#my live blogging might have been halted

[jupitercomet]

The Boogeyman

summary - Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw was ruthless, a stone cold killer both in and outside of the ring—with the belts and trophies to prove it. When a miscalculation results in a target being put on the back of his trainer's daughter, Bradley finds himself facing responsibility he never signed up for. You're a whole new challenge. And Bradley doesn't think you're one he can fight his way out of.

warnings - DARK THEMES, boxer au, language, Bradley is 6′6″ because I said so, brief mentions of blood, stalking, smoking, descriptions of scars, mentions of nightmares, no use of y/n

this blog is 18+, minors please do not interact

word count - 4.5k

there's not a whole lot of edits on this one so sorry about that, but later chapters will have more significant changes - bugs

monsters in the dark masterlist

“That’s it?” Adler’s eye twitches incredulously, his hands gesturing to the photos on the table. “All of this is happening because of a fucking jacket? Jesus, Rooster, when’s the last time you were nice to someone in public?”

Bradley bites his tongue, knowing Adler probably doesn’t want him to answer that. If he were to answer, he’d say that he wasn’t even that nice to you. That the picture makes it look way worse than it actually was. And that, really, none of this is his fault because, if Adler had heard the things Razor was saying about Nat, he would have punched him too.

But Bradley doesn’t say any of that, he just glares wordlessly while Adler scolds him like a child.

“Dad, would you leave him alone?” You seem to have gained some confidence in the time your father was chewing him out, shifting in Natasha’s embrace to get him to notice you. 

“Leave him— Leave him alone?” Adler sputters, almost more angry at the fact that you don’t want him to be angry. “I don’t think you understand the severity of the situation we’re in right now.”

“I do understand, dad. But—”

Bradley raises his eyebrows in disinterest. “It’s Razor, Coach. You know he isn’t gonna do shit.”

“Of course I know Razor isn’t gonna do shit. You think I don’t know that?!” Adler’s on him again, looking about a second away from popping a vein before he takes a breath. At Bradley’s expression—or lack there of—Adler lets out an exasperated laugh. “God, you have no idea, do you? Look at this, Rooster,” he gestures towards the photographs on his desk, “you think Razor is smart enough to do any of this by himself.”

Bradley looks at the photos again. How they’re taken over multiple days, at multiple times of day, with a quality that doesn’t look like someone’s iPhone camera. Unless Razor was living out of his car and watching you for almost every second—and was way smarter than anyone gave him credit for—it might have been his idea, but it certainly wasn’t his execution.

Bradley looks back up at Adler, who seems to have calmed down slightly, but the older man still wears a grave look on his face.

“It’s not Razor that I’m fucking worried about.”

Had Bradley known that that conversation would lead to an outrageous amount of skirts being moved into his spare room’s closet, he would have fled the fucking country.

“Oh my gosh, you have fish? Dad, look, he has fish!”

“I see ‘em, kid. Would you go help Nat with the rest of your stuff?”

Bradley waits until your voice becomes distant down the hall, before he turns to Alder with a glare. “Remind me again why you’re making me her fucking babysitter?”

Like they’ve had this conversation a million times—and they have—Adler meets his glower with a dead expression. “Because you messed around with someone you shouldn’t have, and she refuses to stay with me because she doesn’t want to rope her mom into this, and if anything happens to my daughter—which, again, is because you decided you wanted to try and debunk evolution with your ape brain—I will stick Reaper on your ass so fast.”

“What is he? Your fucking dog?” Bradley scoffs lightly, which Adler matches with the single raise of a brow. 

The two halt their conversation as you and Natasha each come in with a box, chatting quietly as you walk to the spare room that’s now serving as your bedroom. Adler smiles at you briefly. Bradley spares you a small nod of acknowledgement. They wait for the door to close.

“How. Long?” Bradley grits quietly.

“Until I don’t have to worry about her being used as some kind of leverage against you,” Adler says flatly, matching his volume. “Maybe it’ll teach you some impulse control.”

The door opens again and the two men stand awkwardly in the living room, silent until you and Natasha are far enough down the hall again.

“What if I say no?” Bradley challenges, crossing his arms in defiance. 

“Then I’ll make sure that you never fight a good fight again in your life,” Adler narrows his eyes, the threat coming out in a tone that promises he means the threat. “I hear that Hangman’s coming back and he’s just as good as you. I’m sure he’d be happy to take all your fights.”

Bradley glares at him, but says nothing. He could argue that Maverick would never let that happen, but both men know that’s not true. Bradley could be the best boxer in the world—and, really, he is—but to Maverick, he’d always be expendable. And clearly, it seems, he’s expendable to Adler too.

“Look,” Adler drops his coach persona for a moment, letting out a sigh as he wipes a tired hand over his face. He looks older suddenly, aged. “I get that you don’t want this, I’m not exactly thrilled about it either. But you’re a good man, Bradley. And I trust you. You’re smart, and you know what to look for in dangerous situations. I just feel better knowing she has someone like you looking out for her. She’s been through enough as it is.”

Bradley’s brows furrow and he wants to ask Adler what exactly he means by that, but you and Natasha re enter his apartment with, what looks to be, the last load of your stuff. Natasha bumps her hip into him purposefully as you two walk past and Bradley suppresses an eye roll.

“Thanks for helping,” she says sarcastically.

He grunts. “You're welcome.”

“Yeah, thank you!” You smile at him genuinely. “Your place is really nice.”

Bradley can’t tell if you’re doing this on purpose or if you’re just stupid. Because it’s pretty obvious that every other person in the room—for one reason or another—isn’t exactly jumping for joy about this new living arrangement. And it’s even more obvious that Natasha was being entirely passive aggressive, but you seem completely sincere. 

Bradley opts to give another nod instead of responding, though you don’t seem offended. Too sweet for your own good.

“Is that everything?” You wouldn’t be standing in Bradley’s living room if it wasn’t, but Adler asks anyway.

“Yep!” You lift the box in your hands slightly. “These are the last ones.”

Adler’s eyes flit over the box. “And you’re sure you have everything you need?”

“She does. And if she doesn’t, she can just ask Rooster.” Natasha answers for you.

Bradley wants to furrow his brows in protest, but he stops himself. With the amount of stuff you’d moved in, he doubts you’ll need anything. Bradley spares a glance at you, to see you already smiling at him, and he looks away quickly.

“Alright then, Rooster, you and I will talk to Mav about all this tomorrow. I doubt he wants to get the cops involved,” Adler sniffs. “We’ll… regroup after, I guess.”

Bradley clears his throat. “You’re leaving?”

Again, it’s Natasha who opens her mouth, looking at Bradley with a shit-eating grin and he can already tell what she’s thinking.

Natasha and Callie had been attempting to set him up for months now, after he complained once about the groupies always waiting for him after a fight. After that it was ring girls, or bar tenders, or friends of friends. He weaseled his way out of it every time, so he’s sure Natasha is loving this. Why she thinks trying to play matchmaker for him and his trainer’s daughter is a good idea is beyond him, though. 

“We wouldn’t want to intrude on dinner.”

Bradley genuinely doesn’t know how he’s stayed friends with this woman for so long.

“Oh, I can make pasta?” You offer.

“No, that’s fine,” Natasha raises her eyebrows at him like she’s daring him to disagree. “Rooster can make something.”

He knows there’s a part of her that’s still mad about how he handled things with Razor, especially now that it’s resulted in a threat to your safety. And Bradley hadn’t ever actually apologized yet for doing the exact opposite of what Natasha asked him to, so he can imagine that forcing him into the role of “welcoming host” is giving her some sick sense of justice. He doesn’t want to give her the satisfaction though, so he just nods, staying quiet until both Adler and Natasha leave.

“Are you sure? It’s really no trouble if I make something,” you turn to him almost as soon as the lock has clicked in place. “I won’t even tell Natasha, I promise.” You hold your pinky out, though Bradley promptly chooses to ignore it.

“It’s fine, toots,” Bradley shakes his head, reaching for his phone to order something off of a food delivery app before thinking better of it and instead grabbing his car keys. “You like burgers?”

Knockouts was an establishment that felt like it had been around for almost as long as Bradley had. It was one of those “blink and you miss it” kind of buildings, having the misfortune of being placed next to a significantly nicer looking Denny’s. Freddie Kasinski, Knockouts owner, would be the first to remind anyone that “Knockouts was here first. And you don’t wanna eat any of that corporate bullshit. All nice on the outside, empty on the inside”. Bradley supposed there was some truth to that given that, with the option of them both readily available to him, he still chooses Knockouts.

You’re bouncing with excitement in his passenger seat, taking in the accents of light blue on the outside of the building as well as the flickering, cursive, neon sign. Bradley’s only mildly surprised you’ve never been here before, but you look like the type who’s put together enough to make home cooked meals so he guesses it isn’t as much of a stretch.

Bradley glances over the cars in the parking lot, taking brief note of any that look out of place. There’s no truck with dried blood on its side mirror so Bradley locks his own car, only making half acknowledging noises as you ramble beside him about his burger order and whether or not he likes pickles. He opens the door for you, his hand finding its somewhat familiar position on the small of your back.

“Hi, welcome to Knockouts. Are you dining in or taking out?” A waitress greets them politely, two menus already in hand.

Bradley glances around the various patrons of the diner. “Taking out.”

There’s an older couple in the back left, speaking to each other quietly over a single basket of fries. At a booth near the door is what looks to be a group of high schoolers, passing phones over various burgers and fries. Two of the girls are turning into each other in hushed whispers, sending him quick glances behind emptying milkshake glasses. 

Subtly, Bradley flexes his fingers against your back, pulling your attention away from the menu above your head and you shoot him a smile. “What do you usually get?”

“Their cheeseburgers are good.” He says simply, deciding to just ignore the giggling girls to his left. He lets his gaze fall to your waiting eyes. “Do you want a milkshake too?”

“Yes! I was looking at their oreo one! Have you ever had that?” You light up at the suggestion, continuing to ponder over the flavor options Knockouts offered as Bradley’s eyes dart to the teenagers again.

“Oh shit, I think he has a girlfriend.”

“He’s so tall though…”

“He also looks like he’s 30 fucking years old, Kendra. Don’t think you stood a chance anyway.”

“Shut up, Devon!”

The waitress returns, somewhat of a grimace on her face as she makes her way to the cash register with a slight limp. You frown and before she can even open her mouth to ask for your order, you’re speaking.

“Are you alright?”

“Sorry?” The waitress looks down before she seems to realize what you mean. “Oh, yeah, I’m fine. These shoes are a little small,” she chuckles awkwardly. “I, um, I haven’t gotten around to getting new ones yet.”

You nod in understanding. “I know this great secondhand store on Myrtle street. It’s where all the rich people live, so they’re always donating really nice stuff.”

“Oh, um, thank you?” The waitress blinks.

You seem to be rearing up for more conversation, while your waitress looks more like a deer in the headlights. Partly for her sake—and also because he wants those high school girls to stop staring at him—Bradley clears his throat to order.

“We’ll have three cheeseburgers and one oreo milkshake.”

The waitress nods, clearly relieved, taking a ticket back to the kitchen. Bradley stops himself from pulling out his wallet when he notices that you’re frowning again.

“What?” He thinks that maybe he shouldn’t have ordered for you. Natasha always said that women never liked guys who talked over them on a date.

Not that this was a date. Bradley just didn’t need you hating him and snitching to your dad who had already threatened to ruin his fight schedule.

“You didn’t want a milkshake?” You question and Bradley doesn’t really know what to say because, up until this point, he’s been operating his life under the assumption that he doesn’t look like the type of man to ingest milkshakes.

“It’s okay,” you’re smiling again and Bradley wonders if your face muscles are sore from how much you use them. “You can have some of mine.”

“I don’t drink milkshakes, toots,” he grunts.

You laugh. “Everybody drinks milkshakes, Bradley.”

He grunts again.

The waitress comes back with your food, taking Bradley’s card for a brief transaction before she hands over the to-go bag. She looks hesitant, her lip caught between her teeth as she passes the bag over to Bradley, and he’s almost positive she’s going to attempt to ask for his number. Which would fit in perfectly with how the rest of his day has been going.

Instead, she turns her attention to you. “Um, I just wanted to say thank you again for the recommendation. I’ll check it out.”

“No problem!” You smile brightly.

Bradley doesn’t know if he should feel embarrassed or relieved. But you don’t give him a chance to figure it out, turning back to the entrance with a final wave to the waitress. Bradley’s shoulders drop tiredly and he follows after you.

The door shuts behind him, the bell ringing to signal your departure, and a man looks up.

He’s sitting in a booth in the far right corner, under a hanging light that flickers every so often. He doesn’t stand out against the retro theme of the diner, clad in deep blue jeans and a leather jacket. He should be entirely forgettable. He knows he isn’t though, not with the jagged scar on his left cheek.

His eyes stay on you until you get into Bradley’s car. He watches, sitting in a booth in the far right of Knockouts, until Bradley’s antimatter blue Bronco pulls out of the parking lot. He watches until it’s just tail lights in the distance.

He picks a french fry up between two fingers. The fries are greasy, so much so that he’s gone through a fair few napkins, but they’re salted enough to make up for it. If he looks, he can see the salt granules coating the fry. But he doesn’t look. He watches that antimatter blue Bronco drive away.

Bringing the fry up for a bite, the salt stings at his chapped lips and his nose twitches. Another bite. He finishes the fry. He wipes his fingers on a grease speckled napkin. He takes a sip of water.

“Excuse me.”

The waitress walking by his table halts at his words. She turns around with an expectant smile, though it falters when she takes in his face, eyes widening slightly at the sight of the thick, pinkish line that cuts from his cheek bone to the corner of his lips. His own eyes flicker down briefly to read her name tag. “Malory”.

“Can I smoke in here?”

Malory shakes her head, recovering from her surprise and plastering a pleasant smile onto her face, brown hair bouncing on her shoulders. “‘Fraid not, sir. But you can smoke outside if you like.”

The man nods, picking up another fry as his eyes drift back to the parking spot that once housed an antimatter blue Bronco. 

“Shame,” he says.

Maverick scratches at his cheek in thought, looking over the photos again. “Well, I can tell you it doesn’t look good.”

“Thanks for the insight, Pete. Real helpful,” Adler deadpans. “Remarkably, we were able to figure that out for ourselves, so if you’re ready to actually be useful, that would be great.”

Bradley’s eyebrows raise almost undetectably, if only because he’s never heard anyone talk to Maverick like that. 

Pete “Maverick” Mitchell was a man that always fell on the cusp of being nefarious. He paid his fighters well, didn’t take advantage of them, but you have to be a certain kind of person to get into the business of parading young men around like show horses. He cleaned up messes, no questions asked, but he also made a fair amount of messes. Most importantly, in this instance at least, Maverick had connections.

Maverick leans back in his desk chair. “I am being useful, Joe. I’m sayin’ that, if you’re saying this is Razor, Abnesti’s not involved.”

“You figured that out from a coupla pictures?” Adler crosses arms, unconvinced.

“No, I got it from Abnesti,” Maverick rifles through a desk drawer, pulling out a pack of Marlboros and a lighter. “Steve Abnesti is the kind of guy who’s good at keeping secrets, but isn’t good at keeping that he has a secret. If he had any part in this, he’d have said something to me by now.” 

His lighter flicks on and he holds it to a cigarette, before wrapping his lips around the rolled paper and sucking in a breath. Bradley’s nose wrinkles at the smell, but he doesn’t flinch, unmoving as Maverick blows smoke into the air slowly.

“You’re makin’ a mess,” Bradley notes, sparing your milkshake-covered lips a glance after he’s swallowed a bite of his burger.

It’s all over your shirt too—that’s what you get for trying to take a sip while practically lying down — and you tilt your chin down to look at it. You frown slightly at the spot of cookies and cream on your front, moving your thumb to try to rub it off.

Bradley grabs the oreo milkshake from your other hand before you can spill it on yourself again—the cup tilting when you get distracted trying to clean the stain—and you smile nervously. “Sorry.”

He grunts in response, setting your milkshake down on the coffee table, and turning his attention back to the television.

After much convincing—and the condition that he could pick the movie—you’d convinced Bradley to have a movie night while you ate. Bradley had begrudgingly agreed. A movie meant he couldn’t eat his burgers as fast as humanly possible and spend the rest of the night in his room, but it also meant he wouldn’t have to talk to you.

He should have known that you’d try to talk to him anyway.

“You know, I think this is one of Matt Damon’s best roles,” you say through a mouthful of burger, gesturing to the screen of the television.

Bradley makes a small noise of agreement, keeping his eyes trained on his choice of movie—The Bourne Identity—and he regrets not ordering fries because you’re almost done with your burger and clearly can’t be trusted with a milkshake so soon there will be nothing left to keep your mouth occupied.

“Have you watched all the Jason Bourne movies?”

Bradley nods. 

“I have too, but it was a while ago— Oh, we should watch them all this week!”

Bradley freezes. This was going to be a recurring thing?

“I have training early,” Bradley provides as an excuse and it’s not technically a lie. 

“Oh, okay,” you deflate only slightly and Bradley thinks that maybe you’ve gotten the hint that he doesn’t want to talk. Instead he gets three minutes of quiet before you’re voicing another idea. “Well, maybe I can watch them and then we can talk about our favorite parts together?”

Smoke tickles Bradley's nose and he blinks as Maverick takes another drag off his cigarette.

“Well, if it’s not Abnesti, who is it?” Adler’s eyes are trained on the pictures of you.

Maverick also glances at them thoughtfully, tapping the ash off his cigarette. “That’s where I’m drawing blanks. These looked practiced, whoever took them knows what they’re doing. But—and no offense Rooster—I can’t think of anyone that organized who’d be willing to waste their time and resources with some insignificant boxing rivalry.”

Adler says something but Bradley isn’t listening, shifting to pull his phone out of his pocket. With a glance to check that the older men in front of him are still somewhat distracted, he unlocks it.

Bradley watches you navigate his kitchen for a quick breakfast, looking through his pitiful amount of tableware and groceries. You land on yogurt and granola and Bradley’s brows furrow when he realizes you’re making two cups.

“Give me your phone.”

You jump at the noise, turning around quickly, and it’s the first time in the past 24 hours that Bradley’s seen you look scared.

“Why?” You ask hesitantly, eyes darting between his own like you’re trying to read him. Despite your apprehension, you unlock your phone, handing it to him anyway.

He doesn’t respond for a moment, tapping away on both your phone and his before he hands yours back to you.

“So I have your location,” he explains. You insisted on going to work, even though Bradley thought it was a stupid idea. You argued it’d be stupid for you to stay at his apartment all by yourself and even more stupid to follow him around as he trained at Maverick’s, and Bradley couldn’t exactly disagree. “You have mine too.”

You look down at your phone in your hand, staring at the small dot of Bradley’s contact that’s right on top of your own. You swallow. “O-Okay.”

“Are you ready?” Without thinking, Bradley reaches for the yogurt parfait you made for him.

You nod.

“Alright,” Bradley pockets his phone, reaches for his keys, and turns to the door. All with a cup of yogurt in his right hand. “Text me when you need me to pick you up.”

Your Find My icon is still appearing at the animal shelter, just like it had 10 minutes ago. And 10 minutes before that. Bradley hadn’t realized that your Apple ID would autofill his contact photo for you—a picture of you, eyes scrunched closed mid-laugh while you’re surrounded by hyper puppies greeting him every time he checks your location. Bradley looks at it for a moment.

“I have a few guys down at the station on payroll,” Maverick shrugs, snubbing his cigarette in an ashtray as the conversation comes to a close. “I’ll reach out, maybe they’ll see something I don’t.” He gestures down at the photographs. “Can I keep these?”

Adler nods, looking a smidge more relieved than he did when they entered Maverick’s office. “Thank you, Pete.”

“You’ve saved my ass more times than I can count, Joe. We’ll figure this out,” Maverick claps his shoulder.

Bradley pulls his eyes away from your contact photo and turns off his phone.

Bradley sits up off his mattress at a sudden noise of distress. For the past half hour he’s thought he’s heard things, but this was the first time it was loud enough to confirm as real. He holds his breath, listening for anything to clue him in to what’s going on. The sounds are too clear to be coming from your room, probably the living room if he had to guess. Light dances through the crack under his door. The television is on.

There’s another noise and Bradley gets up. It doesn’t sound like anyone’s in the apartment. The floors creak no matter how light you are so he’d have heard something by now if it was someone trying to break in. Still, he’s guarded as he opens his bedroom door. 

He pads past your room, the door wide open and bed empty. As he suspected, he finds you in the living room, stretched out on the couch cushions as you sleep. It’s dark, your body only lit up by the light of the muted television, so Bradley isn’t positive, but it looks like you’re wearing the hoodie he gave you.

Another whimper takes him out of his thoughts and your face scrunches in anguish. Bradley doesn’t know what to do, nightmares had never been an issue for him, even when he was a kid. He can also recognize that waking up from a nightmare to see him looming over you would probably be more terrifying than whatever you were dreaming about, so he knows he needs to do something to ensure that you don’t wake up.

Wordlessly he sits on the cushion that is being occupied by your feet to get out of your line of sight. A more panicked whimper leaves your lips at the movement and Bradley’s hand shoots out to your ankle instinctively. He freezes as soon as he feels the soft skin of your ankle bone, holding his breath as his eyes trail back up to your face. Your brows are still furrowed, but strangely you’ve quieted. 

Bradley swallows, his thumb tracing soft circles against your ankle before he fully realizes he’s doing it. A minute passes. And then another. And then your face begins to relax. Your features soften and your breaths even out. The light of the TV dances across your cheek bones and casts shadows onto the crevices of your face. It has Bradley’s breath catching in his throat. You look like one of those renaissance paintings Bob tried to show him once.

After another minute of peace, Bradley carefully gets up, giving you one last glance before he heads back to his room. He feels strange, like there’s a piece of this puzzle he’s missing. Maybe it’s just because you fell asleep watching The Bourne Supremacy, he tries to reason. But deep down, Bradley knows that isn’t right. Maybe you just have nightmares. Maybe it doesn’t mean anything. Maybe he’s overthinking all of this and should go back to sleep.

His hand hasn’t even reached the door knob of his room door before another whimper cuts through the silent air. Bradley sighs.

“Alright, toots. I hear you,” he grumbles quietly as he turns back around, though it’s entirely void of its usual bite. More of a mumble, if anything.

He sits back down by your feet, settling into a comfortable position as his fingers resume their patterns on your ankle and he feels you relax under his fingertips. Bradley picks up the remote with his other hand, turning on the closed captions of The Bourne Supremacy and rewinding to start it from the beginning. He watches the movie with his hand on your ankle.

Every couple of minutes, his eyes can’t help but fall to your sleeping features.

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[ryndicate]

Dangerous Deeds ⨳ Hanagaki Takemitchi 

Takemitchi shares with you that he's never had sex without a condom, so you decide to show him. But if your brother finds out, you're both dead.

notes: my first fic on this blog and I'm actually super nervous, hope you like it! Toman was formed at 18+

warnings: female reader, kinda infidelity, creampie, no dynamic but reader has the lead of things, heavy implications of a possessive relationship with big brother (implied incest)

By expanding, you are consenting to viewing adult content and all warnings listed above. 18+ Minors DNI

Rules & Main Links

A knock on the front door interrupts your minor breakdown over which shirt you were going to pick to meet your date come to a half-thankful, half-annoyed halt.

You take one last look at the skirt you'd chosen, short and flowy, before grabbing randomly from the options spread over your bed and pulling it over your head as you pad down the hallway.

You know it's not him, because you told him explicitly that you'd meet him out. 

A peek out the peephole gives you a clear view of fake blond and shining blue eyes, and you sigh as you undo the lock and pull the door open.

"Takemichi-kun?"

"Is Draken here? I gotta talk to him," the first division captain asks, giving you a smile and shy once over. 

"He's out with Mikey I think."

"Is it cool if I wait for him? It's important."

Your smile turns pained. If he mentioned to your brother that you left while he was here, Ken might ask him where you went and that's the last thing you need. But if you turned him away, you'd get in trouble for being rude to one of the captains. 

"Yeah, come in." Trying to hide your grimace, you back up to let him in and make your way down the hall. You send a text letting your date know that you might be a little late.

A message pings your phone as you pad into the kitchen and you pause to read it, a small genuine smile forming on your face.

You tap out a response, unaware of the shadow at your shoulder. 

"Does Draken know about your boyfriend?" Takemichi asks curiously, reading over your shoulder.

You whirl on him, grabbing his face and shoving it away. He yelps as he stumbles back. "No! And you better not tell him, you hear me? Nii nii says it's not allowed."

"Nii nii?" Takemichi looks bewildered to hear the term, his cheeks pinking up the longer he looks at you. "I've never heard you call him that before."

You feel your face heat up at your mistake. "Don't, it's just a habit. I've called him that since I was little. He doesn't want me saying it around the others so I don't."

"It's really cute," he admits shyly. 

"Shut up! That's exactly why he told me not to. Forget you heard it." You glare at him, doing your best to keep the petulance out of your tone. "Just wait in the living room. I don't know when but he'll come back at some point."

"Alright then."

You sigh as he ducks his head and shuffles back the way you told him. He's been here before so he knows where to go. You're trying not to feel bad for snapping at him. It's his fault anyways, he shouldn't have been so nosy.

Takemichi looks up in surprise when you flop down on the couch next to him, shoving a can of soda into his hand.

"What're you—"

"I'll sit with you 'til N— 'til Ken comes home. Don't make a big deal of it," you mumble, tucking your legs beneath you as you lean on the arm of the couch.

"Okay." He grins at you, and you sniff, turning away from him and hiding yourself in your phone again. Stupid brat.

You hear the tab hiss open and hide a smile, sending another text before turning on the TV to make things less awkward. 

But one show turns into two, and you feel yourself getting antsy. Every now and then you hear him get a series of texts, feeling him glance at you repeatedly. It's hard not to wonder why he doesn't just call your brother.

You're conscious of his eyes on you as you get off the couch and disappear down the hallway. 

The phone rings slowly as you stand by, leg bouncing impatiently, waiting for your brother to pick up. There's the telltale click as he picks up the phone but you don't give him the chance to talk.

"Nii nii, when are you coming home?"

"Huh?" He sounds distracted, and you can hear the sounds of shouts and chatter in the background. 

"When are you coming home? There's—" 

"It might be a bit. We're still finishing up."

"You don't know when?" There's no point in hiding the disappointment in your tone. Your brother will think it's because you miss him, and of course you do, but it also means that you'll have to sneak out tonight if you want to meet your boyfriend to avoid pesky questions of what you're up to. That's a task that's way harder than it sounds. As hard as it is to sneak out, you're an even worse liar, at least when it comes to Draken.

"'M sorry, it's one of those things where we won't know we're done 'til we're done, so I don't know tonight. Could be soon, could be late, 'K sis?" he sighs.

"Okay… at least let me know when you figure it out. Takemichi—"

"Oi, Draken! That your little sister? Let me say hi."

There's a chorus of laughter, muffling the sound of your brother growling and an aborted shout before you hear your brother give you a gruff goodbye and the line goes silent.

You stomp back into the living room, the blond's eyes tracking your movement.

"Ken's gonna be awhile," you inform him grumpily. "You might have better luck going out and looking for him."

"I'll wait just a little longer."

"Suit yourself."

Trying to cover your not so subtle sulking, you turn your attention back to the TV. It's not that you don't like Takemichi—it's just that with him here, you can't go anywhere. You've spent enough time with the first division captain to see why everyone likes him, even if you don't know him super well. Your brother talks highly of him at least, but teases him just as much. And it's always a good thing when your brother teases someone, it means he cares. 

Another hour passes and you wonder how much longer his 'little longer' is going to be. You're starting to get bored. 

"So, um…"

You turn hopefully to see blue eyes flash away from you just as quickly.

"So you've—Uh, I mean—" he stutters before trailing off, the tips of his ears turning red.

"What?" You stare at him expectantly, bemused. What's his deal? 

"Nevermind, I shouldn't be asking," he mutters sheepishly, scratching at his neck.

Well now you feel curiosity digging its claws into you. You spin on the couch to face him, eyes narrowed. "Spit it out, Takemitchy-kun."

His eyes widen, caught off guard by your demand. "I just, in the kitchen, your texts," he stammers softly. 

"So?" Your head tilts curiously, trying to remember what was on your screen at the time.

"I just saw that you guys don't use condoms," Takemichi spits out in a rush, looking painfully embarrassed. 

"Huh? Yeah we do." You deny resolutely, cheeks burning as you hope he hadn't seen enough of the texts to know what you'd been planning. 

"B-but—" Takemichi protests loudly, "you told him not to bring them 'cause it's a safe day' didn't you?"

Damn it. You didn't want him to know that, in case he ever did break and run his mouth to your brother. You know it's stupid, but on your safe days you like to skip the condoms. It feels good; you like the messy warmth, being able to feel the heat of your boyfriend's dick. He’s the only one you can talk into skipping them.

"That's only sometimes, okay? We usually use them," you mutter, self-conscious. "I'm not stupid."

"O-oh, that's not what I meant. Sorry."

Takemichi looks a little dejected so you sigh, and he glances up, perking up a little when he sees you're not mad. "I was just curious. What it's like I mean."

"What do you mean, what it's like?" You parrot back at him scooching closer to him as he laughs nervously. "Are you a virgin, Takemitchy?"

"No!" He says it so swiftly that your eyes narrow but his eyes widen earnestly, blushing at the turn of the conversation. "Really, I'm not. When me and Hina were still together, we did it."

"Oh, okay." You nod, remembering hearing some of your brother's friends talk about her. You remember hearing about the breakup too, but you don't remember the details. Ken said not to pry about it. 

"So what did you mean then?"

Takemichi clears his throat uncomfortably. "I've never not used a… you know."

"Ohhh." Understanding finally dawns your features. "You've never gone raw."

He sputters at your bluntness before taking a breath.

"Hina always wanted to use condoms, before," he mumbles, looking away embarrassed. After a beat his head snaps back towards you, his words tumbling. "Not like I mind though, if it's what she wanted! I'm just curious, that's all. Always wondered what it feels like."

Takemichi freezes as you crawl closer to him on the couch, your eyes suddenly filled with interest.

"Do you want to find out?" 

You're being impulsive like always; your boyfriend is a fling at best, a fun thrill for you. He's the only one who lets you feel like you're the one in control. If Draken ever found out about him, that'd be the end of that, so you didn't really get attached. You never promised him exclusivity either, not like you could with your brother and all. But it's your body and the way things are looking, you're not going to make it out tonight so why not play around?

"You wanna have sex with me?" He blinks at you, dumbfounded. There's a sparkle of something unreadable in his gaze. Something like guilt, or maybe relief. 

"No," you snort, grabbing his hand and placing it on your thigh. He looks frightened and eager all at once as you inch his fingers under the hem of your skirt. "But you can use my pussy if you really want to know that bad. It won't be like sex, I'm just letting you see what it's like."

Takemichi swallows. He knows this is dangerous, but your thigh is so warm and soft under his palm, and as you shuffle closer, your sweet scent creates a crack in his self-control. He can already feel his dick getting hard.

"What do you say?" You whisper.

Your hand ghosts over the bulge of his pants, forcing a groan past his lips and sending him tumbling into his own temptation. He's nodding before he can even think about it. 

"Yeah, okay." He leans forward, his breath on your lips. 

You giggle and put your hand over his mouth, pushing him back. "I didn't say you could kiss me, though." 

"R-right…"

He watches, licking his lips as you lay back on the couch and pull your skirt up, exposing the simple blue cotton panties beneath. You had planned to change into something cuter before you left, but oh well. Takemichi doesn't look like he seems to mind—he's watching raptly as you rub at your clit over the fabric.

Takemichi looks like he doesn't know what to do with himself, still staring as the damp patch on your panties grows bigger and bigger. His dick is throbbing in the confines of his pants, palming over it to soothe the ache.

Finally you give a little sigh that makes his pulse skip, and reach to slide your panties down your legs, before spreading them. "Whenever you're ready, Takemitchy-kun."

He stands quickly and undoes his jeans, pushing them down and pulling his dick free from his boxers, situating himself carefully between your thighs. He grips it at the base before pumping his fist over it a few times, squeezing the precome from the tip almost reflexively and coating it over the shaft. It's pretty, smooth save for the single thick vein on the underside; you're pleased to see it's average in length and girth, you didn't really want to stretch yourself or have him do it either. 

Takemichi shivers as he rubs his through your folds, the sticky warmth making him feel like he might be in over his head. He looks at you again, blue eyes shining with a mixture of longing and conflict. "Are you sure this is okay?"

"Mhm. You can stop if you want, I'm not gonna make you."

"N-no, I wanna feel it," he mumbles, a deep flush appearing down his neck. He ruts against your pussy again before taking a deep breath before pressing the blunt tip at the entrance of your dripping pussy and starting to push in. 

"Oh."

He moans at the tight, wet heat that envelops his length, feeling like the warmth is going straight from his dick to his gut. A shiver works up his spine as he pushes deeper, sinking in slowly until his hips meet the soft back of your thighs.

You watch him, feeling a tingling rush of pleasure at the dumbfounded look on his face. He feels nice but it's nowhere close to overwhelm you, just a comfortable pressure in your slick walls. His eyes have fallen closed, his lips parted, his eyebrows pinched together—it's so cute, but you stomp down the urge to giggle, knowing that wouldn't be good for him right now

"Feel nice?" 

"Uh huh," he breathes, his eyes blinking open to stare down at you. It's like he's seeing you in a whole new light. He rocks into you experimentally, moaning softly. "It feels amazing. You're so wet 'n warm. Can—" His mouth closes and he stills within you. You almost feel like you can feel him pulsing in you.

"What?" 

"Can I… is it okay if I keep going?" Takemichi whispers, looking strained.

You reach for your phone, unlocking it. "You can do what you want, Takemitchy-kun. You're using me, remember? I don't mind."

"Thank you."

He says it so quietly you almost don't hear it, but you have to bite back a moan when he starts to thrust into you, slowly at first, before he finds an even pace that soon has him moaning every other breath. His hands are clenched into fists on either side of your hips, pressing hard into the couch cushions, his glassy eyes locked on where you're connected.

You can't deny that he sounds pretty, and he's not half bad at this. He feels good, not mind melting or anything, but you told him to use you and he is. He's focusing on his own pleasure, but as you scroll through your texts, you start to wonder what it'd be like if you'd said otherwise. He said he'd only ever been with Hina, but how often? You glance at the time, noting that he's at least lasted several minutes. 

A small sigh escapes your lips as his dick throbs inside you, hiding a smile behind your phone at the whimper tugging at his throat. 

The fact that he liked this, getting off on you ignoring him and letting him use your pussy for his own pleasure—you can't help the way it's getting you hot. You feel powerful. The way he's feeling right now is only possible because you're letting him. 

The added danger of not knowing when your older brother is coming home is making things even better. Who knows how mad he'd get if he found out you were letting his subordinate defile you like this.

You wonder who'd be in more trouble. A shiver runs up your spine, your breath shortening with the thrill.

"F-fuck you keep getting tighter—" Takemichi's voice breaks as you peek up at him.

"I can make it even tighter if you want, I've been trying to relax so you wouldn't finish early." 

Takemichi chokes as you give an experimental clench, his hips stuttering to a halt as he feels the tight squeeze of your walls. You've been making a conscious effort not to clamp down on his dick, not wanting him to think you're paying him much mind.

"No it's okay," he breathes, his voice half an octave higher. He repositions his legs, spreading yours a little wider as he begins sliding in and out of your pussy again. "It's okay, this is good. Feels so good I—I don't wan'ta come yet."

"Doesn't it feel better like this though?" You smile at him sweetly as you do it again and his grip tightens on your thighs, surprising you.

"Yes." He practically hisses the word through gritted teeth, blue eyes desperate as you rhythmically clench around him each time he pulls out, your pussy sopping now. He doesn't slow down this time, his thrusts getting quicker, wet sounds getting louder as your juices coat his groin. "Fuck, but if you don't, hah, don't s-stop that, I'm gonna, ahn, fuck g'na come—"

Takemitchi shakes his head when you keep it up, and you watch with a thrill as the resignation of pleasure crosses his face, unable to stop the squeak that escapes your lips as he pulls your hips into his thrusts now. You're resisting the urge to reach down and play with your clit as pleasure starts sparking under your own skin, and he's chanting curses under his breath as his eyes flutter closed, fucking you hard and fast before he stiffens, the light muscle tone of his stomach tensing and rippling as he comes undone.

You almost regret that you don’t get to cum—almost.

As he coats your walls with several thick ropes of white, Takemichi's stuttering groans overpower the sharp sound of the front door unlocking. 

But the unmistakable sound of your brother's voice coming down the hall, and more than one pair of footsteps, has you both frozen in terror.

"Sis? I'm home."

Part 2?

© All rights reserved to @ryndicate. Do not modify, translate or repost.

#tokrev x reader #takemichi x reader #takemichi smut #tokrev smut #tr smut #tr x reader #takemitchy x reader #takemitchy smut #takemichi hanagaki x reader #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers smut #tw::infidelity #tw::incest #tw::creampie

[phoenixyfriend]

Calls for Action, Call Your Reps: 2/26/24

This is USA-specific, as that is the place I live and know.

Find your elected officials.

As usual, most of my information on what bills are on the floor comes from GovTrack. I am including some suggested listening/reading (you can find text versions if you google the title and 'transcript') at the bottom of the post. I am also including a current event that is likely to be a very powerful argument, with the right politicians. The event is prefaced with a red warning tag, and followed by event-specific verbiage.

Suggested verbiage and strategies for calling your elected officials.

GovTrack has said that there are still no votes scheduled, in this blog post from Friday: What's Next for Congress? (Feb 23, 2024)

In practice, that appears to mean that they are arguing over the budget to avoid yet another government shutdown. Given that the delays to the budget so far have been tied directly to the Israel/Ukraine/Taiwan military funding and Southern border.

Use this time to call their offices and tell them to vote the way you want them to.

The most immediate and pressing issue at this moment is the famine in Gaza. Widely reported today is that a two-month-old boy recently died of starvation, and the World Health Organization is declaring that it has become famine and a mass starvation event, no longer just a threat of one.

At this time, the three greatest factors in that famine are:

Israeli bombardment (destruction of existing food stores and farming land)

Israeli blockades of the Egyptian border into Gaza, preventing aid trucks from places like the US from reaching people

The cessation of funding to UNRWA, which has been the lifeline to Palestinian civilians for decades, and is currently the best and possibly only chance to save the one and a half million dying civilians

This information is being reported by the WHO, UNRWA itself, UNICEF, and more, along with journalists that are in Gaza at this time.

The other issue, more domestically, is the rising tide of concern for US Reproductive Rights stemming from the IVF ruling in Alabama.

Both House and Senate:

Reinstate funding for UNRWA. While the claims made by Israel that employees of the relief agency were involved in Oct. 7th are troubling, THEY are not well supported, and western officials did not do their duty in investigating the claims before cutting funding. This arm of the UN is currently providing food, water, shelter, and medical care to the 2.3 million displaced peoples of Gaza. It is especially disturbing and concerning that the many children of Gaza, who are already suffering due to this conflict, are now having this support revoked. Many sources are also claiming that the evidence is flimsy at best.

Urge both Senate and House to refrain from funding Israel, or to at least put some strings on it. The IDF cannot be given funding without some regulations on what they can do with it. They have proven that they are unwilling to take steps to protect civilians.

Sanctions must also be placed on Israel for its continued impediment of aid intended for Gazans, including aid from the US.

Urge for the US to stop vetoing ceasefire demands in the UN. No, the suggested replacement written by the US is not an excuse.

Not directly related to Gaza: It looks like they’re gearing up for another push at KOSA. The canned email responses I’m getting are really proud of being in support of KOSA, which is… bad. It is also bad for people outside the US, including Palestine, apparently. VOTE NAY.

Not related to Gaza: Alabama's recent court decision has put IVF services in danger in the state, with multiple fertility clinics halting all related services for any pregnancy that is not yet in progress; there were implantation appointments for last week that were canceled with no knowledge of when they might be greenlit. Push for full spectrum reproductive rights protection (fertility services, family planning, birth control, abortion, and more), and if you have a pro-lifer as your elected official, cite the Alabama ruling as a cause for concern of how the lack of codified reproductive rights protection can impact even those who do want children.

FOR THE SENATE: Urge your senator to put their support behind Bernie Sanders and his motion to restrict funding to Israel until a humanitarian review of the IDF’s actions in Gaza has been completed. Cite it as Senate Resolution 504 if your Senator is right-wing enough to react negatively to the mention of Sanders by name. NOTE: This resolution was TABLED by the Senate on 1/16, but it is being brought back in as conditions continue to escalate.

Passed in the House recently, so bother your senators about it, is H.R. 3016: IGO Anti-Boycott Act. Vote Nay. This appears to be intended to force US companies to do business with US allies instead of participating in boycotts. This appears, to me, to be an attack on movements like BDS. To Dem Reps, argue that this refuses the right of peaceful protest to US citizens. To Republican Reps, argue that this is a dangerous government overreach and that it is not the right of the government to force US citizens to purchase products and materials from specific foreign partners.

FOR THE HOUSE: Recommend that they support House Resolution 786, introduced by Rep. Cori Bush, Calling for an immediate deescalation and cease-fire in Israel and occupied Palestine. ALTERNATELY: Urge your representative to put their support behind Rep. Rashida Tlaib’s petition for the US government to recognize the IDF’s actions in Gaza as ethnic cleansing and forced displacement, and put a stop to it.

Alright, now the current big news story.

Warning: Self-harm, public suicide.

I will preface this with an explanation of a recent event.

The big American news of this week that is being talked about on all political news sources, from BBC to NPR to Al Jazeera, is the self-immolation in DC. A US Air Force service member walked to the Israeli embassy in Washingon DC, set up a Twitch Stream, and stated that he refused to be party to the genocide being committed with the support of his country's government. He then doused himself in a flammable liquid, set himself on fire, and shouted 'Free Palestine' on repeat until the fire grew too great for him to do anything but scream in pain. The man was rushed away to a hospital, but has apparently died since. Twitch has understandably removed the video for ToS violations, but the video has been saved and reshared to other sites since.

To be clear, the airman, a 25yo named Aaron Bushnell, explicitly stated that this was an act of extreme protest, but not as extreme as the current lives of Palestinians in Gaza. Please do not allow people to convince you this was just a random act of mental illness. It was tragic, yes, but this very public, recorded, in-uniform, motive-declared suicide was by all appearances a calculated choice based on centuries of precedent.

If your senator or representative claims to be pro-military, bring this up. Even if they don't, bring it up.

"A service member, someone who presumably has access to more information on what is happening 'on the ground' than the average citizen, someone who has proven their dedication to America, is dying in agony to prove a point: that Israel's actions cannot be condoned, cannot be justified, and most certainly cannot be supported with fourteen billion in military aid."

The above is one possible verbiage you can use when you call.

Today, I would also recommend listening to NPR's Politics Podcast as the episode contains some good information on The Michigan Problem, and the Democracy Now podcast, which has some good interviews on the confirmed famine going on in Gaza. I will note that there are some claims being made in the latter about the US government, including comments by Biden himself, using law enforcement and college administrations to punish pro-Palestine groups, from Students for Justice in Palestine to even Jewish Voice for Peace (notable since one of the major arguments for these actions is that anti-zionists are antisemitic). I am saying 'claims being made' as I have not had time to corroborate this with other news sources, and the other casts I listen to have not mentioned it.

If you wish to support my political blogging, I am accepting donations on ko-fi.

Alternately, I would also suggest that you send any spare money to PCRF (Palestine Children's Relief Fund), UNRWA, or Save the Children Sudan, which has been undergoing an incredibly deadly civil war for a year or so now, but that the US has significantly less involvement in on a bureaucratic level, so IDK what any of us in the US can do to help in that regard. But many of us do have money! So there's that.

#current events #Phoenix Politics #Gaza #Palestine #united states #Israel #call your reps #kosa #death mention #suicide mention

[evcrgardn]

once upon a dream

jake sully x fem!navi!reader

genre: angst

warnings: mentions of death and blood, maybe a bit creepy, hurt (this was literally so painful to write)

note: first fic on this blog! <3 this is inspired by a scene that i love so much from braveheart and the jake and neteyam memory scene in atwow :(( this has been in my head for so long so i really wanted to turn it into a fic. this is very sad but i hope you guys will love it still :)) reblogs are appreciated! + will probably edit this when i have the time

.・゜゜・  Just when he was about to sleep, Jake’s ears perked up at the sound of footsteps outside the tent. He does not know why, but his gut tells him that he should check out whoever might that be. He slowly gets up, very carefully making his way out of the tent, not wanting to wake Neytiri and the kids up.

The sound led Jake deep into the forest. Along with the footsteps, the sound of flowing water from afar, as well as the chirping of the nocturnal creatures of the forest filled the peaceful night. He was unsure why he was even following the source of the footsteps, and why his heart was racing in his chest. Better be safe than sorry, he thinks. He would never forgive himself if anything bad happens to his family or his people just because he ignored this. 

He then spots a silhouette, which seemed like that of a Na’vi’s, from afar. “Hey,” he calls out. “Who are you?” he asks in Na’vi, making the figure halt its steps and turn around, yet he still could not identify who it is. He was about to ask once more when the figure suddenly starts walking slowly towards his direction.

As the Na’vi figure comes closer and closer, Jake’s heartbeat goes incredibly faster. He draws his knife for his safety, although he surprisingly doesn’t really sense any danger from this person at all.

When the figure finally comes face to face with him, Jake’s knees suddenly feel weak, dropping to the ground, as well as the knife that was previously in his hand.

It was you.

I must be dreaming, Jake thinks. If so, then he wouldn't want to wake up from this dream. You look down at him as he kneels properly on one knee in front of you as if he is a knight kneeling before his queen. "Y/N," he utters your name, looking at you straight in the eye. “Oel ngati kameie.”

You gave him a warm smile that could light up the whole of Pandora, making his heart swell in his chest, "Oel ngati kameie, Ma'Jake."

Tears were starting to form in his eyes from hearing your voice for the first time in years. The longer he looked at you, the more tears came in. The bioluminescent flora lit up your face in a gorgeous purple hue, your freckles also glowing like the stars in the evening sky. Woodsprites were floating above you, a clear sign that Eywa brought you to him. You did not change a bit, your face still radiant and youthful as it was before.

You were as beautiful as the day he met you… and the last time he saw you, which was years ago, during the war against the Sky People. He remembers how your ikran led him deep in the forest to find your body covered in blood. He embraced you in his arms as he called for your name, so many times. He waited for you to respond to his touch, wishing that you’d open your eyes and give him that smile of yours that he loved so much. But no, you did none of that.

Instead, you laid there in Jake's arms as his heart breaks into pieces, your face peaceful as if you were just in a deep sleep. He could still remember that day as if it was just yesterday. He may have led the Na’vi clans to victory against the Sky People, but he felt defeated, because he lost you.

In fact, before the battle, you two made a vow to each other: that the two of you will survive, and after that, you will become a mated pair before Eywa and be together for the rest of your lives. Unfortunately, the vow was broken by you.

"Y/N, I missed you. It's been so long," he tearfully says. He could no longer hold back the tears. He could no longer hide the pain that he's been trying to keep to himself for so many years.

"And I you," you responded, reaching down to hold his hand and pull him up so you could face each other at eye level. Jake looked at you with so much love and longing. You were his woman. His first love, and you will always be.

"How are you?" you ask, bringing your hand up to his face to wipe his tears with your thumb. You smiled as you stared at him, your hand cupping his cheek. Your eyes scanned every part of his face. He had a few wrinkles showing he’s aged and faded battle scars, his golden eyes were glistening with tears. His hair is much longer and thicker than before, his body also larger now.

"I... I'm good. I'm happy to see you."

Jake has clearly changed over time but still looked as handsome as he was in his younger years. You could still see in him the reckless skxawng that you fell in love with.

"I see you are Olo'eyktan now... and you have a beautiful family. I am very proud of you, Ma'Jake." He's come so far. From just being a nobody, he became a warrior, became one of The People, became the sixth Toruk Makto, and now, the Olo'eyktan of the Omaticaya. Jake forces a soft smile though his pain is still evident. He hides it very well from everybody, but now that you're here in front of him, perhaps he could just let it show just this once. Even the strongest men can break down and cry.

"I think about you everyday, yawne. I'm sorry–"

"Hush. Do not," you cut him off, your index finger touching his lips. "I am with the Great Mother now. I am with The People... and I am happy. What happened has happened already. It is not your fault."

Jake could only nod at your words, though in his heart, he wishes that he could have prevented it. If he could turn back time, he wouldn't have let you fight in the battle, though he knows that isn't possible. You were a fearless warrior, and you surely wouldn't let yourself be left behind while others fought for your home. You would rather die fighting than stand and do nothing.

"You must wake now, Ma'Jake," you tell him, "It is almost morning."

Jake frowns at your words, his eyes glossy with tears and his ears folding back. "But I don't want to. I wish to stay here with you." He says, his voice laced with pain and desperation. Many years have passed since he last saw you... since he last felt your touch and heard your voice. He's fully aware that this is all a dream, yet who knows when you'll come back to visit him again? If this will be the first and the last time, he wishes to stay here with you for a bit longer before he goes back.

You took both of his hands in yours, rubbing circles on the back of his hands with your thumbs as a way to comfort him. "It is not your time yet. You have a family to protect. They need you. The People need you," you say, reminding him of his duties as a father and as Olo'eyktan of the Omaticaya. "The right time will come for you to join me." You placed your hand on Jake's chest, feeling the way his heart beats. "I will always be here. I will always watch over you," you assured him.

"I love you," Jake places his hand on top of yours, expressing his undying love for you. "I will always love you,” he adds. His voice already sounds raspy from crying.

"I love you, Ma'Jake. Take care of yourself," you say, giving him one last smile before you vanished into thin air.

"Ma'Jake, wake up."

Jake wakes up to the sound of Neytiri's voice. She was looking at him, her large eyes were filled with worry. "You were crying, Ma'Jake. I was worried. I had to wake you up."

Jake sits up, wiping his eyes that were indeed wet with his own tears. It seems that he was literally crying. He turns his head to Neytiri. "I saw her, Neytiri," he whispers.

Neytiri smiles at him, fully aware who Jake is talking about. You.

Jake rarely speaks about you, but Neytiri knows that he still carries the pain of losing you in his heart. She has no hard feelings about it, really, for she has witnessed the beautiful romance that blossomed between you two. She knows Jake is true to her and their kids, but she also understands that it is impossible to forget someone you love, most especially a first love. It is the same for her and the late Tsu'tey.

Jake recalls how heavenly your voice sounded like and how angelic you looked. He smiles. "She visited me in my dream. It was wonderful. It felt so real."

He hopes you’ll come and visit him again soon.

#jake sully #avatar #avatar 2009 #avatar james cameron #avatar the way of water #atwow #jake sully imagine #jake sully x reader #jake sully fluff #jake sully angst #avatar x reader #avatar imagine #so nervous to post this but yeah

[jasntodds]

Petrichor [7]

Pairing: Jason Todd x Fem!Powered!Reader (little bit of fwb)

Words: 14,007  

Warnings: Swearing, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, mentions of scars, mentions of a panic attack, manipulation, canon drug use, comic book science? Titans science? (author's note at the end lol), canon violence, blood, bruises, gore, breaking bones, mentions of nightmares, canon character death (I'm so sorry)

Summary: ❝Pylades: I’ll take care of you. Orestes: It’s rotten work.Pylades: Not to me. Not if it’s you.❞

Gotham is home, not just for Jason but for you, too. And now that you’re both finally back home, together, you’re ready to see where this next chapter brings the two of you. He’s your best friend and you’re his. And you both might want a little something more with being back home, the place you both feel most comfortable. Surely, nothing could possibly go wrong now.

A/N: Happy birthday to Jason Todd!! So, sorry I did this for his birthday lmao I lied, this is longer than I thought it would be lol But I'm so sorry. I don't have anything else to say for myself besides canon made me do it and so did the comics lol I hope you guys like it!! If you want context from book 1, let me know and I’ll tell you!! You can add yourself to the tag list below, ask me to be tagged, or you can follow my library blog @jasntoddslibrary and turn on notifications if you prefer that!! I love feedback, I swear it keeps me posting on a weekly basis 😭

series masterlist | masterlist | tag list

Over the next couple of weeks, Jason continues to go to therapy as directed by Bruce. To his surprise, it actually seems to be helping a little bit. He’s still having nightmares but they aren’t every night anymore. His hands aren’t shaking as badly either. He just feels a little bit better. Maybe Bruce and you were right about Leslie.

You and Jason are doing better, too. There have been moments where he’s gotten a little too frustrated but he remembers your talk and you give him a little bit of space until he’s ready to talk. It works for the both of you. You go on dates at least once a week and you both actually feel normal during the day. It’s not about being a vigilante and figuring out how to survive.

You go out on patrol three days a week instead of six. This is Jason’s thing and you know it bothers him. You can wait to patrol every night until he gets Robin back. It doesn’t bother you that much. And this way, you get to spend more time together and exist in a normal way that you desperately craved. You are a normal couple for once.

Above all of that, it’s been good. Things have been good. And while that is terrifying, you and Jason stick it out anyway. You don’t run or push. You both want to sometimes because it’s easier but you’re both fucking happy. So, you don’t. You don’t do it because losing each other is worse than anything the other could ever dish out. Running and pushing wouldn’t do either of you any good for the first time in your lives. So, you both enjoy the happiness together. Until things come to a screeching halt.

You're in the living room, having a FaceTime TV marathon with Gar when Bruce comes home. He offers a quick hello before trying to walk off but you call him anyway. He’s home a lot later than he should be since he went to pick up Jason. It was his request you stay back this time.

“Where’s Jason?” You question.

In all fairness, you wouldn’t be asking him normally but you also haven’t heard much from Jason since his therapy session ended. He said Bruce was taking him somewhere so he would be home later. And that was kind of the end of it. He’s been doing quite a bit better so you haven’t been as worried when he doesn’t text you back right away. But now Bruce is here without him.

“In the city.” Bruce answers plainly.

“Why? You went to pick him up?” You raise a brow and something happened. Jason texted you in the car. He was fine and with Bruce.

You look at the time and see that was a few hours ago.

“He’s upset. I’m giving him space. You should, too.” Bruce states.

“What did you do?” You deadpan, pulling up the text thread with Jason.

“I did not do anything.” Bruce defends. “He’ll be home soon.” Bruce states before he walks off.

“Everything okay?” Gar asks.

“Nope.” You shake your head. “I assume they got into some sort of fight again.” You roll your eyes. “Did he text you by chance?” You ask seeing the read receipt from a few hours ago.

Gar checks his phone and the last he heard from Jason was that morning. “No, he hasn’t texted me since this morning. What’s going on?”

You: you okay? Bruce said you’re upset what happened?

“I have no idea. He was fine earlier.” You let out a sigh, looking back at Gar through the tablet screen.

“You said he’s been better, right? Maybe he’s just blowing off steam from Bruce.” Gar suggests. Jason has shared some of the stuff that's happened and has complained a little about Bruce.

“Yeah, but if that’s the case, he usually comes to me to bitch about Bruce because I always agree with him.” You give Gar a grin just as your phone goes off.

Jaybird 🥰: fuck bruce I’m fine don’t worry

You: what happened? Do you want me to come get you?

“Well he texted me back and I was right, fight with Bruce.” You roll your eyes.

They fight sometimes, usually about Robin-related things or Jason wanting to do something reckless and Bruce putting a stop to it. Jason’s usually only a mad an hour or so before he’s fine and over it. Jason doesn’t hold very many grudges.

“Did he say about what?” Gar asks.

“Nope. Just said, fuck Bruce.”

Jaybird 🥰: no just wanna be alone still you and me love you ❤️

You: call or text every so often so I know you’re okay please I love you, too 🥰

“What’d he say?” Gar asks. He worries enough for the both of you/

“He wants to be alone and when Jason wants to be alone that is never good. But we have this thing where I let him be alone and then he tells me about it later. So, I guess I have to wait. If he isn’t home or texting me in a few hours, I’ll go look for him.” You reluctantly put your phone down. Giving Jason space is never easy.

“Think he’ll be alright?” Gar asks with worry in his voice.

“Yeah, him and Bruce fight sometimes. I’m sure it’s nothing too bad, Bruce probably just said something stupid and Jason was already in a mood.” You let out a sigh as the worry feeling gnaws at your stomach.

“Did you want to still—“

“Yeah, yeah, no. We can keep watching. He said he’ll text me.” You offer a soft smile while the two of you continue your show.

It’s not fair. It’s utter bullshit. Jason can’t help the way his blood is boiling and fuming while his hands shake. Bruce doesn’t think he’s good enough to be Robin. Bruce gave up on him. Jason is supposed to be his son and Bruce gave up on him anyway but he never gave up on Dick. If Jason weren’t so weak, this whole thing never would have happened. But he’s gonna prove to Bruce he can be Robin. He can be the best Robin and he can be a better Batman, too. He just needs a little help in the fear department.

He’s desperate. He tells himself this is a one-time thing. Fear creeps in his throat, grasping to be let out in the damp air. It’s a one-time thing, he tells himself. He’s out of options if he wants to be Robin. He’s out of options if he wants to keep the most important thing in his life. All he needs is a quick fix to fear and he’ll be back out there, better than he has ever been. He’ll prove it to Bruce. Bruce is wrong about him.

Bruce thinks he’s a mistake. He thinks Jason isn't worth the trouble just like everyone else. Bruce thinks Jason is weak. He thought Jason could replace Dick and he couldn’t. Not as Robin and not as Bruce’s son. But if he can get rid of his fear, he can show him how wrong he is. He isn’t just another mistake. He isn’t weak and he’s better than Dick. He swears this will be it. It won’t be bad. He can handle this. He swears it’ll all be fine. So, he hangs up on Leslie and heads inside the gates of Arkham Asylum as rain patters around him.

He’s a master manipulator. Jason knows that. It’s one of the things he’s best at. But the desperation for a cure to fear clouds every aspect of that. The desperation doesn’t let him see why Crane wants information for the cure. He can’t see Crane’s angel in his state of paralyzed desperation. And Jason has been manipulated before. He swears he’ll know if Crane is manipulating him because he knows what to look out for this time. But, desperation and the fear of being scared forever, go hand in hand. Fear and desperation cloud everything. He tosses his loyalty from the window as he gets closer to the formula. Crane gives him a piece of it with every piece of information Jason gives him.

“Tell me about the first Robin.” Crane offers this grin that sends a chill down Jason’s spine.

“Like what?” Jason huffs.

“His name, where he is, everything you know.”

“Dick Grayson. He’s in San Francisco and goes by Nightwing.” Jason explains, throwing Dick completely under the bus. He has a problem with Dick now anyway. Dick Grayson has always been the goody two shoes and Bruce’s favorite. Jason only got to be Robin because Dick abandoned Bruce. Jason was a filler. “He’s with the Titans. He got Deathstroke’s son killed and dropped me from a skyscraper.” Jason lets out a scoff.

“Interesting. Doesn’t seem to be the golden boy Bruce portrayed him as.” Crane grins and this is easier than he thought it would be. Jason has no problems rolling, apparently and Crane knows he’s going to use that to his advantage.

He’s broken. He’s desperate and Crane has the cure he wants. This is going to be easy and Crane gets all benefits. Jason lets him take down the Bat but in the best way. Crane is going to get the Bat’s son to turn on him and get rid of him. To break him. And then Dick Grayson and all of Gotham will follow. Crane finds the whole thing a little poetic. He can use him. And Jason will never see through it once he figures out the formula.

“Yep.” Jason answers simply, wanting to get this over with and Crane offers him a piece of the formula.

“The Titans. Who are they?” Crane asks, hiding the malicious intent behind curiosity.

Jason looks up to him and he doesn’t like to throw some of the others under the bus. But Crane is here. He can’t do anything. And most of them thought he was just Dick’s weaker replacement anyway. They gave up, too.

“Rachel Roth, Raven. Hank Hall, Hawk. Dawn Granger, Dove. Kory Anders, Starfire. Conner Kent, Superboy. Gar Logan, Beast Boy.” Jason pauses, waiting to see if Crane knows more.

Of course, he does. He’s in Arkham, not living under a rock. The Bat gains a new sidekick and everyone knows about it. Crane is only taking a guess the new sidekick also was a Titan based on when you showed up and your close proximity with Robin, himself. He saw Jason’s hesitance on his face. The fear.

Crane chuckles softly. “Aren’t you missing someone, pal?” Crane asks, almost a little too warmly. “Could have sworn there was one more.”

Jason grits his teeth and he’s so sorry.

When he came up with this plan, he had a feeling Crane would want information. He came prepared for it. Part of that preparation was leaving you the hell out of it. Not you. Crane can’t know about you. Anyone but you. But he does know. He already knows you're a Titan and he already knows you work for Bruce. Jason has no choice if he wants the formula. And he is so sorry.

Jason says your name with bitterness on his tongue. “Bluejay. She doesn't really like the name thing though.” Jason answers.

Crane has a soft smile. “She’s the new bird. So many of you are birds.” Crane chuckles. “I do find it interesting you would try to leave her out of it. She’s the new edition to Batman. Let me guess,” Crane boasts around his cell. “Your girlfriend.”

Not you. You've done everything you can to save him and help him. He loves you. Not you. Anyone but you.

“No.” Jason answers. “Just friends.” He bites the words because maybe Crane doesn’t know for sure you’re together and he wants you at arm's length.

“If you want the formula, you really shouldn’t lie to me.” Crane has a sinister smile. “You wouldn’t leave her out of it if you were just friends.” Crane lets the words fall with ease.

He’s so fucking sorry.

“Yeah, okay fine. Girlfriend.” Jason spits.

He knows you’ll never forgive him if you find out. You can’t tell Molly anything but he’s here telling Crane everything. You're going to hate him. But he needs a cure. He can’t feel this way forever. He can’t do it. He doesn't think he’ll be able to live like this anymore.

“Ah, young love.” Crane smiles with that shrug of his shoulders. You're going to be an interesting obstacle in this one. He’s already trying to protect you from this. Crane knows he needs to break that bond as fast as he can if he wants this plan to work. “I want to know about her.” There’s this look that crosses Crane’s eyes and Jason almost turns around.

But he doesn’t.

“Why? She’s not with the fucking Titans and she hates Bruce. She works with him because of me. That’s it. She got a suit out of it and a place to stay.”

“I’m a bit of a romantic, myself. Love stories are cute. Always having someone on your side, through thick and thin. It is quite romantic, don’t you think? If we’re going to work together, I want to know why she’s so important to you.” Crane grins. “You can trust me, boy. We want the same things and the way the Bat has treated you…it’s so cruel. But I, I believe in you. That’s why I’m helping you. You trust me, don’t you?”

You're going to kill him. Guilt chews at his limbs. His jaw squares and he thinks swallowing his own teeth would be easier than this. But he has to. Maybe Crane is being sincere. Jason thinks he is. At least enough. Maybe if Jason tells him enough, Crane will see you aren’t a problem. Maybe he’ll see you would side with them. You want Gotham to be better, you don’t agree with Bruce’s ways. Maybe Crane will understand. He’s helping Jason, maybe he can help you. You're scared, too.

“Dick found her.” Jason answers reluctantly. “She joined the Titans. We went after Deathstroke together. Got kidnapped and dropped from the skyscraper. Dick saved her. CADMUS attacked her, Gar, and Conner when I was gone. Dick left them alone when shit hit the fan. CADMUS left her for dead. So, she came back to Gotham.” Jason explains.

“She was there with Deathstroke.” Crane lets out a sigh and like Bruce, in a way, he can always tell when someone could need him. Someone who’s been traumatized. His intentions aren’t as pure as Bruce’s. “But Dick saved her and not you. Did you save her?”

“It wasn’t like that.” Jason shakes his head. “Dick tried to save me first and dropped me. Then he saved her. But yeah,” Jason nods. “I protected her and she did the same shit for me.”

“The two of you went through something so traumatic together. That really must have brought you closer. It’s not as romantic as I was hoping for but it is quite nice.” Crane grins. “She has powers, doesn’t she?”

“Acid generation.” Jason stares, leaving out the combat clairvoyance and the possibility of you having sharp shooting abilities. Two things Crane can’t prove Jason lied about.

“Now that is interesting. Does she know you’re here right now? Asking for my help?”

“No.” Jason shakes his head. “Look, she’s got nothing to with this shit. But, I can get her on our side. The other Titans targeted me for all types of shit I didn’t do and she was the only one on my side. She’s not a fucking problem. I can handle her.”

Crane grins and that’s all he needs. Jason is already hiding something huge from you. The distrust will be there and Jason doesn’t know Crane’s whole plan. If it goes the way he thinks it will, it’ll break your relationship. He will have no one left besides Crane. Exactly how he wants it. So, he decides he’ll let Jason think he believes this whole thing and moves back to the Titans.

“I do hope you’re right.” Crane sighs. “Tell me everything that happened in San Fransisco, with all of the Titans.”

Jason lets out a sigh before he spills every piece of information. He tells him everything from Trigon to Deathstroke to CADMUS. He tells him about the Titans turning on him for something he didn’t do, you talking him off the roof. Dick's confession and Donna’s death. Everything.

Then he tells Crane everything he knows about Bruce. The manor, the Batcave. Everything. He tells Crane about his training and the cabin, how Bruce found him and how Bruce found Dick. He spills and Crane lets him talk. Crane listens a lot but asks questions where he finds needed but he mostly just lets Jason talk as Jason keeps you out of it as much as he can. Jason is far more cooperative when it comes to everyone else.

Crane figures once he figures out the formula, he can get more information on you and use it against him if he needs to. He can’t have anyone if this is going to work and Crane knows exactly how he’ll be able to accomplish it. But for now, it’s about the Titans and Bruce. By the time Jason finishes, he’s got the formula tucked away in his pocket, ready to let fear go.

Jason pulls his phone from his pocket once he’s far enough away from Arkham. He’s spent the walk running over every lie he could tell you. Guilt eats at him with every step he takes. You're gonna kill him. He’s gonna lie to you because he knows for a fact, you’ll freak out. You’ll think he’s gone off the deep end and you’ll tell Dick. You’ll drag him kicking and screaming out of Gotham. You’ll tell Arkham and he won’t be able to see Crane again. It’s not fair and it’s not right. But you can’t know. And a part of him finds that to be unfair, too because he’s gonna fix his fear while you have to suffer with yours. That’s not fair to you. So, he thinks.

Maybe he can figure out a way to bring it up without bringing it up. Maybe he can try to see how you’d feel about a way to get rid of fear. If you seem for it, then he can tell you. He can see if you want to help. But the more he thinks about that, the more he thinks about Crane.

You’d have to be involved with him. Jason doesn’t want you involved with him. Not him. And he knows, the second he tells you about Crane, you’ll lose it. Even if you want a cure-all. You’ll bail the second you hear about Crane. You would never work with a guy like that. So, he has no choice. It’s that or end it and he doesn’t want to do that either.

“Hey.” Jason says as you pick up the phone.

“Jay? Where are you? I’ve been texting you to make sure you were okay.” He can hear your worry and he thinks maybe the anti-fear drug will make him not worry. Maybe you don’t want to worry so much.

“I’m sorry.” Jason clears his throat. “I needed to clear my damn head. I’m fine. Can you come get me, please?”

“Yeah, of course. Where are you?” You answer and Jason can hear you rustling on the other end.

“I’ll text you the address.” Jason states. “Thanks.”

“Of course.” You hang up and get to your feet while Jason texts you the address.

When you reach Jason, he’s soaked. Your heart aches, feeling like it’s being squeezed right through your rib cage at the sight of him. He looks exhausted and lost. He looks distant and he is drenched from the winter rain. Something bad happened and you have no idea how you're going to be able to help.

You take off your helmet, not getting off the bike. “Jay, are you okay?”

Jason gets up from the curb and walks up to you, offering you a fake smile. “Yeah.” His jaw clenches and he doesn’t even want to go home. He doesn’t want to see Bruce. He’d rather be outside in the cold. “All good.”

“What happened?” You reach out but Jason dodges you, reaching for his helmet. A lump grows in your throat. He doesn’t dodge you. Not like that.

“Bruce took Robin away.” Jason’s voice cracks as he shakes his head.

He dodges your stare. He doesn’t want to see the look you’ll give him. On the one hand, he’ll feel guilty. He’ll feel guilty for lying and talking to Crane. And on the other, you’ll give him a look that screams pity and that is the last thing he needs. Jason Todd doesn’t need anyone’s pity.

“What do you mean?” You question.

“Like fucking permanently. He said I can’t be Robin anymore.” Jason lets out a bitter scoff as he feels the anger come back to his bloodstream.

“Jay, I’m so sorry.” You say softly.

You never thought Bruce would take it away like that. Jason has been doing everything Bruce asked him to do. Ever since the Pete Hawkins thing, Jason has backed off entirely. He is putting a real effort into therapy, really trying to let the process help. Why would Bruce rip it away from him?

“Fuck him. I’m gonna fucking show him he’s wrong. He's fucking wrong about me.” Jason grits his teeth.

“He is.” You nod your head. “Come on. Let’s get you home and warm and we can talk more, okay?”

“Whatever.” Jason scoffs, popping his helmet on before he gets on the back and holds onto you while you drive back to the manor.

You get Jason back to the manor and into a warm shower. He says almost nothing. It’s as if he’s completely numb and it breaks you to see him like this. Jason is anything but quiet in a shower with you, usually. And he’s always handsy and cheeky. But, tonight, he’s just quiet, going through the motions, stuck on his own head.

You don’t understand how Bruce could take Robin away like that. It’s not fair. Jason does what Bruce asks him to and he messes up sometimes but that’s normal. How does he not see Robin is the most important thing to him? You even told him that. And he took Robin anyway. He never should have let him be Robin in the first place if this was something that could happen. Dick almost killed someone and he didn’t take Robin from Dick. Jason tries his best. Why isn’t that good enough for Bruce?

Dick was always right about him.

Jason plops onto your bed, his eyes red and puffy. His heart feels like it’s being crushed by cinderblocks. It all hurts. How did he really let another person down? How was he fooled into believing Bruce was different than everyone else? He thinks about his dad. His dad wasn’t a good person but Jason, sometimes, wonders if it was him. Maybe it was his fault his dad was like that. Maybe it was different before him. His dad didn’t choose to be his dad. But Bruce chose it. And still is giving up on him. Jason is Bruce’s son by choice, he thought the choice of picking a son, would make it different. But it’s the same old story Jason hates retelling.

He fucks up and people give up.

“Want me to rub your back while you tell me about it?” You offer as you stand in between his legs, looking down at him.

Jason looks up at you and you always worried so much. He wishes he could be better so you wouldn’t worry about him. He wonders why you choose him. You don’t have to, like Bruce. But you do. He wonders if one day you’ll stop. If his mom and his dad and his uncle and Dick and Bruce all chose other things over him, why wouldn't you? But he looks up at you and you give him this soft smile with your fingertips brushing his knees with care and he thinks you're still different than everyone else.

Jason cracks a soft smile. “Yeah, actually. Thank you.”

“Of course.” You smile softly.

Jason switches to his stomach, facing the TV just as you did the first day you started your friends-with-benefits situation. You sit on top of him and run your hands over his back. Your hands are cold, sending goosebumps up his spine. Your hands are always cold, something he always finds a bit ironic given the acid generation warms your hands. But your fingers are soft as you trace over the scars on his back. You do it every time and he always meant to ask.

“Why do you do that?” Jason asks, his eyes closed with his head on his hands.

“Do what?” You ask as you start rubbing his shoulders.

“Trace the scars.”

“I dunno.” You shake your head and you didn’t realize you did it often enough for him to notice.

You're not even sure why you do it. It’s something mindless. Maybe it’s your subconscious wishing if you trace them enough times, it’ll remove the damage the scars have caused him, like a magic eraser. Or maybe tracing the scars is confirmation he’s real.

Sometimes, you have a hard time believing he’s real. All of this is real. You used to dream of a life outside of the basement, sometimes they’d feel so real you could swear they were. Wishful thinking.

Maybe you trace them as confirmation that the raised and paled skin is real, Jason is here with you and you're not dreaming. Maybe you like the way the scars look on his skin but he managed to pull through all of his terrible shit and make it out the other end with a smart mouth and a heart of gold anyway. Maybe, you just do it because you care about him regardless of the scars and what made them.

“Does it bother you?” You ask softly.

“No.” Jason answers. “Just wondering.”

It always makes him feel vulnerable, a harsh reminder he is not invincible as much as he likes to believe he is sometimes. He might have survived those injuries but they’re there as harsh reminders. And you touch them and he thinks maybe you find comfort in them, because you have them, too. And that’s always enough for him. He thinks it makes him feel human and real and alive. He always feels a little exposed but it’s become comforting with you.

“What happened?”

He thinks he has his lies in order. He knows he might be sabotaging the relationship. Despite everything he thinks as you massage over the scar on his back, he knows. He knows you might not forgive him. There’s always a chance you won’t be so understanding when you inevitably find out because you always figure him out. But it's a risk he has to take.

He can’t keep doing this anymore. He can’t keep not sleeping. He can’t keep shaking and freezing. He can’t keep living like this. He knows he can’t. It’ll destroy him. It’ll be miserable. The idea of going back to being useless and not good enough and a disappointment, he can’t live like that. He needs help now, before Bruce finds his replacement. Maybe you’ll understand that part.

“He fucking said he made mistakes and I guess I’m fucking one of them.” Jason scoffs from under you.

You narrow your eyes thinking Bruce didn’t actually say that. You have no faith in Bruce to communicate worth a shit given your conversation with him and given Jason and Dick. And Bruce might be very good at hiding his emotions, but you know he actually cares about Jason. You don’t think Bruce would ever tell Jason he was a mistake, even if he thought it.

“He said that?” You ask, pausing for a few seconds.

“Basically!” Jason groans. “And he doesn’t want to make more mistakes and he said I can’t be Robin anymore. He thinks I’m a fucking mental case. He doesn’t care it’s important to me. He doesn’t care that I’m doing what he wants me to. It doesn’t matter to him. It’s fucking bullshit.” Jason’s voice shakes as his back tenses under your palms.

“That’s not fair. I don’t know why he would do that. You were always a great Robin.” You say softly.

You wish you could have heard the conversation so you would know better what to say. But, you also know, even if Bruce didn’t say any of that and it came out wrong, it wouldn’t change anything for you to decipher it for him. At the end of the day, Bruce could have outright told Jason he loves him and he doesn’t want him to die and Jason would still be absolutely crushed with Robin being ripped away from him. Bruce’s delivery of the message doesn’t matter. It doesn’t change anything.

“Just fucking tired of being scared.” Jason lets out a defeated sigh. “Fucking gave up on me. Ya know, thought he was fucking different.” His voice is etched in pain and you wish you could take it all away. He never deserves the pain he gets.

It’s honest. He can be honest with you about that. Maybe he wants you to figure it out.

“Yeah, I get it. Being scared really sucks. You’ll get better though. I know I keep saying it but it takes time, Jay. Bruce should be giving you more time.” You say. “I’m really sorry about him.” You lean down and press a kiss to his shoulder blade. “You still have me, okay?”

He knows. He’ll always have you. Somewhere inside of him, he knows. The anxiety of you freaking out and leaving when you figure it out is there, but he also knows he’s given you every opportunity to take off and run. And you never do. You’d understand his desperation. You'd understand why he lied. He knows he still has you.

“What if there were a cure for fear?” Jason asks and he’s glad you can’t see his face. You’d know.

“What do you mean?” Your brows furrow.

“What if there was a cure? Like we can just take it and not be scared anymore.” Jason listens carefully, feeling your hands pause on his back. He knows without looking that you've got your right eyebrow raised at him, your eyes narrowing at him as if you can’t decide if he’s joking or serious.

“I mean that’d be great, but there would be consequences, right?” You question.

You're a little concerned with the question. But, that’d be insane. It’d be insane for him to really look for a cure to fear. You swear he’s just talking, doing one of his hypothetical talks he does like you do about the zombie apocalypse.

“Like what? Being fearless sounds pretty fucking good right about now.” Jason scoffs.

“We’ll, fear is just adrenaline, right? But that fear also keeps you looking both ways before crossing the street, it alerts you when someone is following you home. Without fear, also means you won’t have excitement. You’ll probably be emotionally numb to a lot of things. Not having adrenaline is dangerous though.” You answer.

“Yeah, but isn’t that fucking better than being scared all the damn time? You’re afraid of everything, too and your nightmares are back. You wouldn’t want something to stop it?” Jason looks over his shoulder.

Your nightmares came back a week and a half ago. You and Molly were on a walk and ran into Jerry’s Gotham house. You still don’t know how you missed it, but you did. You were walking and having a good time and you saw the house and that was it. You broke and it’s like all of the progress you made over the last few months evaporated into the atmosphere. Molly had to call Jason because you were having a panic attack and couldn’t snap out of it. The nightmares came back that night.

“Of course, I would.” You shrug.

You think about it and maybe it would be nice. If nothing else, just so you could get some damn proper sleep. So, you both could get some proper sleep. Maybe if you both got some sleep, you’d be better. Maybe Jason makes a good point but then you think about how happy you are when you see him and when a new movie comes out and your marathons with Gar. You wouldn’t want to trade those feelings for being fearless.

“But not if it means getting rid of everything else. Adrenaline also keeps us alive. I’ve been numb and that’s worse than being scared. Why?” You ask. “You trying to find a cure to fear or something?”

“No.” Jason scoffs, letting out a fake laugh and he was really hoping you’d be on his side with this one. “Just fucking saying, wish there were a cure. At least so I can be Robin.”

“Look, it sucks, Jaybird. But I don’t think the answer to being Robin is being fearless. You had to use that fear to survive out there, too. You’re gonna be okay and then you can go out and be your own hero. You don’t have to be Robin. Dick quit and became Nightwing. You don’t need Bruce to help people.” You say. “And I still think you’re plenty good enough. I’m just saying, if Bruce won’t let you, do it yourself when you get better. You’re good enough.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Jason sighs. “Maybe you’re right but he doesn’t believe in me anymore.” Jason says and you know it’s never your approval he’ll need. And that’s okay but you wish sometimes, like tonight, it were enough. “I’m gonna prove him wrong.”

“Good, fuck Bruce.” You smile softly. “Just…give it a little bit, okay? Keep seeing Leslie, too. She’s been helping.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Jason huffs.

“I’m serious, Jason. You do sleep more now. Seeing her is helping, just keep up with it. And then we’ll go out together. Fuck Bruce. We’ll be our own team.” You let out a soft chuckle.

“Thanks.” Jason lets out a sigh.

You make good points but his mind is made up. He’s going to do this. He doesn’t have time to wait around and hope for the best. He isn’t going to Leslie. He’s going to make the anti-fear drug and he won’t be scared anymore. Maybe you're right. Maybe he’ll be numb to everything but he doesn’t care anymore. He is desperate for a cure. He needs it. Maybe he can only use it to be Robin, just to prove himself. It’ll be a quick fix and that’ll be the end of it. Just use it out there and to sleep. You make good points, but he has to do this. And he is so sorry he has to lie about it.

Jason turns from under you so he can face you and you place your hands on his chest. You have a soft smile and he feels so guilty but you’ll understand. You’ll get it when he can function better, it’s just until this whole shit wears off. You’ll get it. If anyone will, it’ll be you.

“Thanks for not giving up on me.” Jason places his hands on your thighs, his thumbs rubbing softly against your bare skin.

“You and me.” You smile softly.

“Yeah.” Jason smiles looking at the necklace hanging from your neck. You haven't taken it off since he gave it to you. “You and me.”

“You okay?” Your voice is filled with love as you ask. No one ever asked like that before.

“Yeah.” Jason answers simply. “Just glad you’re here.”

“You sure? I’m really worried about you.” Your brows knit together. “You know I’ll always be here. No matter what.”

“I’m not gonna walk off a roof, I swear.” Jason’s eyes widen as a grin tugs at the corner of his lips.

“Good. I just know this is bad for you. I just hope you believe me because I believe in you.”

Jason sits up and places his fingers under your chin. “Thanks. Look, I’ll be fucking fine. Trust me. I got a plan.” Jason offers you a grin.

“That’s still mildly unsettling coming from you.” You smile. “What’s the plan?” You widen your eyes as your hands come to his shoulders, a teasing smirk coming to your lips.

“You’ll see.” Jason drops his hand to your waist.

“Oh, you’re not gonna tell me?” You laugh.

“What’s that you always say?” Jason teases. “We don’t always get what we want.” And he says your name, it comes out a little groveled but his voice is teasing.

“Shut up.” You groan.

“Do you trust me?” Jason asks as his hands squeeze your hips softly.

“Of course, I do. You know I do.” You answer.

“Trust me then. I got a plan. I’ll be back out there and proving everyone else wrong.” Jason holds his head with confidence.

You raise a brow at him. “Why do I have a bad feeling about that?” Jason and plans aren’t always a bad combination but he is desperate and hurt right now. You remember the last plan he had when he felt this way.

“Don’t. I got this. Like you said, I’ll be fine.” Jason presses a kiss to your lips.

“Right yeah, you will be.” You let out a sigh and you think it can’t be that bad. He’d tell you. “Okay. You’ll tell me through, right?”

“Of course, you and me.” Jason gives you a wild grin.

He hopes you won’t be mad.

The next day, Jason rents an apartment and sets up to work on making the anti-fear drug. ?You had plans with Molly anyway and that was the perfect excuse for him to get here all by himself to get to work. Plus, Bruce had to go out of town so that's one less person he has to worry about.

He feels guilt gnawing at his stomach like a bad stomach ulcer. But he works anyway. He works through it because this is the only way. And even if he wanted to back out, he already told Crane everything. If he wanted to back out, Crane could use that information against him. But, he doesn’t want to back out anyway, so he pushes the guilt and anxiety away as he puts together a botched drug.

You grow suspicious over the next few days. Jason is making weird and random excuses not to hang out. He’s always trying to get you to hang out more with Molly or for you to head to Excellent Gotham and get to know Tim better. You always need more friends, apparently. Normally, you wouldn’t think too much of it. Or you’d be worried he was distancing himself to leave. But it’s Jason and he’s definitely hiding something, so you follow him one day.

Your phone rings as you hide in the alley beside the building Jason walked into.

“Hello?” You ask.

“Why are you following me?” Jason asks.

He caught onto you following him a few blocks from the apartment he’s been using. He was Robin and a street kid, he knows when someone is following him. And he feels bad about it. For you to follow him, you have to be really worried. He doesn’t track you unless you get kidnapped and you don’t track him on his phone. You don’t follow each other. But you are. And he needs to find a way to assure you.

“I—“ You pause. “I-I’m not following you.” You scoff.

“Yeah, you are.” Jason states as he walks through the opposite end of the alley.

“Why do you think that?” You raise, crossing your arm across your chest.

“I can see you.” Jason answers, pulling the phone away from his ear as you jump, turning around to see Jason.

To be fair, you should have known he'd figure it out. But, you tried to be subtle and keep a far enough distance away from him. You put in a lot of effort. He's just more vigilant than you are, apparently.

“Oh, hey, Jay.” You give him a cheeky smile with a nervous laugh. “Whatcha doing?”

You might be following him. You might be figuring it out a little sooner than he'd personally like. But, he does find it a little cute. And a little amusing you really thought Jason wouldn't figure it out.

“Walking, what’re you doing, babe?” Jason quips, closing the rest of the distance between you.

You sigh in defeat. “Following you.”

Jason lets out a hearty laugh. “No shit. Why?”

“You’ve been…weird, sneaking around. Worried about you.” You groan as you scrunch your nose.

He's really not trying to worry you. He doesn't want you to worry about him anymore. Even if you would be completely against an anti-fear drug, a part of him thinks maybe if he has it, you won't have too many reasons to worry about him anymore. The way Jason sees it, he was always better off with less fear. Maybe the drug helping him, will help you. In a roundabout way.

“You don’t have to worry. I’m just working on something, alright?” He’s giving you that toothy grin that is always trouble.

“Right…that’s not nearly as reassuring as you think it is.” You quip back, the smile falling short.

“It’s a surprise, alright? Don’t worry so much.”

“A surprise?” You raise a brow.

“A surprise.” Jason echoes and it’s not technically a lie. “You said you trust me.”

“I do.” You groan. “I’m sorry. You just never sneak around. It’s weird, even for you.”

You chew the inside of your cheek and maybe you're being paranoid. You've always been a little on the paranoid side, especially since Jerry. And the paranoia decided to come back in full force with the nightmares. Maybe you're just paranoid, more worried about losing him. Things have been good, between you at least, you always get scared when things are good for too long.

Jason puts his hands on your shoulders. “I’m fine, babe. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“Promise?” You ask.

“Promise.” Jason nods.

“Fine.” You sigh, taking his arms off of your shoulders and holding his right hand. “Just…whatever you’re up to, be careful.”

“Always.” Jason beams, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “I’ll see you at home, yeah?”

“Yeah, okay.” You sigh, kissing him softly.

“Love you.” Jason grins, walking past you.

“I love you, too.” You watch him walk off and you really have a bad feeling about this one. But you can’t follow him and you have no reason not to trust him. So, you let him walk as you head back the way you came.

The next day, Jason gets the formula right. He uses an inhaler to take it and every fear he has ever had, melts away. It works. He did it. He got his cure to fear. So, he heads back to Arkham, high on the drug to confirm to Crane he got it despite the shotty formula.

And Crane already had a plan in motion. He had a feeling Jason would figure it out. So, he set up a plan and it’s time for the plan to go into motion so they can make Gotham theirs. Crane needs Jason to prove it works. What better way than to have him face off with the Joker alone? That’ll surely prove it. But, what Jason doesn’t know, is that Crane knows the downside to life without fear. Of course, he does. He’s the expert in it. Crane already has someone on the outside ready to handle it when this does not go the way Jason thinks it will. But is it perfect for Crane, another thing to hold over Jason’s head to control him.

And Jason doesn’t see the motive. So, Crane tells him to go after the Joker to prove it works and prove to the Bat he can do this. Jason doesn’t need Bruce. He can take care of the Joker all by himself. Jason, lacking all apprehension and self-preservation thanks to the drug, agrees easily. He’s not scared of him.

That next night, Jason convinces you to run out to the store. You were talking about needing some supplies for your scrapbook. You're reluctant at first, but decide to go. It’ll be quick. And Jason gets to work tracking the Joker.

But, with Jason at home, something just does not feel right to you. You make it all the way to the store, hoping the feeling will it go away, but it doesn't. So, you decide to call Molly, maybe Molly can talk you down.

“Hey.” Molly chimes through the phone.

“Hey, you busy?” You ask as you sit on the bike outside of the store.

“No, what’s up?”

You pause. It’s eating at you. Jason was weird as fuck last night when he came home and he’s been weird today. Convincing you to go to the store was weird. Him not coming with is also weird. And you have that feeling in the pit of your stomach. You shouldn’t have left.

“You….uh, I don’t know. I think I’m having a bad feeling so I just…need to talk I think.” You shake your head, the helmet weighing on your head a bit.

“What’s going on? Where’s Jason?” Molly asks.

“Home.” You answer. “I went to the store, he didn’t wanna come.”

“Is everything okay with you guys?”

“Yeah, yeah, all good. Not, uh, not what I wanted to talk about actually.”

“What’s going on?”

“Uh…do you…you know when something bad is gonna happen like really bad and you just….get this feeling? Like…right in the center of your stomach?”

You think you're being paranoid. It only happened once when your mom died. But since Jerry, you're always paranoid and the feeling comes back. Sometimes it’s wrong. Sometimes, it’s just you being paranoid. And you know that’s what this has to be because what could possibly happen to Jason at the manor?

“Yeah.” Molly nods her head because it happened with her mom. She just knew. “You have that feeling?”

“Yeah…I don’t know. Sometimes it's wrong. But it just…I don’t know. Feels bad.” You let out a sigh.

“When did it start?”

“Right before I left. Like, I got on the bike and I just….I don’t know. I think I’m gonna go home.” You shake your head and you can go home. You can always come back tomorrow.

“Are you sure? I mean...what if it’s a coincidence? Two’s a coincidence.” Molly tries to assure you.

“Yeah, I know but….what if it’s not? Can you stay on the phone with me while I get back?” You just can’t do it. It’s not a big deal.

“Yeah, of course.” Molly nods her head and you start the bike, taking off back to the manor. “What do you think it is?” Molly asks, mostly to talk you down.

“I don’t know.” You answer. “Jason’s been acting weird lately. I don’t know. I can’t explain it. It’s not….he’s…something’s off with him and I don’t know why I came. He told me to and maybe I listen to him a little too much sometimes. He said he was fine but I don’t know. I got a real bad feeling.” You groan.

“How far are you from the manor?”

“Like twenty minutes.”

“Well, if something is going on, you’re not that far and you haven’t been gone long. He couldn’t have gotten into too much trouble.” Molly tries to assure you but it doesn’t work.

The more you talk, the more paranoid you get. You know Molly is right. He couldn’t have gotten into too much trouble in the last half hour. But you worry anyway.

“Yeah, hey, can you conference him in? Just…give me some piece of mind before I get back.”

“Yeah, of course.” Molly states as she pulls the phone away from her ear and adds Jason to the call. The two of you listen as the phone rings and rings and rings. And then goes to voicemail.

“Fuck.” You let out a scoff as panic starts to flood your system.

“Maybe he’s--”

“No, he’d answer if it were you while I’m out. Call again.” You state and Molly does as told, getting voicemail again. You shake your head and you pull the throttle back, kicking the bike into third.

“Slow down.” Molly urges. “I’m sure he’s fine. Maybe he’s just in the bathroom.” Molly says as she hears the bike rev further.

“He’d answer. I know he would. Double calls. He would because why would you call him twice in a row unless it were important?” You argue.

You're begging for you to be wrong. You hope against everything in your body you're wrong. This one time, you have to be wrong.

“Okay, so what do you think is going on?” Molly asks.

“I don’t know!” You groan. “That’s the problem. I have no idea what’s been going on with him. I followed him a few days ago and he brushed it off. Like it was no big deal but he was sneaking around behind my back. He said he was planning something or some shit. Whatever the fuck that’s supposed to mean.”

“You don’t think he’s like cheating--”

“No! Of course, not. He would never. I….” You bite your tongue because Molly doesn’t know about Robin. “I don’t know what the fuck he’s been doing but now he’s not answering. And I got this feeling. Hold on I’m at a stop light.” You groan, quick-dialing Jason as you watch the red light. The two of you listen as it goes to voicemail. And you try again. Voicemail. “Something’s wrong.” You say as the light turns green and you start weaving between cars.

“Because he’s not answering and you have a feeling? You sound paranoid.”

“I know.” You grit your teeth. “But he’d answer for me. I know he would. Especially calling him twice. He’d answer. I just...remember a few weeks ago when he got his ass kicked?”

“Yeah.” Molly wishes she could forget.

“Okay, so what if he went out on his own to try that guy again or something?” You spit, avoiding details about Robin because you're thinking he’s out Robining alone for some sort of spite against Bruce. He’s still mad. And maybe he froze and it got bad.

“Why would he do that?”

“Because he’s Jason.” You let out a breath.

You get back to the manor, switching the call to your phone instead of your helmet. You make your way into the manor and call for Jason. The manor is silent. It’s not even like that’s abnormal. Jason isn’t really loud and neither is Bruce. But, the quiet and lack of Jason answering is eery and unsettling.

You search your rooms and living rooms and kitchens. He’s nowhere to be found and your heart sinks further. So, you go to the Batcave. Hoping maybe, he’s just training. Maybe Molly is right. Maybe he’s just busy. Maybe his phone died and he didn’t realize it. That’s possible. It’s Jason. He isn’t the type that’s glued to his phone. Maybe.

But that hope dies as you reach the Batcomputer, seeing Amusement Mile pulled up with the Joker’s location.

No, no, no, no.

“I’m sure he went out and he’ll be--”

“Fuck!” You yell as you look to the display case. The Robin suit is gone.

Molly calls your name and now she’s worried.

“What a fucking---” You cut yourself off as you grit your teeth. “Molly, I gotta go.”

“Molly yells your name, her voice now completely panicked.

“I can’t. I’m sorry. I’ll call you. I have to call Bruce.” You rush as you hang up, running over to your own display case holding your suit. You rip the case open and grab the suit as you put Bruce on speaker. “Bruce!?” You yell into the phone as you jump around, getting the suit on as fast as you can.

This can’t be happening. The Joker? Of all fucking people, that’s who he decides he’s going to go after to prove himself? Why the hell would he ever do that? You try your best not to focus on the millions of questions you have for him and the fact you're ready to scream at him for the twenty-four hours. You have to focus because it’s the fucking Joker. He’s taken too much from you.

Bruce can hear the absolute panic in your voice. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Jason! I fucking told you! He went after the fucking Joker!” You scream into the phone as you zip the front of your suit and put the mask over your mouth.

“I told him not to.” Bruce says calmly, but a part of him is panicking.

Bruce doesn’t panic but there is no way you would be calling him and telling him this if it weren’t true. Jason knows better. Why would he go after the Joker? On his own?

“Oh, because Jason is so fucking good at following instructions?!” You run over to the weapons once you're completely suited up.

On the one hand, Bruce could send you after him. That’s at least, two against one. But, it’s the Joker. And Bruce knows he’s more ruthless than anyone. It’s a fun game to him like whack-a-mole. And the prize is always bloodshed. He also knows how you feel and if he sends you, not only could you go out and get killed but you could kill him first. That’s a life on Bruce’s conscious.

“Do not go anywhere. I’m on a flight—“

“No! You don’t get to tell me to fucking sit here and hope for the fucking best. He is everything to me and I am not gonna sit here and let him get fucking killed, Bruce!” You seeth and the Joker should have been killed a long fucking time ago. You swear, if the Joker even lays a single finger on him, you’ll do it her damn self. Bruce is too much of a coward of what he could become if he did it. You don’t care. “The Robin suit is gone, the Joker is gonna fucking kill him and it’s all your fault!” You scream as you gather knives.

“Stay put.” Bruce is stern on the other line. “It will be dangerous and you aren’t prepared--”

“No! Fuck you!” You snip back, gathering as many knives as you can carry. “I’m gonna save him, kill the damn Joker since you’re too damn cowardly to do it and then I’m calling Dick.” You fume on the other end. “I’m gonna beg him if I have to to come and bring us back to San Franciso because fucking clearly, he’s worse off here!” You scream before hanging up the phone and heading towards the exit.

It’s not that he’s scared or even feeling uneasy. His head is clouded with a sense of nothing. Everything is just numb as he cuts the chain into the amusement park.

Jason should be scared and there’s a gnawing at the back of his head that is screaming and howling for him to be scared. To turn around. This is a bad idea. This is bad. There are red flashing lights begging him to turn around but that sense of adrenaline that would normally kick in and give him a little bit of common sense and self-preservation is being suppressed. It doesn’t exist. So, the normally loud and blinding lights that have been causing him so much pain over the last few months, aren’t loud enough. They’re useless.

As he walks further into the amusement park, he finds old and run-down games that grab his attention. This is the Joker’s hideout. It’s known. Of course, the maniac clown would like a closed amusement park. And Jason knows he should be hypervigilant. This is the Joker’s turf and he knows the Joker is here. But the drug keeps suppressing that, too.

He knows he should be more aware and more on guard but the drug gives him a false sense of confidence. He can do this. It’s the Joker. He’s just some crazy clown and if Bruce can take him down several times, Jason can do it. Bruce trained him, right? He knows better though. He should be scared and more aware. but then there’s a noise from behind him and he jumps anyway.

His heart skips before plummeting back into a resting rhythm as he spots a dead man with a creepy smile tugged on display. Jason’s eyes widen and there’s this small, tiny bit of fear that seems to bypass the anti-fear drug like a leaky faucet. And Jason starts to hear and see the red flashing lights in the back of his head in perfect color. But the point is that he isn’t supposed to feel fear at all.

Maybe his formula is a little off. How is he feeling any sense of fear? It’s barely there, barely even noticeable but it’s there enough where if he were in a normal state of mind, that alone would send him into a panic. He’d panic about being worried he’s going to panic. And that thought with the mixing of the drug, makes him miss the creeping steps of the Joker from behind him.

With a quick swing, a crowbar connects to Jason’s head and he’s sent right to the ground.

His head throbs and aches, a horrendous and shooting pain sending his head into a spin as his stomach turns. Blood drips down from his forehead, the warm liquid seeping down his cheek as he looks up to see the menacing and sadistic smile of the Joker looking down at him just as he pulls his arm back for another swing.

This swing connects with his jaw and Jason can hear the bone break. Jason’s mouth pools with blood, the taste of iron already becoming more nauseating. He groans out in agony as the Joker takes another hit to his head, his laugh echoing through the park.

His laugh rings through Jason’s ears with every blow and Jason thinks that laugh can penetrate any type of anti-fear drug. His hearing seems to get worse and worse but that laugh could pierce through solid steel. And he’s not supposed to be scared anymore.

But the Joker hits him again and Jason coughs up blood and fear starts to rush into his veins. Maybe it’s the overwhelming amount of adrenaline making the anti-fear drug wear off a lot sooner than it should. Maybe his formula needs to be tweaked. Maybe the anti-fear drug has a side effect, maybe it doesn’t work when he’s on the brink of death. Jason can’t think straight enough to figure it out. Instead, all he thinks is that he has never been more terrified than he is right now.

SMACK

WHACK

CRACK

Jason’s bones break as Joker takes a break from his face and works on his side and then his arms and legs. He swears this is the worst pain he has ever been in. The Joker hits him over and over and over again, the pain getting worse and worse as tears brim his eyes. He claws at the ground in desperation, a failing attempt to move away. But, the bones are being broken one by one and he can feel the shards with every movement. And he is so fucking sorry.

SMACK

He’s so sorry to Bruce because he should have listened. He should have been a better Robin. He should have listened. He’s so sorry he wasn’t better. He’s so sorry he wasn’t a better son. He tried his absolute best but he could have tried harder. Maybe he could have told Bruce what was going on. Maybe he could have told Bruce more about therapy. Maybe he could have explained anything that ever happened with him. Maybe he could have just tried to be a son. He’s so sorry and all he wants to do is tell Bruce he’s sorry. And thank you.

He wants to thank Bruce for trying. For taking him in. Letting him be his son and letting him be Robin. Bruce, in his weird way, cared about him and loved him. He tried even if he sucked at it sometimes. Jason wants to tell Bruce thank you.

SMACK

Jason screams as the crowbar finally shatters one of his ribs. His breathing is becoming ragged as the Joker takes another swing to Jason’s chest. The Robin suit offers a lot of protection but the Joker is relentless. He’s getting off on every scream and groan and gasp Jason lets out. It’s as if the sight of the blood seeping onto the ground and the backswing of splatter gets him off. He’s having the time of his life beating Jason to death. And Jason has never been more scared.

SMACK

He’s so scared and sorry. He’s so fucking sorry to you and he would give anything to tell you that right now. All he wants to do is call you. He wants to take it all back. He wants to go back home and crawl into your bed with you. He wants to hug you and kiss you and promise he’s doing okay and he’ll be okay. And you’ll be okay. He wants to promise you that it’ll all work out in the end, even if he doesn’t make it. He wants to tell you not to be mad or sad because he doesn’t deserve it. You don’t deserve to dwell on his inevitable death.

You both knew it was going to be him. You liked to fool yourself into thinking maybe it would be you but at the end of the day, you both knew it would always be him. Jason always knew it was gonna be him who died first. And he wants nothing more than to promise you it’ll be okay. You’ll be okay. He doesn’t want you to run yourself into the ground over him. But he knows you and he knows as the Joker takes another horrendous and agonizing hit to his skull, you’ll be miserable. This will be it for you. He’s not gonna make it and you're gonna lose your entire mind. You always said you would. And it’s all his fault.

SMACK

CRACK

He wants to shake you and tell you he’s so fucking sorry. He should have just told you what was going on. He should have told you. You would have helped him. You wouldn’t have been mad or yelled at him. Of all people, you would have understood why he went to Crane. You would have gotten it. You always understood him. And he should have told you.

He shouldn’t have lied to you. He’s so fucking sorry. And he’s so sorry for not loving you better, you deserve someone who’s not gonna do this. You deserve someone who’s not gonna get killed and didn’t even stand a damn chance. And he is so sorry he’s going to leave you alone.

He doesn’t think he’s gonna make it.

The Joker's laugh starts to sound further away as he takes another blow to the right side of his face, the crowbar connecting hard and steady against his ear. Then he can’t hear anything from that ear at all as blood starts to drip out. It’s the worst headache of Jason’s life. He can hear his skull cracking under the blows. He feels the blood seeping through his suit and onto the ground. There’s so much blood. He’s lightheaded and dizzy. It’s so hard to breathe.

SMACK

He’s not gonna make it.

And he finds himself, hoping against all odds, that someone will find him soon anyway. Maybe help will come just in time. Bruce is supposed to be the world’s greatest detective. Jason is his son. He’d figure it out. Maybe he already did and he’s actually close. Maybe he lied to Jason and he’s actually in Gotham and on his way. And maybe, you figured it out.

You're smart. You can fight off the Joker enough to get you both to safety. You were trained by Jason, Dick, Bruce. Jason believes you could do it. Maybe you're on your way. You're smart. You know Jason better than anyone. You’ll figure it out. You always figure it out. Maybe help is coming.

SMACK

Everything goes black for just a few seconds and then it’s blurry and shifted. He can’t see out of his right eye. Jason doesn’t know what’s going on as the Joker takes another smack. His laugh is just a reverberation now. The only sound he can even hear is the cracking of bones. Nothing else. And he doesn’t think he can breathe real well. He can’t move his jaw. He can’t even find the strength to try to move anymore. It all hurts and there’s so much blood.

Jason silently begs for the help he doesn’t realize will be too late just as the Joker takes a larger and harder blow to the front of his face.

He doesn’t think he’s gonna be able to hold on.

You drive to the abandoned carnival, coming up on one of the gates. Jason’s bike and helmet are right outside and the chain to the gate has been cut. You know. You know this isn’t good. It’s completely silent and you are terrified.

Silence can’t be good and a part of you hopes that maybe the Joker wants to play with Bruce. Maybe the Joker wants to kill Jason in front of him, to taunt him, that’ll give you some time to have a plan and get you both out of there, maybe. Or Bruce could make it in time to save you both.

But you creep around the grounds, cautiously but quickly. You're paying close attention to your head, making sure you don’t miss it if the throbbing you're certain will start. But, it doesn’t. Instead, you reach an open tunnel with carnival games and there’s someone lying on the ground.

It’s dark and despite you knowing damn well if it were the Joker on the ground, Jason would be over him bragging and cheering for himself, you hope it’s the Joker anyway. You hope against everything that the person laying on the ground is the Joker.

The closer you get though, the more you get the picture of the yellow and black cape.

Jason.

“No…” Your lip quivers as you pause. You're terrified to get any closer. It can’t be Jason. It can’t be. It can’t be. It can’t be. He’s strong and smart. He knows better. “No, no, no, no…” Your voice cracks as you start to walk closer and you can see him now.

There’s blood everywhere. He’s laying in a puddle of red and there’s blood splatter on the ground and the games. A bloody crowbar is tossed to the side and Jason is completely still. Your heart is in your throat as you close the distance, dropping to your knees.

“Jay…” Your voice is a whimpered whisper as you put your hand on his shoulder, pulling him to face you.

His body is completely limp and as he turns, you get the gruesome sight of what the Joker has done.

Jason’s face is mangled and unidentifiable. You can see his teeth through his jaw while there’s blood and bruising around the other side of his face. His face is swollen and paler than usual. There’s blood smeared across his face and on his lips. Some of his hair is wet with blood and sticking to his forehead. And his eyes are closed, not even trying to open.

Your heart shatters in that instant. The weight of the world has been on your shoulders for years and with the sight of his body, the world finally falls. It tumbles around you, breaking into unfixable pieces. The foundation keeping you steady is lifeless and cold and bloody.

Your lip quivers as tears start to trickle down your cheeks. Everything around you feels heavy and cold. The lump in your throat is so big and hard, you swear it’ll suffocate you finally and you’ll finally be out of this misery. The reaper creeps back from the shadow of your head, a smile similar to Joker’s shining back at you and he’s finally won. He won in a way you never thought he would.

Killing the last good parts of you, by killing him.

“Jason…” You whimper, one of your hands hesitantly going to his neck to check for a pulse. Nothing. There’s no pulse, just cold skin under the blood. “No…” You whine, tears now blurring your vision. You lean down, trying to hear him breathe and there’s nothing. He’s completely still. No breathing. Nothing. Just lifeless. “Jay, please, you can’t die.” You let out a sob, pulling Jason’s body into your lap. “I love you. You can’t die. I need you.” Your words are slurred as your nose runs and the cries grow louder.

You sob, rocking back and forth. You knew it would happen. You knew. And you should have known Jason was up to something when he didn’t go with you today. You should have known. He can’t be dead.

You swallow the lump in your throat, moving to rest Jason’s head flat on the ground while you pull out your phone, hands covered in blood. You call Bruce, putting the phone on speaker and then you start CPR. You swear it’ll be useless but you have to try anyway.

You swore every single day that you would never give up on him. And CPR isn’t going to help, but fuck it, you're not going to give up. So, you try anyway. You have to fucking try.

“Did you find him?” Bruce asks as soon as he answers.

Those words get you to let out another cry, your arms shaking as you push down on Jason’s chest. “Bruce!” You scream as your arms tremble.

Everything stops for Bruce. Pain shoots through his heart like a barbed wire arrow. He knows. He knows that cry because he’s let it out himself all those years ago. He’s heard other people. Babs. Dick. He knows and yet, it can’t be true. Not his son.

“What happened?” Bruce shakes his head, using all of his willpower not to let his voice shake.

“What do I do?” You cry, your cries are loud but there’s a weakness in your voice. “He’s not breathing and the Joker beat him with a fucking crowbar! Bruce, what do I do?” You beg Bruce to help. Your voice is slurred and panicked, pleading with all of the energy in you. He’s fucking Batman, he has to help. “What do I do? He’s not breathing. There’s so much blood, Bruce, help, please. You have to save him. Help me save him, please. Bruce, I can’t lose him, I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t.” You keep pumping on Jason’s chest but you swear it’s not working and not just because the Robin suit is so sturdy you're barely getting a compression in. You beg him and beg him, as if your pleas are enough to bring Jason back.

“I’ll send someone, keep doing CPR.” Bruce instructs with a square jaw.

“Bruce, I don’t…..I don’t think it’s helping.” You wail and you can’t breathe. It’s so hard to breathe. “I don’t think…..Bruce….” You let out a cough as your elbows shake and you're losing rhythm of the chest compressions.

“Keep going, don’t stop until they get there. I’m landing soon.” Bruce instructs and he never should have gone. He should have seen it. How the hell did he miss this?

“There’s so much blood…Bruce.”

Barbara Gordon and a few trusted people close to Bruce show up first. They find you still trying to perform CPR. You're slower now, and you're not getting the impact you need to make a difference. Your arms are weak and you're nearly hyperventilating and choking on your own tears.

The paramedics try their best to get you off of him but you scream and yell and cry for them to get off of you. You shove them off of you and you try and try and try. Bruce is still on the phone, telling you to let them do their job but you can’t. You can’t do it. You can’t because then you give up. You can’t give up on him. Not him.

“Hey.” Barabra wheels over a few feet away from you and she gets a look at the damage as her stomach turns and she knows he’s gone. “You need to stop.” Her voice is calm as she tries to keep it together.

“No!” You scream and you feel too weak to deal with any of it. He was your everything. “I can’t.”

The paramedics look at Babraba waiting to be told what to do and they know, too. His face is completely destroyed. He’s unrecognizable. The only reason Barabra even knows it’s Jason is because of the Robin suit. There’s brain matter on the ground. There’s more blood on the ground than there is in his body.

“Bluejay.” Barbara calls again, her voice cracking and this gets you to look at her. Even in the dark, Babara can see the redness of your eyes and the tears shining on the top half of your cheek above your mask. “He’s gone.” Babraba’s eyes go misty and you shake your head.

“No…” You whine and you finally stop but your hands stay on his chest. “No, not…no.” You let out a sob and you can’t even see Barbara anymore, the tears have blurred everything together. “I can’t.” You fall back, one of the paramedics catching you so you don’t hit the pavement too hard. The other paramedic jumps in and to Jason, just to be completely positive.

You shove the paramedic off of you and walk the few feet weakly to Barbara. “I-I…what--” You suck in a harsh breath, your breathing so rapid you feel like you're going to pass out.

“Sit down.” Barbara tries to keep her composure and you collapse with a loud sob, your entire chest feeling like it’s been set on fire with gasoline.

It can’t be him. Why him? He was good. He was a good person and funny and smart and kind. Jason had a heart of gold. Why did it have to be him? It never should have been him. He always deserved so much better. He never deserved this. This isn’t fair. It’s not right and it’s so fucking painful you wish the ground would just open up and swallow you whole.

“Babs!” You scream. “I-I-I don’t I don’t wanna do it anymore.” Your teeth grit together as your words are wet and slurred.

You can’t breathe. You can’t breathe. It’s hard to breathe and your chest feels like it’s all caving in under the pressure. Maybe putting your heart in a pressure cooker would be less painful than this. Everything fucking hurts.

Barbara rests a hand on your shoulder and she knew Jason was reckless but she didn’t think he’d ever actually get himself killed. He was smart. Smarter than this. You cover your face with your hands, not caring you're covered in Jason’s blood. You just want everything to stop. The pain and the world and time and everything. You want it all to be over.

“I’m so sorry.” Barbara offers and there is nothing she can say that’s going to make this better.

“I can’t.” You spit and push Barabra’s hand off you before getting to your feet.

You push through the pain, running away. Barbara yells after you but you do not care. You make yourself run through the pain and the weakness. If you can do anything, it’s run from it. You want to run as far as your legs will let you. To the bike where you can speed away from it all. Speed so fast the pain goes away. The agony will fade if you run. You can do it. You tell yourself you can as tears fall down your face. You toss the helmet on and hop on the bike, and leave. You've always been good at running. You can run from it.

You're in the bathroom back at the manor, scrubbing the blood off of your hands through tears. Everything is blurry and painful. It’s burning and agonizing and stabbing. It aches and throbs. Breathing is the hardest thing you've ever done. You try to get in a full breath but every time you do, a sob immediately follows and it’s like the wind is knocked out from your lungs all over again. Your head is spinning with a throbbing headache and your eyes are so puffy you can barely open them. But, there’s blood staining your hands, Jason’s blood, and you have to get it off. You have to get it off.

Get it off. Get it off. Get it off.

You grit your teeth so hard that your jaw starts to pulse and you hate it. You hate this so much. You hate it and you want him back. You need him. He is everything to you. He is your everything. He is your best friend and you love him more than you've ever loved anyone. And he’s supposed to take care of you and you're supposed to take care of him. And it’s not fair and it’s senseless and it was brutal and you scream at the top of your lungs before falling to the floor. You lean against the counter, pulling your legs to your chest as you put your hands on your face because you can’t do this anymore

You talked about what life you could have together. And you swear you saw it. For the first time, you were optimistic about a future. Because you had him. He gave you all of this hope for the future because Jason could survive anything. He was supposed to survive anything. He was good at it. Dodging whatever fucked up shit the world was going to throw at him. And now he’s not. He didn’t dodge fast enough. And you were supposed to have an apartment one day together. And make dinner together. And have a dog and a cat because Jason always really liked cats. He’d come home and you’d clean up the blood and he’d do the same for you when patrol got a little messy. You were supposed to have a life together.

You don’t know how you're supposed to get up again after this.

And then Molly walks in.

She’s been crying since Bruce called her and asked her to check on you. He’s worried about what you might do and seeing you on the floor absolutely hysterical, she knows why. Of course, she knew it would be bad. Her best friend just lost the person she loves. Of course, you're going to be a mess but….you're covered in blood and Bruce didn’t tell her what happened. And on top of that, you still have the suit on, minus the mask, which is another surprise Molly did not expect to get today.

Molly says your name with hesitance as she walks in, sitting on the floor in front of you.

You look up, moving your hands. “M-Molly.” You whine, your bottom lip trembling, the hood of your suit barely lets Molly get a glimpse of your face that’s covered in blood as well.

Molly nods. “Bruce called.” Her voice is just above a whisper.

“He….Molly…h-h-he…d-di-died..” You let out a sob as you shake your head and you just want it to be done. You're so fucking tired.

“I know.” Molly lets out a soft cry, sniffling softly.

“H-he’s dead.” Your entire body jerks with another cry as you hang your head. You're so fucking tired. Tired of all of it.

“I know.” Molly closes the distance between you, pulling you into a hug and allowing you to completely break against her. And then Molly starts crying because Jason was her best friend, too. “I’m so sorry.” Molly manages to get out.

“I can’t do it.” Your voice is weak against her.

“Can’t what?” Molly pulls away, her hands still on your shoulders as if trying to stabilize you.

Any of it. You can’t do any of it. You're covered in his blood and it all hurts. You're weak and tired and exhausted. It’s all agonizing and paralyzing and numb. It’s all too much. And you just cannot do any of it anymore.

“Blood and…” Your breathing is labored, your head swaying slightly. And you're so lightheaded and nauseous. “Do this.”

“One thing at a time.” Molly stands up and grabs a wash rag, wetting it with soap and water. Molly can break later. You need help. “Let me see.” You hand your hand to Molly and Molly starts cleaning.

Molly expects to find some sort of wound but she finds nothing. The more she scrubs, the more blood comes off and it’s just your skin under it. And she shakes her head because what the fuck happened to Jason that got you covered in his blood? A part of her almost doesn’t want to know. But, she has to ask anyway. Bruce was a little vague. So, after a few minutes, with your cries becoming quieter, Molly decides to ask.

“C-can I ask you what happened?” Molly is seeing that you're actually one of the suited vigilantes that roam Gotham so she’s guessing something with a bad guy went a little south.

And you don’t care anymore. None of it matters anymore. Jason is dead. It’s not his secret anymore. You're in your suit anyway and Bruce isn’t home. You're all alone anyway.

“Joker beat him to death with a crowbar.” You answer plainly Molly feels her stomach turn.

“What?” Molly’s heart stops in her chest.

You nod as you sniffle, watching Molly clean the remainder of Jason’s blood from your hands. “He was Robin.” Your voice is hoarse as you talk.

Molly pauses, blinking at you and she’s so confused. And this whole thing is growing more and more unsettling. Maybe she shouldn’t have asked.

“He…Jason was Robin?”

You nod again, sniffling. “Yeah.”

“You found him?” Molly asks. Why did you have to find him? Of all people, it just had to be you. Of course, it was you.

“Yeah.” More tears start to fall from your eyes and you can see him every time you blink. That’s going to be your last memory of him and it hurts so fucking bad you want to leave.

“I’m…I’m sorry. Is this all his?” Molly’s voice grows a little panicked. She can’t even imagine the sight you walked in on.

“There was a lot of blood. The head bleeds a lot.” You clear your throat before you sniffle again.

Molly is terrified you're going to start giving her gory details. Not on purpose but because you're too tired to care. The crying is slowing down and that always means you will talk. You stop caring and then you talk. Molly doesn’t want to know and you don’t need to relive the horror verbally.

“Okay, um…okay you stay here. I’m gonna get you some clothes.” Molly stands up quickly.

“C-can you…Jsaon’s room, there’s a…maroon hoodie. It was his favorite.” You look up at her as Molly heads to the doorway.

“Yeah, I’ll be back.” Molly nods quickly.

You let out another cry and you don’t think you’ll be able to survive this one. It’s too heavy. It’s too much. There’s only so much one person can take. And you swear as you shiver on the bathroom door with broken sobs tearing up your throat that Jason Todd was your breaking point. Jason Todd is dead and you swear you’ll never recover.

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series masterlist | masterlist | tag list

A/n: So, this is what Jason looks like in his death scene and he looks scared. Which, is probably a plothole because Titans (or them trying to throw us off since it's episode 1 ?? idk) but I decided I was just gonna use that anyway for fun lol Also fun fact, I was originally not going to include his death scene since we saw it in the show but then I rewatched UTRH and was encouraged by my best friend to make it worse so I did. And I'm really glad I included it lol I'm sorry but I really like how it turned out lol

Tag list: @fairyofshampoo // @italiana-20 // @jasontoddsmentaldisorders // @purplerose291 // @lovelessamai  // @makaelaseresin // @lenidaslenchen // @mayfieldss  // @ghostkingblake // @im-done-with-this-im-out // @velvetskies // @lilylovelyxo // @cryinghotmess // @yesimwriting // @vivian-555 // @stainedstardom // @baebeepeach // @legend-o-zelda // @harleycao // @somehow-lovable-trash  // @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx // @deyja-the-duck // @jasontoddslover //  @captainmarvels-blog // @totallynotkaibiased // @scarlovesyou // @whydoyoucare866 // @littlemeowmeow1000

#jason todd fanfic #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd x reader #red hood fanfic #red hood fanfiction #red hood x reader #titans fanfic #titans fanfiction #dc fanfic #dc fanfiction #petrichor

[late-to-the-party-81]

The Strongest Shape

AN: Wow - I can’t believe it’s been 6 months since I wrote something for my OT3! But here we are, with an update as to how they are doing now they are officially a throuple. It's also the first instalment without smut!

Beta’d by @lfnr-blog-blog-blog

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Moodboard by me

Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Part Eight | Part Ten

Relationship: Artist!Steve Rogers x Reader (Cali) x Engineer!Bucky Barnes

WC: 2k

CW: Fluff, suggestive language, implied smut

The car lurched to the side and you threw out your arms to steady yourself, one against the passenger side door and the other against the warm, firm body next to you.

“Can’t keep your hands off me, can you darlin’?” Bucky’s teasing drawl sounded in your ear and he grabbed hold of you, pulling you as close to him as the seatbelts would allow. You giggled back.

“You wish, Barnes.” You snuggled in close, enjoying being cuddled up against him. “Steve, can you drive more carefully?”

“Sorry, Cali. Cabby pulled out without warning.”

You scrubbed at your face with your free hand, inching up under the piece of black cloth that had been tied over your eyes.

“And when can I take this blindfold off?”

“When we get to our destination. Ain’t that right, Buck?”

“Mmm-hmm.” Bucky nuzzled his nose into your neck. “Might never take it off, to be honest. The sensory deprivation could be… stimulating.”

You smacked your hand against him playfully.

“You’re incorrigible.” He nipped at your ear and you squeaked in surprise.

“You love it, and don’t pretend you don’t.”

Steve chuckled from the driver’s seat as he continued to drive you towards your mystery destination. You knew you were still in the city; Steve’s muttered cursing, the constant tapping of the brakes, and the fact you hadn’t seemed to have got 20 miles an hour gave it away.

It had been three months now since the three of you had changed the nature of your relationship, bringing Bucky into it as more than just Steve’s friend, and it wasn’t to say that you and Steve were unhappy before, far from it. But now? Now there was an extra dimension, someone else to share the load, more love to give and more love to receive. If one of you needed to be alone, you didn’t have to worry about the other. If one of you was feeling spicy, the chances of both the others not being in the mood was low. And well, if all three of you were in the mood…Steve and Bucky had ended up shelling out for a reinforced, California King for Steve’s apartment after his previous bed broke during one of your more ‘intense’ sessions. Luckily none of you had been hurt and the memories of that night had kept you all giggling for weeks after.

Before this, there was no way you could have ever considered not feeling jealousy seeing your partner being affectionate and intimate with someone else, but watching your boys together was something beautiful. Sometimes you weren’t sure which was better - watching or participating. You’d mentioned as much to the pair of them and they both said they felt the same way,

The only fly in the ointment was your living situation. Not only did you all have to get used to living with an extra person, even Steve’s apartment, which was the biggest, couldn’t sustain you all for more than a couple of days without you all tripping over each other and tensions getting frayed. But when either you or Bucky went back to your own apartment for space, it just felt wrong.

The car lurched to a halt and you were glad for Bucky’s arm around you, bracing you.

“Bucky, next time we go on a mystery drive, could you do us all a favour and you do the driving?”  The brunet chuckled as Steve gasped dramatically.

“You wound me, Cali. How could you be so cruel? I’m a very good driver.”

You heard Steve open his door, climb out and push it shut. Bucky’s hand slid down between you, releasing your seatbelt, and then your door was opened, Steve helping you to step out, as you were still blindfolded.

“I hope no-one sees us and thinks you are kidnapping me.” Your left hand was held in Steve’s large, warm grip, and Bucky was standing behind and slightly to the side of you, his hand resting between your shoulder blades. 

“Come on, darlin’. Let’s get on with the surprise. Careful now, there are some steps.”

Your boyfriends carefully guided you up, the steps wide and smooth. You were glad you had eschewed heels for this excursion; it made it a lot easier to negotiate your way into whichever building your boys were taking you into. 

Steve let go of you briefly to open the door; you heard the click of a lock and the creak of hinges and then Bucky ushered you forward. Your curiosity was piqued as you heard your three sets of footsteps echoing inside the space.

“Where the heck are we, guys?”  Neither of them answered, but Steve’s nimble fingers came up to the back of your head, loosening the knot on the silk scarf they’d used for your blindfold.

“You ready for the surprise, sweetheart?”

“Yes! Stop torturing me - It had better be worth it, Stevie.”

The fabric fell away and you blinked for a moment, adjusting to the bright light. Then you gasped. You were standing in the empty front room of a brownstone. Smooth wooden floors and decorative sconces grabbed your attention.

Steve’s arms enclosed you from behind, his beard tickling your ear.

“What do you think, Cali?”

“Is this what I think it is, Stevie?”

You felt him nod against the side of your head.

“Mmm-hmm. Buck and I have been scouring realtors, looking for just the right place. An enormous master bedroom, big enough for an Alaska king bed, another room with north facing windows, perfect as an art studio, and three others- so both you and Buck can have your own work spaces, plus a spare for guests, or if one of us is annoyed with the others.” He chuckled at the last bit and you playfully thumped him on the arm.

“Show me…”

Your boys lead you on a tour around the property they’d found, Steve hanging by your side, fingers entwined with yours while Bucky ran back and forth between you and the various features he wanted to point out. 

You tried to keep your mind on the house and what they were eagerly showing you, but you couldn’t help but marvel at the two men that you called yours, and how different they were. Despite being a Saturday, Steve was immaculately turned out, his dirty blonde hair slicked to the side, his beard neatly trimmed within an inch of its life. He wore black slacks, a maroon crew neck sweater and his long, black wool coat over the top; head to toe, the distinguished gentleman. Except when you got him home.

Bucky, on the other hand, was, well, Bucky. Jeans with rips across the knee, black boots on his feet, a black tee-shirt, which looked far too small, and his lemon leather jacket. His deliciously ‘too-long’ hair kept flopping over his brow, and the way he kept brushing it back just returned your attention to his clever fingers. Fingers that were now pulling you out of Steve’s arms so he could drag you up the stairs to your potential new bedroom.

The master suite took up the entirety of the top floor. There was a large walk-in closet too, that even had its own window, and you couldn’t help some of the thoughts that rushed through your head; alternative uses for the closet in the future. Also, Steve hadn’t been lying when he said there was space for an Alaskan king. Other thoughts filled your mind then, of all the things that could happen in such a bed. You couldn’t believe they’d managed to find a place like this.

Looking over the rest of the house, Bucky and you bickered good naturedly about which room you would each have for your own private space. The pair of you both had the same preference, but you knew that Bucky would inevitably concede, although probably not before you had to bribe him with a blowjob. 

You were also excited by the size of the kitchen, mainly because it had the space to fit in a massive refrigerator, big enough to house the mountains of food that your boyfriends went through.The whole house was currently empty of furniture, but you couldn’t help but envisage Steve’s couch here and Bucky’s bookcase there, interspersed with occasional tables from your own apartment. Then Steve’s art on the walls, turning the place from a house into a home. A home for the three of you.

“It’s perfect! But I don’t know if we can afford it?” It was Bucky’s turn to embrace you now.

“You think we’d show you this, if we weren’t certain of that? That would be cruel, darlin’. So don’t you worry, Steve and I can more than afford it on our own.”

“I’m paying my share, Barnes. I’m not being a kept woman.”

He nipped at your earlobe and a dart of heat went to your core, your brain no longer picturing furniture fitting into the space, but supplying you with images of all the places the boys could take you, and each other, apart in.

“Doll, you know you’re an equal partner in this. So the house would be equally in your name too. Remember, if it wasn’t for you I don’t think Stevie and I would have really admitted to each other how we felt. So now, not only do I have him, I also have you, and you have both of us. A triangle is one of the strongest shapes.”

Steve moved from where he was looking out of the window to where you and Bucky were standing, wrapping his arms around the pair of you, dropping a kiss on Bucky’s cheek and one on the top of your head.

“Are we really doing this, then?” Your voice was uncharacteristically quiet. This decision felt momentous. It was one thing to become a ‘throuple’, but this, pooling your resources, moving in with each other permanently felt like something else.

Scary, but also right.

“Only if you want to, sweetheart.” Steve spoke into your hair. “You’re the linchpin here, Cali. Everything is down to you.”

You rolled your eyes, glad he couldn’t see.

“Way to pile on the pressure, Steve.”

“Well, for the record, Buck and I are all in. We’d love nothing more than to be living all together, permanently. All cuddled up in bed every night…”

“Except when you’re away.”

“Yes, smartass, except when I’m away and you and Buck can starfish to your heart’s content. And I won’t be worrying about you, or Buck, cos you’ll have each other.”

“Yeah, and we can make ‘home movies’ to send to Stevie…” Bucky couldn’t help but lower the tone, making you smile. You turned to look at him, his misty blue eyes full of mischief.

“How soon after you saw this place did you start getting ideas?”

“Darlin’, as soon as I saw the floor plan on the website. My first visit I found the correct joist for the sex swing.” He winked dramatically and you couldn’t help but laugh out loud.

“Love you, Buck, even if you’re a big child.”

“Just addicted to making you smile, Cali. Now, whaddya say? We all gonna take the next step? Together?”

“Yeah, I think we are.”

Bucky let out a loud whoop. “Stevie - call the realtor, I’m taking our Cali back upstairs to show her which joist the swing is going on.” He looked at you slyly and licked his lips. “‘N maybe we start to find out how soundproof the floors and ceilings are…”

Steve rolled his eyes, but pulled out his phone as he watched Bucky chase you up the stairs.

“Don’t get too far without me!  Hello, yes, this is Steve Rogers. We’ll take it…”

Tag list: @christywantspizza @jobean12-blog @bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky @tuiccim @yarnforbrains @sidepartskinnyjeans @maladaptivexxdaydreaming @krissy25 @bodeckersdiamonddoll @goldylions @ohsymphony @luxeavenger @wheezy-stucky @doasyoudesireandlive @seitmai @marvelstarker-mha98 @talia-rumlow @pono-pura-vida @poppunksnowwhite

#steve rogers x reader x bucky barnes #artist!steve rogers #engineer!bucky barnes #an artist and an engineer #late writes #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #stucky x reader

[hotvinimon]

The Match

Sawamura Daichi x Reader

Part 1

Plot : What's the best feeling you ever had ?? 4 times reader felt like having best feelings but one time, she was sure that this is the best feeling that she will cherish forever. A/N : Images are not mine. Credits to the owner. Likes, Comments and re-blogs are appreciated. Please don't steal my work. Enjoy ;) Warnings - English is my second language.

Master List

Swiping through a labyrinth of profiles on the latest trending dating app, the one that boasts finding the perfect partner like a genie fulfilling wishes, you finally struck gold. He was the needle in the haystack, a striking profile picture that made your heart race. A man of allure, with raven hair, piercing chocolate eyes, a muscular build, a charming smile, and a mature gaze. What's more, he was a public servant, a job title that would make your parents proud. Your best friend Aiko, who had been watching you scroll and swipe for what felt like an eternity, breathed a sigh of relief when your fingers came to a halt.

"7 pm, Sushitestsu, this weekend. Perfect," Aiko exclaimed, her voice filled with relief and a tinge of excitement. You, in turn, couldn't resist interjecting with a hint of sarcasm, "Are you finally happy, Aiko?"

Her response was quick, "Not entirely thrilled that you're going for someone I don't know, but at least you're giving it a shot. I'm going to find you the most incredible dress for your bachelorette, just in case."

You retorted, "I don't even know him, you know," a note of skepticism in your voice.

Aiko chimed in playfully, "Alright, fine. But do me a favor - bring out your inner Miss World that day, carry a pepper spray in your bag, and call me if anything happens."

"Okay, okay, Mom," you cut her off with a chuckle, and both of you shared a moment of laughter.

You and Aiko went way back, practically sharing the womb since kindergarten. From the sandbox to the high school locker rooms, you were inseparable. You'd walked side by side through the years. College may have scattered your paths, but it hadn't torn your friendship asunder. Now, both of you worked in different firms, yet lived under the same roof, sharing an apartment that had become a cherished space for both of you.

Weeks rolled into a weekend, and here you were, frantically trying to decide which dress to wear - an agonizing ordeal fueled by your remarkable procrastination skills. Everything that could go wrong seemed determined to do so. Eyeliner crisis, mascara mishap, foundation fiasco, and the dress dilemma. But for the sake of your long-suffering single status, you pushed through and, with an almost superhuman effort, arrived at the restaurant just 11 minutes and 36 seconds fashionably late. Yes, you were counting.

You began your search for the date who had, by now, occupied your thoughts, fearing he might have given up and left. Just when hope seemed to be dwindling, a tap on your shoulder startled you. There he was, the man you had right-swiped and matched with, his charming smile in full view, and his attire triggering déjà vu. "Is this Ms. L/N?" he asked. You stuttered out a feeble "Y-yes," inwardly cursing your own nervousness.

With a friendly smile, he extended his hand, "Hi, I'm Sawamura Daichi, and we have a date today." Your hand found its place in his, and after the whirlwind of anticipation and anxiety, a smile finally graced your lips.

Sawamura Daichi admitted with a touch of shyness, "I'm sorry, I had to come in my uniform as my shift just finished." You couldn't help but find his bashfulness utterly endearing, especially as he scratched the back of his neck.

"It's alright," you reassured him, "you look quite good in it." The puzzle pieces suddenly snapped into place - it was the Japanese police uniform. You couldn't help but feel a twinge of regret, mixed with intrigue, at the revelation that you were on a date with a police officer, and not just any officer, but the sub-head of the Community Safety Division.

The two of you found a seat and placed your orders, and the conversation flowed effortlessly. In many ways, Daichi was the polar opposite of you. He was reserved yet strong, youthful yet mature, fun-loving yet deeply respectful. It was a delicate balance that made him all the more captivating. His passion for his work was evident, and his deep voice had a comforting quality, like a familiar tune that you'd just discovered. As the evening progressed, you couldn't help but wonder if this was all too good to be true, if there was a hidden catch, like something out of a movie where handsome men lured innocent girls into elaborate scams.

For the first time in your life, you felt your focus shifting away from the tantalizing food in front of you, because maybe, just maybe, this was the best feeling you'd ever experienced. Your heart might have even skipped a beat, as you found yourself enthralled by something other than the sumptuous meal on your plate.

This enchanting meeting felt like the prologue to a story that had the potential to redefine the way you understood love and connections. It was a tale that was just beginning, a story that had all the makings of a captivating novel.

A bittersweet nostalgia filled the air as the evening sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow on the two souls that had serendipitously found each other. In that moment, they were no longer just strangers, but two individuals at the cusp of a new adventure, ready to explore the uncharted territories of love and connection.

As you wrapped up your date with Sawamura Daichi and said your goodbyes, there was a palpable sense of anticipation in the air. It was a feeling that whispered promises of more laughter, shared moments, and perhaps, the kind of love that could last a lifetime. And so, with a heart that was now open to the infinite possibilities of romance, you embarked on this thrilling new chapter, knowing that the best feeling was just the beginning of a story waiting to be written.

Later that night :

Daichi <3 :

I hope you enjoyed the date and would love to join me next weekend again :)

With every passing moment, you realized that this could be the prelude to something magnificent, and that perhaps, the best feeling was yet to come.

V - Chan's Dilly Dally

You can skip this part

OMYGODOMYGODOMYGOD !!!

Here is the first part of the best feeling (reader x daichi). Im so happy that this came up finally.

Join the taglist by commenting "Taglist" for further updates and posts regarding this series.

Requests are open.

And also, for anyone who doesn't know, sushitetsu is actually a place in Miyagi, Japan. It even has a branch in London, England.

This one is japanese branch.

B-Bye

💗

#haikyuu #drabble #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu fic #haikyuu drabbles #haikyuu x reader #sawamura daichi #akaashi keji x reader #daichi x reader #karasuno #daichi sawamura #hq x reader #crack post #hq #hq drabbles #hq daichi #daichi x y/n #daichi x you

[hyenahunt]

Obbligato: The Punishment of Kaname Tojo - 12

Writer: Akira

Season: Spring, two years ago

Characters: ???, Ibara

Proofreading: Remi + 310mc (JP) & Skyress (ENG)

Translation: Peace

???: (However, innocence is not a sin. My little brother, Kaname, has done nothing wrong.)

[Read on my blog for the best viewing experience with Oi~ssu ♪]

???: (However, innocence is not a sin. My little brother, Kaname, has done nothing wrong.)

(Despite that, ever since he was born, he has faced unreasonable discrimination. He's shunned by those higher than him in the industry due to violating a taboo— )

(He has done nothing wrong, yet he has fallen so far.)

(He was a brother I’d never spoken to before. And I pitied him.)

(Fortunately, I had skills and wisdom. I had to acquire both in order to survive when I'd left home.)

(And now, I could use them to help my little brother.)

(After all, I had always made a living by disguising myself as a jack-of-all-trades, and my client this time just so happened to be a family member.)

(I didn't accept it for my father's sake. I wanted to help my poor younger brother.)

???: (For his sake, I learned as much as I could about something so particular to Japan, so foreign to those overseas — I learned all that there was to know about idols, which was akin to inscrutable faith.)

(Once I had learned enough, I offered my hand to Kaname. So long as he heeded my instruction, he'd be able to bloom anew as a wonderful idol.)

(Or, that was what should have happened.)

... What is this? What is he doing? Do you know anything about this?

Ibara: Perhaps, perhaps not? If I'm to be honest, even I'm taken back by this series of events!

This gathering was organised by Mr. HiMERU and his associate, funded out of their own pockets. It has nothing to do with idol work — it appears the students are gathering entirely of their own accord.

As I have various other projects on my hands, there is no way for me to keep a constant eye on the developments within Reimei Academy, please understand.

Ibara: As a result, my response to independent activities such as this has been rather delayed.

Were this an official idol activity, or work-related, then I would have been able to detect it early on from tells such as bank account activity and so forth.

Which is why I was late to become aware of even the movements of the gatherings within the Catacombs.

Were it not for that, then I would have stepped in to put a halt to things the moment Mr. Tatsumi Kazehaya began to build his suspicious religious cult-like group. After all, religion cannot be suppressed, which makes it far outside my field of expertise.

I thought we'd finally gotten a hold on that religion by way of giving them work and incorporating capitalism into the mix...

But this gathering truly was unexpected. I wonder what they're meeting about?

???: Hm. Then you and I are the same; I also came to see what, exactly, was going on.

Ibara: Oh, I’ve already made an educated guess on what might happen next, you know? However this came about, I’ve certainly predicted its conclusion!

The leaders of opposing powers meet, showing their solidarity by way of shaking hands in public. In this case, those leaders would be Mr. Tatsumi Kazehaya and Mr. HiMERU.

By doing so, they will strike down the long-standing feud between their two factions.

An era of peace shall descend upon Reimei Academy.

A-ha-ha! ☆ How magnificent! It'll end as happily as a fairy tale!

Ibara: ... But unfortunately, reality isn't so sweet.

The students of Reimei Academy have already fallen prey to the anger and hatred that have accumulated throughout their lives.

Towards those that they detest with all their being, they’re unable to sweep it all under the rug, and allow bygones be bygones.

Ibara: Well, if they did all band together as friends, then I'd be in something of a pickle myself! Mr. Tatsumi Kazehaya's ideology and capitalism don't mix well, after all. It sufficiently counters the latter.

That's no way to run a business, you see? I'm against the idea entirely.

The plan was to force him out of Reimei Academy entirely by pushing an unreasonable amount of expectations onto him, so much that his well-being would falter and he would drop out...

But unfortunately, it would seem Mr. Tatsumi Kazehaya is stronger than expected. Not once did he break, falter, or give in. Instead, he's done the opposite: no matter how persecuted he becomes, he only rises again and again from the ashes akin to a phoenix.

What a nuisance... Though at the same time, I do respect it. If we didn't have such a conflict of interest, I'd absolutely welcome such a stupendous person as a brother in arms!

And so, despite our differences, it truly is hard to watch a remarkable man fall victim to such ruin...

[ ☆ ]

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#enstars #ensemble stars #enstars translation #hyenahunttl #s: obbligato #himeru #ibara saegusa

[jae-bummer]

My Idol 3: Part Five

My Idol From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

My Idol is a South Korean competitive reality dating game show. It currently airs on Saturday nights on Jae-bummer’s blog. First broadcast in 2016, the show offers the opportunity for a lucky fan to go on seven blind dates with seven idols. The idol plans the date with the show throwing in a specific mission to complete during the day. At the end of the initial dates, the show opens up an audience vote to decide what four idols will move on to the second date.

My Idol 3: The Series

**TW: Mention of break-in/pet death (it was a fish.)**

.

"And do you know anyone who might want to act maliciously against you?" the police officer asked, his gaze solely focused on you.

"I-I don't," you stuttered, completely overwhelmed. How did they expect you to answer all of their questions when your world was crashing down around you?

"Can we have a minute?" Hongseok asked, tucking you further into his side.

"We need to-" the officer began but immediately halted their words as Hongseok leveled them with a glare.

"I'm asking for a minute," he insisted. "Not the whole night. Let them calm down."

The officer sighed before flipping his notebook closed and motioning for the two of you to stand off to the side. You finally looked up from your shoes and to your apartment door that was now marked as a crime scene.

"Hongseok-" you croaked, shaking your head.

"Shhh," he hummed. You were positive that if he could pull you any closer he would. "I know. Let's have a sit."

Bringing you toward the staircase, he held the bulk of your weight as your slumped toward the carpet. Taking a deep breath as soon as you were seated, you allowed Hongseok to position you to lean against him. For a moment, you were frozen with dismay. Were you being dramatic? Was your reaction too over the top? You knew they were just things...but they were your things.

After Hongseok informed the production crew as to what was going on, you had gone numb. You wanted so badly to get into your apartment, but he was right. The best thing to do was to wait until the police arrived. Once they did, the area was secured and you were allowed to do a quick walk-through of the place you called your home.

It didn't feel like home anymore. What was left could only be described as a shell of what you once knew. Everything had been either destroyed or stolen. Every nook and corner were somehow haunted, the memories of your happiest moments cycling against one another in an attempt to cover up the reality of what was happening.

Whoever had broken in had stolen the most important things, your comfort and security. Aside from that, your furniture was trashed, stabbed, and sprayed down with paint. Vulgar messages were scrawled across the walls in English AND Korean. Your laptop was missing, as was your tablet and several other electronics. The staff had instantly begun tasking you in trying to recall anything that was taken and could be used as blackmail. Luckily, you didn't think you had any. Living in a day and age where things were so easy to be hacked, you tended to avoid keeping anything scandalous lying around. Plus, they employed excellent social media trainers when this whole thing started and you had done a grand deletion of anything questionable then.

The heaviest blow though, had to have been Jinki.

You knew he was just a goldfish, but he didn't deserve to be strung up in your living room as if his life never mattered.

And yes, you had named your goldfish after a member of Shinee, what of it?

"Drink," Hongseok said quietly, handing you a bottle of water that had seemingly materialized out of no where.

You looked at him moodily. "Jinki will never drink again."

"Jinki would want you to be hydrated," he encouraged, pressing the drink into your hands. "And he didn't drink water, he breathed it."

"This is just so messed up," you muttered, humoring him and doing as he said.

"Who would do this?" he whispered, rubbing his forehead. "I understand there are sasaengs, but to go to this level?"

Judging by the words written across your walls, it was definitely a "fan" that was responsible for the crime.

"The online hate was one thing," you said quietly. "I expected it to a certain degree, but I didn't think it would escalate."

"K-pop is such a global and attainable thing now," Hongseok nodded. "There are more fans than ever. I know it's silly not to think any of our supporters capable of this, but..."

"Has the lineup been announced publicly at all?" you asked, tilting your head. The dates were meant to be a surprise for you, but you knew details were commonly leaked online.

"Not that I know of," he sighed. "I mean, of course there's been rumors in the industry of what groups would be participating, but is that really enough to make someone snap?"

"I don't think it takes much to make any given person snap," you muttered. "We could try to reconcile it all day, but really, it's just senseless."

"We can't continue the show," Hongseok said slowly, side-eying you. "Your safety is more important than this."

You hadn't had time to give it much thought, but you figured he was right. The sensible part of you agreed that it was time to shut it all down, but the obstinate part of you pushed in the other direction. You didn't want to give up. You couldn't let the people who did this run you off, but how were you supposed to move forward?

First your apartment...what was next? When would a fan show up at filming and do something even more drastic?

How were you supposed to feel safe ever again?

.

Picking up the pieces of your broken life was one of the hardest things you had ever done.

After the police had finished up at your place, you salvaged what you could and packed it up in a few boxes before the My Idol crew whisked you away to the nearest hotel. To their credit, it was a very nice one that you could never have afforded yourself, but it didn't lessen the sting of the cause for your visit.

And for Hongseok's part, he didn't leave your side until the staff had forced him...into a hotel room down the hall.

To both your delight and horror, the entire show's operation was locking down. You would still be going off the premises for dates (with heavily increased security) but any time a contestant appeared, they would be shipped off to the safety of what had become the My Idol compound.

There was no shutting down production under any circumstances.

You had signed a contract after all, with no escape clauses for this type of situation.

Sighing to yourself, you pulled on an oversized sweatshirt and a pair of shorts. Grabbing the ice bucket, you shuffled to your door and gave three knocks. That was the "code" if you needed to leave.

Instantly, you heard the click of your lock (that you weren't allowed the key to) and the door swung toward you. Smiling in the hall was the security officer for the night shift, Insu. "Going somewhere?"

"Ice," you sighed, smiling sadly up at him. Although you had known this man for less than 24 hours, he was already a comforting presence. Standing at least a foot taller, and broad enough to take over half the door way, he was a force to be reckoned with.

And it may not have mattered, but it was worth mentioning...of course he was good looking.

"Optimal time for a late night stroll," he grinned, motioning at you to step into the hall. Walking past him, you tried not to look too long, but it was difficult. While his face was generally unmarred, a long scar was evident from the corner of his left eye, all the way to his jaw. It didn't make him any less handsome, obviously, but added a certain amount of character you weren't expecting. You weren't rude enough to stare or ask, but you were curious of the backstory.

"How's your day going?" you tried, ambling in the direction of the small room that held vending machines and the like.

"Great," he answered calmly, nodding at another security officer stationed by a different hotel room door. You wondered to yourself if Hongseok or Jungkook were locked inside. "I would ask how your day is, but I have a sneaking suspicion I already know the answer."

You felt your lips tug up at this. "It's going better than it was a few hours ago. I think I'm still in shock, honestly."

"That's understandable," he agreed. "Even before today, this world was new to you."

You hummed in response. He was right. Since this show had started, you were trying to navigate new ground, but today had completely upended everything you thought you knew. "How long have you been in security?"

"I did similar work in the military," he acknowledged. "Once I got out, this is what made sense."

"So that means..." you trailed.

"Seven years," he chuckled. "Including the two while I served."

"No way," you gasped, pausing to turn toward him. "How old are you then?"

This startled another laugh from him. "Twenty five."

"Oh," you said quietly before beginning to walk again. "So you joined right after high school then?"

"I did," he confirmed. "I wasn't sure what I wanted to do with my life and I thought it would be nice to have another two years to consider it."

"Sorry if I'm prying," you winced, worried that you were pestering him while he was just trying to do his job.

"That's not necessary," Insu said. You weren't going to look over your shoulder, but you were certain their was a smile hidden in his deep tone. "It's important that you know who is protecting you."

Turning into the room with the ice machine, you placed your container in the appropriate area and waited. After some loud crunching and getting ice nearly everywhere around your feet, it was time to head back.

"Let me," he insisted, taking the small bucket from your hands.

"It's not heavy," you laughed, glancing up at him.

"Did I say it was?" he hummed, a spark of something playful in his expression.

"Just being a gentleman then, got it," you hummed, allowing him to fall behind you again.

"It's quite literally my job to make this a little easier for you," he affirmed. "But I'll take the compliment."

Walking back down the hall, he turned the conversation your way. After answering a series of questions about schooling and your career, it wasn't long before you were at your door again.

You weren't expecting to feel so...disappointed.

"Get settled in for the night," Insu advised, handing the bucket back over to you. "Hyuk will be taking over in the morning."

"Right," you nodded. "Goodnight then."

"Sleep well."

Closing the door between you felt much louder than it should have. Shaking your head, you tried to clear your thoughts. It had been a long day. It was natural to try to find comfort in anyone that had crossed your path.

"Of course," you whispered to yourself. That's exactly what it was.

..

Hyuk was not nearly as graceful as Insu.

"Sorry," he grumbled, shouldering open the stairway door. He wasn't much taller than you and was likely old enough to be your father. "This building must be old."

"Right," you laughed nervously, stepping around him and toward the lobby area.

Being in one central location wasn't so bad, but you weren't sure how transportation would work.

"He's already at the destination," Hyuk said, as if reading your thoughts. You nodded absently at him as you saw the My Idol SUV already parked outside. Admittedly, you were exhausted. After the day and night you had, it was nearly impossible to fall asleep. The PD's you worked most closely with tried to push today's date out a few times, but scheduling simply wouldn't allow it.

Climbing into the vehicle, you plopped into the backseat, your eyes quickly catching on what was going on outside of the vehicle. Across the street, barricades had already been set up to contain the fans who had evidently found out what hotel you were staying in.

"What?" you hissed, angling yourself to look more closely.

"We've got the situation handled," Hyuk reassured. "They're being kept as far from the building as possible."

"Across the road is as far away as possible?" you whispered, your stomach dangerously close to vomiting what little contents you had in it. "How did they find out?"

"In this city, if you want to know something bad enough," he grumbled. "You can usually find someone willing to give it to you for the right price."

Turning toward him, you knew he saw shock plain on your face.

"Welcome to celebrity life, Mx. Y/N," he sighed.

After a quiet car ride that only took about ten minutes, you felt anxiety begin to crawl up your spine as your driver pulled into a large parking lot. Looking out of your window again, you saw the location for today, the Han River.

"Isn't this too open?" you asked, trying to tap down your panic. "So many people are around."

"We have a specific area cleared out," Hyuk said, his voice more gentle than it had been before. "We will keep you safe."

You swallowed hard and gave a curt nod. If you were going to do this, you had to trust the people around you no matter how difficult it was proving to be.

"Don't let them win," you whispered. Maybe if you repeated the mantra, it would make this whole thing easier.

Hyuk looked at you with a lifted brow. "Good call."

Easing out of the car behind him, you were disheartened. The usual rush of butterflies and anxiety that came before a date were a bit dampened. Of course, it was understandable given the situation, but it also wasn't fair to your date. Or yourself.

Taking a deep breath, you set your feet on the pavement and looked up at the grassy knoll beyond. Surrounded by security and the camera crew, a man stood before a small pop-up tent. Holding a slim box in front of his face, you only assumed it was a man by his build. Broad and muscular, he was dressed in dark, ripped jeans and a black t-shirt. As you drew closer, you narrowed your eyes at what he was holding.

"What's this?" you mused, shaking your head in disbelief.

Your date pulled the box away from his face and gave you a large smile. "Hi, I'm Ateez's San, and this, is a gift from me to you."

Pushing the item away from himself and into your hands, you looked down and chuckled softly. "A new laptop?"

"I heard you've had a rough few days," he hummed, securing his hands behind his back. You glanced up at him, his handsome face wearing an easy smile. "And lost a lot more than anyone deserves to."

"San-," you whispered, on the verge of crying. The gift was expensive, there was no way you could accept it, especially from someone you had only just met. "I can't-"

"Nope," he said, cutting you off immediately. "Getting back to normalcy in a time that's anything but normal is hard. You gotta start somewhere, right?"

"I swear if this starts a chain of dates bringing me household appliances," you teased, looking at him with gratitude.

"Then we'll all be taking our turns making life a little easier on you," he grinned. "One step at a time."

In Loving Memory:

Sea Jin Ki (2022 - 2023)

#choi san #ateez #san #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #ateez fluff #ateez angst #san fanfic #san x reader #san angst #san fluff #hongseok #pentagom #ateez san #pentagon hongseok #hongseok x reader #pentagon x reader #pentagon fanfic #pentagon fluff #pentagon angst #hongseok fluff #hongseok angst

[checkoutmybookshelf]

The Polin Fic (Part 2 of 3)

Hello friends! I have written a Polin fic to pass the time between seasons of Bridgerton, and I thought I might share for those of you who also ship. This is arguably safe for work, but anyone with medical/wound/illness triggers may want to give this one a pass.

This is the second of three instalments of the story. It follows largely the show continuity, with the odd bit of book continuity in there.

This is PART 2, so if you're just finding this now, head on back to my blog (I'm pretty sure that's what we call our tumblr pages? I am a tumblr novice) and check out Part 1. You can also find Part 1 on Ao3 here.

Colin was silent as he and Lady Danbury reunited with Daphne, escorted Lady Danbury back to the rooms she occupied in the palace for the moment, and as he and Daphne made their way back to her carriage. He was, simply put, overwhelmed.

In the last twenty-four hours, he had lived the worst of his nightmares about Penelope—from feeling her blood cover his hands as he watched her eyes flutter closed to spending a day not knowing whether she was dead or alive—and discovered a few new fears. The breathless rage that he and Lady Danbury had found her alone had transformed into utter terror in the long moments when he was unable to wake her. On waking, she had seemed not to notice that she was pale, that her eyes had the slight glassiness of a fever, and that her lips were pale and dry. The handprint on her face had darkened into a bruise as well. Had Colin been unaccompanied by Lady Danbury, he thought he might have simply scooped Pen into his arms and run with her as far and as fast as he could.  

Yet not only had Pen refused to leave but she had also refused to save her own life and wield Whistledown—he had not yet begun to process the fact that Penelope was the mysterious, acerbic author—for the crown. He had thought he would be devastated if a seemingly random attack or accident took Pen from him—like all the Bridgerton siblings old enough to have memories of the day that bee had stung their father, Colin did not have to imagine the crushing grief of loss. That Penelope would choose to inflict that on her family, on Eloise, on him…

“How dare she?” Colin did not realize he had spoken aloud until Daphne sighed deeply and responded.

“She is the queen, Colin. Society papers and scandal sheets are all well and good, but they cannot be allowed to challenge the queen’s authority. You know this, brother.”

Colin stared at his sister. “I beg your pardon? Of course I understand the politics involved, Daphne. I do not speak of the queen.”

“Well then, who—”

“Penelope bloody Featherington!” barked Colin.

“Do not raise your voice to me,” shouted Daphne. “And do not dream of imparting blame on Penelope for this situation; she had nothing to do with the attack.”

“I do not speak of her attack! I speak of her bloody stubborn streak and her refusal to—” Colin’s throat constricted. The anger slid from Daphne’s face, replaced with anxiety.

“Colin, what has happened?” He swallowed convulsively several times. He could not seem to clear the lump in his throat to explain to Daphne that Pen’s life hung in the balance, and she had her finger on the wrong side of the scale. Daphne moved to sit beside Colin in the carriage and hugged him tightly as the carriage ground to a halt before Bridgerton House.

            The pair made directly for Anthony’s study, where Anthony and Benedict—drinks in hands—sat before a robust fire. Eloise was in the room too, although she paced anxiously beyond Anthony’s direct line of sight. Without breaking stride, Daphne went directly to the decanter on Anthony’s desk and poured two generous glasses. She thrust one into Colin’s hands and drank half of the other herself. Halting Eloise’s pacing with an arm about her shoulders, Daphne addressed her eldest brother.

            “Mama has been allowed to remain with Lady Featherington,” she said.

            “How is she?” asked Benedict.

            “She is terrified,” said Daphne, bluntly. “Her daughter was stabbed, and as far as Mama or I could tell, she has not been told whether Penelope is still alive. The rumors that Penelope is Lady Whistledown have grown, and the queen has said nothing to anyone.” She squeezed Eloise more tightly. “I should be just as hysterical if I did not know Augie was safely home with his nanny. It was sheer luck that Eloise’s maid had a cousin in the palace that we could consult.”

            “Very fortunate,” said Anthony, eyes on Colin, who had yet to do more than stare at the drink in his hand. “Colin, did you and Lady Danbury discover anything about Penelope’s condition?” Colin glanced at Anthony, swallowed hard, looked at the glass in his hand and downed the contents. Eloise, watching her brother’s reaction, shuddered under Daphne’s arm, and tears slid down her cheeks. Benedict rose from his chair to sling an arm over Colin’s shoulders.

            “Penelope is alive,” said Daphne. “The maid at the palace took Lady Danbury and Colin to her. We do not believe the queen is aware of this.”

            “Thank goodness,” said Benedict. “Once it is clear that Penelope is not Lady Whistledown, surely she will be allowed to return home.”

            “She is Lady Whistledown.” Colin and Eloise spoke together, then stared at each other in surprise. “You knew?” was also asked in unison, beneath Anthony, Benedict, and Daphne’s “She’s what?” The knot of Bridgerton siblings rapidly devolved into a cluster of cross-purpose yelling, with Benedict and Daphne demanding explanations, Eloise yelling about how nobody would think twice about it if Penelope were a man, and Anthony attempting to shout his siblings into silence through sheer force of will and rank.

            About to shout his siblings down himself—they had no time to waste on pointless debates—Colin’s mind’s eye showed him the small, fondly amused smile that Pen did not think he saw whenever he and his siblings engaged in what she never failed to describe as “spirited debates.” When had he last seen that smile? Quite possibly, it had been the day he returned from Greece and walked in on a family squabble. On that occasion, the smile had transformed when she had seen him into something that approached the smile she had given him when he had revealed the new Lord Featherington’s false ruby mine scheme. The same night, he had ruined things between them. 

            Since the issue of Whistledown that had reported his words beyond a group of the younger brothers of lords, Colin had not seen Pen smile. He had barely seen her at all, in truth, just glimpses across a ballroom, until she had been assaulted at the queen’s ball, and again tonight. She had not smiled at him tonight. And he had not said goodbye. His empty glass slipped from his hand as he realized that he may never see his Pen again and that he had left her with things unresolved between them. She could die thinking he did not care for her. 

            The soft thud of cut crystal on carpet ought not to have been enough to halt a Bridgerton shouting match; it ought not to have been so much as heard. Yet, when the glass landed on the floor, four sets of eyes landed on Colin’s face and four mouths snapped shut. Benedict, who still had an arm over his younger brother’s shoulders, steered him to a chair and pressed him bonelessly into it. Daphne stood beside him, one hand on his shoulder. Benedict’s hand rested gently on one of his arms.

            “Colin,” said Anthony, leaning against the elaborate mantle, “you look paler than death. Has this anything to do with Miss Featherington’s condition?” Shaking off Daphne and Benedict’s hands–kindly meant, but they nonetheless felt like an unbearable restraint–he leaned forward, head down, elbows on knees. 

            “The queen has threatened Pen’s life,” he said. “If Pen will not write Whistledown for the queen, she will be killed. Although, given that we found her alone and unconscious, the wound may do the queen’s work regardless of Pen’s decision.” And the thought that he had left her there alone was eating Colin alive. For long moments, all that could be heard in the study was the crackle and pop of burning logs. 

            “Anthony, we must get her out.” Colin looked to his eldest brother, eyes pleading. “We cannot sit here and do nothing.”

            “Colin, surely she will acquiesce to the queen’s demand,” began Daphne, but it was Eloise who interrupted.

            “She will not. She had spent her life acquiescing to her mama, her sisters, to society…Whistledown was the one thing that nobody could dictate to Penelope. Even when I complained that Lady Whistledown could do more than report gossip, Penelope resisted. She defended Whistledown. She will not give that up.”

            “She said as much to me and Lady Danbury,” said Colin. Anthony’s fist tapped gently against the mantle.

            “Surely, surely she will give in when she understands the full consequences,” he tried again, but this time it was Benedict who interrupted.

            “You are thinking wishfully, brother,” he said. “If Miss Featherington’s writing is anything like my painting, then she understands her situation perfectly. By asking her to write Whistledown for the crown, the queen is demanding that she be less than she is. That she restrain her voice. I could not, in good conscience, do that. Why ever should Miss Featherington?” 

            “What do you suggest, then?” Anthony demanded. “That the three of us storm the palace? That is the height of folly; we would get ourselves and likely Miss Featherington killed.” 

            “Do I look like Byron to you, brother?” asked Benedict. “I am not suggesting a rampage, but surely we could petition the court, or engage an act of Parliament?” 

            “We cannot do anything publicly,” said Daphne. “We are not supposed to know about any of this, and revealing our hand could put everyone in danger.” 

            “We also cannot sit by!” exclaimed Colin. “Do you not understand that Pen will die if we do nothing? Could you sit calmly if it were Kate or Simon?” Neither Anthony nor Daphne met his eyes as he named their respective spouses. Benedict finally broke the silence.

“Colin. You said you would never court her. You said it so strenuously that it was reported in Whistledown. Have you even spoken to her since the incident?” 

            “That does not signify; I should not have to want to court her to want her out of danger and to repair the injury I caused,” snapped Colin, avoiding his siblings’ eyes. “She is my dearest friend.”

            “Be that as it may, I can see no way for us to remove Miss Featherington from her current circumstances, not without endangering the rest of the family. If the queen felt that Lady Whistledown challenged her authority to the point of threatening the life of the author, she surely would not hesitate to threaten the entire family if we intervened. I cannot risk Francesca, Gregory, and Hyacinth. It is regrettable, but Miss Featherington must make her own choice and accept the consequences.” Anthony turned to face the wall as he spoke, not wanting to see Eloise’s heartbreak. The queen’s position was simply too strong; all they could do by intervening was compound the situation. As much as he liked Miss Featherington, he could not put her life above his family’s. He expected the first voice raised in protest to be hers; she and Penelope had been friends since childhood. 

Instead, Anthony heard the crash of a chair going over and Benedict’s shout. Whirling, Anthony saw Daphne and Eloise press against his desk as Benedict struggled to keep Colin from bolting from the room. He leaped the downed chair, helping to restrain Colin.

“Will you stop fighting and explain yourself?” he bellowed. 

“Miss Eloise?” The quiet female voice from the servant’s door startled all three men into stillness. At the door was a small brown-haired figure in a maid’s uniform. She held two letters in her hands. 

Even from across the room and seeing red, Colin recognized the penmanship that he had become so intimately familiar with during his travels to Greece and Cyprus. Every time he had missed home, or missed hearing Pen’s voice, he had read one of her letters. He had taken to keeping at least one in the inner pocket of his coat, right over his heart, within a week or so of being away from home. The rest of her letters, and those from his family, resided in his travel writing desk among his journals, but he liked to have one letter he could access at any moment to read. He had become more familiar with her hand than with his own.

“Yes, Jane, what is it?” asked Eloise. 

“Miss, my cousin Anna, who works at the palace, just delivered these. This one is for you–” she handed one letter to Eloise. “The other she said was meant to go to Madame Delacroix.” Colin’s heart stuttered. Pen had reached out, but not to him. Anna continued, “She said she thought she was being followed and did not want to risk being seen delivering it. She said Miss Featherington said it had to be printed for noon delivery, but she did not say who the printer was.” The maid was clearly upset. Eloise took the second letter and gently squeezed her shoulder. 

“It is all right, Jane. You have done well to deliver these, thank you. Why don’t you go and get some breakfast, you look peaked. I shan’t need you for a good while yet.” Still unhappy, the main curtsied briefly and left the room. Waiting a beat, to ensure the maid was out of earshot, but before Benedict and Anthony remembered to reaffirm their grips, Colin shook them off and crossed the room. 

“What do they say?” he demanded. Eloise had tucked the missive for Madame Delacroix into a pocket and was unfolding her letter before Colin had moved. He felt more than saw Anthony and Benedict move behind him, one off each shoulder. Daphne was unabashedly reading over Eloise’s shoulder; both women had tears in their eyes.

“How dare she,” growled Eloise. “How dare she tell us not to come and say goodbye like this?” 

“What of the other note?” asked Anthony. “Why would she send a letter to the modiste?” Eloise snorted, a trifle wetly through her tears.

“Do forgive me, Anthony. I have allowed my skills at seeing through folded paper to the words within while it is in my pocket wither somewhat. We ought to deliver the note today.” Anthony and Daphne’s responses were simultaneous variations of “not until we have read it.” Lifting both hands in surrender, Eloise retrieved the note from her pocket and held it out. Anthony, Colin, and Daphne’s hands all reached for the note. Rolling her eyes, Daphne released it, and lightly slapped Anthony’s shoulder. He also rolled his eyes and let go, leaving the note in Colin’s grasp.

Opening it, Colin took a moment to look at the writing itself, not the words. Penelope’s hand was normally steady, with a slant to it that always suggested to him that her mind was whirring faster than her hand could keep up and that putting words on a page was more than a duty to one’s correspondence. Pen’s handwriting spoke of a love of the act of writing itself and the words she had crafted. Or, at least, that was ordinarily what her handwriting evoked. This was still undeniably Pen’s hand, but the writing itself was cramped and uneven, as though she was in pain but determined to write anyway.

She was stabbed, he thought, with rising horror. Of course she was in pain. How could I have failed to see it? The spacing between sentences, words, and even individual letters showed a hesitancy that he had never seen before in her writing. The further down the page he glanced, however, the more confident the handwriting seemed, as though Pen had had to talk herself into whatever her plan was.

“Well?” Anthony’s impatient tone cut through Colin’s reverie, and he shook the paper out before he began reading aloud.      

They say that lightning can be captured in a bottle, but surely on capture, the lightning must fizzle and lose that which made it desirable in the first place. If this column has been the lightning that fleetingly illuminated the scandals of the ton, you may be sure that no one, not even her Majesty the Queen, will capture and bottle it. To keep the voice of this author free and to hold on to the wonder that has been this scandal sheet, it, like ephemeral lightning, must strike and disappear forever. In that spirit, you may consider this, the final issue of Lady Whistledown’s Society Papers, as a kind of obituary.

Yes, dear readers, Lady Whistledown is no more. This final issue is my farewell to you and my promise that no imposter shall successfully mimic the voice that shared the secrets of the ton and dared to question everyone, including her Majesty. Lightning never strikes the same way twice, after all.

As to the rumors surrounding this author’s identity? Well, I am sure you shall understand if a lady wishes to keep a few secrets.

—Lady Whistledown’s Society Papers, 18 May 1815

“She’s mad,” gasped Colin, hand shaking.

“She’s brilliant,” said Eloise, softly. Colin rounded on his sister, the issue of Whistledown crumpling into one fist.

“Have you no care for your best friend at all?” he barked. “The queen wanted Whistledown, and Penelope has publicly defied her! More than defied her, she has ensured that the crown cannot even appropriate Whistledown with another writer. It is completely and utterly beyond the reach of anyone, including Pen. She will kill her!”

“I do not believe she will,” said Benedict, thoughtfully.

“Have you misplaced your brain?” Colin roared.

“You seem to have misplaced your sense,” Anthony said. “Remove Miss Featherington from the picture, Colin, and think it through.”

“She has written her own obituary. She has given up—Anthony, I cannot lose her.” Panic was overwhelming Colin. A small, distant part of his mind marveled at the fact that he had traveled—dealt with storms at sea, outlaws, bandits, and a washed-out road by a cliff—and never lost his calm. But here, now, in the comfort of his home, with his siblings around him, he was panicking at the thought of losing Penelope Featherington.

Colin barely noticed as he was guided to a chair, and a drink was put in his hands. All he could see was Pen, pale as death itself, the fire leeched from her hair, eyes closed, barely breathing as he tried to wake her. Her eyes steady as she told him she was choosing Lady Whistledown over her family, her own well-being…over him. Remembering that he had not said goodbye before leaving her alone in the palace, the threat of execution hanging over her head. The second time he had betrayed her in as many weeks. The second time he had broken his promise to look after her. She simply could not be allowed to leave this earth before he had rectified the situation. She could not be allowed to leave him without knowing how much she meant to him.   

“Absolutely not!” Anthony’s declaration broke through Colin’s spiral, and Colin looked up to see his eldest brother and younger sister in identical stances. Arms akimbo, shoulders set, feet planted, neither willing to back down. Anthony hadn’t finished yelling down Eloise’s idea either. “If Madame Delacroix is the one delivering notes to the printer, it’s certainly not in a respectable part of Mayfair. I will not have you exposed to that level of risk.”

“Penelope used to deliver them herself--” Eloise began.

“And look where that landed her,” Anthony finished. “No. Benedict will get the printer’s address from Madame Delacroix and will ensure that it is delivered and printed.”

“I shall go too,” said Colin, surprising himself as much as his siblings.

“Are you sure…” Benedict began to ask, only for Colin’s face to take the mulish set that the entire Bridgerton family recognized. He sighed, took the issue of Whistledown from Eloise, and jerked his chin toward the door. Colin followed Benedict out the door, unsure of what he would add to the situation but preferring some form of tangible action to nothing.

The returned just after dawn, having successfully put the final issue of Lady Whistledown’s Society Papers into production for distribution by noon. Anthony, Daphne, and Eloise were preparing to leave the house. A servant had brought a note from Lady Bridgerton requesting their company at the palace. Benedict and Colin joined them in the carriage, which pulled into the streets of Mayfair and into the rising sun, headed for the palace.

There was fire behind Penelope’s eyelids. She had drifted—she knew not for how long—between fevered fancies, pain, and something that was just at sleep’s doorstep without crossing the threshold into proper sleep. She had set her plan in motion and simply had to trust that it would play out. That even if she did not see another sunrise, Whistledown would still be hers, and hers alone; even if only she, Eloise, Colin, and the queen knew the identity of the author.

She rather wished she had had the time and wherewithal to say goodbye to Colin, but she had not known how to apologize for hurting him when she was still so deeply hurt herself, and he insisted upon compounding matters. She had rather thought, as she was trying to get him to leave, that if this was what being special to Colin Bridgerton entailed, she would prefer to be completely ordinary. As soon as he had left the room, she had regretted her sharpness. As she had drifted in fever dreams, the face that always staved off the nightmares that would eat her alive was his.

His eyes and his smile as he danced with her at ball after ball, the look on his face as he met her eyes on his surprise return from Greece, the feel of his hand surrounding hers, they all intruded on nightmares, and then they turned to nightmares themselves. The smiling face of her dearest friend, the man she had loved for so long, who had held her in his arms dancing with her, who had written letters to her for the long months of his trip, told all the ton that he would never court her. That she was selfish for wanting her voice to be her own, and that she had failed to think through and prepare for the consequences of getting caught. This cycle had repeated itself in her mind over and over again, until fire had exploded behind her eyes, and given her something to focus on.

She had closed her eyes to the stars dancing in the room, finding it more nauseating than beautiful, but for light to bloom behind closed lids, morning had to have broken. Having lost all track of time, Penelope tried to open her eyes to gauge when it was. Her lids felt stuck, gummed together. When she finally managed to force them open a crack, the room spun in smears of shape and color, like the skies of that new painter Benedict so admired—Turner, she thought, distractedly. The window that was letting in all the light was behind her line of sight, and she did not know the orientation of the room to be able to guess the time from the way the shadows lay. It was at least full morning, but how close to the circulation of the final issue of Whistledown Penelope could not say.

She knew, deep in her bones, beneath the uncertainty of the fever, that if this issue of Whistledown went out, she would have changed the game enough to have protected her voice, possibly even her life. If she ended Whistledown on her own terms, the queen could try to resurrect it as much as she wished; she would be unsuccessful. Penelope suspected that even if she had simply refused the queen’s offer to collaborate, a false Lady Whistledown would fail. The ton did not flock to her scandal sheet because it lavished praise on the queen; rather, they enjoyed the slightly dangerous feeling of not knowing who would catch Lady Whistledown’s attention, what part of ton daily life she would question next, and yes, the criticism of the queen’s handling of the ton as well. Although not a scandal in the traditional sense of some lord or other being caught in a compromising position with some young lady, Whistledown’s entire existence itself was, at its core, a scandal. And there was nothing the ton loved so much as a good scandal.

The light was too bright; she was having difficulty focusing. The moment of lucidity that the sun in her eyes had sparked was slipping away; it had to be. She couldn’t possibly be hearing raised voices in the hallway. Surely, it was the fever overtaking her again. Her eyes slid closed again as the room’s door exploded open with a crash, and the queen strode into the room, followed closely by Ladies Danbury, Featherington, and Bridgerton, as well as the Duchess of Hastings, Viscount Bridgerton, and Colin, all speaking in raised voices. The voice Penelope heard clearly, however, was Queen Charlotte’s.

“How did you manage it, you wretched little minx?” she hissed. “Open your eyes and explain yourself.” Lady Danbury’s voice, sharper than Penelope had ever heard it, rose.

“Your Majesty, she is clearly unwell. Nobody has been to see her in nearly two days. She can have done nothing—”

Genevieve came through, thought Penelope. She dragged her eyes open again, the room spinning worse than before. Still, she managed a small smile.

“Lady Whistledown’s voice has always been, and shall always be, her own,” she whispered. A green-yellow smear of color in Penelope’s peripheral vision dropped, and she heard a thud, followed by several horrified female voices calling, “Lady Featherington!” Her mama had fainted, apparently.

“Why you--” Queen Charlotte took an aggressive step toward Penelope, only to have her movement arrested by Lady Danbury, who stepped between them.

“Do not take our years of friendship and turn to license, Lady Danbury,” the queen thundered. Still between the queen and her quarry, Lady Danbury curtsied deeply and held it, speaking low all the while.

“Never license, ma’am. Merely friendly advice, as has been the case for many years. You would not be this angry if you didn’t know that Lady Whistledown was beyond your grasp. That being the case, do you really wish the ton to know that a young miss was responsible for all of this? That will extend this scandal for years and will reflect poorly on the crown. Outside of this room, nobody but that spineless solicitor and Lord Andrew can prove that Miss Featherington authored Whistledown. Lord Andrew is easily discredited and silenced. Lady Whistledown has done more than half the work on that count already.”

Penelope, still clinging to consciousness, recalled the issue of Whistledown that had revealed Lord Andrew’s bevy of bastard children, one of whom he had attempted to marry off to a Scottish lord to whom Andrew owed a significant gambling debt. That revelation had saved the poor girl a marriage she had no interest in and had driven Andrew to his country estate to hide from not only the aforementioned Scottish lord but also more than a few members of the ton who held promissory notes from the man that were past due. Lady Whistledown had ruined the man, and his downfall was ongoing as legal proceedings were filed against him—both by gambling partners he had stiffed and his wife, in concert with the mothers of his natural-born children. Small wonder he had spent the time and energy to take revenge on the author of his ruin.

“I will not lose, Lady Danbury. You know that,” said the queen. She was clearly still angry, but the rage had left her eyes. She was listening.

“Of course not, ma’am. But you must see that the final issue of Whistledown has left you a way to spin the issue, to take a winning lap.” Lady Danbury, who still had not wobbled despite the depth of her curtsy and the condition of her knees, raised her head to meet the queen’s eyes, a sly smile on her face.

“Lady Whistledown surrendered, ma’am. You did not have to acquire her or shut her down. You simply overwhelmed her with the force of your person, and she bowed out. You win in the eyes of the ton.” A small smile that could be said to be smug if one squinted appeared on Queen Charlotte’s face.

Penelope moved to sit up; she would not have Lady Whistledown disparaged so. She did not need people to know she was Whistledown, but she was the one who had changed the game, gone toe-to-toe with the crown and won. Unseen by the queen, but clearly seen by Penelope and Colin—who was being actively restrained by Anthony—was the raising of a warning finger on the hand holding her skirts by Lady Danbury. Relenting both to the older woman’s guidance and the sudden, sharp pull of her wound—at some point Penelope was really going to have to take stock of what she was dealing with there—Penelope released her muscles back into the pillows.

“As well it should be, I am a force to be reckoned with,” said the queen, raising Lady Danbury from her curtsy. “Lord Bridgerton, if you will release your brother and give Lady Danbury your arm, the three of us shall discuss the matter further.” With one final, hard look in Penelope’s direction, she swept from the room. In her wake, the final issue of Lady Whistledown’s Society Papers drifted gently to the floor.

Rather than releasing Colin immediately, Anthony dragged him along so they could both offer Lady Danbury—whose face had shown the strain of holding her curtsy so long as soon as the queen’s back was turned—their arms. Colin stopped at the door, allowing Anthony to escort her out. As he did so, Anthony threw quick, pointed looks to his mother and Daphne, who were still on the floor attending to Lady Featherington.

“Daphne, dear, go for a physician, quickly,” ordered Lady Bridgerton, still gently fanning a slowly reviving—dramatically so—Lady Featherington.

“Mama, you shall need me here,” began Daphne.

“Daphne, go,” hissed Lady Bridgerton. “We must Penelope out of here, quickly, and we cannot move her safely without a doctor looking her over. It is better that she and the queen do not meet again today. Go.” Eyes widening in understanding, Daphne gathered fistfuls of skirts into her hands and ran in a manner that would have been considered the opposite of ladylike had anyone who cared to think of propriety been about to see.

As soon as he released Lady Danbury’s arm, Colin shot across the room to Penelope’s side. She was visibly more ill than he had left her. Her entire being seemed grayed out under a sheen of perspiration—with the exception of two fever spots on her cheeks. Sweat had matted her hair against her neck and forehead, tangling it into elf locks. When she looked at him, her eyes were glassy and not entirely present, even confused. Heart clenched so hard it might crack and trembling deep in his chest in terror, Colin smiled at Penelope as he took her hand, as though he were simply asking her to dance. She did not need his fear just then.

“Hello Pen.”

Her eyes focused on his face for a moment, and something complicated flashed through them. Then her lids slid down, and her hand went limp in his. He clenched his hand around hers, as though holding her hand hard enough would keep her conscious, keep her with him.

“No, no, no, Pen? Pen!” He slid his free arm under her shoulders, lifting her to hold her close. Still unconscious, she shrieked in pain when her abdomen moved. Startled, he nearly dropped her, barely managing to lower her gently, wondering when Lady Featherington and his mother had arrived at the bedside.

His mother held a damp handkerchief and was gently wiping Penelope’s face, murmuring about how warm she was. Lady Featherington carefully shifted blankets and chemise to reveal Penelope’s wound without damaging her modesty any more than necessary. Neither woman seemed to care that Colin was there; that should have warned him how dire the situation was, given how wildly inappropriate his presence was according to the rules that governed polite society. Both women gasped when they saw the mess that was Penelope’s abdomen. Head turning at the sound, Colin’s heart shattered, and his stomach turned violently.

Buried amid red and swollen flesh was a deep knife wound. The edges were ragged, and barely held together with what was clearly at least a second set of stiches, possibly a third. The skin bulged horribly around the stitches, the swelling itself slowly tearing them out. Everything was either seeping blood or weeping fluid that ranged from thin and clear to viscous yellow and green. It was crusting where the fabric of her chemise had wicked it from the wound proper.

“Oh, Penelope,” breathed Lady Featherington, one of her hands gripping her daughter’s free one and the other fisted against her own mouth. Lady Bridgerton had risen, retrieved the carafe of water, and returned.

“Colin, your handkerchief,” she said, hand out. He fished a clean handkerchief out of a pocket, placing it in his mother’s hand as his rage rose to a fever pitch. If the queen had intended to let Penelope live, she would have seen her cared for better than this. He was going to murder whatever butcher bearing the title “doctor” had exacerbated an already grievous injury. Once Penelope recovered, that was; he couldn’t leave her in like this. He watched as both women stripped off their gloves and got to work gently trying to clean the wound. As gentle as they were, Penelope’s face scrunched in pain, small whimpers escaping her clenched jaw. She was also either trembling or shivering from fever—Colin genuinely could not tell which. Thinking to make her more comfortable, he took up the handkerchief Lady Bridgerton had used to wipe Penelope’s face and dab away drops of perspiration. There was little else he could do for her.

“The Royal Physician was completely inebriated. I sent one of our footmen for our doctor with all haste. Oh God.” Daphne had reached the bed, seeing Penelope’s condition over the shoulders of the two mamas trying to keep her alive. Then, she looked at Colin, hesitating.

“Mama?” came Daphne’s voice from the door.

            “Daphne, dear. Have you brought the doctor?” Lady Bridgerton did not take her eyes from her task as she spoke.

“Colin, you should not—this is improper…” She trailed off.

“I will not leave her again, Daph,” he said. “Propriety be damned.” Daphne’s hands flexed as though she wished to strangle him, a motion he hadn’t seen from her since before her presentation.

“Fine, we shall deal with it later.” She rose and walked to the door to hail a passing maid.

Within a quarter of an hour, a veritable brigade of maids headed by Anna descended on the room, bearing basins of hot water, towels and cloths, a tea service, a clean chemise, and platters of plain food. At Daphne’s request, a pair of footmen lugged a dressing screen into the room and positioned it around Penelope’s bed. Once the servants had quietly removed themselves, with Anna remaining in the hall just beyond the door in case anything else was needed, Daphne faced Colin, hands on hips.

“You really ought to leave the room entirely, but if you will not, you shall at least step to the other side of the screen so we may get Penelope into a fresh chemise. Eat something. You will do her no good if you drop from hunger.” Seeing Colin’s eyes go mulish, Daphne sighed. “It will help her feel better, Colin. You may come back the moment she is decent.”

Gently squeezing her hand, Colin promised Penelope he would be right back before releasing her and stepping out from the screen. Feeling strangely untethered, Colin moved toward the table with tea and food but found that he had no stomach. Instead, he wandered about the room, trying not to hear the soft voices and pained sounds from behind the screen.

The door creaked open, and Anna’s head popped in.

“The doctor is here,” she said to Colin, as the scraggly heron of a man who had delivered all the Bridgerton children and patched up their small injuries and illnesses throughout their lives stalked into the room.

“Ah, young Mr. Bridgerton,” he said. “Would you care to explain why on earth I am seeing you here instead of Bridgerton House?”

“We are grateful for your presence, Dr. Taylor,” said Colin. “It is not one of us who is your patient today, but rather a dear, dear friend.” Taylor’s eyebrows arched quizzically.

“A dear friend in the palace? Whatever have you gotten up to, young man? This dear friend would not be in the family way, would she?” Under normal circumstances, the insinuation would have made Colin blush and forcefully equivocate, but with Pen’s life on the line, it did not faze him.

“She has been stabbed, Dr. Taylor. Please, we have not a moment to lose.”

Daphne’s head finally came around the dressing screen at the voices.

“Dr. Taylor, thank heavens. Please, she’s just here.” He hefted his bag and moved toward the screen, stopping as Colin fell into step behind him.

“Mr. Bridgerton, you must wait here.”

“But—”

“No, sir, I insist. If you must see her, you may see her after I have completed my work.” He marched behind the screen, quickly shooing Daphne out as well.

She wilted as she cleared the screen, having run out of immediate tasks to focus on and having had no more sleep than Colin or Ladies Bridgerton and Featherington had over the last day or more. Desperate to feel even slightly useful, Colin settled her onto a broad settee with a cup of tea and a small plate of biscuits. Then he sat beside her, one arm around her shoulder. Teacup and saucer in her lap, Daphne rested her head on her brother’s shoulder. She had nearly nodded off altogether when Anthony returned, rescuing the neglected cup of tea from near-disaster.

“How is she?” he asked.

“Dr. Taylor is with her now,” said Colin. Anthony nodded, casting an evaluating look at Daphne.

“Do not imagine for a moment—” a yawn interrupted Daphne, but she continued, “brother, that you can send me away.”

“Daph, you are clearly wrung out,” retorted Anthony. “Benedict and Eloise are going to take Miss Prudence Featherington home, they can surely return you to Hastings House as well. If we keep you here any longer, Simon is sure to storm the palace looking for you, and we have already made enough of a fuss today. I will remain to help Mama and Colin.” Seeing that she was still unconvinced, Anthony lowered his voice as he continued. “Lady Danbury has the queen placated for the moment, but she refuses to leave in case she changes her mind. I won’t have you here if that should happen. I should order Mama home as well, if I thought for an instant she would listen. Please, Daph, take yourself out of harm’s way. Augie needs you. We can manage here.” The combination of the queen’s capricious nature and her son’s unquestionable need for her seemed to convince Daphne. She nodded and allowed Anthony to draw her to her feet. Colin rose as well, to walk her to the door.

Before she left the room, Daphne turned to Colin. “My dear brother, forgive me if lack of sleep has made me indelicate, but someone must say this to you. You said not a fortnight ago that you would never court Penelope. You have called her your dearest friend twice in my hearing in the last twenty-four hours, and you have thrown all propriety to the winds to ensure she is cared for. What on Earth do you think you are playing at? You cannot play pall mall with a person’s feelings, Colin. You had best sort out yours before Penelope asks you the same thing.” A quick squeeze of both her brothers’ hands, and Daphne was gone.

“She is right, you know,” Anthony said to Colin. “Stop looking thunderous.”

Rather than dignifying that comment with a response, Colin moved back to the plate of sandwiches and selected one. He was still largely uninterested in food, but after taking a bite to spite Anthony, he quickly finished that sandwich and a second. Anthony was not far behind him. The pair were adding milk to their tea when a sudden choking, spluttering sound came from behind the dressing screen. Colin dropped the creamer, shattering both it and his cup as he whirled and made for the dressing screen. When he felt Anthony’s restraining hands on his arm, Colin whirled, fist clenched. The concern and understanding in Anthony’s eyes barely stopped Colin from swinging at his brother. The two stood, breathing hard, eyes locked, as Penelope spluttered for another moment, coughed a few times, and went quiet.

“Ah, Lord Bridgerton, good,” said Dr. Taylor, emerging from behind the screen, followed by Lady Bridgerton and Lady Featherington, who had their arms linked and were leaning on each other for support. Colin and Anthony rushed to offer the ladies their arms and seated them with cups of tea. Dr. Taylor poured himself a cup, and sat across from the ladies, looking grave.

“I know you prefer me to speak directly to my patients, Lord Bridgerton, as your father did, but you will forgive me for speaking to you and the young lady’s mother in this case, as she is quite unconscious.” He took a sip of tea, watching Anthony’s nod over the rim of the cup. “The situation is, I am afraid, quite grave. Infection has set in, and whatever hackneyed barber-surgeon that applied the young lady’s stitches ought to have his fingers sewn together to protect his future patients. I must remove the current stitches; they are doing more harm than good, given the swelling. However, the skin around the initial wound is too unstable for additional stitches, so we must make do with compresses and bandages.

Ordinarily, I would dose the young lady with laudanum to ease the surgery to remove the old stitches and manage the pain of the wound itself and the swelling, but she was too delirious with fever to swallow. I require your assistance to hold the young lady to prevent her from harming herself as I remove the stitches.”

Anthony looked to Lady Featherington, who was staring blankly into her tea. “Lady Featherington, have I your permission to assist?” he asked her.  

“I shall assist, with your permission, Lady Featherington,” said Colin.

“I shall need you both,” said Dr. Taylor. “One to hold the young lady’s legs, the other to hold her shoulders.” Dr. Taylor deliberately left it somewhat vague as to who should hold what. In his experience, allowing any situation with one Bridgerton in it—let alone more than one—to resolve the hierarchy without his input was best. “With your permission, of course, Lady Featherington.”

“Could not Lady Featherington and I assist?” Lady Bridgerton did not look like she could hold a toddler at that moment, but she seemed to think that even with the relaxation of propriety that she and Lady Featherington had allowed in life-threating circumstances, this was a bridge too far. “Or perhaps you could summon your assistant?”

Dr. Taylor sighed and took another brief sip of tea. “Would that I could call my assistant, Lady Bridgerton, but he is out of town looking after his own mother in an illness. And I do not believe that yourself and Lady Featherington would have the strength to prevent the young lady from moving. She will not be resisting consciously, so she will be far stronger than you expect. Unfortunately, the gentlemen are required. You and Lady Featherington may naturally chaperone. I realize this is unfortunate in terms of propriety, but Lady Bridgerton, this is the young lady’s life under discussion.”

At those words, Lady Featherington tried unsuccessfully to swallow a gasping sob. Lady Bridgerton grasped her hand, squeezing gently. Colin felt as though the ground was disintegrating beneath the world’s feet, and if he opened the door to the hallway, there would simply be a void where he meant to place his feet. The thought of a world without his Pen was unimaginable. He did not understand the shape of that world or how it could possibly exist.

Dr. Taylor downed the rest of his cup of tea, and asked Lady Featherington again for her permission to proceed. She was still unable to respond verbally between swallowed sobs, but she nodded. Lady Bridgerton sent Anthony to fetch Anna to sit with Lady Featherington; she would chaperone the surgery.

As he rounded the screen and saw Penelope again, Colin made an abortive move to brush a red curl off her cheek where perspiration had glued it. His mother’s quiet throat clear stopped him; the last thing he wanted was for her to order him out.

Dr. Taylor quickly directed Colin and Anthony to prevent Penelope from kicking or thrashing. Colin, holding her shoulders down, tried very hard not to think about the next few moments. However, as the doctor began to cut the stitches and pull them from her skin, Colin found that he had to throw his weight down to keep her in place. He desperately wanted to brush away the tears that slid down her cheeks but was afraid that she would do herself harm if he let go long enough to do so. Every tear, every cry from Penelope cut directly to his heart. He very much hoped that she was deep enough in her fever that she would not remember this; he couldn’t bear it if she had to remember this horror on top of having to live through it. Undoubtedly, Colin would relive this in his nightmares for a long time, but he would not wish that on Penelope.

“This last one must be cut out,” said Dr. Taylor, in a voice that seemed to Colin criminally calm. “Hold her steady now, I will be as fast as I may.”

Colin saw the flash of a blade and then Pen jerked beneath his hands, arms flying, nearly throwing him off of her. As he threw his body weight against her, his mother caught both of Penelope’s hands, stepping between Colin and Dr. Taylor and obscuring Colin’s view of the blade. Colin had a brief horror that he would break her collarbones trying to hold her still when Penelope cried out louder than before from the pain of the knife in her flesh.

“Just a moment longer, Pen, then it will be over. Just hold on,” he breathed. He whispered encouragement, telling her how well she was doing, that she would recover if she just held on for one more moment.

“Nearly there,” muttered Dr. Taylor, shaking out the arm holding the blade before going in once more.

“Colin!” Pen’s eyes flew open as she called for him in a miasma of pain and fever, but she did not see him, even though he was mere inches from her face. If the playful, kind, and quick young woman Colin knew was somewhere behind those eyes, she was well hidden by the circumstances. Her eyes focused on nothing, and they held no recognition or comprehension.

“I’m here, Pen. I’m right here,” he said. If she would just focus, just see that he was there–but no, then she would be conscious of the surgery. Partly to reassure Penelope and partly to keep himself from flying apart, Colin kept up his sotto voce reassurances.  

“Done,” said Taylor, still in that purposefully calm voice. “Gentlemen, you are excused. Lady Bridgerton, if you will remain until I have bandaged this, I would be grateful.” 

“Of course,” said Lady Bridgerton, carefully laying Penelope’s arms down out of the doctor’s way. Anthony was on his feet, one hand under his mother’s elbow to support her. She smiled briefly at her oldest son, then met his eyes and tilted her head gently toward Colin, who had not risen from Penelope’s side. 

Anthony Bridgerton would be the last man on earth to admit the at times uncanny resemblance between the three eldest Bridgerton brothers, or that they had inherited many of the mannerisms they shared from their father. But seeing Colin hovering over Miss Featherington, he was reminded powerfully of their father’s posture after Gregory’s birth. While nowhere near as fraught as Hyacinth’s had been, it had not been easy, and when Anthony, Benedict, Colin, and Daphne had been ushered in to meet their new sibling, Edmund had been curled protectively over Violet and Gregory. Colin’s face, however, was one Anthony had worn himself. 

Kate’s room in Lady Danbury’s home had lacked a mirror or any immediately available reflective surfaces, but Anthony knew the feeling of each line in Colin’s face. He knew how the fear of losing the center of your world sat on a face and in a heart because he had borne it in the few moments he watched another doctor examine the cut on an unconscious Kate’s head and the week it had taken her to wake. For all Colin’s protestations that Miss Featherington was simply a friend, his every move, his own face, gave lie to the assertion. Frustratingly, Anthony could not tell whether Colin knew he was lying to himself and that anyone with eyes could see it.  

“Colin,” he said, quietly. Colin looked at Anthony, then to Lady Bridgerton. Anthony was expecting him to fight leaving Miss Featherington’s side, but instead he simply sighed, and—clearly unconscious of what he was doing–brushed a few strands of hair from Miss Featherington’s face before he rose and followed Anthony out from behind the dressing screen. 

Lady Featherington was half reclined on a settee, handkerchief fisted within the hand to her lips, eyes narrowed pensively. At the sight of the Bridgertons, she sat up, and zeroed in on Colin.

“And precisely what game do you imagine you are playing at, Mr. Bridgerton?” she snapped. 

“I beg your pardon, Lady Featherington?” Colin, whose mind had been firmly on Penelope, was caught completely flat-footed. How on earth could Lady Featherington be worried about him with Penelope in the state she was? 

“Do not give me that innocent face, you know precisely what I mean. You care so little for Penelope that you had no trouble announcing to all and sundry that you would never court her–you had so little trouble that Lady Whistledown herself commented on it, never mind the damage that would do to all my young ladies’ chances at husbands–and yet here you are. Here you are, going well above and beyond propriety, and I wish to know exactly what it is that you think you are doing with my daughter.” Had Lady Featherington not been exhausted from lack of sleep and care, that last might have been yelled into Colin’s face. As it was, the hissed fervor told Colin in no uncertain terms that he was on exceptionally thin ice.  

“Lady Featherington, I assure you, Miss Featherington and I are simply good friends,” said Colin. “I deeply regret the harm my careless words caused all your daughters–”

“Poppycock,” Lady Featherington interrupted. “I have half a mind to have you removed immediately. I will not have you playing games with Penelope’s heart, particularly not at a time like this. I know full well you have not danced with her since the Whistledown announcement, and given how little time she has spent on correspondence since that issue, I wager you are no longer writing to her. The attack and rumors about Lady Whistledown’s identity have almost certainly condemned Penelope to spinsterhood. Your presence as an unmarried man in her room is the opposite of help.” 

It briefly occurred to Colin that Lady Featherington was a woman who preferred to be in control, of herself, her daughters, any social situation she found herself in. At the moment, she had to feel very much out of control. And while she certainly would not have been able to hear Colin’s words to Penelope, she could not possibly have failed to hear her daughter call for him–not her mama, not one of her sisters, not even Eloise, but him–moments ago. 

She had called for him. 

She had avoided him at balls, had failed to reply to any of his letters, and had quite nearly given him the cut direct on promenade to avoid speaking to him since Whistledown–and she had hid from him that she was the infamous Lady Whistledown!—had announced his words to all the ton. And he had certainly deserved it. Every accusation that Lady Featherington had thrown at him about the damage he had done to the Featherington girls’ prospects was true. As soon as the words had confidently left his mouth in the company of his friends, he had been wracked with guilt and doubt. One did not treat friends so, yet one did not court friends. There was a dissonance to Colin’s words and feelings that he was struggling to unravel; it had been actively impeding his attempts to make up with Penelope, and he could not understand why that was. And yet, despite all the anger, all the hurt, she had called for him. Even Colin could admit that that seemed to extend beyond the bounds of mere friendship–even so close a friendship as his and Pen’s. 

“Mr. Bridgerton, are you listening to a word I am saying?” Colin was saved from admitting that, no, he had not been listening to a word she said, by the emergence of his mother and Dr. Taylor from around the screen. Lady Featherington’s attention jumped from Colin to the doctor the moment they were in her sight. 

“And how is my young lady, Doctor?” Dr. Taylor sighed, still casually wiping Penelope’s blood from his hands. 

“The exertion from the surgery seems to have worsened the fever, I’m afraid. If she survives the night, I believe the young lady may recover. I do not wish to offer false hope, however. The infection is well entrenched. I have done what I can, but…the prognosis is not promising, Lady Featherington.” 

Lady Featherington’s eyes were overly bright, but she refused to allow either her tears to fall or her voice to shake as she asked, “What else may we do for her?” 

“She must rest. And so must you, Lady Featherington, and you, Lady Bridgerton. You are both worn out, and it will do no one any good if you sicken yourselves from a lack of rest.”

“I must attend to Penelope–” began Lady Featherington.

“Let someone else manage that task for now. You shall be called for if anything changes. Come now, ladies, I insist. I understand you have rooms here in the palace; let me escort you. The maid and the Viscount are surely trustworthy chaperones,” Dr. Taylor insisted, shepherding both women out of the room and chivvying Anna in. The door closed with a snap, and the room descended into an uneasy calm. 

Stay tuned for the conclusion in Part 3!

#polin #polin fic #polin fanfiction #polin fanfic #fanfiction #penelope bridgerton #colin bridgerton #bridgerton #bridgerton netflix #no beta we die like edmund

[shadowxamyweek]

So... I run this blog, yeah? This one, a ShadAmy ship blog, in the good year of our lord 2022.

Why?

I like the ship. You say, 'yeah no shit dumbass,' but I really like the ship. It is the ship that formulated a blueprint for my fleet of favorite ships all under one flag. It is my ship of dreams.

And I'm not someone who grew up with Archie, which is where a lot of old-school shippers come from. I knew ABOUT Archie and what I knew scared me. Even post-reboot, I didn't want to touch it. I was firmly entrenched in the games and the games only (to a large degree, I still am. They are the only actual 'canon' in my opinion, no matter the many cool things IDW and Archie may have done.)

I'm also not someone who just wants to see their fave in a cute ship. They're both favorites of mine -I like them both separately just as much as I like them together.

So why the fuck did I love these two characters together so much when they hardly even talk?

This moment.

Because it was always going to be this moment.

I'm about ten years of age playing this game, my mind being totally blown by the plot and the characters, and it all comes to a grinding halt... to talk.

But me liking this scene didn't happen right away.

It happened in stages.

(Trigger warning. Heads up for mild mentions of gaslighting and issues with eating disorders. Shit you not, this is canon to their history.)

Part 1- Why do I like Shadow?

I knew from the start I liked Shadow.

There's something about a character that is not a 'nice person,' but they are, very much, a 'good person.' They are, in their own way, trying very hard to do the right thing.

Shadow was designed as a weapon, first and foremost. That's what G.U.N. wanted them for and that's how Gerald found his funding, even if he was also designing Shadow to be a cure/aid for Maria on the sly. Shadow went through a lot of hell because of that. Yet regardless of his history, he still makes the decision to get up every day and do his best to solve whatever situation is in front of him, bit by bit, striving steady forward to make the world a better place.

Too often, the messy, personal business of having to recognize your faults is minimized for the protagonist and amplified for everyone else that they are with. Especially in recent media (last 10-years ish, in my opinion,) you don't get a lot of protags that might not be likable all the time. You don't have that moment where they realize what they have done, are reeling from guilt and self loathing and shame, and have to make the conscious effort to do better.

But Shadow is.

This is a character who was gaslight (actual genuine memory manipulation with malicious intention I CANNOT make this shit up), fed a lie for purpose, their personality weaponized. Their love turned into an atomic bomb.

Then, they had to unlearn that and become themselves again.

I want more heroes like that. I want heroes that were or could have been villains, and instead of and dying in a last redemptive act (as if it makes up for everything they have done), they live... and they have to keep living. They have to keep learning. They have to be... you know... people.

I know a lot of people debate over whether or not Shadow as actually suppose to stay dead after SA2, and in everything I have read, the evidence seems inconclusive. Either way, I'm glad they brought him back. I'm glad they made him live and learn (pun intended) and choose to be better. Not as a weapon, not as a cure, but as themself.

That makes for a great story and character study. That's always the sort of thing I want to sink my teeth into and stay awake reading and rereading and coming back to it with new eyes.

Furthermore, Shadow... well, they are a person who scares people. The design, the demeanor, the articulation (or lack thereof) in regards to motivation and thought. It doesn't matter if they mean to, it happens.

And they're fine with it.

They don't need to be verbal all the time. They don't need to understand social cues or unspoken rules. They are allowed to go off and stare at nothing and think in the quiet because it's comfortable. This guy was living my fucking dream.

Also, Shadow was also my first introduction to Nonbinary Thoughts that I had ever seen. This person walks in with their highlights and eyeliner and fluffy self with their dope kicks and sweet color pallet and a cool voice and I had all sorts of joy lighting up inside me. This was like glam rock. This was like seeing Mercury or Lennox for the first time, or realizing that sometimes, the chick-parts in theater productions are played by boys and the dude-parts are played by girls. I dunno how else it put it. It's the moment you go, 'ooooh,' before you flip the flimsy table that the binary gender code has placed itself upon.

This fantasy hedgehog bastard and I have a lot in common, and I've leaned on that a couple of times to remind myself I'm not alone because, for the longest time... I didn't know any living people who had gone through what I had. I have since found friends over time with similar situations, and they all mean the world to me, but Shadow for years was the imaginary friend of a lonely kid who scared the other kids.

That means a lot to me.

Part 2- Why do I like Amy?

I use to not like Amy.

(As such, the order of thought for this segment is going to be different. Sorry in advance.)

I hasn't played any other Sonic game before SA2, so my first encounter with her was not the best. I didn't understand why she was here. I didn't understand why she acted the way she did. I didn't like her voice actor, or her dialog lines, or how she was just written as 'the girl'. Every other character got to be cool and do shit and be playable and Amy was just There(tm). Later I played SA1 and realized she was cool but how she was written in every game seemed to just be decided by dice. Yeah, they used the same dice, so the basic characteristics stayed the same, but the way they were portrayed or portioned fluctuated drastically. I never knew what she was going to show up like.

And that's partially on me- I was stuck in a binary jam as a kid. Still, even beyond that, she as a character and I did not gel.

And then I played Sonic Battle.

(tw // eating disorders)

I keep saying I need to replay Battle, if only to get evidence of this. There's a part of me that wants to believe I made it up, just to avoid the implications, but I know I didn't.

In Battle, like in SA1, SA2, and 06, you play through multiple perspectives of a story (always did like that sort of gameplay.) During the story, you get to be both Cream and Amy, and you find something out during this.

Amy has an eating disorder.

This may be a headcanon, and I am biased, but this obsession to the point of illness with her weight and figure has appeared a couple of times including out if gameplay (I know, breaking my own rule about game canon focus). For an older example, there's an issue in the Sonic manga Spin and Dash where Amy falls for one of Eggman's schemes for weight loss since she's worried she's gaining weight. She then comes back emaciated, asking Sonic and Tails if she looks pretty. Most recently, there is official art of Amy punching a punching bag with a picture of ice cream on it while Germal watches, which is a direct reference to that I am about to relay.

In Battle, you go against Amy several times in a form of combat called Boxercising. Canonically, it is stated that Amy got into Boxercising to get stronger and help out more on missions, but then became obsessed when she realized she could lose weight. Though Cream protests all the 'training' saying Amy is too tired due to her lack of eating and constant training, Amy keeps insisting she wants to go another round. You do this a few times, and then, it is revealed that she has been wearing weights this entire time.

I use to wear weights all the time, around my ankles and under long pants so nobody noticed. I did it to try and lose weight. You want to know what happens when you do that? You fuck up your ligaments and tendons. I had to take a second. Then, I went back to the game. It got worse from there.

After the fighting, Amy passes out. When she awakens, after a bit of dialog, she asks then-Emerl how she could loose more weight. The robot proposes a ridiculous training regiment and a diet in which Amy is to only eat salad leaves and some other minimal insane bullshit, and though Cream is horrified, Amy insists she can do it.

And I hated it.

I hated how of course it was Amy. I hated how this was played for laughs. I hated how they'd pick the Girl Character(tm) because eating disorders are coded girlish apparently and once again I'm sitting there hating everything to do with everyone but especially whoever thought that was funny or let that mistake (if it was a mistake) slide or whatever. I was angry.

But it was at that moment I saw Amy in a new light. I had never seen another character go through this, not in the way I did. I decided to go back and give her character a second look.

What I found upon putting aside my own self loathing was a wonderful character. Yes, she, like everyone else, suffered from tone changes between games, but at the core, she was a really wonderful person doing the best she could out of love for everything and everyone.

Yes, she is stubborn and maybe sometimes a bit selfish. Yes, she has tunnel vision and sometimes that causes a problem. I will remind the court that the kid in canon is 12/13 and which one of you was the perfect preteen? I reiterate my point about flawed protagonists. I reiterate my point about multifaceted characters. I reiterate my point that a person is allowed to be a person and that makes them better than a cardboard cuttout that can be projected upon.

She's not a manic pixie dream girl, she's a fucking supernova.

She loves her friends, her found family, her home, her planet, the strangers she meets on the street, everyone. This girl will remind you to take care of yourself right before she throws hands with god. This girl is a badass because she loves fiercely and terribly. No, not in the 'cool, masculine way' that seemed to be the only permissible volatile love I saw in media, but in her way.

It's not a thing that just is. That sort of love comes from wanting to love. Making the conscious decision to love, and act on that love, in the best way a person knows how.

Just like you, or I, or anyone else.

And how deeply, how furiously, how passionately and totally a person can love everything, anything, and in spite of whatever is going on, decide to act on that love with a desire to do good for the sake of doing good.

That means a lot to me.

Part 3: The Ship of Dreams

We come back to this moment, because it was always going to be this moment.

An unstoppable force meets an unmoveable object.

But they are not on opposite sides. In fact, they are very much on the same side. These two love fiercely and terribly. They want to do the right thing. They are willing to sacrifice happiness and safety in order to achieve that.

And once they realize this, they work together to do the right thing out of love.

This post, I think, does a very nice job of elaborating on a facet of that concept.

---

@wizardofthebog

The “This character who is flawed, traumatized and hurting cannot be saved by love. But they can choose recovery because they are loved”-trope makes me just… I think I need to lay down.

@theoneandonlymagiscientist

“saved by love” and “choose recovery because loved” look similar on the surface, perhaps because the end results look similar, but they’re so different really. It’s passive vs. active; a story is about the person who’s making choices, being proactive. If Character A is saved by love, then it’s not them the story is about, it’s about their savior, Character B. If Character A chooses recovery, then they’re the one the story is about. Character B is the side character this time.

One is the narrative of taking what is broken and fixing it. It is not about the ‘broken’ person, it’s about the ‘savior’ who ‘fixes’ them.

One is a tale of healing. It is not about one person ‘fixing’ the other, it’s about the person who makes a conscious decision to not let their pain define them.

In one, the story is about the person who loves the hurt person, and the hurt person’s pain is incidental to the main character’s arc. In the other, the story is about the hurt person themself, and the other person’s love is incidental to their arc.

I hope I’ve said this well enough. My words may not be coming out the right way to express what I’m trying to say. Sometimes they do that.

---

There's also this quote from Guillermo del Toro

---

"The beast doesn’t need to transform to be loved. He doesn’t have to turn into a boring fucking prince to be loved. Or renounce to the essence of who it is. To me love is not transformation, love is acceptance and understanding."

---

And what about these closing lines from Niel Gaiman's observations on love given at a friend's wedding?

---

"- In the darkness you will reach out a hand,

not knowing for certain if someone else is even there.

And your hands will meet,

and then neither of you will ever need to be alone again."

---

I believe in love: the concept, the idea, the goal. I believe that, upon achieving the goal of fostering love, in maintaining it, enabling it to thrive, to be happy and be healthy.

I believe in people and the power they have as individuals, and how that power finds new strength when people work together as a unit, as a team, as friends and confidantes and lovers.

Love to me is being in lock step, hand in hand, walking forward together.

And I just so happen to see it in these two silly, fictional hedgehogs.

#shadamy #shadowxamy #shadow the hedgehog #amy rose #tw // eating disorder #tw // gaslighting #i seriously cannot believe i actually was able to pen this all down. it took me a while #i highly doubt this is what... anyone... expected when they asked why i like the ship but... here it is #op rambles #this took me... days... but i wanted to get it right #thoughts

[justicegundam82]

Pathfinder 1E Conversion: Kangarai

Here you go, everyone! This is my first official attempt at creating a creature for the 1st edition of Pathfinder, a game I'm still pretty obsessed with. It's been a long time ever since I wanted to start writing conversions, but for some reason I never really got around to it.

You can thank the excellent blogs The Creature Chronicle and Creature Codex for setting a great example and giving me the inspiration to start this project. Of course, since I'm rather inexperienced with these, I would like to ask readers to tell me what they think, where I can do better, what errors I might have committed, and so on. A bit of constructive criticism, so that I can always do better. ^^

And we start off with a simple creature. This one comes from the Hacklopedia of Beasts Volume IV, for the Hackmaster roleplaying game. The kangarai scratches a lot of my itches when it comes to depicting an original humanoid race, so I decided it would have been my first attempt at a conversion.

Also, if anyone could tell me who the artist for this picture was, I'd be really grateful.

Enjoy!

KANGARAI

Unknown artist, © Kenzer and Co.

This creature looks like a well-built humanoid with an elongated mouse-like face and powerful clawed legs. It is covered in short grey fur and sports an odd leathery pouch on its abdomen. Its clothes and markings speak of a nomadic lifestyle.

KANGARAI CR 1 XP 400 CG Medium Humanoid Initiative +2; Senses low-light vision, Perception +5

DEFENSE AC 15 (+2 armor, +2 Dex, +1 natural) hp 11 (2d8+2) Fort +1, Ref +5, Will +1

OFFENSE Speed 40 ft. Melee spear +2 (1d8+1 / x3) or slam +2 (1d4+1) Ranged sling +3 (1d4+1) Special Attacks hop attack

STATISTICS Str 12, Dex 14, Con 13, Int 10, Wis 13, Cha 8 Base Atk +1; CMB +2; CMD 14 Feats Alertness Skills Acrobatics +10 (+14 jumping), Perception +5, Sense Motive +3, Survival +5; Racial Modifiers +4 Acrobatics (+8 jumping) Languages Common, Kangarai Special Qualities naturally athletic

ECOLOGY Environment temperate hills or plains Organization solitary, pair, gathering party (2-5 kangarai plus 1-3 kangaroos) or band (5-30 adults plus 50% noncombatant children, 3-12 kangaroos, 1 chief of 3rd-5th level and 1 druid/shaman of 3rd-5th level) Treasure NPC gear (leather armor, spear, sling with 20 bullets, other treasure)

SPECIAL ABILITIES Hop Attack (Ex): As part of a charge, a kangarai can leap over an opponent and strike from above. In addition to the normal benefits and hazards of a charge, a kangarai performing an hop attack gets a +2 bonus on weapon damage rolls for a successful melee attack. Naturally Athletic (Ex): A kangarai has a +4 racial bonus to Acrobatics checks. This bonus increases to +8 for Acrobatics checks involving jumping. Acrobatics is always considered a class skill for a kangarai.

Kangarai are a race of nomadic kangaroo-like humanoids. They wander great expanses of savannah and open plains, often in the presence of a herd of kangaroos. Strictly herbivores, kangarais gain most of their food by gathering and grazing. They live in small wandering tribes, composed of varying percentages of male and females.

Like the kangaroos they resemble, kangarais are marsupials - females give live birth to a joey that exits the mother's uterus in a still incomplete state and whose development continues in the mother's pouch, from which they emerge as fully formed young. Female kangarai exhibit a capacity for embryonic diapause, the capacity of halting an embryo's development in times of drought and areas with poor food sources.

Kangarai tend to be distrusting of other humanoid races, and give a wide berth to permanent settlements as a result. The exception to this tend to be halflings, and kangarais often have amicable, or at least cordial, relationships with nomadic halfling tribes in their same territory. They are also known to have rescued lone wanderers who were injured or weakened, and nursed them back to health, guiding them back to civilization in exchange for keeping their existence a secret. Evil gnoll tribes prize kangarais as both slaves and food, so relationships between the two races are almost invariably hostile. Kangarais have a natural life expectancy of about 50 years, but the rigors of their lifestyle claim most of them before they reach their 30th birthday.

Kangarais that progress in class levels usually do so as rangers or rogues, enhancing their natural scouting and stealth abilities. Fighters, barbarians and slayers are rather common as well. Kangarais tend not to gravitate towards specific deities, instead worshipping the abstract forces of nature, and clerics are therefore uncommon amongst their kind compared to druids or shamans.

#pathfinder #pathfinder 1e #conversion #hackmaster #kangarai #humanoid #tabletop games

[nulltune]

a general / vague-ish backstory post, inspired by canon but much more hakuno-centric cuz that's the focus of this blog, babyyy! if you wanna know more a lil more about the stuff hakuno's been through without getting into fate/extra, this is the post for you 😌💖 it's just the barebones of it though and i'll probably add more details depending on whatever verse/setting i'm throwing her at ✨️ (tho i might just leave it at Amnesiac in some cases 🤷‍♀️ rlly just depends tbh !)

can't recall her past. she has no memories of a home or a family, she doesn't even know who she is or what values she believes in. she's just a nobody with no passions, desires, emotions or anything of value. nothing.

she has no reason to fight either, but when she's forced into a circumstance where it's either kill or be killed (think of some battle royale kinda thing sgfjsh), what drove her to fight was just the basic survival instinct of not wanting to die.

"Even though you can’t describe what it is yet, there must be something that gives you a purpose. Through combat, find the reason you fight, and the reason you can't lose. Find your answers. It’s your responsibility to have the answers when you survive this war."

(for some context, remember her canon source is fate which has a "holy grail war", basically a battle royale with heroic spirits, it's not really important rn but yeah that's why you'll see it being called a war!)

^ advice she received from an opponent she defeated which really left a mark on her. and as she continued to fight, everyone she encountered gave her something to learn and remember in one way or another.

at the end of it, she is "a soul that has been tempered by crisis and conflict". hakuno learned a lot from her battles and though she was the weakest at the start, she ended as the strongest. (nOT to the point of being insanely strong btw gdjfhsdg i'd say she's probably stronger than an average person but hakuno Cannot beat goku </3 )

it fits the ideology the person who orchestrated the whole thing believed in: that conflict ultimately strengthens people, making them grow and change into something stronger.

hakuno herself is living proof of that, but the conclusion she ended up with is much more sentimental.

she started out empty and hollow but grew to become an incredibly compassionate and softhearted person. though they were her enemies, she did her best to try and understand them and through that, she came to understand the value of a life, bonds and connections, and humanity.

she's like a doll that gained a heart <3 (which is how i rlly want my portrayal of her to be like !!!) there was no substance at the start beyond a pretty image, but it's her experiences, interactions and memories with others that slowly fill that emptiness.

in the end, her conclusion was that this system that forced to kill or be killed is just rotten at its core. so though she was encouraged to keep this cycle going, after seeing all the suffering and experiencing it herself, what she wants is to put an end to all this cruelty.

(canon has hakuno resolve all her issues and die at the end of the story but i'm halting her character development for interaction purposes 😉)

she made the resolve to do so fully knowing that she'd have to give up her life to accomplish this, but ended up surviving somehow.

her desire to live is still as strong as ever so it's not that she wanted to die, deep down she really didn't want to disappear but kept it to herself because she feels like it'd be "too greedy" of her.

despite her better understanding of others, hakuno still doesn't fully understand herself and her own emotions tbh! while she has more substance to her, she's still trying to find herself.

anddd she still questions whether she has the right to be alive, what worth she has, and just what place she has in the world she feels so detached from. definitely has her own unresolved issues from what she's been through ^_T

#i'm trying to sound professional here but don't be fooled IM TYPING ALL THIS THRU MY TEARS #SKIMMING THRU MY E.XTRA REF/NOTES JUST MAKES ME FACKING SCREAM CRY CLUTCH MY CHEST FOR HERRRR 😭😭😭 I PUNCH THE WALL . #H.AKUNOOOOOOOO !!!!!!!!!! #i wish i could give more detail abt all her feelings and her development throughout all that but !!! a lil summary should suffice ✨️ #also i feel like knowing this rlly helps u understand the way h.akuno is the way she is ;__; #&&. hcs #maaay or may nooot edit this some more in da future .... but i'm satisfied w/ it for now so #<3 LIVE LAUGH LOVE H.AKUNO- #war cw #war / #war mention cw #war mention / #jic !!! #&&. about

[sophieinwonderland]

I'm part of a system and we have two large issues right now that we need advice for, and since you want system advice asks, we invite you to have at them: (For a bit of background, we are a mixed origin system, who is a mix of spiritual and traumagenic elements)

Traditionally we've assumed that there are a certain number of us, about 7, and recently it's come to light that we might have more? Specifically the use of er, a certain substance that rhymes with "fauna", has resulted in rapid front shifting (like, every six seconds), and there were more person-states than we previously knew about. A few problems arise however, in that we only see x amount of people in headspace, and as a result of thinking that we're only x people and other people only knowing about x people, we've been shoving ourselves into the roles of those six people no matter who the person fronting really is. We've kinda been assuming "oh, this is just a case of varying moods making us feel different" until the experience with aforementioned devil's oregano proved us different. We want to figure things out, but we don't know how to advance given the complications, do you have any advice?

We've ID'd as a system for years, but recently I've done some looking into things on a diagnostic level, and I don't know if we are dissociative or if we're malingered/facetious. We fit the clinical profile to a T (highly imaginative, relatively low trauma, constant wavering on wanting diagnosis, likely cluster b comorbidity, inconsistency, etc), and I only really hesitate because the others have such a strong experience of selfhood. I should note that I'm the only one here who uncritically things this is the case, and the others either brush me off by pointing out various symptoms that could easily be faked/malingered or they acknowledge that it's possible but say that it doesn't matter because it's a framework that helps us and we can just live within it because it "doesn't cause issues". I feel like we should talk to a therapist for confirmation/denial, but we can't have that on our psychiatric permanent record for reasons of trans as well as worries of forced integration. Even if we are legitimately OSDD, we really need to figure out how to cope with amnesia as well as some issues with living as many, but again. Forced integration and worries about transition being halted. What should I do? Does anyone have any experience or information to help with the figuring out if we are malingered or real? Am I just overthinking or is everyone else here ignoring a big issue?

Can you help with either set of problems?

(This was the question the asker of the "does anyone have any good advice blogs?" ask)

I'm not sure how best to solve the first problem. We've only dealt with a system of five, and only two frequent fronters.

As for the second problem, if you're arguing with people in your head about whether or not you're faking having people in your head, I think it's safe to say that you have people in your head. Faking is something you do intentionally.

I can definitively assure you that you're experiencing plurality and aren't faking anything.

Now with that said, in my completely unprofessional opinion, what you're describing sounds closer to DID than to OSDD, with both developed alters with their own senses of self and amnesia on top of that.

I think reaching out to a medical professional would be a good idea.

And no one can force you to fuse if you don't want to. It's okay to go to your therapist and lay down ground rules. If they don't accept those boundaries, you may need to find another therapist. And integration doesn't necessarily mean fusion. It's a process that can end in fusion, but you can decide how far you go into that process. No one will be able to make you do anything you don't want to do against your will.

Just remember that a therapist is just a person you're paying to provide a service. Work with your therapist in places that you think will help. But they aren't an authority figure over you, and it's okay to set your own terms.

In the meantime, I know a lot of DID systems benefit from journaling frequently to strengthen memories. You should definitely try that if you aren't already.

#ask box #plural #multiplicity #system #systems #system stuff #plurality #mixed origin system #mixed origin

[majormeilani]

OMG I was scrolling through your sunshine tag (I'm very new to your blog) and I am desperate to know more about the plot of sunshine! Literally anything you want to talk about; I'm all ears! I feel like I'm witnessing something with a lot of potential and that could turn out to be super duper cool!

aww thanks!!!!

sunshine has been kind of a comfort series for me that i fall back on every once in a while when i don't have any other stories on my mind. i write it with my sister as some of her own ocs play an important role in the story! we have also been developing the story on and off for about ten years now.

i can definitely tell you a bit about it :)

in terms of plot, i can tell you the basic premise. sunshine takes place on a fictional island called 'Lindsay Island.' the island is positioned off of the pacfic west coast of the united states and as such many people often travel there to visit. there are rumors of a curse having been befallen those who live there that every two years something strange is to happen that started many many years ago.

the main story starts out following a boy named ruben, who is a little eight years old boy. he stumbles upon his father's old coat, belt, top hat and magic wand. he aims to become a famous magician just like his dad, donning his coat and belt and always having the wand in his hand. one day though, he stumbles across a strange small fairy like creature that he can only seem to see. he follows this creature in a chase and ends up stumbling upon a strange, old, worn down castle called 'deming' castle. he is lead to a strange hole that is broken through in the very bottom of the castle. through this, he ends up meeting a large cast of eccentric characters who all clue him into learning about the past of the island and the castle's residents and solving a mystery that will change everything forever.

various characters within the story are also 'humanized' objects and statues, each having their own powers and abilities. the story covers a lot of topics that might be heavy in theme at times but i think are important to address.

there's also a lot of in depth lore that has to do with the magic system and how it works as well as some lore about souls and spirits and all that fun stuff. :)

this story is also always in the back of my mind and i love the characters within it... my sister and i are hoping to present the story within a game that will be partly a visual novel and partly an rpg of sorts! think like those old pc horror rpg games like the witch's house or ib! something similar to that but with like more to it. that's kinda what we've wanted to do. though development of the game it has been halted for the time being as we still work out the kinks within the story and its lore as well as i am hoping to learn more about game development myself before actually diving in to create the game. if and when we do, i hope people will love it just as much as we do!

#sunshine #answered asks #anon #i am always open to talk about my original stories though sometimes i don't know where to start #thanks for asking though!!! #i appreciate you giving the sunshine tag a browse as well :)

[erisenyo]

I posted 9,962 times in 2022

That's 8,564 more posts than 2021!

116 posts created (1%)

9,846 posts reblogged (99%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@honeyedsunlight

@chitsangenthusiast

@lizardlicks

@marriedzukka

@unpretty

I tagged 6,597 of my posts in 2022

Only 34% of my posts had no tags

#gorgeous - 91 posts

#amazing - 82 posts

#fic writing - 73 posts

#adorable - 71 posts

#asks and answers - 68 posts

#boost! - 64 posts

#lol - 62 posts

#this is amazing - 57 posts

#atla - 48 posts

#so cute - 48 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#how long before the fire lord suddenly decides he needs a weapons master again and humbly but firmly requests piandao temporarily relocate?

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

For @zukkaweek Day 3: Spooning/Bedsharing (and maybe some domesticity too) - some friends to lovers, realization of feelings all the way to establish relationship tooth-rotting fluff, inspired by the wonderful @lizardlicks

[There are rules for sleeping with Zuko.

Sokka realizes that fact before he even starts doing it, back in those late days of the war when Zuko catches sight of the fresh bruise blooming over Sokka’s cheek one morning and teases him about getting distracted sparring with Suki, and Sokka doesn’t know how to say that actually, Zuko fell asleep by the fire last night and the reason Zuko woke up there too is because when Sokka tried to shift him to his bedroll, Zuko kicked him in the face in his sleep.] Or, From avoiding bodily injury to getting him to fall asleep in an actual bed, there are rules for sleeping with Zuko. Sokka might just find his way to learning them all.

197 notes - Posted May 24, 2022

#4

Zuko, trying to confess his feelings during a maybe-date: It's not just about the physical stuff. I want, like, all that gooey stuff, too.

Sokka: ...?

Zuko: You know. That big word that's so hard to say.

Sokka: Oh. Worcestershire Sauce

(Was reading "Chaliced Flowers" by @zukka96 and got hit by this piece of comedy)

199 notes - Posted January 18, 2022

#3

Do share your very strong feelings about Ozai eroding the traditional divisions between adult and child.

@eshusplayground ask and ye shall receive in spades haha, I've been thinking about this a lot recently as I think through what adulthood vs childhood in general means across the nations.

TLDR - Zuko and Azula are treated as adults by Ozai and everyone around them, which strips them of the traditional protections of childhood. It's a transgressive act that entrenches Ozai's perceived absolute authority and establishes his ability to essentially punish now for what someone *might* do later.

Keep Reading

247 notes - Posted February 25, 2022

#2

Having Zukka betrothal armband thoughts. The idea that they can hold more than one stone. The record of attempts to get it perfect, from halting chips and rough designs to increasing confidence and the idea that this progression of skill also follows a progression of love and deepening of their bond, and that it is proudly displayed and cherished. The idea that it doesn't have to stop just with a proposal. That stones could be exchanged around major life moments, and also just around major emotional moments--when you are feeling overwhelmed by love for your partner, for the shape the relationship has taken as your lives change. Armbands as a record not just of commitment but of changing and evolving love, of two hearts saying over and over they want to walk together.

517 notes - Posted July 22, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Having thoughts about how Toph found people at the Earth Rumble who treated her as an equal and respected her for her skill and listened to her. How she became the Blind Bandit there and the first people to ever take her seriously were The Gecko and Fire Nation Man and the others.

And then she joins the Gaang, people who also treat her as an equal and respect her skill and listen to her, and she starts calling them Twinkle Toes and Snoozles and Sugar Queen and Captain Boomerang.

She's giving them stage names. Because gaining her stage name was the most empowering thing that happened to her up to that point. Because stage names are earned. Because the people who were kindest to her in her life (by treating her how she wanted to be treated) were people who went by things like The Boulder.

15,237 notes - Posted October 6, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #Toph was a real winner out there huh #Also lol my tags being for conversation not organization #They're for complimenting artists and making jokes