced his tongue past Gar’s sweet, pink lips - as if he was still trying to put up that fight, still trying to show that he held some power over the man underneath him. Gar’s cock was leaking furiously and soon the slide of their two cocks became wet and glossy while Gar’s bright pink cockhead was continually nudged against his stomach, making a mess against his abs and staining slickness all over Jason’s eager, throbbing dick. 

“Fuck. Fuck, man.” Jason hissed, pulling away from the kiss, a new urgency pumped into him. 

Gar felt a slight streak of disappointment when Jason looked away from him - like a fictional pixie, fading away for the slightest moment without Jason’s attention. The feeling was doubled when Jason took the touch of his chest. He actually found himself whimpering like a pathetic puppy as he wondered what Jason was doing. 

It made a bit more sense when Jason frantically unzipped his would-be getaway bag - rifling through the pockets, ripping out spare underwear and - fuck, of course, more of Gar’s bright green shirts that he had stolen - until he came back with a bottle in hand. 

Lube. 

Of course. Of course that would be something Jason considered to be an essential to travel with when he was stealing away into the night, never to be seen or heard from again. 

Gar would have made some kind of joke about it, but he found his mouth dry, and he was far too horny and mesmerized, his blood pumping through him at top speed as he watched Jason. Who uncapped the bottle and squirted some onto his fingers - then his hand disappeared behind him while he tensed his thighs and hiked his body higher up onto his knees, clearly with the intent to finger himself open in preparation for Gar’s cock. 

Gar huffed out hot breath. 

It had been so damn long. 

He felt his cock pulse with fierce need and spurt out more pathetic spurts of precum, making his stomach even more shiny as it began to pool inside his belly button. He rubbed his hands lovingly over Jason’s thighs as he continued to watch with the utmost rapture, his eyes drinking in every single inch of the beautiful body in front of him - the flexing muscles, the sharpness of Jason’s hips, the thickness of his thighs, the way his perfect, modest cock bobbed between his thighs while he worked. His plump, pink bottom lip snagged between his teeth while he tried to contain his moans. Something that turned the sounds into the most beautiful little grunts that Gar had ever heard. 

After a few moments, Jason pulled his fingers from himself with a sinfully wet sound, and then he reached for the bottle of lube again. Gar was surprised though when he went straight to pouring the shockingly cool liquid across Gar’s cock. 

Typically it took them a lot more work to get Jason ready to take Gar, seeing as he was a bit longer than nine inches, impressively thick - and though he tried his hardest to be gentle - when Jason begged him and nagged him with purpose, he could sometimes get carried away. (Jason claimed that he liked the feeling of soreness afterwards, but Gar sometimes felt guilty for letting go of self control and pounding into Jason like an animal.) 

“You - you want more help?” Gar choked out. 

With Jason’s hand on his cock, spreading the wetness, he was already pushing his orgasm down past the onslaught of sensations - the lube warming under Jason’s hot touch, the purposefully loose grip that Jason had on his dick that just made him itch and made him want more. 

Jason grunted in reply. 

“I fucked myself this morning.” He said, distinctly not making eye contact with Gar. Instead, continuing to stare at his own hand as he picked up the bottle and poured more wetness around his grip on that impressive, thick cock, and then spread it around. 

He almost added on: ‘I was thinking about you when I did it.’ 

But somehow, even now - that felt too emotionally vulnerable. 

Gar quickly became swallowed up by heated thoughts of this. He became consumed by the visual image of Jason splayed out on a bed somewhere, (wherever he had been staying since he had left), fucking himself with his fingers shoved deep inside his well-lubed hole while his other hand moved frantically on his cock. Or even better, pounding a toy inside of himself like the one Gar had found snooping through his room while looking for anything he could use to help Jason against Crane. 

He would look so fucking good like that, spread open on the unforgiving thickness of the silicone, desperate whines and moans coming from his lips because it was good, but it just wasn’t right. It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t perfect like having Gar’s hot body on top of him while Gar’s big cock carved out a spot deep inside his guts- 

While Gar was distracted by these thoughts, Jason took the opportunity to line up the now well-lubed dick with his prepped hole and sink down onto Gar without another word. This caught Gar off guard, stealing his breath in the best way. It was smooth and slick and he didn’t waste a second before putting his entire body weight onto Gar, letting his ass rest flush with Gar’s pelvis so that Gar’s impressive cock was fully inside of him. 

“Jay - oh, fuck.” 

Gar let out a chest-rattling moan and quickly became dizzy, and it didn’t even occur to him that Jason had skipped putting a condom on him. So, this was the first time that he was bare inside Jason, absolutely no barriers between them. He couldn’t mentally comprehend it, and all he could think was - of course it was hotter, of course it felt better - he hadn’t seen Jason for so long, he had forgotten how perfect Jason felt around him, he had forgotten that it felt this fucking good. 

“God, fuck, Gar, your dick-” Jason mumbled out, clearly lost in a haze of pleasure himself. 

Jason didn’t waste a second - with Gar too pleasure-numb, Jason simply took what he needed. He planted his hands on Gar’s chest while Gar’s hands rested dumbly on his thighs, and he began frantically bouncing up and down on Gar’s dick, impaling himself on that beautiful big cock, quickly creating a good rhythm. He watched with awe and swelling adoration as his eyes locked on the man below him. 

Gar looked so perfect like this. 

His body was a sculpture of perfection, like Adonis himself, carved from marble. Every single time Jason got him naked in bed, he wondered how the hell he had gotten so lucky. With his pink lips parted as increasingly loud moans escaped him and his brows creased with pleasure, bits of that distinct green hair stuck to his forehead from the efforts. His stomach fluttering and flexing every single time Jason slammed his hips down and took Gar back inside him fully, Gar’s body glistening with sweat, slick from their encounter so far - he was a picture of perfection, not a single flaw that Jason could pick out.

And while his hole was tingling with the pleasure of having Gar inside him again and his cock was throbbing as it danced between them, beginning to sputter out precum now - he was beginning to ache with a brand new need. 

He was chasing a sexual need, of course, but he was also growing frantic with an emotional need that he had pushed down for so many months. He had missed Gar so fucking much. So much it hurt - and he had used so much to try and forget about it - the Anti Fear gas, the intense focus on Crane’s mission, the booze, the distance. 

But now it was all right here in front of him - those moans he had missed so much, that green hair, the smell of someone so distinct that he had tried huffing off clothing like a drug that he couldn’t buy anywhere off the street. He swallowed thickly and tried his best to hold back tears, and was only reminded of this more when Gar’s fingers dug into his hips - a firm but loving grasp that only more deeply reminded him of who he was fucking. Reminded him of what he had missed out on. 

“Dammit,” Jason huffed out. “Fuck - your-your cock is so good,” 

Usually he was a motormouth during sex. He was infamous for never shutting up until his orgasm hit him like a truck. If it was spitting out ‘fuckboy’-esque promises that he never could keep because he usually wasn’t the one fucking Gar’s brains out (but rather, mindlessly taking a cock), or horny blabbering as he begged for more - his tongue was constantly sputtering out something while Gar touched him. 

So he thought that talking would be a good distraction from the horrible knot in his gut - from this thing that he was feeling. He didn’t need to deal with those stupid fucking feelings right now. He just didn’t. 

“So fuckin’ big.” Jason whined. “You feel so good inside me.” 

Gar grunted in return, taking a tighter hold on Jason’s hips and helping more now. He helped Jason slam down harder, causing a harsher collision of their skin each time - a sharp, wet slapping that sounded absolutely sinful in the room. It made Jason feel fuller somehow, and he let out a downright whorish sound, struggling to get out his next words. 

“God - I - fuck -” He whined. “Your cock - Gar - you feel so-” 

“Yeah.” Gar breathed back in reply, encouraging him. “Yeah, Jay.” 

With another hard slam of Gar’s hips up into his hole, Jason’s mouth was knocked loose. 

“Missed this dick.” He breathed out. “Missed this - missed this so much. Missed you.” 

It was a stubborn admission that even the world’s harshest torture couldn’t have pulled out of him. But the feeling of Gar’s cock deep inside of him, those fingers digging into his flesh like he owned Jason - that was enough to have his tongue loosening around his secrets and have him spilling into vulnerability like it was his fucking job. 

Jason didn’t have enough time for the sting of regret to settle over saying the words, because something inside Gar snapped. The mourning in Jason’s voice, knowing that Jason has missed him just as much - he went from dumb and lustful as Jason bounced on his cock to swelling with that passionate anger once again. He had missed too much time with Jason, and he needed to make up for it. He needed Jason to know that he couldn’t just run away - that he mattered. 

He became filled with the determined need to show Jason that he couldn’t leave - he could never leave, because Gar had missed him too. 

Gar loved him. Gar needed him. 

They needed each other. 

Gar grabbed him around the waist and with a deep growl that was truly bordering on animal this time, he flipped Jason over onto his back. His cock slipped out of Jason, slick from the lube, causing Jason to make a startled, disappointed noise as he suddenly felt far too empty. When Gar leaned over Jason and felt Jason’s getaway bag brushing against his knee, a swell of offense came over him. He reached for the bag, shoving it off the bed without a second thought - spilling clothes and other random items across the floor out of the open zippers, something that neither of them paid any mind to in the following hours. 

“Please, Gar-” Jason breathed out, and from there, anything else in the world was shut out for him and Gar. 

Maybe what they had done before could never be considered making love - but they certainly had their moments. Times when Jason would kiss Gar’s forehead after making him cum, before getting out of bed without a word. Times when Gar grabbed both of Jason’s hands and interlocked their fingers while he rocked his cock deep inside of him. But for the most part, they fucked filthy and horny and desperate. They fucked like two guys in a race to get each other off - and it worked for them. 

But this felt different. 

As Gar slipped his cock back inside of Jason, he locked eyes with the man below him and a spark ran through him that said this was different. This wasn’t turning to the closest warm body out of convenience or boredom. This wasn’t just a friendship with some very particular, spectacular benefits. This was the intense gaze of a lover, locked into a stare that said the rest of the world was locked out, completely forgotten just because Gar was touching him. 

This was coming home. 

This meant that nothing else mattered - no past transgressions, no supposed mistakes, no demanding corrupt figures that had used them as pawns in their own games - none of it could even be seen as Jason locked his knees around Gar’s lower back, holding him tightly in place, silently begging him not to go too far. 

A quiet: please, don’t leave me, I need you. 

I need you just as much as you need me. I swear it. 

Gar held back more tears, and his next huff of breath turned into another low growl - a sound that had Jason whining quietly and clenching down on his cock. That hint at his more animal side had always been something Jason had liked - especially knowing that Gar was the most tame ‘beast’ he had ever met. Ironic, considering that Gar could turn into a six hundred pound tiger and he could shred people with his teeth at will. But Gar was the most gentle person Jason had ever known - someone he trusted with his life within a day of knowing him. Someone better than his own blood relatives and shitty foster ‘families’ who had tossed him out onto the street without a second thought. 

Gar was never a beast, no matter what he was capable of. 

“Please.” Jason begged, his voice slightly choked and breathless. 

He held on tightly to the side of Gar’s face, the other hand straying around to grip the back of Gar’s shoulder - and though Gar’s cock was already throbbing and threatening to blow far too early, he knew he couldn’t deny Jason any longer. 

Gar pressed his forehead into Jason’s neck, unable to stand the piercing interrogation of that gaze - looking for atonement, looking for validation, looking for love. Gar would give him all of those things, and he fucking will - but he couldn’t concentrate on that and delivering a quality fuck at the same time. Jason deserved that, too. He deserved to cum in a spectacular and satisfying way. 

With his concentration a bit steadier, Gar began to fuck his hips forward - fucking into Jason in slow, smooth strokes. 

“Jay, fuck,” He moaned out. “So fucking good. You’re so fucking good.” 

Jason let out a high whine in return and Gar sped up his hips - fucking into Jason faster, but nowhere near as fast as Jason had been riding him. It was still so tender and slow, deep and firm as the thickness of his cock truly made a home inside of Jason that reminded them both exactly where he belonged. 

Jason’s voice warbled - becoming nothing but a nonsensical echo of weak sounds dispersing into the air. Gar couldn’t help himself; he kissed a trail from the middle of Jason’s chest up his neck once again, taking the time to lay a few more possessive bites across Jason’s neck before he reached his face. When he felt roughness under his lips, it truly sunk in that Jason had been hurt - he had picked up a few injuries while fighting to defend him and the other Titans. Jason had put his body on the line for them. 

How could Jason ever be bad if he was willing to get hurt in order to protect his family? 

A swell of passion and possessiveness streaked through him again. 

His tongue sneaked out of his mouth and he licked over the cut above Jason’s eye like a cat trying to lick the wound clean, all of his instincts heightened with the lust pumping through him. Something in his lust-drunken brain was screaming at him that Jason needed this care, and nothing more than the saliva from his tongue would make Jason feel better. 

He did this, kitten licking across the cut, while he continually ground his hips deeply against Jason’s, stuffing his cock ever deeper into Jason’s needy hole. It made for a breath-taking combination of care, attention, and heat that made Jason’s stomach curl. 

“Gar-” He gasped out. “I - ah - fuck!” 

Gar gave another little lick and then moved to grab both of Jason’s hands, entwining their fingers on both sides as he had done in the past. Previous times Jason had laughed about it or called him cheesy, or even suggested that Gar use handcuffs instead if he truly wanted to pin Jason down. But this time, as Gar brought the grip of their tangled hands up above Jason’s head and continued fucking him so deeply. Jason only let out another shuddering gasp and looked Gar in the eyes with a glassy look that said he was truly gone. 

He had surrendered everything to Gar now. 

He couldn’t have run from this if he tried. 

“Come on,” Gar grunted, slamming his hips a little harder, a little more determined - pulling back a bit more, going a bit deeper. It was a motion that pulled louder sounds from Jason, that made him tremble. 

“Cum for me.” He breathed into Jason’s ear. “Cum on my cock - so good for me. Cum for me, show me how much you missed me.” 

Gar kept Jason pinned by their joined hands and by his hips holding Jason tightly to the bed. With his cock slamming into Jason in fierce, heavy, hard strokes - and with Jason’s cock jostling between them, brushing against Gar’s impossibly hot stomach - it was difficult for him to deny the order. With those words spoken in that perfect voice, floating in his ears, the orgasm shot through his body like his soul awakening - like he was truly feeling himself for the first time since he had woken up after The Pit. 

“Shh - shit! Ah! Fuck!” 

He gasped and struggled to get air into his lungs, and Gar cloaked his mouth over Jason’s gaping lips, fucking him right through it. Jason’s cock jumped and jolted between them, painting both their stomachs with his cum while his hole tightened and clenched around Gar - while he shook beneath Gar and tightly grasped Gar’s hands. 

It was utterly perfect. 

“Please, please, please-” Jason gasped, frantic. 

He needed Gar to cum, too. He needed the feeling to be complete. 

Gar let out another growl, shoving his head into Jason’s neck, taking a healthy whiff of his sweat as he fucked his hips hard into Jason. 

“Mine.” He growled possessively into Jason’s skin. “Mine, mine, mine-” He punctuated each slap of his hips into Jason’s ass with the word, his mind filled with this as though it were the one true thing in the world. 

“Mine.” 

A final pathetic dribble of cum escaped Jason before Gar’s cock began pumping into him. As he came, Gar’s teeth latched onto his neck once again, biting down hard enough to pull blood this time - creating a twinge of copper under Gar’s tongue and wringing even more inhuman sounds out of Jason. 

Gar pressed his hips as deep as possible into Jason, making them both utterly high on the feeling of his cum fucking deep into Jason for the first time. Jason feeling it so warm inside of him and having it pool and leak down over Gar’s balls - it only further reminded them how utterly close they were, how deeply Gar had marked Jason, how Jason was cursed to return back to Gar because he needed this - it was a deep reminder of how Gar was his home. 

Tears leaked from Jason’s eyes and Gar licked them away, grinding his hips deep into Jason - causing stray whimpers and aftershocks of pleasure while his cock began to soften. 

“God, oh-” 

“I know.” Gar replied, his voice more ragged than he imagined it should be. 

When he pulled out, it felt like a shock to both of their systems. Too empty, too distant - even still so close to a warm body, too cold. 

Jason’s first instinct was to get up and go to the bathroom to clean up. Especially feeling the stickiness and the mess all over his body as he came down from the high. But Gar rolled onto his back and put a tight arm around his back. 

“Sleep now.” Gar told him, puffing out an oddly cute little yawn. For someone who had just fucked his brains out - he now resembled a sleepy little house cat. 

Jason found that he couldn’t really argue with that. 

… 

Even though Jason was exhausted and hadn’t slept much in the past few weeks, he woke up long before Gar did. 

There was still so much worry plaguing him. 

Oddly enough, Gar’s snoring was more of a comfort than it was a disturbance. It reminded him of sharing a wall with Gar when their bedrooms had been so close together; when he had laid awake at night after scurrying out of Gar’s bed at top speed after they had fucked, wondering what it would have been like if he had decided to stay. 

Back then, it felt like the end of the world to open up to Gar. But now, he couldn’t help but to wonder if it would have saved him in the long run. 

Titans Tower was never the perfect place for him. It only ever felt livable because Gar had been there. They grew so close so quickly - at the time, Jason had tried to convince himself that it was just friendship. That it was the delusion of being stuck in close quarters. Gar was convenient - he was a good fuck, close by, and he was hot. He was someone Jason could get off with while Dick and Bruce had him locked up. And most of all, Gar was pleasant to be around. He didn’t look down on Jason like he was just some street rat, and he didn’t expect Jason to perform miracles just because he had taken on the mantle of Robin. 

Gar treated him like an equal. At the time, that was the best that Jason could ask for. 

Jason didn’t think there were any possible downsides to being close with Gar, and letting himself have some sexual relief in the process. 

Until Deathstroke. 

If he had any feelings for Gar, he had been suppressing them, and then - Gar argued with him about going out to hunt down Doctor Light. He felt betrayed. He felt like Gar didn’t understand him anyway, like Gar would always side with Bruce’s favorite - Good Old Dickie. The one thing he had been putting Gar on a pedestal for - treating him as an equal - was slashed away within seconds. 

Back then, Jason couldn’t think rationally. He felt like he needed to capture Doctor Light and bring him in to get back in Bruce’s good graces, to show the Titans what he could do. He had no clue that Gar was scared for him; that he was acting out of fear, trying to protect Jason. (Something he would continue to do no matter what, apparently.) 

At the time, Jason was insecure and stir crazy and he let it get to him. 

And then, he was blindfolded, strapped to a chair, stabbed, and beaten, and all he could think of was how much he was going to disappoint Gar. How much he was going to hurt him. Bruce, Dick, and the other Titans were the farthest thing from his mind - all he could think about were the last time those soft lips had been on his, the flash of green hair. The utterly disappointed look Gar had given him when he had declined to call Dick for back-up before going into the train tunnels. 

Gar thought Jason was stupid. But Gar was so damn soft-hearted. And Jason couldn’t stop thinking about how much he was going to hurt Gar with his idiotic antics. How much he was going to take from someone who didn’t deserve it. 

As he was strapped to that chair, watching Deathstroke sharpen the sword, all he could think about was the look on Gar’s face - the tears he was going to cry when he was eventually told about Jason being sliced open. Especially because he knew that Gar would blame himself for not saving Jason, for not calling Dick sooner - and it was all Jason’s own stupid fault. 

When he got back, somehow unscathed, he kept his distance from Gar. It hadn’t happened then, but the day would come when he would bring Gar a lot of undue pain - and if he started severing their ‘friendship’ now, then he could eventually soften the blow. At least, that was his line of thinking. He kept far away from Gar’s room when he needed that comfort more than ever, thinking that it would both do them better in the long run. 

When a knock came on his door, he was surprised that it was Rose, and not Gar - and he was pissed off and annoyed more than anything. She was persistent and he was tired. 

When she barged her way in, he found a particular part of his brain nagging at him - telling him that technically, he was still single. He shouldn’t get so attached to Gar anyway, because it would only hurt them both later on. Maybe it was because he didn’t want to be attached - he wanted to know that he could run at any time. He needed to know that he wouldn’t get hurt. More importantly, that he wouldn’t hurt someone soft and caring like Gar. 

He wanted to be able to say that everything going on between him and Gar was just sex. 

So he let himself kiss Rose. 

And he felt absolutely nothing. 

When she told him: ‘Don’t be stupid and maybe it’ll happen again.’ 

He wanted to bark out: ‘It won’t.’ 

But he didn’t want to lay it all out. He didn’t want to tell her of all people that he was in love with his best friend and that’s why he wasn’t available. He wasn’t ready to say it out loud - and that’s why he settled for simply telling her to loudly fuck off as he stormed out of Titans Tower, determined to be alone. Especially when Gar did nothing more than stare him down with sad eyes, not moving a muscle, making no efforts to chase him. 

He was meant to be alone. Or so he thought. 

It was very clear that Gar had other plans. 

Gar - who was currently snoring beside him with the presence of a slumbering lion. Perhaps Gar had skewed his idea of what it might actually be like to sleep beside a lion - wholly warm, downright hot, with heat radiating off his skin like a furnace, utterly soft and cuddly even though he was so muscled, someone who slept with his mouth agape and snored loudly - but in a pleasantly rhythmic way. He was a perfect, quaint, slumbering beast. 

He made Jason feel safe. 

It was not a luxury Jason had often in life. Maybe it was the thing that kept him coming back to Gar, again and again - that precious feeling of safety. It truly was better than any drug. 

More and more presently by the minute, Jason was reminded of the mess - the unpleasant drying cum between his cheeks and on his lower stomach, leaking out of him and no longer pleasantly warm. It made him want a shower. He didn’t want to scare Gar by having him wake up to an empty bed, but he also didn’t want to wake him, steal sleep away from him when he clearly desperately needed it. 

Jason nudged his way to the edge of the bed, trying to sneak away to the bathroom - but when he heard a harsh snort from Gar, he knew him well enough to know that this had signaled the end of his sleep; a harsh jolt awake. 

“Where are you going?” Gar mumbled tiredly, not even having his eyes fully open yet before he frantically looked around for Jason. 

“I was just gonna go shower, crawl outta my ass.” Jason hissed back, still feeling a bit raw and defensive. 

He knew that Gar would sacrifice anything for him, but he still felt unworthy. Like a puffer fish growing big in defense, Jason was spitting out sourness in a last-ditch attempt to get Gar to change his mind - to shift his thinking last minute and suddenly see the truth: to find him unworthy. 

Jason was almost shocked when Gar smiled. 

Gar held back a clever quip about how he had made a home inside Jason’s ass and he wasn’t going to change that now. 

“I’ll come with you.” He said instead. “Hot shower sounds nice right about now.” 

“You should stay and sleep.” Jason told him, still teetering on the edge of the bed. “You’re clearly tired.” 

“And you’re not?” Gar probed back. 

There was a moment of tense silence. Jason didn’t offer up a reply. 

“Come on, what’s this about?” Gar asked, fully opening his eyes now, propping himself up on one elbow to stare Jason down. 

“After I get dressed, I have to go and talk to Dick.” Jason declared. 

The words were heavy in the air. 

The admission that he no longer felt the need to run. That he wanted to make an effort to stay, that he actually wanted to ask for his place back with the Titans. 

Gar wanted to squeal with glee. Naturally, he held himself back. There would be a few more bumps in the road before Jason was officially home. 

“Not by yourself.” Gar told him sharply. 

Jason’s jaw clenched. He was afraid to admit that he needed the help. It was something he had been afraid of for a long time. 

But he knew that without Gar’s help, without Gar vouching for him in Dick’s eyes, the conversation would likely only go one way. 

And he needed to come home. He needed to stay. 

Jason felt weak, and his voice was quiet when he finally mustered it up. 

“Okay.” 

It was a weak surrender. But things between him and Gar had never been that kind of battle. Not the kind of battle that he had with Bruce, or with Dick, or even with himself. There was never any true hatred there. Just the kind of fierce anger you feel when you love someone so much that you fear losing them. 

So this surrender didn’t feel like a stain on his record - didn’t feel too much like giving up, after all. Not when the picture he ended up with had him and Gar in the same frame. It was something that made him feel more content and less defeated when Gar poorly concealed a smile in response - and then pulled him in for a kiss before getting up to grab towels for their shower.

...

A/N: This is a standalone oneshot, so please do not ask for a second part or a continuation. If you are going to comment, please comment about the body of work that has been written.

Also, typically, I don't write character x character fics, so if you randomly found this in tags and you really like it - I apologize, because the rest of my masterlist is not like this and I won't be writing anything else like it anytime soon. I do write a lot of Titans fics and I have a lot more of them on my masterlist, so if you enjoy my style of smut or if you really enjoy my characterization of these two, then you should definitely check out the other things I have written - particularly No Place Like Home, which has a lot more JayGar scenes in it.

If you do really like my writing style and you want to see Titans x Reader fics (which is what I typically write), then you can follow me and sign up for my DC Titans Taglist by replying to this post asking to be put on the taglist or sending me an ask about it. Anyway, glad you enjoying the fic if you read this far, thanks for reading!!

[wheelie-sick]

Hi! I’m just curious why you’re anti-psychiatry and the reasoning behind it if you’re comfortable sharing? I want to take care to specifically learn the reasoning so I can educate myself upon them, I’ve wanted to be a psychiatrist since I was a kid and so I’m wary of making any mistakes in my profession that could damage others or perpetuate harm. Thank you so much for your time. /genq

okay, first of all I'd recommend reading my post here which talks about why there are no good psychiatrists and this post here about how some people being helped by the system does not make the system good. they're long but the first is pretty foundational to my beliefs on psychiatry and the second covers the most common rebuttal I hear for antipsychiatry.

putting the rest of this under a cut because it's really fucking long because I wanted to provide some context to my beliefs and there's a lot of context

my foundational reasoning for being antipsychiatry comes from listening to other's experiences. I did not have a traumatic experience with psychiatry directly. I'm not going to repeat other's traumatic experiences but if you look through the antipsychiatry tags you can definitely find some of the repulsive things the psychiatric industry has done. my belief in antipsychiatry also comes from my experiences with therapy.

I have been cycled through many therapists who dropped me for being "too complicated" for them. my second most recent therapist I dropped after constant abuse from him.

-> TW for therapeutic abuse until "why I'm antipsychiatry" <-

my issues with my old therapist began when I first started seeing him. I was being actively abused at home and every time I tried to talk about the physical and emotional violence I was experiencing at home from my former father he would shut me down and tell me it was not abuse.

-> TW for descriptions of physical abuse for the next paragraph <-

I told him about the attempts to shove me down stairs. the times I was dragged around. the times I was thrown into the couch. the times I had my face slammed into a wall. the restraint. the hitting. the punching. the grabbing. I told him in detail. my mom has since admitted that I was abused by my former father.

He did not think it was abuse. he had an obligation to report this to CPS and he never did. he told me it was not abuse the minute I brought it up, before I ever even tried to use the word abuse. I could never talk about the violence I was experiencing because I would get shut down every time and eventually I gave up.

-> TW for emotional abuse for the next 2 paragraphs <-

several years later my former father disowned me. (that's why I call him my former father) he told me that he did not see me as his child anymore, that he hated me. he said some other rather disgusting things about me, most of which I will not repeat, but one sticks out. he told me mom that she should handle my being trans as if she was dealing with a dog; when it (and yes, he used the word it) misbehaves you should ignore it. this all happened in a single conversation.

in my next therapy session I was distraught. I didn't like my former father but it never feels good to be disowned. I was trying to talk to my therapist about this and I said "he hates me" my therapist doubted me and asked me "did he say he hates you or are you just perceiving he hates you" trying to, dare I say, gaslight me into thinking this was all my perception. he did this to me frequently when I brought up the emotional abuse I was experiencing. I said "yes, yes he did say that" and things got really quiet because for once he couldn't tell me it was all in my head. in that moment I lost all faith in him because I realized he was wrong. that he was manipulating me into believing I was the problem. that all these conflicts were my fault. but they were never my fault.

-> TW for mentions of self harm for the next 2 paragraphs <-

the final nail in the coffin came about 2 years later when I finally decided to open up about my self harm. I had relapsed on my self harm about 8 months prior, usually it was just a one off but this time it had spiraled out of control into the beginnings of an addiction. I wanted to stop, so I decided to open up to my therapist about it. he got angry at me. I was scared, and vulnerable, and he was angry. he asked me why I didn't tell him sooner, I said I was scared of hospitalization. a week later he threatened to hospitalize me multiple times after promising he wouldn't.

what actually made me drop him was 3 weeks later. I was tired of talking about self harm and I was feeling the same if it all. he asked me about it and I said I don't want to talk about it. he pressed mex accused me of avoiding therapy, threatened to hospitalize me if I didn't spit out adequate details. when I said I hadn't even self harmed that much he accused me of lying to him to avoid therapy. he crossed many boundaries that day and then pressured me into agreeing to fill out a form every week detailing all the information about my self harm down to how many cuts I made. that was my final straw. I was done.

why I'm antipsychiatry:

after that I started reflecting and realizing the whole thing was fucked up. from the starting point in 4th grade when I saw my first therapist to the ending point where I saw my second to last therapist (I had a therapist after the nightmare therapist, her name was Sara she was Deaf and amazing but largely unhelpful) the system was designed to produce bad therapists. the nightmare therapist was not the only bad experience I had with therapists, just the worst. they all liked to abuse their power over me, they all liked to deny my experiences and gaslight me into believing all my problems were my own perception rather than a real outside factor. this wasn't one bad therapist is was one bad system.

and I'm done. I'm so done. therapy has never helped me but it has hurt me and I don't think I can find a good therapist because the whole apple tree is rotting from the inside. I'm sticking with my psychiatrist because he has done minimal harm to me but my experience with therapy has thoroughly cemented that abuse isn't an exception it's the standard and therapists who aren't abusing their clients are breaking the rules. my experience is the norm and it shouldn't be but you can't reform a rotting tree you have to plant a new one.

that's what antipsychiatry also seeks to do. it's cutting down the apple tree but it's also planting a new, different fruit tree. a tree that respects autonomy of patients, that acknowledges patients' realities, that seeks to support not control and manipulate.

if you want to help people with their mental health I urge you to look into the alternatives to the psychiatric system and consider working there. the tree will turn you into a bad apple too because the tree is rotted but there's a new tree growing and you can find other ways to support people. admittedly I'm not the most familiar with alternatives to psychiatry but I know they do exist and they're becoming more common as people realize the damage the psychiatric system is doing.

sorry this was kinda a trauma dump but my antipsych beliefs largely stem from trauma so I wanted to share that context

[heavenlymorals]

Hey there!! I would like to know what your opinion is about Arthur's redemption and what it is based on and what Arthur's big change was in terms of his mentality at the end. Do you think he died being a bad person despite having done good things in the end? Do you think he hated the old Arthur and all the violence and the outlaw life he had lived?

On Objective Morality

Hi anon and thank you so much for the ask ❤️❤️

The thing about Arthur's redemption is that it is different for everyone. Some people think that despite everything, Arthur is still a bad man. Others believe in the opposite.

My perspective is a little different in the sense that I don't really believe in objective morality for MOST things. There are always exceptions and there will always be things that are evil no matter what, but what I've come to notice is that most crimes can become "good" if the reasoning behind it is acceptable to our morals standards. This can go for murder, assault, robbery, etc. Hell, one time, I read a story about a man raping another man for wanting to rape a girl and people were reluctantly praising him for his actions.

I guess my point is that in the vast majority of cases, no crime is evil just by the action. No, crimes are evil by the intention of them.

Now let's look at the VDL gang. The VDL gang started as these Robinhood figures. They stole from the rich and gave to the poor. They tried to stop the destruction of industrialism and unregulated capitalism. They only became desperate AFTER the Blackwater massacre.

"And here I was believing in Dutch's bluster about helping folks." Arthur to Strauss.

And even after the massacre, look at the people who they actively rob. They are either criminals, rich people, robber barons, industrialists, slavers, the government, and/or the army. They target those people because they hate them and what they stand for.

Does this not sound familiar? We hate them too. On the Internet, I always see things that are anti-capitalism, anti-industrialism, anti-billionares, anti-government, etc. Pretty much the same things that the VDL gang fights against but is the VDL gang evil because they actually fight by force? Is violence more evil than the systems that grind people to dust? So many historical figures become controversial because they use violent means to reach their end goals, but people end up condemning them more than the system they fight against because of the violence. Think people like the Luddites, John Brown or Malcolm X.

It's a complicated question. Some people will say yes. They will say that violence against such systems is sometimes the only correct and honorable way to change the world. However, those same people are also very likely to shy away from the same violence once they see it in front of them.

And no doubt about it, the VDL gang is violent. We know canonically that they try their best to not have people die during the jobs they pull and we can also make the argument that the vast majority of kills in the game are for gameplay purposes only and they don't actually kill that many people, especially if you play high honor. But despite it all, the VDL gang was violent.

But those ideals that they had is what separated them from other gangs and what made them "good" or at least better than the other gangs and Arthur believes in this morality too because of his redemption. Arthur's redemption isn't realizing that the outlaw life is bad or that violence is bad or that pacifist mindsets are superior.

No, his redemption was about the same humanity that the gang was started for. Arthur's apathy is what made him so violent to debtors. Arthur's apathy and bitterness regarding himself is why he was so against people leaving the gang to live their own lives.

His redemption was doing a 180 and chosing humanity and the original ideals that Dutch lost in his insanity. That is what his redemption is about because he lived and died a fighter.

I don't think Arthur hated the violence of his life. He hated himself for letting the bitterness of the world get to him and not have him care.

So do I think Arthur died a good person? For what it's worth, I go back and forth. Did he redeem himself? Yes, he redeemed himself from his apathy. Did he die a good person because of that redemption? Well that depends on whether or not you believe or don't believe in objective morality. I usually don't, so in the world that Arthur lived in and the philosophy that he believed, be died becoming a Robinhood once again and that made him better than what he once was.

The question of Arthur's redemption is one of philosophy. Does violence destroy a cause? Does redemption actually exist? Is forgiveness real? Do I need to shut up (I do know the answer to that, it's yes)?

In any case, Arthur's redemption is just as complex as he was.

(Also, to all my other anons, especially the Arthur x reader anons, trust me, I will answer them, but I'm busy and depressed lmfao 😭😭)

[separatist-apologist]

I just read an article in that guy who murdered two women. Absolutely horrifying. All the booktok crazies fawning over him reminds me of the women that would write letters to Ted Bundy while he was in prison.

I wasn't gonna answer this because I felt like I said what I needed to say and like, I was just preaching to preach but THEN while I was asleep, an anon came into my askbox to accuse me of not being a girls girl while intentionally missing my point. I blocked them before I thought of a good comeback (tragic) but like fellas is it anti-feminist not to stan a man who killed two women because (and this is so important to me) he hates women?

I'm gonna put the rest of this under a cut with a heavy trigger warning for domestic violence, I just want to say it and then I think I'm done talking about it because it's genuinely so disheartening.

Anyway, I think sometimes I get nervous to answer these kinds of asks because as a therapist I should know better than to speculate on people and what they're going through and whatever else, but as a person, its like...do you want to be picked that badly?

I think we all know by now that I work in DV and all the people fascinated with men like this fuck me up because like..."oooh what makes him tick, I want to talk to him, why did he do it-" and for me, I sit on the opposite end talking to survivors of violence asking the same questions with hollow eyes, with shaking hands, with safety plans meant to buy them just enough time to get out of their house so they aren't killed. I still think about some of the people I spoke with who didn't survive it.

When I was in grad school, I took a summer internship at the local DV court helping survivors with orders of protection. The system was set up better than a lot of other courts, but its still the legal system, you know? With all its flaws. My job was to flag for lethality based on what I was reading in the OPs and then reach out directly to survivors to help them navigate the process, connect them with resources, and sit with them in court. And I still remember this one particular woman who's situation was so desperately dangerous. We did a safety plan- and at that level, a safety plan isn't like, "remember to take your keys and wallet with you when you go", its "don't go into the basement or bathroom if he's in the house with you because there are too many hard surfaces, exposed pipes, and basins of water that making killing you easier. Go to a bedroom or closet because strangling a person is really hard and takes time," like THAT kind of safety plan. Anyway she thanked me, I remember this so well, she said thank you and I told her I'd call her the next week with an update and over the weekend he bludgeoned her to death.

And I guess I just don't think there is anything fascinating, interesting, or otherwise unique to men like this (obligatory yes I know women kill/abuse too). They're everywhere. I saw another post about how some podcaster is trying to get him on to talk to that guy and its like, why don't you just call up one of your friends' exes. Like. If you've got more than one female friend, you've probably got a friend who has experienced violence at the hand of a male partner, call him. Talk to him. Ask him why he did it, let him give you his made up story about trauma and sadness and oh life is hard because whatever whatever.

That's my thing. Books, movies, tv- they're not making people like this, and I'm not condemning people for what they enjoy in fantasy spaces. I am condemning it when you bring it out of those spaces and side against the women who were violently murdered because, and this is so important to me (did I say this already??), he HATES women. You are not special. You cannot fix him. He's not smart, or interesting, or fascinating and the having an attractive face is literally just chance and not something inherently moral.

And like, lastly, when you prop these men up and give them a platform, you signal to EVERY man just like him that there is something special and tragic about him. You let him play the victim, you let him rewrite the narrative, you shift the blame of his actions off of him and onto the people he hurt. Like with this particular man, you also side with a white supremacist so what are you saying to all your BIPOC/Jewish friends/mutuals, you know?

Anyway. That's my self-righteous rant, I guess.

[usaigi]

How @yellowocaballero and I Fixed Daredevil by Headcannoning Him as Mexican

When Daredevil first appeared in 1964, he was a second-generation Irish-American from Hell’s Kitchen, a working-class Irish-immigrant neighborhood. In a time where Irish people weren’t viewed as “white” or “real Americas.” They were a part of the oppressed working class, the bottom of the food chain, who had nothing but their religion, the vehicle of their culture from the old world, to keep them together.

Note: Today, the argument that “Irish people aren’t really white” has been co-opted by white supremacists and has often been used in bad faith against POC. I want it to be clear that what is considered “white” is and has always been a political term with no backing in science. Discrimination against the Irish back in the day was tied to anti-Catholic sentiment in predominately Protestant states, such as England, Scotland, and the United States. Naturally, Anti-Catholic discrimination overlaps with nativist, xenophobic, ethnocentric and/or racist sentiments (ie Anti-Italian, Anti-Polish, Hispanicphonia).

Jack Murdock was a poor boxer with no education or prospects who had to exploit his body to provide for Matt. And recognized that not a way to live and thrive, so he pushed Matt into academics for social mobility. Sound familiar?

At its core, the story of Matt Murdock is an immigrant story. Matt has the immigrant mentality;  immigrants-get-the-job-done type of thing. Gotta hustle and became a lawyer because that’s how he moves up the social and class ladder. And when he does “make it” he chooses to stay and help his neighborhood because he has a cultural connection to it. 

This worked in 1964, I don’t know how much it works now.  

Hell Kitchen isn’t a rough neighborhood primarily occupied by working-class immigrants, it’s another gentrified hipster hellhole. Irish people and people of Irish ancestry in the United States no long face systemic discrimination. 

Therefore, modern-day recontextualizing is to make Matt Mexican. 

Technically, Matt can also be from any other Latin American country or Filipino but I lean towards Mexican since a) this is my post go make your own and b) we get the most discrimination from the mainstream media. Yes, a lot of it is because racists use “Mexican” as a catch-all term for anyone from Latin America but still. Trump made his presidential platform by calling Mexicans illegal rapists and druggies. 

If Matt was actually the son of Jack Murdock*, an undocumented brown immigrant living in a working-class immigrant/POC neighborhood, it gives him the underdog immigrant arc the character is missing in modern-day adaptations. Matt's core is still the same Matt we know and love, he’s still the son of a boxer, whose dad’s pushed him into succeeding academically, who lost his dad to gang violence, and who is extremely Catholic. Someone who wants to fit into middle-class educated (white) society and feels like he has to suppress the "devil" inside until one day he can’t. He's seeing discrimination and poverty and crime and gentrification tear his neighborhood apart and the police turn their back on it since it's predominantly POC. The law has failed them, he's not going to fail them too. 

Meg made the fantastic point that Matt should still be white-passing (and ginger) so he could exist somewhere in between worlds.  And Matt takes advantage of that, as well as his Columbia Law degree to help his community. Matt not using his conditional whiteness and the fancy degree to “escape” his community and instead help it.

[hungee-boy]

Feel free to ignore if you’re uncomfortable with or just don’t want to answer but how would you change isebela to not be caricature without changing the whole character? Would it be more fashion changes or physical or something else?

Kinda like: how would you change her if you were her character writer/designer for the new game?

isabela at her core i think is a very compelling character and is relatable to a lot of romani experiences, especially with her doing whatever she has to to survive

i would definitely keep her stealing as castillion's responsibility, him making her steal the tome of koslun under threat of death for example would be fine because if he wasnt in the picture, chances are she wouldnt have stolen it in the first place

other forms of thievery besides just like looting bodies and picking chests (as those are gameplay mechanics for all characters) shouldnt be for her enjoyment or greed, only for her survival or just not done at all

her staying a pirate is fine imo and i like the idea of her being an ethical pirate (like her freeing the slaves castillion had her transport) but we all need to look at how pirates are depicted in fantasy and how much of that is anti-roma racism and caricatures

her being so sexualized and her comments on "life back home" are where i have the biggest issues honestly

like romani women have always been targets of fetishization and sexual violence, as well as many women being sterilized without consent to prevent more romani children being brought into the world

getting some damn clothes on her would be a great start, like some pants at the very least. i would like to incorporate more romani clothing in her design tho like maybe a traditional blouse instead of her usual top

maybe a romanced isabela can have her replace her blue dikhlo with red, since wearing a dikhlo is usually reserved for married women of certain vitsas (most common with eastern european roma if im not mistaken) or giving her a red hipcloth (again specific to certain vitsas)

romani dress is usually modest and loose fitting, with women commonly wearing long skirts and blouses with jewelry and adornments to symbolize her wealth and status and im not saying isabela should be covered head to toe, shes an open person and not every romani woman should be expected to dress one way over another, its just her look is way too impractical for the sake of being sexy and again romani women are very often sexualized regardless of what they wear

isabela's attitude towards sex and being open to intimacy is not an issue on its own, what is the issue is how the writers make fucking jokes of her sexuality at every chance they get (like the std joke in anders' clinic, aveline's slut shaming, etc. etc. etc.....) and this is just my personal opinion but there are times that she comes on too strong to like hawke or carver or fenris that seems unrealistic and just like an attempt for the writers to further hone in on how horny shes supposed to make you feel

like yes have her be open and not ashamed of being intimate but put more love and respect on it. i love an isabela that is repressed in her own feelings and the only way she knows how to have meaningful connections is through sex cus thats what was expected of her. like oh my god do you know how many people relate to that, if its done right it could be a very compelling arch to her character and maybe something she learns isnt concrete the more platonic/romantic meaningful time she has with everyone in da2 and beyond

as for her comments about rivain and the people there, like the phrase "even deny a fortune teller and theyll run you out of town" to merrill, just makes rivainis out to be greedy and shameless swindlers and that projection is obviously also put on romani people since that is a VERY common stereotype

like the phrase "getting gypped" literally means to be cheated and comes from the word gypsy. theres no denying the intention the writers had when they wrote that line for isabela

and honestly i love the idea of rivain (i say the idea cus we only hear accounts of the nation, we havent seen it in person yet) i love the idea of a matriarchal society that is religious and spiritual but does not tolerate the chantry's bigotry and openly accepts society's outcast such as mages and qunari

romani culture irl is patriarchal and often anybody who is not romani is typically not trusted, but if rivain was treated as an idealistic fantasy romanistan, where our values and traditions are implemented and we make a better world for ourselves and other outcasts then it could be very compelling

thats the thing with representation, sometimes it doesnt have to reflect reality 100%, but it still requires knowledge so that you can make new ideas based on the facts and reasoning of the group youre representing

[treacheryinblue]

Chapter 1/?

Word Count: 8.5k

Masterlist

A Noah Sebastian x OC x Nicholas Ruffilo Series

× Summary: In the not so distant future, there's only Above and Below ― a "castle" that reaches the sky and the gritty underbelly that's looked down upon ( both literally and metaphorically ). The guys are recruited to carry out the task of taking down this power with the assistance of Scarlett: a confident and seductive, yet mysterious, force that may be closer to the enemy than what she lets on. Themes: dystopian, cyberpunk, post-apocalyptic, etc.

× Warnings!: Things get smutty. Language. Death - both spoken of and written. Violence. Anti-government. Broody Noah. Precious baby angel Nicholas. A girl who can't choose. Drinking, drugs, etc. Unreliable narrator? Each chapter will have its own set of separate warnings if there's anything additional.

× Author Notes: ( 1 ) Just going to be honest straight up ― if you don't like world building, then you may not like this. ⍨ ( 2 ) This chapter is more Nick centered because he deserves some recognition on my page. ( 3 ) Feedback of any kind is welcomed. Happy reading! ❤

Known affectionately as Lost Angeles, the last true and vast surviving city. 

Made up of Heaven and Hell, most commonly referred to as Above and Below. 

Why? Because, well, the latter was quite a ways down from the glimmering mega tower that you either hated with a passion, or desperately wanted to become a part of. 

Although, anyone with at least two working brain cells could see that Heaven was a cruel and sadistic facade ran by a dictator by the name of Silver. Its main purpose being to inflict fear upon those belonging to Below; a way to control them, a warning they were always forced to see no matter where they stood within the decaying city. 

This is why Noah chose to conduct the majority of his doings even further down, right in the underground of Below. 

“You want us to what?” 

A fit of laughter erupted from him, the three men standing a bit further back following suit with amusement of their own. 

“You've got to be fucking joking.” 

The older man’s face reddened with anger, his pudgy fingers rapping against the table top that separated him from them. This man in reference was Ulrik, a well known con man and loan shark that had a way of getting things done. Did you have a messy job you needed performed to completion? Ulrik was your guy, but always for a hefty price. 

This is how Noah knew he had to be truly desperate if he was outsourcing his jobs now. Or maybe he just needed to find someone stupid enough to agree to the suicide mission. 

“I was being nice by asking. Did you forget that you owe me a favor?” 

A heavy sigh was then expelled, his gloved hand lifting to rub his chin from over the black ski mask that covered the entirety of his head. It's the same mask the other guys wore as well, the one thing keeping their identities secret. 

It wasn't an odd thing to see. People of Below were known to wear masks - some more simple, others terribly intricate - solely because it kept them safe from the debris and dust that was constantly floating through the air. Wearing them inside was a little less popular. 

“I'll even make it easier for you,” Ulrik continued with a toothy grin that was riddled with bits of gold. “There's a girl-”

“A girl?” Noah repeated, brows raised beneath the mask. 

“Yes, a girl. She can help you get in and out of the Tower. She's smart. Does work for me sometimes.” 

Another laugh was pulled from him, followed by a roll of his eyes. Noah leaned back casually in his chair, though his hands remained clasped atop the table. He was staring the man down, silently daring him to feed him bullshit one more time. 

“Cut the shit, ‘Rik. Everyone knows you don't just enter the Tower and then live to tell the tale when you don't belong there. People go up, but they never come down.” 

Ulrik’s grin lingered, becoming more and more smug by the second. 

“Ah, you see, that's where you're wrong. She has gone both up and down.” 

× × ×

Seven wasn’t exactly where he was expecting to end up that night. He stared up at the neon-lit business front, flashing signs indicating the purchase of companionship, while others promised music and dancing. He had passed by the building many times, but never stepped foot inside. Tales of the happenings inside ran rampant, though. From what he gathered, it wasn't a place for the faint of heart.

“I can't believe you agreed to this shit.” 

Noah glanced over to Nicholas as he took a deep drag of his cigarette before tossing it to the ground. The motion was followed with a shrug, his expression remaining blank. 

“I agreed to us talking to the girl. I never agreed to us taking the job.” 

“When it comes to Ulrik, you may as well have signed our lives away.” 

That could've possibly been true, but Noah was going to give the man the benefit of the doubt. Maybe nothing would come of this visit. Maybe he would let them turn the job down. Maybe they'd laugh it off together. Or maybe all of them would end up with their tongues cut out. 

Noah didn't say anything else before taking long strides up to the building, Nick trailing begrudgingly behind him. Despite the masks still covering their faces, the rather large and buff man at the door nodded them in. If they looked like buyers, then there was no issue. 

…now he wasn't so sure what that said about them. 

Inside of Seven was dark, the only source of light coming from the red and blue LEDs sporadically placed around. It was cleaner than he was expecting, but there was still a sharp scent in the air that led him to believe strong cleaning products were used on the regular. Noah didn't want to think about what they could possibly be cleaning in depth so often. 

“Hey there, handsome.” A woman cooed almost as soon as they walked into the main area, her hand grazing along his chest as she sauntered by. She didn't pause to entice them in, though. Probably because she could sense their lack of engagement due to his skill of avoiding eye contact, and basically acting like she wasn't there to begin with. 

Stepping deeper in, Noah was on high alert. He looked to every corner, studied every face, and noted every exit that could be seen. Never know when you'd have to make a quick getaway. 

The music playing throughout had a deep bass to it; one of those dark wave tracks that was supposed to sound sexy, but it only bored him. Dolled up women were seen with every sweep of his gaze, as well as desperate men looking for someone to force their fantasies on. A few of the women were encased in large metal cages, their bodies moving rhythmically to the songs playing. 

Yeah, this place definitely screamed ‘Below’. It was gritty and filthy - in the kinky sort of way. Depraved was possibly a better word for it. 

“Hey,” Noah called out to a man who stood to the side with his hands clasped in front of him. He was obviously security, so hopefully that meant he could point them in the right direction. 

“We’re looking for a girl that goes by Scarlett. You know where we can find her?” 

Macho security man took one look at them and shook his head. 

“Ah, come on!” Noah grinned beneath the mask with his attempt at being inviting. “A friend of mine said she was the best. I just want to try her out for myself.” 

Fuck - how badly he wanted to gag and cringe at his own words. 

“If you don't know which girl she is, then she isn't the girl for you. Now fuck off.” 

Noah figured it was best to not argue with security, so he took a few steps back and then turned to Nick. “The hospitality here is something to be desired.” 

“Why don't we just take a look around? Maybe one of the other girls will point her out.” 

Just as Noah was about to agree, a sweet voice cut through the atrocious music that was still thumping ridiculously loud through the club. 

“Did you say Scarlett?” 

Both him and Nick simultaneously turned towards the voice, only to see that it belonged to a girl in one of the cages. Her manicured fingers gripped the bars as she kneeled down to their level, eyes bouncing back and forth between them both. 

“You know her?” 

The girl's fair shoulders gave a shrug, though she smiled when she briefly locked her gaze with his. 

“Everyone knows Scarlett.” 

The girl was running a hand up and down along one of the bars that separated them. Noah assumed this was a way to entice the desperate men in, leading them to think of her hand wrapped around their unsavory dicks and not the metal. 

“Hi, pretty eyes.” Her focus was now on Nick, which didn't surprise him. Even with the masks, he was sure Nick appeared nicer than he did. Someone that would be easier to talk to. Easier to butter up. 

Leaning in closer to the bars, her hands spread across to widen her grip, showcasing her cleavage that was popping out from the skimpy top she wore. Noah knew the games, and he knew Nick did too, but that wasn't going to stop his friend from falling for it. Hard. 

“What will it take for you to introduce us to her?” 

The girl smirked, her teeth sinking into her lower lip as she thought. 

“Buy a private room for an hour. Ask specifically for number thirteen.” She tore her gaze from Nick to look over to him, obviously showing no shame in the way her eyes raked up and down his tall stature. “I'll make sure she's there.” 

With that, she stood up to her full height and made a motion to the side which prompted someone to unlock the cage. 

“Go on,” she smiled at them before she could exit, shooing them away to a cashier. 

“Ulrik better fucking reimburse us for this.” Noah grumbled while already beginning to pull the cash from his pockets. 

× × ×

Room thirteen was on the second floor and sat at the very end of the hall. He assumed this was the most private of all the rooms, merely from the location alone. While making their way to it with the key clutched in his grasp, he could hear all the unpleasant things happening beyond the other doors they passed. Most sounded like noises of enjoyment but there were some that reminded him of pure torture. Those were the ones he didn't want to think too hard about. They had a task at hand, and worrying about what 'paying customers’ did was not it. 

As they entered the room, all outside noises suddenly stopped upon closing the door. That sure was interesting. He shook his head, cautious steps then being taken further into the room. It was reminiscent of a hotel room, but not as luxurious. There was a bed, a dresser, and a darkened doorway which he assumed led to a bathroom. 

“This is fucked,” he murmured with a glance to Nick who had just plopped down into a chair that sat in the corner. 

“Do we know anyone that comes to these sorts of places?” 

Noah chuckled, his head ducking a bit in an attempt to see if he could inspect behind the mirror attached to the dresser. It was easy to assume that they were being watched and listened to. 

“I doubt it, unless you mean know like how we know Ulrik. My guess is he's a big spender here.” 

A gloved hand ran along the seam of the mirror pressed to the wall, looking it up and down suspiciously. Did each room have a camera? Or just some perverted guy sitting behind a two way mirror monitoring their doings? Either way, he fucking hated the feeling of being watched. 

“What are you doing?” 

Well, that voice surely didn't belong to Nick. 

His eyes flickered up to the door of the room that was being closed, the same girl from the cage standing in the entryway. 

“There's a reason why I told you guys to request this room. No cameras. No mics.” 

There was something different about the girl now - other than the fact that she had covered herself in a black silk robe that hit the top of her thighs. Was it that her voice wasn't as sweet? Her eyes a little more piercing? Or had she just completely dropped the act now that they were behind closed doors? 

“Where's Scarlett?” Noah ignored her initial question, instead choosing to respond with one of his own. He didn't have the time or patience to play this game. 

The girl arched a brow, her eyes brightening with a hint of amusement. She walked by where he stood, then bent at the waist when she was at the end of the dresser. From the bottom drawer she produced an unlabeled bottle, as well as three glasses which she placed atop the dresser. 

“I think she is Scarlett…” Nick spoke up, still seated. 

With a widening grin, the girl put her fingertip to her nose and looked back to Nick from over her shoulder, the same finger shifting to point his way. “Good job, pretty eyes. I'm glad at least one of you can put a two-piece puzzle together.” 

A glass of amber liquid was extended to him, which he had no choice but to take upon her forcing it to his chest. He noted that she was much more gentle when offering an identical drink to Nick, the other being kept for herself.

“Before anything else is said, I'm going to need you guys to take the masks off.” 

Noah immediately shook his head. “That's not happening.”

An intense look was sent his way from Scarlett. Her hand was on her hip, heel-clad feet carrying her closer to him. 

“Either you take off the masks or we're done here.”

SCARLETT

“Well?” Her brows quirked as she stepped around the tall one, slow motions being taken closer to the one with the clear blue-grey eyes. She was already more fond of him. 

“Just do it,” he exhaled, quickly pulling his mask off as if he was ripping a band-aid free in one swift motion. 

Mumbles of aggravation came from the tall one, but she knew he had done the same based on the sounds of shuffling around and the way his mask was then tossed to the edge of the bed. When she glanced back to him, he was working his fingers through his hair, but that wasn't what caught her attention 

“Hold on…you guys are Entertainers?” Scarlett’s eyes went wide with excitement, her sights going back and forth between the two of them again. The guys said nothing, though they shared a silent look with each other that had her interest piqued. 

“Ulrik failed to mention that when he told me I'd have visitors.” 

“That's because Ulrik doesn't know. That's also how it's going to stay, got it?” 

Entertainers were some of the most important people, both Above and Below. They had a way of controlling the masses and getting messages out, especially these specific Entertainers she was currently in the company of. If anyone was to know they were in cahoots with someone of the likes of Ulrik, they would probably disappear in a snap. 

“Are you always so feisty?” Scarlett shook her head as she brought her drink to her lips. 

“Since you recognize us, does that mean you've seen our shows?” 

Nodding, she reached over to lightly drag her fingertip along the seated one’s jaw. His bright eyes lifted to meet with hers and she instantly graced him with a sweet smile. 

“A few times, actually. Let's just say…I'm all about your scene.” 

The scene she spoke of being one that was kept hush hush, all because of their leadership in the powers that wanted to overthrow Above. Not everyone was privy to this information, though. To be a part of it meant sure death. 

“Listen, Scarlett, that's not why we're here. Ulrik told us to come talk to you, see what you could do to help us with this job he has, so we can decide if we're going to take it or not.”

“Oh, honey, if you're here talking to me then you've already taken the job.” 

Although she was addressing the tall one on the opposite side of the room, her sights remained set on this sweeter one she had taken much more of a liking to. 

“Do you think you just happened to run into me by chance downstairs? No. I knew you were coming, that's why I was on the floor to begin with. Just waiting for the guys with an ‘air of arrogance' to arrive.” 

Scarlett looked back to the tall guy, her eyes drinking him in again. She was well aware of the perplexed expression he wore as he studied her, obviously trying to figure her out. Jokes on him, because he would never be able to. 

“You two have names?” 

“Nicholas,” her favorite almost immediately revealed. “Nick.”

“Fucking seriously?” The unknown guy hissed, now looking at him in disbelief. “You're just going to drop your name like that all because you're hypnotized by her tits?” 

Scarlett rolled her eyes in annoyance. 

“My eyes are pretty nice too, but don't get your panties in a twist. You need something from me, correct? So, how can you trust me with that if you don't even trust me with your name?” 

This got him to shut up for a second because he knew she was right. Something told her that he didn't like being the one who wasn't. His arrogant demeanor wasn't exactly her favorite quality about him, but she was going to let it slide this time. All because of her own curiosities. 

“Noah,” he finally answered after a long pause of silence had settled between them. 

“Can we just cut to the chase? No more of your seductive cage dancer bullshit. We bought the room - you - to talk, not to play little games.” 

Scarlett retracted her touch from Nick, her body language immediately shifting to defensive mode. She was finding it harder and harder to play nice when it came to this Noah jackass. 

“Not that it's any of your business but I'm not a cage dancer and I'm not for sale.” Her eyes narrowed at him in a silent warning, though she still found her way in front of him despite how badly she wanted to drop him on his ass. 

“That know-it-all attitude of yours is going to leave you dead one day. So if I were you, I'd compose myself a little more, especially when you're asking someone for help.” 

She could tell that he wanted to say something else, but she continued before he could. 

“Sit down and shut up. I don't want to hear another peep from you until I say. I'll be directing my attention and questions to Nick.” 

Scarlett motioned to him, her smile returning as she did. She was going to show Noah that you could catch more flies with honey than vinegar, so maybe he could learn a lesson or two to take home with him to resonate on. 

“Now, Nicky, why don't you tell me about this job Ulrik has so kindly signed you up for?” She sat on the edge of the bed closest to the chair he remained perched in. Her back was straight, one leg crossed over the other, and her focus was now solely on him. 

Nick took in a deep breath before tilting his head back to down what remained of the liquor in his glass. He grimaced slightly, just enough to bring a genuine smile to her lips at the sight. 

“He wants us to break into the Tower.”

Scarlett slowly nodded since she had already gathered as much. “Is…that it?”

“No…” Nick shook his head. “Once in the Tower, he wants us to cut the power to it permanently and then kill Silver.”

It felt as if someone had punched her right in the gut, that's how strong the shock was when she heard his words. Had Ulrik lost his goddamn mind? 

“He wants you to kill Silver? President Silver? The man who runs Silver Life Industries, also known as the company that provides every-fucking-thing we lay our eyes on?” 

The destruction included. 

Nick could only nod and when she glanced back at Noah, he had his elbows propped up on his knees with the heels of his hands digging into his eyes. It was obvious that they knew how ridiculous it sounded. Not to mention how dangerous it was. Hell, this was the only room in Seven not bugged and even she started feeling nervous that someone could hear them. 

“Well…shit.” 

“Can you help us or not?” 

Scarlett wanted to scold Noah for speaking before she allowed him to, but with the situation that was just dropped into her lap, she no longer cared about his manners. 

“I mean…yeah, I can get you guys into the Tower, but you have to survive to actually make it out too.” 

“Perfect. All we needed to know.” Noah dropped his hands to his knees in a slap then stood from the opposite corner of the bed he had claimed. The mask was tugged back over his face and adjusted properly, thus signaling to Nick that it was time for them to go. 

“How do we get in touch with you?” Nick questioned after mimicking Noah's motions, both of their identities now concealed. 

Scarlett smiled before opening the door, a rush of mixed noises immediately assaulting their ears.  

“I'll find you.” 

× × ×

And find them she did, although nearly a week later. 

It definitely wasn't her fastest work, but a lot had been on her mind since their little meeting at Seven. Not to mention the guys had done a pretty good job at not leaving much of a trace of themselves in the outside world. Unless you knew the right people to talk to, which she did. 

Scarlett had been a little nervous when taking the rickety elevator down to the lower level of the apartment building they resided in. It's where she had been told they spent most of their time because it was secluded and away from the prying eyes and ears of those watching from Above. 

Thinking back on it now, maybe she should've announced herself before waltzing into their glorified man cave. This thought came to her as she stepped off the death trap of an elevator, only to immediately feel the cool barrel of a gun pressed to the back of her head. 

“Who the fuck are you?” 

When she didn't answer right away, the gun was cocked as a final warning. The sound alone sent a chill down her spine, but she still released a huff as if annoyed by the hold up. 

“Are all of you this paranoid?” 

The gun was nudged against her head, his prior question silently being asked again. 

“Scarlett,” she then answered, though the gun remained firm in place. 

“Don't know a Scarlett.”

“And I don't know why I'm being held at gunpoint, yet here we are. Both of us confused.” 

“Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Jolly! Gun down!” 

There was a rush from behind her and then the loaded weapon was no longer pressed to her head, but instead decocked and set aside based on what sounds she could pick up. 

Bickering began to unfold, something about them explaining to him who she was a few days ago, him claiming he didn't remember, then a few soothing phrases and words were exchanged to calm the trigger happy man down. 

Scarlett glanced back during the altercation, seeing that it was Nick lightly touching the guy's shoulder as another unknown male stood a bit off to the side. Noah was nowhere to be seen but that was okay. She was only popping by to show her face and obviously let it be known that they weren't super hard to track down. 

“I'll send a carrier pigeon next time telling you guys I'm stopping by,” she joked once Nick was making his way over to her. “Maybe avoid a bloodbath.” 

“I would say ‘sorry’ for him…but you are the one intruding. How the hell did you get past the locks, by the way?” 

For a moment she was confused by his question, but then remembered the coded pin pads she had easily bypassed to even open the elevator doors. “Oh,” she waved the confusion off, laughing. “It wasn't exactly the hardest of programs to crack. You guys should probably get someone better to handle that for you.” 

Nick squinted at her, his smile wavering. “I set those locks…”

Damn. She couldn't remember the last time she had truly been embarrassed, but this was definitely going to remain fresh in her mind for a while. 

“Right…well…I'll have to give you some pointers.” 

“What are you doing here?” 

Scarlett smiled at his sudden change of topic. She found herself taking a slight step closer to him, pleased to be able to clearly see his eyes without dim or harsh lights drowning out the color. 

“Not happy to see me, Nicky?” 

Nick took in a deep breath, those eyes of his trailing her up and down unabashedly. “No…no…seeing you has definitely been a highlight…” 

Grinning, she reached out to lightly touch his cheek, just before her eyes shifted to the guys lingering not far back. 

“Are you going to introduce me?” 

“Shit, right.” Nick cleared his throat, his body turning so he could carry himself closer to his friends. While Scarlett did recognize them from the shows she had attended, it was still best that he initiated the exchange of their names. 

Did she already know them? Maybe. 

“Scarlett, this is Jolly, and I promise he isn't as quick to pull the trigger as you may think.”

“Clearly, since I'm still alive,” she taunted. 

“And this strapping young man is also Nick, but we call him Folio. So, yeah…this is Scarlett, the girl Ulrik told us about.” 

Jolly scoffed as he examined her with what appeared to be great frustration. 

“This little sparkle fairy is supposed to be the one helping us? My foot is bigger than her!” 

“Sparkle fairy?” She repeated with a look of distaste for the term. 

“I'm sure my foot can cause more damage too!” 

Now this caused her eyes to narrow, jaw setting into a firm clench. What is it with men and their need to always underestimate her? Most of the time it didn't bother her too much because it typically worked out in her favor when they did, but sometimes - like now - it truly pissed her off. Here she was, offering her services and also her time, and it was unappreciated. 

“Do you want to test that theory out? I have no issues with shattering every bone in your foot with my own goddamn heels.” 

Jolly appeared taken back for a moment, but a smile then pulled at his lips and he was wagging his finger in her direction. “Never mind. I like her.” 

“Same…but she's a little scary…” Folio murmured under his breath as he and Jolly led the group to a sitting area. 

“Just some knowledge to place upon you,” Nick called out to Folio while dropping his hand to his shoulder. “All women are scary.”

This made her smile, another slight laugh leaving her. “I always knew you were the smart one.” 

A few more steps and they were within an area that held mismatched chairs, rugs, and other random decor pieces. It was obvious that the guys grabbed whatever they could that was still in decent condition, and she didn't blame them. Sometimes it was the simple things that were hard to come by nowadays. 

“No Noah?” She questioned as she dropped her bag onto one of the random chairs, this one being a deep green color. 

“He said he was going down to the corner store but that was…” Nick glanced at the others, “maybe about an hour ago.” 

“Well, I guess it's a good thing this was more a social call than actual planning. Pretty much just needed to see what - and who - I'd be working with.” Her eyes drifted between all three of them, lips pursed as she sized them up. Scarlett had a knack for reading people. Very rarely was she incorrect in her assumptions. 

The point of her nail angled towards Jolly, slowly nodding. “I'm guessing you're the muscle, yeah? Good with weapons, intimidating, a pretty decent shot.” 

Scarlett didn't give them a chance to respond before she was moving on to the next. Her focus fell to Nick, immediately giving him a sweet smile as she had done consistently now. 

“The kind of guy that knows his way around tech…probably the smartest one in the room but doesn't like to show it…voice of reason.” 

Their eyes remained locked for a long moment, though she looked away first before anyone could question it. The reddening of his cheeks didn't go unnoticed by her, though. 

“And Folio…the wild card. Every good group has one. Never know what you're gonna do next, but it somehow always works out to be helpful.” 

“Damn…are you psychic?” Folio asked, his eyes wide with awe for her little party trick. 

Before she could reply, a different voice cut through. 

“Guess that makes me the asshole leader.” Noah strolled in and paused a few feet from her. He crossed his arms over his chest, letting her know that he was trying his best to make himself look bigger. An intimidation technique, obviously. 

“Arrogant, bossy, doesn't know when to quit…”

“The one who ends up getting someone killed.” Scarlett quickly snapped, her head whipping around to show him just how serious her expression was. “Not yourself, though. No, you're the one who gets to live with the guilt of his pretentious, pompous attitude being the reason a friend doesn't make it out alive.” 

NICHOLAS

The room grew so quiet that he was convinced you could hear a pin drop. He was looking at Noah, at Scarlett, and then back to Noah, studying the way they now glared at one another. His best friend appeared as if he wanted to explode (verbally? physically? both?), but he was doing the best he could at holding onto his composure. 

Flexing his shoulders backwards, Noah gave a single nod. Seconds later, he was disappearing to the other side of the room where he could slip through a typically concealed doorway that led to their makeshift studio area. 

“I'll draw up a plan and see you guys in a couple of days, yeah?” 

Scarlett was smiling again as if nothing had happened but he could pick up on the slight waver in her voice. That had him curious. 

Unfortunately, she was gathering her belongings and strutting away before he could even stand from his seat. 

“Hey, Sca-” Nick rushed to his feet to try to stop her, but she was gone. The sound of the elevator doors closing rang in his ears - a reminder that they really needed to fix that. 

“Shit, she's brutal.” Jolly shook his head. “I still like her, though.” 

Nick heavily exhaled while turning on his heel, now heading back the other way to where Noah had slid away. He found him sitting at the old, out of tune piano, lightly pressing random keys as if just testing the sound. 

“Maybe I should just do this alone.”

That was the last thing Nick had been expecting to hear. 

“Absolutely not.” 

“No, Nick, she's right. I should've told Ulrik to 'fuck off’. It's my fault we’re in this, and I'm not going to let anyone else die because of me.” 

Nick could sense how heavy those words were for him to say. He could hear it. He could feel it. They were all still mourning in their own way, though Noah’s preferences were a little more on the self destructive side. 

“You've completely lost it if you think any of us are going to let you do this alone.” 

Despite his statement being true, he couldn't bring himself to tell Noah that he was wrong for experiencing guilt and blame that he placed on himself. Things had happened in the past because of him. Nick figured it was best to not outright say this, though. 

“Fuck!” Noah abruptly growled, his hands slamming down on the piano keys with such force that a couple remained permanently sunken in. 

“Why do you always have to be so fucking understanding and loyal? Why can't you for once just tell me I'm a piece of shit? Huh, Nick?”

How the hell had this suddenly become an attack on him? 

“I know you're thinking it. Jolly and Folio obviously are too. Shit, even your girlfriend read me like a fucking children's picture book.” 

“What? Scarlett isn't my-”

“Obviously, Nick. A girl like her?” Noah snorted a laugh. “She would rip you to pieces.” 

Nick stared at the back of his best friend’s head, since he had refused to turn around since their conversation began. There was a lot he wanted to say, but he swallowed every harsh word because he knew Noah would regret this by the next day. That's just how things went with them nowadays. 

“Y’know, maybe Scarlett was right about some things. Your attitude will be your downfall.” 

× × ×

The last thing he wanted right then was for Noah to be right. He refused to let that fucker wear a smug smile while muttering 'I told ya so’ to him. Why was he so quick to assume Scarlett would get the better of him? All because he was nice? Because he knew how to smile? Because he didn't need to be a broody asshole day after day? 

Nick wouldn't let himself believe that. 

Taking in a deep breath, he shook his hands out to rid the nerves, then he pressed the faintly glowing blue button on the outside of the door. There was nothing for a long moment, so long that he almost walked away, but as he was considering it, the door creaked open slowly. 

“Nick? What…how did you find me?”

Not even seeing Scarlett’s face right then could calm him. Although, the fact that she recognized him within less than a second while he was wearing his mask did make his heart swell a bit. 

“It took you how long to find where we were?” He cracked a slight smile. “Just had to show you how it's done.” 

Even through her confused expression, he could see a smile threatening to appear and overtake her stoic demeanor. Nick was praying that meant she was at least a little happy to see him - invited or not. 

He watched as she contemplated silently to herself before finally taking steps back and widening the entryway for him. 

“Wait…don't go any further.” After closing and securing the door with multiple locks, Scarlett’s form rushed by him so she could begin pulling the curtains closed around the living room. The area darkened significantly, though he understood why she was being cautious. 

“I'd rather not become Above’s nightly entertainment,” she explained once she was turning to face him, her arms loosely crossed over her chest in what he could assume was another one of her infamous defensive stances. 

SCARLETT

Why was her heart racing right then? 

Why was Nick in her home? 

Why was he looking at her like that?

Before she could verbalize any of these questions, he was tugging the black mask off his head and shaking his fingers through his hair. 

“You shouldn't be here…” she softly murmured, the nerves setting in. “It's not safe for either of us.” 

Scarlett desperately wanted to tell herself to ‘shut the hell up’ because having him there actually felt nice. Her apartment wasn't so lonely for once. It was going to be a fleeting feeling and she knew this, but what was so wrong with enjoying it while she could? 

Oh, right, the high risk of death. 

Nick nodded in agreement, but instead of turning and leaving like she was expecting him to, he actually took fast steps over to her. His rough hands grabbed her face within them and he leaned down as far as he needed to, to force his lips hard against hers. 

The shock of the kiss nearly knocked the breath out of her, but she was able to recover almost instantly before he got the wrong idea from her reaction. It took about the same amount of time for Nick to soften the claim his lips had made on hers. Scarlett wasn't going to let that slide. 

As they engaged in their yet-to-be-broken kiss, her hands ran up along the length of his waist and over his arms where she could briefly grip his wrists. Since he had just come in from outside, he was wearing far too many layers that were used to shield him from the elements. So, she quickly went to work at ridding him of them. 

First, his jacket was pushed from his shoulders, followed by the secondary lighter one he wore beneath it. Nick graciously helped her, eagerly tugging at the sleeves and tossing each article of clothing aside. She couldn't help but to smile against his lips since she found his excitement to be cute. 

Scarlett released a slight sound of surprise as he gripped beneath her thighs and lifted her up into his arms, forcing her back into the wall. Her legs secured around his waist, pressing herself right against where she could feel the growing bulge in his dark jeans. 

“Someone's excited…” she taunted, her breathing heavy after parting from the kiss. Nick’s lips were flushed red, pupils dilated as he stared directly at her. Her thumb swiped along his lower lip, gently soothing the tier from where her teeth had sunken in at some point. She swore she saw his eyes darken just before his lips were crashing to hers again. 

Scarlett moaned, her fingers working back into his hair, nails scratching at his scalp. He must've liked this, because next thing she knew he was pressing himself firm between her thighs, grinding against her aching core. The sensation caused her to shiver, legs then tightening around him in an attempt to bring him in closer. Nick’s grip on her thighs embedded deeper and now it was his turn to break from her lips, just so he could begin trailing hot kisses along her neck and the front of her chest. 

“Nicky…” she breathed out to gain his attention. That's all it took for him to detach himself from her skin, his bright eyes lifting to meet with her own. “I should probably tell you that I'm not looking for anything serious.” 

The man she was currently wrapped around was sweet and she knew he had a good head on his shoulders, anyone would be lucky to have him, but these days…it wasn't that simple anymore. 

His eye searched hers as he carefully lowered her back down to her feet, though he didn't move away from her. Actually, he pressed his body flush against hers, trapping her between himself and the wall. Scarlett smirked, her hands slipping beneath the shirt he wore so she could feel the heat of his bare skin. 

“I know,” he nodded while his hand smoothed along her jaw and to the back of her neck. “That's fine.” 

To her, that was a green light to continue. 

Scarlett pressed up onto her tip toes so she could kiss him again, just before she placed her hands flat against his chest and pushed him back. Grabbing his shoulders, she guided him to the couch and forced him down into a seated position. Nick’s hands instantly attached to her hips as he gazed up at her with a smile, though his obvious desire for her was still present in his eyes. 

Grasping his shirt, she pulled it off in a swift motion and tossed it back to be tended to later. Despite his hands eagerly beginning to lift the dress she wore, Scarlett sent a look his way that caused him to immediately stop, though his touch didn't leave her body. 

“You listen well,” she taunted. “I like that.” With a lingering smirk, she gently nudged his hands away so she could slip her own beneath her dress, her panties being pulled down for her to step out of. 

Nick watched her for a moment, but then began fumbling with the belt he wore, followed by the button and zipper of his jeans. He really was just so fucking cute. Most people she had been with in the past always tried to play it way too cool, making it appear as if they really didn't give a shit about what was happening. But Nick? Well, he clearly had no issue with showing his excitement. 

Stepping back to him, her hands slowly ran up the expanse of his thighs. Nick took in a sharp inhale as she grazed the obvious bulge that was straining in his jeans, the reaction causing her to arch a brow. 

“Sensitive?” Her smirk widened when he cursed under his breath but ultimately nodded in response. 

Scarlett gently pressed the heel of her hand into him before her fingers began to massage his lengthening hard on over the fabric. Her eyes fixated on his face, joyfully watching the change in his expression as his hips bucked up into her palm and his brows knitted together. 

“If I wasn't so eager to have you, I'd make you cum just like this…” she softly threatened. 

Nick heavily breathed out at this, his frustrations quite apparent. She understood how maddening it could be because she was feeling it as well. The only difference was that she had a bit more composure than he did, though only because she had claimed the dominance between them. At least this time. 

Hiking her dress up, she situated herself on his lap in a straddling position. She was lifted up onto her knees so she could further undress him, now moving faster than she previously had been. Scarlett dragged his jeans and boxers down as far as necessary, allowing his cock to spring free at full attention. 

Then, she was positioning herself over him with the guidance of his hands, but she didn't yet drop herself down. 

“You've been thinking about this since the moment you saw me at Seven, haven't you?” Scarlett hovered right over the swollen head of his cock, only allowing him to feel the heat her cunt radiated. His grip on her hips tightened in anticipation, jaw clenching from how she was dragging this out. 

“I bet you've imagined how wet I'd be for you…how tight…what sort of noises you'd get me to make…”

Closing the space between them by only a few centimeters, she briefly shut her eyes when she felt the tip nudging against her soaked entrance. It took all of her self control to not just fully give in because Nick felt better already than even she had imagined. 

So what if she had spent a night or two cumming around her fingers to the thought of him? 

“Are you going to let me find out?” Nick retorted with a smirk of his own, his hips shifting slightly as he attempted to press up into her. He probably thought he was successful in this, but Scarlett had let it happen, both of them gasping in unison when the head of his cock buried further. 

Leaning in, she began to kiss along his jaw as her hands shifted back to grip the top edge of the couch. She was slowly taking him in now, stroking herself up and down while engulfing his cock inch by inch. 

“Fuck…you feel amazing.” Nick groaned, a twitch of his cock reiterating his words. 

His fingers then flexed along her hips and she was suddenly being forced all the way down, his hips lifting simultaneously. A loud moan echoed through the room, easily drowning out the sound of his own groans. Scarlett bowed her head into the crook of his neck, heavily breathing from the rush of ecstasy that radiated through her. Her cunt tightly clenched around his throbbing shaft as she tried to quickly adjust. 

Nick pushed the thin fabric of her dress up while they remained flush together so he could fully expose her body to him. One hand slid up her abdomen and between her breasts as the other returned to her hip, eagerly trying to guide her hips along. 

It took a moment, but she was finally able to get her bearings and find a proper rhythm. Breathy moans escaped between them once she was sliding up and down his cock with a newly established ease. Each drop of her hips had the tip stroking along just the right spot, causing her to arch her lower back in a desperate need to feel more. 

“Nicky…oh!” She gasped, her mouth falling opening and her hips briefly stuttering atop his. “Yeah, just like that…”

Scarlett nodded when his tattooed hands assisted in lifting her up and down, forcing her harder into his lap with every downward motion. 

Tossing her hair aside, a hand released the back of the couch so she could grab his jaw. Nick’s eyes were forced up to hers where she held his gaze, just so he could see how fucking good he was making her feel. Something about the eye contact must've really done it for him, because his grip shifted back to her ass to keep her up so he could drive himself up into her aching pussy at a rapid pace. The action caused the entirety of her body to tense and her breath to stall, the pleasure nearly too much. 

“I'm going to cum…” Scarlett again nodded. She dropped a hand between her thighs to begin rubbing her clit in fast circles, the act immediately drawing Nick's eye down. Watching him watch her, as well as the sight of his cock disappearing up into her petite body again and again, had her right there. 

Only a couple of more thrusts from him beneath her and her cunt was erupting around him, briefly causing her composure to break. Scarlett had to latch onto his shoulder with her teeth to keep herself from crying out his name too loud - they couldn't draw too much attention. His arms circled around her waist to hold her in close as her entire being trembled and quaked with her orgasm. 

Nails raked down his arms, involuntarily marking him before she even realized she had. Oh well. Maybe Nick liked the slight pain that came from it, though, because his own hips jerked after he demanded her pussy remain with his cock buried as deep as possible. 

“Shhh,” she soothingly hushed him, a hand immediately flying up to cover his mouth to muffle all the moans and profanities he was now expelling. Despite the need to keep quiet, Scarlett whimpered at the sensation of his cum overflowing and spilling out between them, mixing with her own small mess she had made. 

Once his body stilled, she slowly lowered her hand and instead covered his mouth with her own. They shared a desperate kiss, all eager tongues moving in sync with teeth clashing as they both tried to overtake the other. 

“You good?” Nick mumbled the best he could, receiving a nod from her in response. 

“Good.” 

In a swift motion, Nick had her on her back across the couch and he was driving himself between her thighs again. She stared up at him with wide eyes for only a second, utterly shocked by his ability to go again almost immediately, until the over-stimulation of him thrusting into her spent cunt clouded her mind. 

Scarlett suddenly didn't care anymore if her apartment neighbors heard them. Hell, she would rip her curtains down and let Above watch if that's what it took to make sure he didn't stop. 

Propped up on one elbow, his opposite hand began exploring her body. He grasped her neck for a moment, then dropped down to knead and massage her breast that was bouncing with each forceful snap of his hips. Scarlett’s noises spoke to her approval because words were impossible for her to come by right then. The smirk he wore showed his enjoyment in the sounds she made for him. 

Nick concluded his exploration when the pads of his fingers made contact with her swollen and overly sensitive clit. A simple touch made her hips twitch and attempt to retract, despite how good it felt at the same time. This didn't stop Nick, though. He sat up on his knees and pulled her in closer, driving in harder and faster while his thumb stroked her clit in time. 

Scarlett writhed in ecstasy beneath him, hips rolling up to meet with his, before she was suddenly cumming again. Her pussy gushed and quivered through her climax, to the point that she thought maybe she would pass out from the intensity. 

“That's it…you did so good.” Nick cooed, this being a side of him that was taking her completely by surprise. Had he not just been the more submissive between the two? Wasn't she supposed to be the one in control? 

Too bad she couldn't focus on that right now because she was too busy watching his face contort as he released inside of her once more. Nick’s head hung at a downwards angle once his hips stopped spasming, the only movement from him now coming from the rapid rise and fall of his chest. He groaned and his jaw clenched as he slowly pulled out, bringing forth a pout from her due to the lack of being filled. 

Sex had always been something Scarlett could go without for long periods, simply because there were always more pressing matters that needed tending to. Trying to survive was a daily task that took up most of her time, if she was being honest. But now? Well, now she figured she would have to drown herself in this job of theirs so as to not become carried away each and everyday she was around him. 

“We can't tell anyone about this,” she spoke up first after catching her own breath. 

Nick had shifted to the opposite end of the couch to regain normal brain function, his eyes settled on her. She wasn't sure how to read his expression, but he eventually nodded in agreement. 

“I'm serious, Nick. It could jeopardize everything.” 

Taking in a deep breath, Scarlett carefully sat up, her knees being pulled closer to her chest. He was then softly chuckling, head shaking at her comments. 

“You should work on your pillow talk,” he teased. “I mean…my cum is still in you as you're telling me this has to stay a secret.” 

Scarlett rolled her eyes, a decorative pillow soon being tossed his way once she had dislodged it from behind her back. “Shut up,” she demanded with a huff. 

Nick smiled despite being well aware of how serious she was about everything. It wasn't like he was going to go back and gloat to the guys about what they had just done because Scarlett knew he wasn't the type. He may have surprised her a bit towards the end there, but that didn't change what she already knew about him. 

“What about…?” He motioned between the two of them and their still fully exposed bodies. “Was this a one time thing?” 

Now that was a question she didn't have an answer for. She knew what she should say but it definitely wasn't what she wanted to say. 

“Let's just focus on keeping you and the others alive first.” 

[eretzyisrael]

by Brendan O'Neill

So now we know what it takes to become a state: the murder of Jews. Rape, kill and kidnap Jews and seven months later, the leaders of Ireland, Spain and Norway will recognise your statehood. That’s the lesson of today’s coordinated spectacle of virtue-signalling in Dublin, Madrid and Oslo: pogroms work. The butchery of civilians gets results. Fascism has its rewards. This is ‘diplomacy’ at its most dangerous.

Of course, Irish taoiseach Simon Harris, Spanish PM Pedro Sánchez and Norwegian PM Jonas Gahr Støre are presenting their pious recognition of Palestine as a stab for peace. This is about helping to ‘create a peaceful future’, said Harris. They’re either delusional or they’re engaging in doublespeak. For the true impact of their imperious intervention will be to exacerbate hostilities. Hamas will feel emboldened. It now knows that a wonderful gift awaits it if it keeps battering Israel: a state of its own. In dangling this dream before Hamas, the three PMs have all but green-lighted its terrorism.

Rarely has virtue-signalling felt so reckless. The PMs are so keen to broadcast their correct-think to the world that they appear not to have given one thought to what the consequences might be of three European nations butting in to a bloody war. Their blindness to everything but their own righteousness was best summed up in the figure of Simon Harris. There he was on the steps of Government Buildings in Dublin sermonising about how this is ‘the right thing to do’ – translation: ‘aren’t I wonderful?’ – without so much as a flicker of concern for the global impact of rewarding an act of apocalyptic violence.

That really is what is happening here. Harris and the others were careful to condemn Hamas’s 7 October pogrom, of course. Harris called it a ‘barbaric massacre’. And yet the fact is that today’s announcements, this vain granting of legitimacy to a Palestinian state, would not be happening had it not been for 7 October. Indeed, Harris expressly linked his recognition of Palestine with the ‘appalling’ and ‘unconscionable’ war in Gaza. Yes, a war started by Hamas. On 7 October. With its carnival of anti-Semitic barbarism, the likes of which the world had not seen since the Holocaust. And there you have it. Want a state? Start a war. Kill some Jews. Job done.

[daeneryseastar]

To consider one character more interesting than another is not sexism. Yes, Aegon has done nothing to prove that he is worthy of the throne - no one disputes that. This does not prevent the greens from supporting him in any way, because - you know, these are imaginary characters, not real elections of the future ruler. It's not about "she's a woman" or "she's unworthy of the tone" - it's just that she's not interesting to everyone as a character. If Rhaenyra were a more interesting character for me, I would support her. No one cares who is worthy and who is unworthy, you just choose a character that you like and support him. The blacks take it all too seriously, really.

another green stan finding something to complain about, i see? what a shocker. you’re coming up with excuses that i’ve heard a million times before. nothing about my posts mentions anything to do with finding a character more interesting. nothing about my posts mentions anything about worthiness besides saying that aegon isn’t (which he HIMSELF agrees with, as you all like to butt in with). so why are you here, in my inbox, taking it so seriously? aegon isn’t real. he’s not going to smite you for not telling yet another team black member that he’s the most interesting character ever. ‘it’s never that serious’ until you can’t leave someone alone who tagged their post properly. if i wanted to deal with aegon’s questionable fanbase i wouldn’t have put the anti tag in front of anything green related.

i could not give less of a fuck if you think aegon is a more enjoyable character, or if you find team green to be the pinnacle of fiction. it’s all subjective at the end of the day. i didn’t just call the other anon (unless you’re the same, you’re delusion is making me think so) sexist (and actually, the only thing i called sexist was the talking point, so why are your panties in such a twist?) for no reason. this is a song of ice and fire, a book series that deals with very real, very serious topics that happened throughout history. rape isn’t something to make light about. gendered violence isn’t something to make light about. that og talking point is sexist, whether you want to admit it or not. one doesn’t just go around pointing out every single minuscule negative detail about a woman and turn around to praise a man for the exact same reasons and come out not being referred to in a way that they deserve.

if you view aegon as more interesting, good for you! once again, i don’t care. stop anonymously going after people for points that you’re pulling out of your ass to be mad about. really weird that THAT was the comparison needed to make all greens get up in arms. yet they still can’t properly debate over it because they continuously fall into the ‘what about- *insert an entirely different topic*.’ it’s honestly such a shame, really. i kind of enjoy telling you guys to find a hobby.

anons are off until you and your entourage of weirdos learn how to behave like normal people with basic media literacy skills.