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vodika-vibes · 3 days

Note

ive been having a really really rough week. my depression has been kicking my ass and ive been just rotting in my bed most days. but would it be too much for me to request something where the reader (gender neutral please) is essentially doing that (rotting in bed, barely eating, and not leaving their home) when their boyfriend (tech) comes home and sees his partner like that.

i think i just need something really comforting and sweet with tech taking care of the reader, and being really gentle and understanding about everything.

For You

Summary: When your depression hits you hard while Tech is away, you struggle to force yourself to do anything more than lay in bed.

Pairing: TBB Tech x GN!Reader

Word Count: 693

Warnings: Reader is depressed

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: I'm sorry to hear that you've been having a rough time. I hope this fic helps, even if it's only a little bit. I will admit that this isn't my best work, Tech was fighting me every step of the way, but I hope you like it anyway.

Your gaze is locked on the holo at the end of the bed. You’re not quite sure what you’re watching, it looks like an infomercial about some kind of super towel.

It’s dumb. It’s dumb and stupid and pointless…but rolling over to change the channel to something else feels hard and impossible, so instead you just curl around your pillow and keep watching the infomercial.

You haven’t gotten out of bed for longer than it takes to go to the bathroom in days. Though, you did force yourself to eat some instant noodles this morning. And the reminder from Tech that he was coming home today did prompt you to drag yourself to the shower earlier.

But even so, when you hear the front door open, you can’t seem to work up the will to go and greet Tech, and you kind of hate yourself for it.

The last thing you’ve ever wanted was to be a burden for him, and yet here you are. Burdening him.

You hear silence for a moment, just a moment, and then familiar heavy footsteps through the apartment, before your bedroom door slides open. You do manage to twist so you’re able to peer up at the man standing in the door.

Neither of you say anything for a moment, and you watch as Tech’s gaze slides from you, bundled up in your most comfortable blanket, to the stack of water bottles next to the bed, and the empty cup of instant noodles.

And then his gaze slides back to your face, and there is something soft and warm on his face, “Having a hard time, love?”

“...m’sorry.”

“You do not have to apologize. Not for this. Not to me.” Tech walks around the bed, and picks up the trash, before he leaves the room for a few minutes.

And then he’s back, and he’s no longer wearing his armor.

“Do you feel up to getting up with me, love?” He asks as he sits on the side of the bed.

You sigh quietly, “That sounds hard.”

“That is alright, you do not have to.” He reaches over and lightly brushes his fingers against your cheek, “How long have you been in this condition?”

A shrug, “A couple of days. Maybe.”

“Have you been eating?”

“...sorry.”

He smiles at you sadly, “It is alright. Do you think you will be willing to curl up on the couch while I make you food?”

You consider his words for a long moment, and then you nod, “I guess I can do that,” You admit, and you’re rewarded with a beaming smile and a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“I am glad,” Tech admits, his touch so gentle as he encourages you to sit up and then swing your legs off the bed.

“I’m sorry for being such a…pain.” You mumble as you lean into him and press your face against his shoulder.

“You are not a pain. You are just having a hard time right now. And that is okay.” Tech folds his arms around you, “Is there anything specific that you would like to eat?”

“...something easy?”

“How about pancakes?”

You rub your nose against his shoulder, “I suppose pancakes don't sound too hard.”

“Good. I know that they are your favorite.” Tech guides you towards the living room and gets you settled on the couch, before he tucks a blanket tightly around you, and he kisses your forehead, “One plate of pancakes, coming right up.”

“Thank you, Tech.”

“For what?”

“Taking care of me. For not being mad. For being you. Take your pick.”

“You do not have to thank me for that.” Tech presses a light kiss to the top of your head, “I am happy to take care of you. And I would never be mad. Not at you. Not for this.”

He presses one more kiss to your forehead, and then, finally vanishes into the kitchen to start making food.

You curl up under the blanket, and watch him move around the kitchen, and a small smile crosses your face. You love him so much…you’re just glad that he loves you just as much.

#star wars #tbb #tbb tech x reader #tech x reader #star wars fanfiction #x reader fanfiction #gn!reader fic #answered asks

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etherealily · 19 hours

Text

𝙒𝙃𝙄𝙋𝙇𝘼𝙎𝙃 // Nate Jacobs.

Nate Jacobs + Fem!reader. Dark. SFW, but discretion advised.

Cliffhanger or series? Haven't decided. Repost because of reasons.

You do NOT have permission to repost and/or translate any of my fics.

Desc.: You're needed. Now.

════════════════════ ⋆⋅🏈⋅⋆ ═══════════════════

It's not like you even knew Nate.

You knew of him, sure, quarterback and shit, but still, it was unlikely your paths would ever cross.

Until they did.

Until he started following you on Instagram.

That shit... was so unbelievably odd that you almost blocked him because you thought it was a fake account. But then you saw the mutuals. Holy shit. This was legit.

The fact that his account was private didn't surprise you. Yours was public because you had nothing to post and his was private because he had everything to hide.

You sent him a request. No biggie. I mean, he had to accept, right? He was the one who followed you first - it was only fair. And if it took too long, then you could always unsend it, yeah? Yeah.

It didn't take too long. It barely took three minutes.

Okay. Cool. Weird but cool.

The next day at school, it was normal. You didn't acknowledge him, and he didn't acknowledge you. An average social media interaction. Good.

--------

Come Friday evening, you decided that watching Maddy cheer was a little less important than your deadline and building your portfolio.

She absolutely supported you (rolled her eyes and said 'whatever, nerd. You still love me, right?') but was a little upset about it (pouted and called you a cunt).

Three hours went by, and you surprised yourself with the amount of work you were getting done. This is great. Friday evening well spent. Work a bit more, and then-

Nate Jacobs tagged you in a Close Friends story.

Close Friends? Tagged? NATE JACOBS?

Okay, one : no fucking way were you on his Close Friends.

Two : there were virtually zero pictures of the two of you, so tagging you was moot.

Three : there was supposed to be a game starting about fifteen minutes from now, Blackhawks versus whatever pretentious team they were going to beat, so why the fuck was he even online?

(Oh, yeah, the Blackhawks were absolutely fucking awesome.)

The story was only text. Text and nothing more.

Y/N, accept my message request. Now. I am not fucking around.

What message request? WHAT the fuck was going on?

You frowned, immediately scrolling over to messages. Shit. There was a request.

A picture, along with six other messages.

This was so strange. It was especially strange that he found the time to text you, when he was supposed to be practicing throwing the old pigskin around for the victory of his school. But text you he did. As if him following you wasn't enough to give you whiplash. "Yo."

"You're not here." No shit, Sherlock.

"You should be."

What the hell was that supposed to mean? This was the most excruciatingly awkward interaction you'd ever had.

"You should be here. Come."

Did he think he was super macho with all this mysterious, vague, one-word bullshit he was spewing? You know what, you'd actually bet your entire school tuition he did. But you wouldn't give him the satisfaction of asking why.

"U don't just send requests to random people. Don't act like you don't know me. Don't ignore my texts."

"I'm fucking losing it. Come now or else."

WHAT. THE. FUCK.

This was the most random thing to ever happen to you. Nate Jacobs, some random jock you never even said one word to, was texting you as if you had been best friends since two years old and you had always been all rah-rah-go-team for him.

You were almost scared to open the picture. Instagram asked you if you were sure. Once, twice. You should have listened. But you didn't, and you were about to face the consequences.

Red. That was the first thing you saw, and the first thing that had ever grossed you out enough to physically throw your phone away.

So much red.

Above the red, concealed almost cruelly, was a black box with white text in it. For a moment, your eyes were overwhelmed, so overwhelmed with the monstrosity in front of you that you couldn't even begin to comprehend what the words meant. You picked your phone back up, squinting your eyes and blocking out the rest.

He must have noticed you accepted his request, because you saw 'Typing...' pop up way too fast for him not to have been waiting.

"I'll cut deeper if you don't show up."

Nate Jacobs was a cruel and manipulative bastard of a man who you would happily let die.

But not like this.

════════════════════ ⋆⋅🏈⋅⋆ ═══════════════════

You glanced at the screen and then back at the road, from time to time. There was no indication that he was typing. The 'online' sign still stayed. Okay. So he either just threw his phone away while still on your chat or he was about to-

Nate Jacobs started an audio call.

Clearly tonight wasn't going to be the night you stayed in and finished all your assignments, like you'd decided.

"Pick up or I'll fucking kill you."

Yup, that sounded about right.

You laughed, incredulously. The genuine threat wasn't lost on you, but what else does one do in this situation besides laugh at the absurdity of it all?

Better safe than sorry. You swiped up.

"Y/N, please just come."

It felt so weird to hear him say your name. It felt even weirder to hear him say 'please'.

"Why?"

"You need to be here." His voice was unwavering.

"Look, Jacobs, I'm sorry, but I have projects and assignments to work on. Not to mention, my portfolio-"

You wanted to see how far you could take it. He couldn't hear your car's sounds, and he couldn't possibly track your location, so according to him, you were still sitting at home, petulantly.

If he was joking, he'd just cuss you out drunkenly. If he wasn't, he'd... keep begging.

"Jesus fuck, Y/N, just come!"

"I can't. I'm sorry."

Keeping your calm was the best thing you'd ever done for yourself, the greatest form of self-care you could give yourself, because Nate Jacobs sensing nervousness was like sharks smelling blood in the water. Quick and bad.

"I have important shit, too, you know? Scouts are here, Y/N, please!"

"Look-"

"Coach, I know, just five more minutes - FUCK, Y/N, you gotta come.", he pleaded, his tone becoming far too pathetic to brush off.

"Why?"

"Why? Whaddayamean why?", he huffed out, frustrated, as if you were supposed to know this already.

2 + 2. What galaxy we live in. The colour of the sky. Why you were needed at the game. According to this asshole, all these things were common knowledge.

"I will cut deeper."

"Stop bullshitting, Jacobs."

You hoped to god that your voice didn't betray your bewilderment. This better be a sick fucking joke.

"I'm cutting."

"Stop."

"Coach says the five minutes are up, but I won't play without you here."

A video. SHIT. FUCK.

"What the fuck is your problem?!"

Actually, no. This better not just be a joke, because if the entire school was in on this shit, you would end up cutting him.

The grunts of pain and sharp inhales from his side of the call got more and more grotesque as you pulled into the school parking lot.

The school had an unsettling vibrancy to it after hours, and this was only exacerbated by the fact that you were supposedly the cause for a boy to slice through his own skin. It shouldn't have seemed this vibrant, this overwhelming, this vivid, this.... bright, but it did. The world moved at an eerily quick pace, like a carnival ride on LSD.

As you ran across the parking lot and gripped the gate to the stadium and basically swung right past it, you finally realized how fucking loud a crowd could be.

It was like they knew that their QB might be bleeding out because of you, because they seemed to scream loud enough to torture you for eternity.

Immediately manhandled by Chris McKay -another jock you had absolutely no connection to, but who seemed to have a very personal grudge against you-, you were pushed out of the locker rooms as quickly as you came in. Fuck's sake.

"Let me go , McKay!"

"Coach is trying to calm him down, and if he sees you, we got no idea what he might do, okay? OKAY?", he ordered, sternly, through clenched teeth as he shook your shoulders.

He was earnestly trying to be calm and gentle, but his fingers gripping harder and harder into your arms did jackshit to help his case.

"Okay."

He nodded, sighing in some emotion that seemed oddly like relief.

What, did he expect more of a fight? Did he expect you to be all 'no, I gotta see him now?'

You had no clue who the hell this bastard was, let alone what he wanted. No way were you going to kick and shout for him.

"What the fuck is his problem?", you asked, sighing against McKay's chest, exhausted.

He shrugged, rubbing his forehead in exasperation. "He's stressed about the game."

"So he cuts himself in my name? We don't even know each other, dude!"

"Okay, he isn't exactly the one you go to for rationality, alright?"

"Yo, the fuck's going on, man? The game was supposed to start-"

The other team's captain.

"Yeah, we're just, uh, dealing with a situation over here.", assured McKay, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from going ballistic at Nate. Or you. Most likely Nate. But even more likely you. "Tell your coach we're so sorry, and we'll be out in a minute, tops."

The other guy scoffed, grumbling as he stomped away, glaring more at you than McKay. What, did everyone know now?

"He thinks we're trying to hook up before the game.", explained McKay, patiently, almost embarrassed. "It's a thing some athletes do, 'for luck'."

Jocks were the weirdest fucking aliens to ever exist.

════════════════════ ⋆⋅🏈⋅⋆ ═══════════════════

Crimson traced paths through the blinding white of the bandages wrapped tightly like dependent vines around his palm. Noticing the lack of uniformity of white, Coach tsked. "We need more. McKay!"

"Yes, Coach?"

"One more, then you can send her in."

"She came?" Nate's voice, though feeble and exhausted - and now, hopeful - was heard through the tiny gap in the door that McKay made sure would remain tiny as he passed the last bandage to him, and you didn't want to admit it, but it broke your heart.

Ew. Nate Jacobs was breaking your heart?

Coach finished wrapping Nate up, and McKay guided you in, with both measured aggression and protectiveness.

Nate's eyes lifted and brightened up immensely, a feat you'd only thought possible by a lone spark igniting and breach every inch of a dry leaf.

"You came."

"Son, I don't know what the hell you were thinking-"

"No, no, Coach, she's here, we can play."

Everyone stopped breathing at that moment. What the hell did the self-wounding quarterback asshole just say?

"What'd you just say, Jacobs?"

"We can play. Y/N's here. This isn't my good palm, anyway, so it's fine. Let's go."

And just like that, Nate was back. The amount of theses that could be written on this sheer anomaly of a man, the amount of studies that could be conducted, the amount of shock anyone else in this situation would go through- all unheard of.

No one else could handle it, though, besides all the people right there in the room. The best friend : self-taught and well-versed in handling him, the Coach : the authority figure that could calm him down with a bunch of fatherly words and....

And you : no one knew what the fuck you brought to the table. But something told you no one else would have survived in your shoes.

"Alright... then...?" Even Coach was absolutely speechless.

Nate nodded briskly, shooting up with a sudden burst of energy as he smiled at you.

Smiled.

Ladies and gentlemen : Nate Jacobs was on crack, confirmed.

He drew you in against his chest with an extremely unprecedented jerk, and you locked eyes with McKay behind him as he did so.

Not crack. Probably fent.

Your questioning gaze- which obviously said 'what in the everloving fuck is he doing?' - was met with a shrug and a look which suggested he barely even recognized his best friend right now.

"Okay, let's go WIN this motherfucker!", shouted Nate, patting your shoulder and loudly clapping his hands together before sprinting out of the locker rooms into the cheering football field.

It was dressed entirely in Blackhawk colours and bathed in a fluorescent, sickeningly pale light that you had to now spend an hour and a half in. Ugh.

Whiplash or not, you were about to throw up.

════════════════════ ⋆⋅🏈⋅⋆ ═══════════════════

You know those moments after a surreal event? When you just... sit. Stare into space and... ruminate.

You were having one of those in your car. The game had ended, really well, too, with the Blackhawks winning by a landslide. Your windshield had never held such secrets before. You stared through it.

Knock. Knock. Knock. Bang.

You turned. Nate Jacobs' fist fell on your window more times than you thought was necessary. 'Unlock the door, Y/N.'

You shook your head. Not a fucking chance in hell.

"'Y/N, don't be difficult, unlock the fucking door."

Something in you told you that that would be the worst mistake of your entire life.

"I'm sorry, I just want to talk, yeah?"

You had no idea if he deliberately made it a point to rest his bandaged palm on the window in full display to manipulate you, or if it was just a coincidence.

Just a coincidence, right?

You sighed, nodding your head in the direction of the passenger's seat as you unlocked it. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

He slid in, grinning as he shut the door.

"You catch the touchdown?"

"Yeah. I did."

"What'd you think? Smoothest match yet?"

"Sure."

His grin gave way to a lour as he scoffed. "Why are you so cold? Our school won."

"Why am I so cold? Why am I so cold? You asshole, you just cut yourself to make me show up!"

"Because you didn't show up when I asked nicely!"

"You're a psychopath." The effect of this word on him was oddly intriguing. He seemed to both be offended by it and seemed to get off on it.

"Can I just explain?", he sighed, sucking on his teeth for a moment as he watched other students, cheering, whistling, hooting and drinking, through your windshield.

You gestured at him to continue. He wasn't worthy enough of your words.

"You know athletes have...", he trailed off, searching desperately for the right word of vindication.

"Small dicks?"

"Okay, deserved.", he muttered, rolling his eyes. "Look, we have, like... superstitions, sometimes. For luck."

"Like the hooking up thing."

"How do you know about that?"

"McKay told me."

He scoffed, shaking his head as if his friend had divulged the biggest secret, as if he had broken some moral code.

"Alright, fine, whatever. But, uh, I pretend like it's not something I do, but I kinda have them too."

If he was about to say what he was going to, you were about to press into the wound just to watch him bleed again. How dare he.

"My, um, my first game, I bumped into you on my way to the locker rooms.", he admitted, clearing his throat as if to clear space for whatever he was going to say - because it was so obviously the solution to String Theory, like he was making it out to be.

But oh, shit. He actually was going to say it.

"And we won. The next game, I did the same again, by accident. Y'know, just, this time, I fist-bumped you."

"When the fuck did you-"

"You were drunk, and you were cheering all of us on with your friends. You went for McKay's fist, but I did it instead. Uh, yeah, anyway. So, from the... maybe fourth? Yeah, the fourth game, I made it a point to at least brush my arm past you. Haven't lost a game since."

Your touch was his good luck charm? Was he clinically insane? Or was he just a massive loser?

"What's next? Our rising signs are aligned?"

"It's not a fucking joke, Y/N!", he snapped, his fist clenching.

"Really? Because it's pretty fucking hilarious."

"You know how hard it was for me to even admit I had superstitions, let alone about some random nobody girl I've never even talked to?"

No, no, he was not trying to make you feel bad, no goddamn way.

"You know how hard it was for me to see some random nobody guy bleeding out because of me?"

"It wasn't that deep." The pun was intended. It was so evidently intended that you wanted to slap the smirk off his lips.

"Yeah, okay, get out."

"Okay. You better show up to the next one, babygirl, or I'll have to take more drastic measures."

The audacious son of a bitch ruffled your hair and winked before he left.

════════════════════ ⋆⋅🏈⋅⋆ ═══════════════════

"C'mon, Y/N, don't be a cunt. Just do it. High five me. Fist bump me. Hug me. Whatever. Just do it, I've got a game to get to. And... everyone's watching."

The very next weekend, there was another game. Last game of the season. And you were supposed to be there, of course, because Nate's 'entire life depended on it.' And what's worse? He'd dragged you there, from your internship.

That's right. He'd basically come to your place of work, interrupted a conversation with your boss, and tugged you along with him because of his borderline insane obsession with having to touch you for luck.

He could have gotten away with it, too, if his 'good luck charm' theory hadn't involved you having to make contact with him right before the game.

And now you were out there on the field. Backing away from him. Refusing.

"Y/N, please."

"Fine."

You slapped him across the face, as hard as you possibly could.

The entire football field gasped.

He'd fucked up your week with the picture of the blade carving into his skin, and now, he was fucking up your career by costing you your internship. And what's worse, he didn't even care.

"Go. Play now."

He clenched his jaw, closing his eyes to suppress his rage before he opened them again. "That's not how it works. It has to be mutual. Like a fist bump. Or bumping into each other."

"Oh, okay.", you shrugged, grabbing his wrist before using it to uppercut him. "NOW go. PLAY."

You didn't know if you were being 'whoo'd or 'boo'd by the crowd, but at this point, the only thing you could hear was the red hot fury in your boiling blood.

He bit his lip as you let go of his hand, and before he jogged out onto the field, you could have sworn he said something that, if you'd heard it right, could cut through your entire soul and ruin your self-perception for years - something absolutely, shatteringly degrading.

You hoped you'd heard wrong.

Taking your seat in the stands, you scrolled on your phone, ignoring the entire fucking game. As expected, text from your team leader.

Gone. Internship gone. LoR gone. Nate Jacobs? About to be gone.

-------

He won.

He. Fucking. Won.

And that smirk that he gave you before blowing you a kiss that immediately morphed into flipping you the bird made you want to genuinely ask him to recreate that video once again.

You hated yourself for it, but yes.

You wanted him dead.

All the trauma he'd given you the past week couldn't be left unpunished.

Oh, to knock him off his pedestal. OH, to be the one to make him scream in pain instead of arrogant mirth.

"Whoo! Nate FUCKING Jacobs, baby!", he cheered in your ear as you gritted your teeth, walking back to your car. "And, of course, you."

You threw your bags into your car, ignoring him as you get in, starting the engine. He thumped on the hood of the car. "Come on, you can't still be mad! Your boss was looking down your shirt, anyway!"

"Oh, and I'm supposed to believe you did this out of the goodness of your heart?", you scoffed.

"That's right, baby, chivalry ain't dead."

"No, but you're about to be. Get the fuck out of my way."

"Hey, I need a ride. Gimme a lift."

"No chance in hell, Jacobs."

"Stop wounding me. Let me in."

"Or what?"

"I'll break your window.", he shrugged, casually. Normal things. The sun will rise tomorrow. Seasons will change. He'll break your window.

"I wouldn't be letting you in if I didn't think you were psychotic enough to actually do that."

He chuckled, sitting as he rested his duffel bag on his lap. A couple moments later, he looked up at you. "What? What are you waiting for?"

"Tell me where to go."

"You don't know where I live?"

"Okay, let me explain this to you, slowly. I didn't know jackshit about you till, like, a week ago. I didn't know your age or what kind of car you drove, or even what classes we shared, much less where the hell you live!"

"All this shit just proves that you don't observe people around you. You only care about yourself."

"If I only cared about myself, you'd have bled out last week."

He sighed playfully, resting his feet on your dashboard because he very evidently knew you would have a neurotic breakdown. "I, for one, know your age, the kind of car you drive, all the classes you have, plus your favourite colour and food."

"The first two are moot.", you replied, ignoring his silent mockery of the word 'moot'. "Next, you know I'm in all of Maddy's classes. And the rest you can find on my account. Account stalker."

"Account stalker. God, sweetheart, you're such a child. You don't want your account stalked, don't have a public one."

"I barely even post anything!"

"Oh, yeah, what about last month?"

He was looking at your profile last month? "I'd gone to France. It was a photo dump."

"It was unnecessary."

"Okay, you know what this is?"

He raised a brow.

"This is post-game audacity, is what I call it. You won. You're Mr. Big Shot, so you think you can just-"

And that's when Nate Jacobs kissed you.

To call it the worst fucking moment of your life would be a massive understatement. "Drive."

"You did not just fucking kiss me."

"You want me to do it again?"

"NO."

"Then drive."

This motherfucking bastard of a man!

════════════════════ ⋆⋅🏈⋅⋆ ═══════════════════

"You wanna come in?"

No way in hell were you going into Nate Jacobs' house. Especially when there was a party going strong.

"I'm good."

He rolled his eyes, his arm leaning on the top of the window as he leaned in. "I don't bite. Initially."

"Ooh, you don't bite initially, oh, please let me come in right now! Shut up and get in, Jacobs."

"You've earned the right to call me Nate. Congrats. Begin using it."

"Why? We're never talking after this."

He scoff-snickered. "Oh. OH, so that's how it is.", he nodded, amused.

"Yeah, yeah, that's how it is."

He guffawed, banging on the hood of your car. "This ain't funny anymore. Come in."

"What? No."

"Is there really only one way to ask you to do something?"

"No, Jacobs, don't you dar-"

But he didn't listen. When did he ever? His fingers emerged from his pocket with his knife in tow. NOT AGAIN. This was the most cunning, calculating, manipulative, Machiavellian-

"I'm cutting. This time, my wrist."

"You're so fucking dumb, y'know that? You're psychopathic."

The grin on his face showed that you were wrong. He wasn't offended. He was 100% getting off on it.

Drops of blood reached the floor, and you realized you couldn't just drive off and leave this guy here - he'd probably still be cutting just to prove a point.

"I hope you die.", you mumbled, getting out of your car and slamming the door.

"I'm trying, dude!", he laughed, pointing at his wrist. Oh, this sick bastard.

"Not dressing that wound?"

"C'mon, blood is sexy. Badass."

Nate Jacobs was about to see how 'badass' blood could really get.

And when you were done beating the everloving shit out of him, you kissed him. Because he deserved to know how infuriating that shit was, too.

The next day at school, it was normal. You didn't acknowledge him, and he didn't acknowledge you.He didn't seem to care about the fact that you hit him so hard he almost had a concussion. An average social media interaction. Good.

How it should be.

But then he texted you.

Fuck.

23 notes · View notes

jasntodds · 7 hours

Text

Summary:

Pairing: Jason Todd x Fem!Powered!Reader Summary: ❝Thesus: Stop. Give me your hand. I am your friend. Herakles: I fear to stain your clothes with blood. Thesus: Stain them. I don't care.❞ It's been a month and a half since Crane's reign of terror was stopped, leaving Gotham to finally return to normal. But, what is normal? After everything Jason and you have been through, it seems normal might be some unobtainable dream state. But that's not going to stop either of you from trying and maybe, you'll get lucky in the end. At the end of it, the two of you have suffered enough, right? Right? Warnings: Angst, Fluff, smut, mentions of being tortured, mentions of being held captive, mentions of abuse (comic!Canon), violence, mentions of death, various injuries, bruises, blood, hurt/comfort, some anxiety, ptsd, hints of depression, mentions of Batman villains being Batman villains, nightmares, some paranoia, discussions about previous homelessness, drug mentions, gore, a bomb, jason has a bomb in his helmet (comic!canon), I'm changing the timeline to season 4 a little bit because i can lol, possibly character death (lol), murder?, i am a defender of Jason’s white streak of hair in the comics A/N: I am so excited to finally be on the last book lmao I have had so many plots taking over my brain for months just to get here and I am so happy to finally share them lol The title is a reference to Penance by Holding Absence which I always recommend them lol You don’t have to read books 1 & 2 to read this one, but you might want some extra context. If you don’t want to read all of that, you can just ask me and I’ll tell you what you need to know to read this book!! tag list | playlist | full masterlist ↳ status: COMING SOON (May 29, 2024) updates: Wednesdays

Chapters:

Chapter 1 - coming May 29, 2024 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Book 1 Masterlist Book 2 Masterlist

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #red hood x reader #red hood x you #jason todd fanfic #jason todd fanfiction #titans fanfic #titans fanfiction #dc fanfic #dc fanfiction #penance

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jacksmusesdrv3 · 2 days

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I know I've twisted myself into a goddamn pretzel the past five or so years trying not to be 'too much' and backing off when I am

but

A good deal of why I started the #dr literacy tag is precisely because of this- I am beyond tired and fed up, with the kinds of things that people have ignored and left on my back- whether it's to do with Kokichi, or V3 overall. It's easy to deflect and call me 'delusional', and five years later never even consider the implications of having called me that over what I've been trying to grapple with, much less apologise to me sincerely and genuinely try to understand where I'm coming from and why it's so hard to discuss in the first place- not to mention why it's so easy to make mistakes not least because the way Kodaka plays with themes can be decidedly insensitive (and I was clearly out of my depth with that when I started this blog)

This isn't about all of you. A good number of people here have been wonderful about this, even if they don't understand all too well. But frankly such people are the exception rather than the rule, and the rule is that people don't bother to interrogate their own biases about Kokichi, or really grapple with the way him and V3's narrative might be constructed with bias. And this unwillingness to accept ambiguity and nuance results in some genuinely hurtful behaviour towards people who try to point out that, maybe, not everything was even his fault, or that his character and situation is far more layered than it appears on a first run of the game. Or even a second, or third.

So I'm gonna need people in that camp to swear that you'll do better about this going forward. No really. This situation I've been in didn't come out of nowhere, and while I've beaten the proverbial horse to death that I haven't always been fair or reasonable either, that does not mean I should just back myself into a wall and take the status quo that is 'Tsumugi is telling the truth and Kokichi is just a clown' as a 'fact of canon'. Because there's a very good chance that that might not even be true, and that there's even more tangled messes Kodaka left in the text to unpack that you never even thought of, and that really NEED extra care and nuance to fully understand.

I know you're probably sick of hearing this from me by now. But this is an issue that can never be helped until it's faced head on, and the effect of basically being pathologised over it (due to *checks notes* autism), is seriously damaging- the inability of people to address things as serious issues and themes rather than 'just the pet theory that came out of my nutty head', is something I cannot, on principle, force myself to accept. So please just think about the way you're approaching issues in the future. I will try to do the same.

#kokichi ouma #dr literacy #general fandom #no for real #I literally had someone tell me verbatim #'back away from the keyboard there's enough autism out here'#one of the friends of the person who called me 'delusional'#as if 'gullible' (while still wrong) was even CLOSE to that level #I'm not gonna stop being annoying about this it was WRONG #it was WRONG and I did NOT have to deal with the aftermath #of being cast as 'crazy and delusional' over things I did wrong #and over things that you didn't WANT to question in yourself #over how YOU were treating Kokichi and fans of him #who thought DIFFERENTLY about his actions than you #actions that we do not even SEE all of for that matter #just Own Up.#own up and do BETTER. peace #i just want to close this book but it never stop affecting me #and Idk if the person responsible for a lot of this will see it #but it's worth a shot anyway #again sorry the long rant #dangan salt team #ableism #Again.

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anincompletelist · 3 days

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twenty questions for fic writers

thanks to @cricketnationrise @happiness-of-the-pursuit @kiwiana-writes

@ninzied @captainjunglegym for the tags friends! it's been a while since I've last done one of these so I figured I would participate again! xx

how many works do you have on ao3?

56! (technically 60 though… 😏🤫)

what's your total ao3 word count?

1,248,687

what fandoms do you write for?

RWRB (currently) [ 1D and teen wolf (past) ]

top five fics by kudos:

but if you could see us from a distance you'd know I've always been so close to you - the og sex curse one shot

Something Borrowed, Something Blue - enemies to lovers at june's wedding

I'll bet it all on me and you, I'll bet it all you're bulletproof - coworkers trivia fluff

praying our bridges don't make waves - soulmates with a twist

kiss me like you've got nowhere to be - roommates to lovers fluff

do you respond to comments?

nowhere near as much as I'd like to! my capacity for social interaction lately has been... lacking, to the say the least ksjhdkshd BUT I SEE AND READ THEM ALL AND I HOLD THEM SO CLOSE <3333

what is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

ooh I can't usually do angsty endings so I'm carving my own loophole here -- the first two fics in the sex curse series are definitely my most angsty endings before they work their shit out in the third skjdhsjkhd

what's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

most of mine do, but I'd say that overall the most fluffy ones are in the firstprince first kisses series!

do you get hate on fics?

I most definitely did in my old fandom but people have been generally very kind and supportive to me here so far! :')

do you write smut?

yes!

craziest crossover:

my george x firstprince hurt/comfort is very special to me <3

(but I also have a Jeff from bottoms x Shane from minx au in the docs so ksjhdhfjh that too)

have you ever had a fic stolen?

I hope not!

have you ever had a fic translated?

not in this fandom! but I have had some lovely folks record some podfics of my works! (here and here!)

have you ever co-written a fic before?

not for rwrb! (yet???? ksjhdkjhfkjh)

all time favorite ship?

I gotta go with fp! they got me like that niall horan ear crawling gif fr I'll never be the same

what's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

oh gosh I'm not sure. I HOPE I finish them all but I also have an obscene amount so ksjhdksjdhf not crossing anything off yet!

what are your writing strengths?

I think dialogue? it's always the part of my fics that I write first, and then I build the rest of the story around it. I hope it's a solid foundation!

what are your writing weaknesses?

there's a fine line between explaining and over-explaining and I think sometimes I fall into the second category skjdhkjhf. I love some introspection as much as the next guy but I'm working on only including details that feel most pertinent to the story.

thoughts on dialogue in another language?

I love it! I think it can be so special and can be another way to connect readers with the characters and the story. I took Spanish all four years of high school so I'm a little rusty now, and studied French for a while a few years ago and just picked it back up recently! my translations aren't always perfect but luckily I've had some very kind people to check or point these things out for me :)

first fandom you wrote in?

..... hollywood heights sjkhdjkhgdfh

favorite fic you've written?

oh no. I am so bad at perceiving myself ksjhdjkdjfhg. I think each of my fics definitely served a purpose for me while writing them, but lately I've found myself returning to these three (I'm breaking the rules yes sorry):

Something Borrowed, Something Blue

there were pages turned with the bridges burned (everything you lose is a step you take) - diabetic!Alex

treading water in the deep, just waiting for the tides to meet -(soulmates)

but also there's a wip I'm working now which..... might take first place when I post skjdhkjsdh WE'LL SEE!

PLEASE PLEASE CONSIDER THIS OPEN TAG IF YOU'D LIKE TO DO IT! with all of the tumblr nonsense and how behind I've been on here lately I'm all over the place with tags at the moment.

other tags (no pressure!): @firenati0n @nocoastposts @wordsofhoneydew @thedramasummer

@heysweetheart-writes @stellarm @suseagull04 @bigassbowlingballhead

@eusuntgratie @magicandarchery @read-and-write- @iboatedhere

@anchoredarchangel @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @alasse9 @itsmaybitheway

@getmehighonmagic @rmd-writes @sparklepocalypse

#tag games #about me

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bethanydelleman · 15 days

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The ultimate goal would be to gather all the blorbos together and put them in the same room. And I mean ALL

You bring me the Doctors with the universal translator so Eponine can hang with Elizabeth Bennet & Fanny Price and I want Legolas to meet Benedick from Much Ado about Nothing, not for any particular reason, I just want to know if they'd be friends. I think Marianne Dashwood would love Gilbert Markham and and Jane Eyre needs to have a serious discussion with the second Mrs. De Winter and maybe they could both give some advice to Rosamund from A Long Fatal Love Chase. What do Gandalf and Merlin think of Prospero and Howl? Can Princess Bubblegum do some mad science with Viktor Frankenstein?

The possibilities are literally endless.

#all the blorbos!#mix them and see what comes out!#I'm going to tag everything just so you know what is here #lord of the rings #pride & prejudice #mansfield park #much ado about nothing #doctor who #les miserables #the tenant of wildfell hall #sense and sensibility #jane eyre #rebecca #a long fatal love chase #king arthur #the tempest #adventure time #frankenstein #howl's moving castle

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sciderman · 1 month

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I swear I have read your big post regarding Peter Parker's neurodivergence and why it is best to avoid labelling him, but he definitely has a weird brain

Can't find it and feel kinda sad about it cuz I deeply related to it

i know exactly which post you're talking about and i can't find it either! i've raked through my archive, and it's just - nowhere to be seen. i think tumblr eated it (it happens.)

really, tumblr's search functionality is so so useless, i don't know what to tell you. there are plenty of keywords i can search to find it that post, but the search functionality actually just does not work!

undiagnosed audhd-addled peter parker, my darling, my light, my life, my everything.

i think peter parker's such an interesting creature to write, because a lot of people will point to a certain behaviour about him and say "this is an autistic thing, right?" but a lot of those behaviours are actually, in my head, tied to certain traumas in peter's life too.

people say "oh, the food thing, peter's a picky eater because he's autistic" and yes, absolutely. but also it's tied to his trauma with his parents.

peter gets overstimulated, and yes, it's an autism thing, but also he was bitten by a radioactive spider and his senses are dialled to 11.

it's a similar case i've found for myself, too – where a lot of friends i have kind of diagnose me because i have autistic traits, but actually - i'm hesitant to claim the label or pursue diagnosis because, actually, i know where these certain behaviours come from, and they come from certain traumas. there are events i can pinpoint in my life and say "yep. that's where this behaviour comes from."

so - i think there's a lot of overlap between trauma and autistic traits. the brain is very complex! i think the reason for that overlap is maybe as simple as the fact that people with autism and people with trauma are both doing the same thing - developing behaviours to protect themselves or soothe themselves. so - i think it's nice to be able to see a character like peter parker, who may or may not be autistic, but recognise behaviours in him and see yourself in him.

people who go undiagnosed for whatever reason - people who are really good at masking - so good, in fact, that they have no idea they might be on the spectrum - everyone and anyone at all can look at peter parker and recognise themselves. because i think we discredit the thought that every single brain does the same thing! develops certain behaviours in order to survive. every brain has that same software - we've just all been faced with different hardships that we need to overcome, and that's were all the differences come in.

autism is a spectrum, i guess - everyone falls into it to some degree. and i think events in your life probably push you along on it. but i don't know, i didn't study brain science. probably what i'm saying is very stupid and uninformed. of course there's brain chemistry involved. but i know people in my life living with autism and certain events in their life have exacerbated certain behaviours or made coping with it a lot more difficult. so maybe trauma is a catalyst.

#a lot of my traits have been exacerbated lately and i remember it was much easier for me before #and some of my friends have said “oh it's because you've been masking too long and now you're facing autistic burnout.”#and that made sense to me i think.#but then i found out about the stress thing. me overproducing stress hormone. and that's a very physical thing.#and that explains why i've been overstimulated more than usual lately. and why everything feels like too much.#and i wonder how many of these traits of mine are going to subside once i have lamar removed #and it makes me wonder a lot of things. and it's so weird how much your brain is tied to your biology.#i wonder how much i'll change. i wonder how i'll feel. i wonder if i'll still feel like me. i wonder how much me is me right now.#and how much of me is being altered by weird freaky hormones. who am i?? who will i be??#i'm almost looking at this as like. a superhero origin story of some sort. like this is my spider-bite moment. maybe.#will i be different? will i cope with things differently?? now that my body isn't fighting something anymore??#maybe i'll be normal. i don't know. i don't know.#i don't know what it'll mean for me.#but all of these things mean i relate to peter parker in a certain kind of way #i don't think you have to be diagnosed with autism to recognise and empathise with those traits i think #i think everyone can see themselves in peter. and i think that's the benefit of having characters that aren't diagnosed.#because there's so much overlap in the human experience. and certain feelings aren't exclusive to just one group of people.#peter has such a rich identity actually. it's an autistic thing. it's a queer thing. it's a jewish thing. it's a trauma thing.#there are so many overlapping parts of peter's identity that inform who he is and how he behaves and it's never just one thing.#it's a product of all of his things.#just like me! just like everyone.#so me? i guess i can be a million things. you can explain what i am in a million different ways.#a hundred different psychologists can all come up with different ways to explain why i be the way i be.#i don't think it's something that can be simplified.#sorry wow. i'm really going off here in the tags.#i hope people don't think i'm stupid. i don't know brain science. i'm just philosophising as usual.#sci speaks

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kiwichaeng · 3 months

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WIP Wednesday

Thank you for the tags @heartstringsduet @lemonlyman-dotcom @fallout-mars @im-overstimulated-and-im-sad <33

“Are you going to hover over me the entire night? Am I going to find you looking down at me at 3 am?” Carlos’ tone is light as he finishes sits down heavily on the edge of the bed. He doesn’t hide the wince as well as he thinks. TK remains quiet in the corner. Carlos looks up when he doesn’t get a response. He tilts his head and looks at TK curiously. “What are you doing all the way over there? I know you don’t need to sleep but I would feel better if you didn’t stare at me from the corner the entire night.” TK knows it’s in good faith, that they’ve come leaps and bounds since they met and if nothing else else, the humour in Carlos’ eyes would give it away but tonight, all TK can do is play back the evening’s event in his mind over and over. He knows Carlos has noticed it. He had kept on shooting glances at TK the entire time at the hospital as he was being treated to the point where the doctor had asked him if he was looking for someone. The white bandages peaks out from under Carlos’ collar and TK’s eyes are fixed on them like a moth to a flame. This is on him, that he got someone as good as Carlos tangled up in his mess. He should never have followed him home, never forced him into helping and should have— He should never have gotten attached. “I have to go. You should too,” TK murmurs in the quiet room and made for the door. He doesn’t look at Carlos once as he slipped out of the room. “What— TK wait,” He can hear the confusion in Carlos’ voice turn into panic. “Where are you going?” With a heavy heart, TK ignores the calls and keeps walking straight ahead down the empty hallway. “TK,” Carlos whispers loudly from behind him but TK doesn’t turn back. It is only when he hears a sharp inhale and a wince does he stop.

open tag and no pressure tags under the cut <3

@liminalmemories21 @lightningboltreader @orchidscript @strandnreyes @reyesstrand @paperstorm @carlos-in-glasses @carlos-tk @ladytessa74 @three-drink-amy @chicgeekgirl89 @theghostofashton @redshirt2

#lemme know if you wanna be added or removed from the tag list <3 #I have been writing in snippets these past few days and I just need to sit down and compile everything as well as fill in the missing blank #also I don't really edit as I go so the snippets I post on here may change a bit in the final draft or even look completely different #What I'm trying to say is that I'm aware they need polishing #anyway! this obviously takes place slightly down the imaginary timeline I keep on fucking around with #also I am in such a writing mood right now but I also have a shit ton of work to do like...gotta suffer now #evie's writing #autopsy fic

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helianskies · 11 hours

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ugly maths.

i hate maths, right. i don't usually like numbers, and if i do like numbers it's gotta be an 8 or a 48 and nothing else.

thing is, i've recently caught myself doing maths again. ugly maths. the kind of maths that, really, i've been trying to avoid as much as possible because, well, it's ugly!

you... wanna see?

okay, fine... but don't say i didn't warn you!

ugly, see? look at all those numbers! not a 48 in sight!

huh? what's that? you don't see what i'm on about? oh... oh! hang on, lemme just—

better? yes? no? no? okay, what if i—

mmh, yes. ugly numbers. see it now? can you see why they're ugly?

here, i can make it worse.

these numbers are ugly. the maths they make me do is ugly.

now i'll level with you: the worst ones by far are the yellow numbers. the maths they make me do it the ugliest.

why ugly?

because it makes me ugly.

those numbers turn me into not only a suddenly number-obsessed fool, but a fool who also cannot understand these numbers and what they mean and why i feel like they reflect on me and my ability.

87, 75.

the thoughts are as follows:

• the orange numbers are big, so why are you being ugly about the yellow ones? you should be happy with what you have. so many nice big numbers! not everyone receives that.

• is it that there are two different audiences for these two different fics? perhaps. they are quite different works, with different appeals, and different themes. maybe you are reading too much into it.

• why are you obsessing over numbers anyway? you don't like maths! you left maths behind when you were 16, put it down!

okay, okay, fine! i'll put the maths down. right here, in fact!:

that 87 was an 83 at the start of the year. the 6161 it is attached to was a 5453.

4, 708.

ugly maths.

the 75 is a nice number. in fact, compared to 87, it is beautiful, radiant, enchanting. at the start of the year, 75 was 48. wow. now that is one sexy number!

27.

mmmm.

6161, 1061.

5100.

87, 75.

12.

mmmm.

you know, my most favourite comment left recently on a fic of mine was 2 characters long: :(

it made me :)

well, actually, it made me >:) because it was left in response, presumably, to one of the key scenes in a new chapter which left the exact impression on someone that i hoped it would.

they must be the only one who reacted like that, though.

have i mentioned that that 87 and 75 include author responses?

i won't try to do more maths, there. it might not end well for me. the maths is making me tired enough as it is, and i have an early start tomorrow.

oh! but, that being said, i have another set of ugly numbers to show you, so keep 87 and 75 in mind.

ready?

838, 245.

(want a hint? the green numbers!)

838, 87. 245, 75.

9.6, 3.3.

ugly maths. it's ugly again, see? i don't like it. i'm seeing numbers within numbers within numbers, and i can't seem to stop!

the numbers make me ask new questions:

• why is it not good enough?

• people seem to engage more with one fic over the other, so shouldn't you prioritise?

• is all this maths this really good for you?

no, it isn't.

i want to avoid ugly maths. ugly maths makes me want to tear my hair out. it makes me want to start from scratch. it makes me want to grab someone and scream. it makes me want to cry and press a button that has tempted me many times before when the numbers become too ugly to bear.

ugly maths turn me into an ugly person.

ugly maths make me obsessive, paranoid, anxious, regretful, vindictive, spiteful, alone.

i hate maths. i hate numbers, just like, it feels, the numbers hate me.

#helia rants #cw vent #i'm okay but i'm not #this has been playing on my mind over the last couple of weeks #it's aimed at the sky rather than anyone here #i know i'm not the best myself as commenting. i justify it to myself by affirming i don't read much. which i don't.#since the start of the year i have tried to comment on everything i have read #bearing in mind i may also dm someone rather than comment because i want to scream and ramble about their fic more personally #that being said. i know i'm not the only one who finds themselves doing ugly maths #and in turn starting to feel uglier too #i don't like looking at the numbers #i was doing well at the start of the year #but as i open my drafts and look to a new chapter and at the notes i wrote #i can't stop myself from opening the fic. from seeing where it's at. from seeing if it's changed. from checking my inbox to see if...#if only...#what it's meant is that i've come to a point where a fic i loved has become exactly that: a fic i loved. past tense #the other fic is still a fic i love. but i know deep down that that is tied to the numbers too #i hate that this is what i've become #because i have tiny fics. fics with 50 hits and maybe 1 comment. and i love them. i still love them #but when it comes to the big ones. the multi-chapters. the hefty fics. after a point all i see are numbers #and those numbers have come to determine both my happiness and fulfilment as a writer #and so i am ugly. i am sad. i am pathetic.#and i don't know how to stop.#helia's stuff #this was meant to save back into my drafts. i was editing tags. tumblr decided it should post. so... so be it.#also this is not an attention thing if anyone dares go 'oh but you're a good writer uwu' i might do something we'll all regret #this is also not a 'ffs comment on my fics will you 😒' hell no #it's just about me. and my issue. and my unhealthy relationship with these fucking numbers.#gotta get this shit out of my head somehow :)

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