#But now there's a fucking chasm. And I don't have a fucking clue how to cross it.

[assigned-marcille-at-breakfast]

Lol nothing like waking up to an email from a job telling me I'm "not fit" for a job I applied to. A job that is literally an entry position in the specific field I studied and got a college degree in.

Like not even like it's in the realm of what I studied. It's literally Exactly What I Studied. My degree is in it. I got my degree to do this. My electives expand on this specific field. I've been continuing to work in and learn more about and integrate into this field after college as a hobby. Like. This is literally what I live and breath.

From a fuckin smaller studio too not like some big major company or massive thing that has their pick of hundreds of skilled people. Like at least fuckin say some HR bullshit like "we are moving in another direction" or something.

Not a fucking fit for the position.

God I really am never gonna get a job beyond some bullshit part time shit that doesn't respect me or my skills and won't pay me enough to live huh.

Fuck me I guess.

#I was really hopeful about this one too #Idk what to do anymore #Like what is it that's making me so unemployable #Is it the fucking autism? Making me come across as awkward somehow or something and setting hiring managers off of me? #Or is the the being trans #Would I fucking get a job if I just #Stopped being trans #Lied to myself and went back in the closet #Pretended to be that person again #God fucking damnit! I've fought so fucking hard just to finally get here #But now there's a fucking chasm. And I don't have a fucking clue how to cross it. #And im doing everything everyone says to do to get across #But im so beat up and bruised from falling so many times. Broken so many bones. I've never made it more than a few feet across the chasm #And i can feel the fray in the tether that keeps me from plummeting to my death. The ridge of the cliffside cutting into it with every fall #One of these times it's gonna break #I'm worried itll be the next try that does it

[gabriel-xander]

Don't Forget

Undertale Fanfiction

[Sans x Female!Reader]

Based on how chaotic your life is, you can’t say you’re shocked to see how your day turned out to be. You barely remember how you ended up in this damn Chasm, but it doesn’t freak you out as much as it should. Probably because you’ve had similar, fucked up experiences before.

What DOES freak you out is when a familiar, yellow-talking flower greets you with that fuck ass voice of his. He doesn’t know why you’re here, and frankly? You don’t have a damn clue, either.

It’s moments like these that make you grateful that you’ve built a physical resistance since you’ve been stabbed a few times in the past. Now monsters will have a harder time killing you! You’re certainly going to need that luck anyway since you do not have the power to save yourself. After all, there are certain monsters here that REALLY want you dead.

Table of Contents

Available on:

Wattpad

Quotev

Ao3

And Patreon for early release!!

IMPORTANT information!!

If you can please spare a moment to read this, I would really appreciate it!

Firstly: most, if not all, of my Reader inserts, are ALWAYS Half Mexican-American and half whatever ethnicity YOU WANT! THE READER FOR THIS STORY IS HALF MEXICAN-AMERICAN! Or she can be a full Mexican if you’d like. If this is, for some reason, a deal breaker for you, then you are more than welcome to stop reading!

Second: I should mention now that I have 11+ more chapters already prewritten AND the entirety of this story planned to the end. That means that most, or rather, everything in this story is NON-NEGOTIABLE! Don't like how the story is going? I'm sure you can find something else!

This story, by the way, is going to be LONG. Most likely over 100 chapters, but hopefully, it won’t be that lengthy.

And Lastly: This story is also in Patreon! What that means is that there's early access content there! It gets uploaded once a week, and is ahead of the public release by 2 chapters. It is NOT an obligation to sub to my Patreon because my story is still FREE! You just have to wait for the release, that's all!

Thank you so much for actually taking the time to read this. The next chapter will be released on week from now until it's caught up with the other websites. Once it's caught up, it'll be updating every 2 weeks.

#fanfiction #reader insert #female reader #undertale #sans undertale #sans #Don't Forget Fanfiction #sans x reader

[birdmenmanga]

fic snippets retrieved from my broken phone under the cut and also some psychoanalysis about my stories

Tater Tots

as I vaguely recalled the first half of tater tots just didn't have enough exposition to make it good and I think I WILL have to rewrite all of it LOL. but I did go off on this interaction between canary, robin, and miguel (I'm going to have to go replace all the --s with —s but that's a problem for later)

But man I don't know what was in the water when I wrote the second half of it but it fucking HITS

ehh there's some stuff in the middle. I think the exposition on Sybil and Luther gets a bit repetitive; I need to consolidate that stuff (I think overall I'm just not as good at exposition because I tend to work in comics and therefore it's a skill I just straight-up have less exp in)

damn I didn't mean to snip so much of it but like this all hits really hard. some of this prose is genuinely insane— remembers a version of herself who didn't know of a greater fear? hello? and in consuming him, he consumes it back??? Hello?? on one hand what the hell did I mean by that but on the other it makes perfect sense and I'm not changing a word of that paragraph

anyways I really like this dynamic where Miguel and Robin WANT the best for each other, but Miguel never learned how to build healthy relationships and Robin has closed herself off so much and formed herself into the mold of the queen that she can't help him with that anymore. and as a result Miguel, akin to a fish knocking over shit in is aquarium, keeps doing these things in order to goad Robin into engaging with him and hopefully making her realize that she deserves moments of joy and happiness in her life instead of marinating in her grief nonstop. and it doesn't fucking work!! and they're just horrible and passive aggressive about it!!

and so luther and sybil, who are like two kids caught in the custody of a horrible divorce, have to deal with their inane shit. sybil has no fucking clue what normal relationships are like either, and so it falls on luther to call them out on their bullshit. but he's a kid too!! he doesn't know how to handle this maturely either!! so all he can say is, get your shit together guys this isn't MY job!!

anyways this fic means a lot to me, in part because I'm fascinated by Miguel and Robin's relationship, that Miguel is one of the only people who remember the old Robin and how he copes with knowing that ghost, and in part because there are only like??? 3 miguel/robin fics on ao3??? which is a crying shame!! I think they're the most painful embodiment of the "the more things change the more things stay the same" sentiment in the whole cast and it's just delicious.

(addendum: I think this is the same appeal I find in Suletta and Elan-4's relationship actually. being the only person haunted by a ghost of someone who still exists, but... also doesn't exist anymore)

Chasm

This one is really funny. I wrote this originally with the intention of posting it as a "Happy Valentine's Day" sort of fic but then I had a moment of clarity halfway through and went "This is not a Happy Valentine's Day fic." and dropped this to write Homecoming at the speed of light.

I think it very clearly shows that the most self-indulgent of my fics are the ones where one guy is deeply infatuated with another guy, who does in fact indulge the former in his desires but somehow it's still not enough for him LOL. Karasuma is clearly going through it in this fic, but at some point I guess I felt bad about dropping him down the plinko so much I switched to bullying Sagisawa instead (about, like, practically the exact same issues), but well. Here. Apologies for the insufferable graphic design but unfortunately I'm too lazy to make it more sufferable

man who WAS I, writing so easily from Takayama's point of view?? Every time I see this bit I'm always so surprised. Like wow wait we're in HIS head now?? what???

LOLLLL this bit is soooo mean to karasuma but I don't know... it still strikes me as very true... Karasuma will forever live in the shallow comfort that he'll be haunted by Takayama's presence forever <3 never being able to leave that part of his past behind <3 and yet never being able to move forwards and beyond this relationship either <3 <3 <3

(this is not strictly true in every post-canon timeline of mine and in particular I feel like I have to emphasize that I think in the right circumstances with the right amount of work put in from both parties they COULD fix their relationship. make it something workable. but it's a LOT of work, and I think the only fic of mine where it actually works out between them IS chorus... because it's the only one that's long enough for things to change and develop in any meaningful way. oh, and I guess homecoming. lol!)

LOL I WROTE EISHI TO BE SO SAD AND PATHETIC. It's sooo funny to me. like lol. suffer, little guy ! I think it's really funny that in both tater tots and chasm I EXPLICITLY said, in-text, that miguel and karasuma were pathetic guys and I think it's great. they ARE pathetic. get it together

like this is so funny to me. I know for a fact that when I first wrote this (I think it must have been... January?) I definitely didn't view Sagisawa as a wet and pathetic kind of guy but in these past months he definitely leveled up a lot in that department so this interaction is even funnier to me now. local pathetic guy assures his friend that while he is also pathetic he's really doing pretty good, all things considered

I think I was going in a pretty interesting direction in this fic, even though I can't see myself finishing it now. The premise was more or less along the lines of, Takayama becomes a drifter that Karasuma only gets to see like once a year or so and yet can't let go of, and in a moment of desperation he has sex with him, which does not actually make things better and arguably makes things worse. (Only for Karasuma, though. I think Takayama comes out the other side completely unaffected)

The details get a bit hazy here, but I'm pretty sure Karasuma talks to Sagisawa to try and sort out his feelings, and Sagisawa essentially asks him, well what's wrong with the fact that he doesn't love you back? Isn't the act of loving meant to be a selfless thing? Why MUST you receive something in return for your feelings for him? I mean, for example, I've loved you all these years for who you are, without any expectation for anything in return, and I don't mind the fact that it's like this, which I think is so disarming to Karasuma that he kind of needs to sit against a wall for two weeks straight.

I'm fairly certain this was meant to be a fic where NOBODY ended up with ANYBODY and I think that's what really cemented my thought of "yeah no this is definitely not a Valentine's fic what the HELL am I on about". The title, Chasm, refers to the uncrossable distance between Takayama and Karasuma... but then again, isn't it something beautiful as well? To admire something from a distance? To love something without the need for it to belong to you?

So I guess rather than a ship fic... it's a letting go fic??? I really don't know at this point. It's been soooo long since I looked at or thought about this fic...

Spark

But thematically speaking, I think that definitely tracks. Right before I was writing Chasm, I was working on Spark, which was a Souyoshi fic. (Kekkaishi) In particular, the bit about Shuuji and Sumiko strikes me as playing with very similar ideas as the ones in Chasm.

Spark is honestly a hot mess and it was my first venture into fic writing after a very long time of not having done any writing at all, and I can say with confidence that I don't plan on finishing it now. But I think that's going to happen is that the themes are going to get recycled and put into Confession, which I think has a similar premise of only one person being in love in a longstanding, established relationship. (This isn't what Spark was really about, but Spark got derailed into having plot and the narration style changed so drastically it might as well have become two separate fics by the time I quit)

I don't know. After looking back on all these documents I really feel like I... don't write romances, actually? I don't know why I'm so surprised by this. Not to psychoanalyze myself through my work, but like it literally has never been about romance. Not the architect, EXPLICITLY not so in the crow, and I think Tattoo to Tomorrow is the only one where I said "this will be a romance". And even so it wasn't about the romance; the romance was the given, not the drama.

I think maybe as someone who spends almost their entire time being in love with other people, I expected to write a lot about it, because write what you know, right? But it was actually the opposite... maybe because of this, it becomes all the more apparent to me that loving, and being loved, simply isn't enough. That having a fulfilling life, especially socially, doesn't hinge on having a partner, but on having a place for you.

I think you can see it especially clearly in Breaking Stasis, actually. I tried SO hard to make that a romance, and I'm sure people did see it as one, but to me, personally, it wasn't about love. Love alone couldn't save Kaito from his personal hellscape. It wasn't Shinichi's love that pulled him out; it was his promise that there was a place for Kaito in real life that broke him out of his false utopia.

#just thinking thoughts... #stray bird thoughts #there's stuff from tater tots (miguel/robin fic? kind of?) #chasm (takaeishi... not really though????????) #and a little bit about spark (souyoshi fic but the important part is about shuuji and sumiko) #mostly it's just interesting to pick my brain about WHY I'm writing these and what draws me to certain ideas more than others #I don't actually expect anyone to read this btw. but I think it's interesting to me... maybe someone else will find it interesting as well

[saltypiss]

Idunno how companies are so capable at making the most forgetable, nothing faux art pieces at every turn.

Who'd they hire to make the new minecraft skins? A random tumblr artist that makes hyper-gorgeous rugrat "where are they now" drawings?

Because wow! They look like what corporations imagine normal people with actual income look like. And wow! They all look like fuckboys! And nothing like characters in the minecraft world. It's a different artstyle than the game.

Just awful designs all around. This is what happens when a company puts "inclusivity" on a piece of paper and tell their workers "just make the skin tones dark, we aren't trying to make something good, just something presentable."

At some point I wish the left would hold this mentality accountable. It should not be accepted that companies as corporately as possible do the bare minimum. All races and types deserve real representation, not an AI that shits out generic clones of corporate advertising's perspective on humans that have different skin tones.

Microsoft doesn't have a clue on anything you do, don't assume this garbage was done out of kindness or respectability, it's just a bucketlist on avoiding bad PR. Odds are high there's discrimination filled to the brim in the company, enough that cancels out this charade of knowledge and experience.

Imagine if Nintendo came out with a new IP, and the main character is black, but the design was just some generic dude, the artstyle doesn't fit the game, it looks like parts of the model were ripped off from another model, the color scheme was greys and a stripe of green, the personality is a blatant stereotype, and when you google "a black man" the first result is a stock image nintendo used to base the model off of. And after all that, still manage to underpay every minority or just the one they think they can get away with.

That right now is what companies are doing. Just putting people of color into media as cheaply, lazily, and creatively uninspired as possible, it should be frowned upon. Not celebrated as a win, it is a step forward and step back. Nothing was accomplished.

And before you say the companies that shit out these copy-pastable designs helped pave the way towards acceptance towards people of color in media, I advise you to research the creators who actually had to fight the companies to get you the representation they could, because THEY fought for inclusivity, THEY fought for acceptability, THEY fought for their co-workers who were discriminated against, THEY paved the way.

Companies now aren't even backpedalling, they just see cheap and easy PR, they're still using people of color as a prop, like disney with the little mermaid, for sure do whatever it's not a problem that Ariel is black in the movie, it's a problem that you didn't even try to give real representation, you just handed the role over for PR. Not for creativity.

Tell me, what's the massive chasm difference between races that will change how the film operates without being a totally new story? You can't because there isn't. If it's a new story, then don't slap the little mermaid on it. Let the representation simply be an aspect, not the point to film.

Why? Well, let's drop the race discussion for a second and discuss the absolute barren wasteland that is new IPs. My family were chidren with most shows these days came on. They're still coming out. They're creatively uninspired, and everyone wants to move on to something new. Companies are piss scared to try something new in the event it fails, despite record profits. In general, people want new IPs, new stories, new characters, new scenarios and situations.

Instead, companies are still reusing old IPs as uncreatively as possible. It bothers me that people don't see the connection between the 2 lazinesses as intertwined. But also it bothers me that instead of creating new representation, we're just shoving them into old media that should've died a fuck of a long time ago. It's soulless. All art deserves better, and for the discussion on representation, I find it far more palpable to hit 2 birds with one stone, alongside giving minorites the driver seat, and wheel, and stick shift, and pedals. Not just the role of "the driver" if that makes sense.

Companies replacing characters with newer versions isn't new, but it has always been tedious and generally failed. Companies making stereotypical designs and personalities for their 'token black person replacer' is gross, and has always been gross.

Not one soul on the left wanted Ariel to be black, they wanted a black mermaid on par. Not one soul on the left wanted shaggy to be black, they wanted a black character that doesn't need a fossil of media to back them up.

To be clear, if it wasn't made unbelievable obvious already, I think it's great corporations can't trample over the black community's workforce and talent as fucking brutally as they had before social media made it a hot topic, and after. That is indeed an improvement. And one that would've happened anyways had an actual effort been put forth. That is my problem. The bare minimum.

I just wish instead of hiring black people to fill the role of "token black person for PR" died, and wasn't resurrected in yet another excusable form.

If scooby doo truly, actually, wanted to be a case for representation, well first, they'd drop scooby doo, and make an actual show for representation, but since corporations don't want to make new IPs and instead parade the dead horse around, we instead have the stoner character made a stereotype, with an awful design.

What's crazy is some accepted it. Um. Ya'll? I get most people aren't knowledgable of the creative sphere, but fucking Fred should have been altered for PR there. It was the only obvious choice. He has no character, nothing to go off of, he's THE generic White Cheese. Open for a multitude of changes that creatively could have gone much further than "stereotype meets stereotype"

But that would be too hard, or offend the white audience or blah blah

Fuck off and make something creative. Sick of this creativeless numbness people accept. Raise your standards ever so slightly and it becomes obvious how poorly corporations are handling the "representation" workload they made for themselves.

Why trust these companies with their histories I straight up will never know. It's Hanna Barberra, Look Me In The Eyes, and tell me they were genuine in their "efforts."

Because for fucks sake, have some god damn standards for yourself. Demand better than corporate standard. It only gets better when you demand more as the consumer.

[voidsteffy]

Don't go around hating on a GROWN ADULT WOMAN for having sex. it is 2022! we need to stop SLUT SHAMING women for their sexuality! we don't know how old Park is and he is NOT her boss or her teacher! Nace is endgame anyway, let NANCY HAVE HER FUN!

Ah the infamous anon I have no obligation to respond to, but will anyway because this is so on the wrong track that it's hilarious.

Okay, first of all

Loga Landau made it clear from the starting that Nancy was a sexually active young adult (this in interview panel) and the viewers took it in stride because the writers have given the characters (especially women) their agency. We admire seeing a sexually strong and realistic female on tv for once without overly fetishizing her or making her clingy/needy. So not one of us— and I mean me and my pals at the Have A Nace Day and The Clue Crew servers— whether we like Nark/Park or not, is in the least slut-shaming Nancy for acting like a fucking human being.

[ If anyone is shaming anyone (real or fictional) for having sexual agency, then we're going to have some tough words with them. ]

Second of all

I would like to allude to this post which was posted at 7:09 pm IST on October 16th, 2021.

(Key points↴)

So it is Park I don't trust, because a man of Park's professional status and maturity is meant to be quite old (he certainly ain't a teen).

Nancy and Owen was a ship that bupkissed the bottom of the bathtub (pun intended) mainly because Owen was older than Nancy, not only in physical age but also in terms of all he's experienced, the power he held business and contact-wise and the level of maturity in his thoughts.

Same thing here, but Park's expertise and opinions bleed into their professional setting. There is a chasm in the dynamics and the fact that he is an official (no matter that he isn't her boss) spins the relationship into a very different light.

Our very own George fricking Fan started out as a broken young woman who found validation in a quite older (mature) married man aka pre-reformation Ryan Hudson. She of all people, knows how taxing and wrong a relationship between a young woman and a more powerful man is. We didn't like the fact that George was all smirky and "oh now you have two options so not fair Drew" about Park and Ace.

How many times do we have to say it? Park holds more power in this relationship because he is, technically, who Nancy has to report to/share with (as a detective, not a Community Liaison) for her cases.

The sense of validation Nancy wants to seek when with Park makes it an unequal dynamic, a bad one because Nancy - the usual powerholder - doesn't hold the majority with Park.

When Nancy slept with Gil, we had a problem not with her having sex but with the fact that she was sleeping with a douchebag who brought no good to her life. Our reaction was the reaction of a friend concerned for Nancy's well-being, not an orthodox monster hating her for having sex at all.

Third of all

If the endearing misunderstanding anon here doesn't follow my blog and my rants, then here is another reblog on my dash with my own thoughts and another post by my babe @bess-turani-marvin on why Park is sus as hell and he's not really the dynamic we're looking for right now. It was rushed, wrongly romanticized and made into a fairytale spin when what we looked for was some sort of conflict or reminder from Park's side. The fact that he didn't pull away for long from Nancy (unlike darling Tamura) indicates either our suspicions coming true or that he's being that kind of person.

If you like Park as a character, then good for you, you picked a good character to dream about. I am not dissuading anyone from liking Park (people do like suspenseful/grey characters). The purpose of answering this anon was to show y'all something that is necessary to be shown.

Listen, Agent Nelson Park is hot. We ain't blind, we see very well and appreciate that staring at his chin that can solve most of our problems. But he is sus, he holds more power in the relationship, he makes Nancy crave more of that validation that he readily supplies for some reason.

Thank you for giving me this opportunity anon. We've all been through a lot with the last episode and having your ask cleared multiple times in different words, from different users and in different ways must have been quite the ride.

Here, take a lollipop.

Toodles and have a nace day.

#ask #anon #nancy drew cbs #nancy drew and park #nark #agent nelson park #nace #abe tamura #3x10 spoilers #3x10 discussion #why the heck we're banging at the alarms for the Nark ship #nancy drew 3x10 #3x10 was a ride i didn't ask for #gimme the good ole days back #coat room stuff #how THE HECK did he find her in the coat room #ahaha he sus my dear anon

[not-so-mundane-after-all]

Touching | 8. shielding the other one with their body, Dick & Rachel - for @wonderbatwayne

Fandom: DC Titans

Title: Safe Haven

Series: Physical Affection - Tumblr Prompts

Pairings/Relationships: Dick Grayson & Rachel Roth

Summary: "The answer is simple, Grayson. Five years ago in this very place you took what's mine away from me. Now I'm taking what's yours."

2x07 AU

Check out the prompt list | REQUESTS OPEN

____________________________________________

Safe Haven

You really wanna be back here?

Dick tried to ignore his father's voice as he marched between the rows of wooden benches.

"Where is he?"

Deathstoke led him to this church - to the place where everything went down five years ago. But now it was empty.

Bruce showed up in front of him, blocking his way.

He's feeding on your guilt. Like a spider. He's lured you away from where you need to be… who you need to protect.

"He killed my friend," Dick argued.  "Nearly killed Jason. He has to be stopped."

Very heroic of you. Except… you don't give a shit.

He scoffed, shaking his head. "You don't know."

But I do, Bruce said as he walked up to him. I know everything. That's why you brought me. Just like I know why you keep sneaking off on these solo runs, just like you did five years ago. You have blood on your hands. 

"Not just me."

But you have more, son. Blood only you and Slade know about. You're afraid of the dark. Always have been. Even as a little boy. The great chasm of silence. The coldness of isolation. You're afraid if the others know your secret they'll leave you and you'll be alone, again. And they may. 

His heart sped up in his chest, his mind forgot how to breathe for a monent.

"They don't need to know," he said finally. "What difference does it make? It's done, it's in the past. It's behind me."

But it's not. It's got to come out.

"God damn it!" he shouted, feeling his nerves snapping. He was really getting tired of all this bullshit. "Can you leave me alone?"

You know how to get rid of me. You've known the whole time.

Tears started burning behind his eyes.

"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about."

Of course you do, son. You always have. You just have to tell the truth.

But he couldn't. It was too much. It would destroy him, destroy everything he had with his team.

"It's too hard." he whispered, dropping his head in shame. It was getting harder to keep tears at bay.

His father reached out and gently brushed his fingers down Dick's cheek. Even if he was only a prodcut of Dick's own fucked up mind the touch felt very real and it brought some sort of comfort to him. 

His gaze then fell on the altar and he froze, noticing something he hadn't before. Bruce stepped out of his way when he moved and walked up the stairs to a heavy wooden table. Upon one look at the display it showed his blood ran cold.

At least a dozen pictures were scattered among lit candles and each one of them showed Rachel. Sitting on a couch with Gar, both laughing. Talking with Kory. Eating breakfast in the kitchen with Hank, Dawn and Donna around. He saw himself in those photos too - training with her in one, walking with her on the street in the other, with coffee cups in their hands and his arm wrapped around her shoulders. But in most of these pictures she was alone, usually somewhere around the Tower, in her bedroom or the kitchen and it was clear all the shots were taken without her or any of them knowing. 

At the very centre of the table was a small black box. 

With a shaking hand and a heart hammering in his chest Dick reached for it and slowly lifted the lid. On a white satin pillow meant to hold some kind of jewelry lay a lock of dark blue hair, coated in crimson blood.

Dick's knees almost gave out under him, sending him on the floor.

"No."

He left those for you, Bruce said behind him. He turned to his father for a moment, his face twisting in shock and confusion, but quickly came back to the display, hoping it disappeared when he wasn't looking. Because it couldn't be real, just like this Bruce wasn't real. It couldn't be happening. But the pictures were still there, as well as the box and the candle flames were still burning. 

Go home, Dick, his father's voice rang in his ears. It seems like one way or another, the monster's been in the Tower all along. 

He couldn't take it anymore. The mix of fear, fury, worry, confusion and dozens of other conflicted emotions he couldn't name was about to explode, ripping him apart from within. He smashed his hand on the table sending all the pictures and candles flying, tossed it all on the floor in blinding rage and whipped around, ready to run out of the church. He needed to get back to the Tower, to find Rachel. Maybe this was all some kind of a sick joke, maybe Slade is bluffing, playing mind games on him to keep him on edge. Maybe it's all one big-

"Well, look who finally made it."

Dick stopped to a halt, his breath hitching in his throat. The front door to the church was open, revealing no other than Deathstroke standing in the door frame with his blade pressed to Rachel's neck. She was almost limp in his hold, barely awake but conscious enough to be standing on her feet. Her head was swaying dangerously like she's in a haze, the side of her face covered in blood oozing from a split on her temple. 

"Dick…" she muttered, her voice weak and faint as a whisper in the wind carried out in the acoustics of the place and his heart jumped to his throat. He instinctively moved, wanting to rush to her but Slade stopped him, tightening his grip on her and pressing the blade harder to her skin. A drop of blood trickled down the shiny steel and Rachel instantly stilled.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." the masked man said slowly, a clear warning in his deep voice.

Dick sucked in a sharp breath, his nostrils flaring. "What did you do to her?"

"Not much. Yet." he slowly tilted his head to the side. "I just gave her something to neutralize her powers. A small gift from this little group that eloquently calls themselves… The Organization?"

Dick felt his fists clenching so tight his knuckles must have turned white. He was trembling but unable to move. His eyes were locked on Rachel's pale face as she struggled to keep her eyes open. Questions were piling up under his skull, starting with how did this happen but there was no time for getting answers, first and foremost he needed to protect Rachel.

"I hope you enjoyed our little game." Slade continued, pushing Rachel onward so he could walk deeper into the church. She staggered on wobbly feet but he didn't let her fall. He wasn't gentle in holding her up either and hearing her grunt made Dick grit his teeth. "You must have had a nice ride around the city, following false leads and fake clues. Gave me enough time to get to this one while the others were busy jumping to each other's throats."

He risked one step forward, glaring at the face hidden behind the mask.

"What do you want from her?" he asked instead of giving Slade satisfaction by reacting to his words. "It's me you're after and I'm here. So let her go and let's get this over with. Rachel has nothing to do with this."

Slade let out a gurgling laugh and shook his head which only infuriated Dick more. His blade twitched in his hand and Rachel flinched, her face twisted in pain.

"Oh don't you see? She has everything to do with this." His masked face got uncomfortably close to Rachel's face and she turned her head away, cringing in fear and whimpering. Dick barely could hold himself back from lunging at Slade. "Poor kid. Snatched from the street, taken under the caring but broken wings of The Fallen Grayson just to be let down and end up dead. Funny how history loves to repeat itself but twists the ending at the last moment."

His arm gripped her tighter and Rachel's body tensed like a string that's about to snap. Her breath quickened and pupils widened up in terror. Their eyes met for the first time and Dick's heart broke seeing how scared she was, how she was silently begging him to save her.

"Rachel!"

"The answer is simple, Grayson." Slade hissed, fixing his grip on his sword and shifting the blade so the cold steel was now touching Rachel's cheek. "Five years ago in this very place you took what's mine away from me." He moved the blade slowly, making a shallow cut on her face and Rachel whimpered in pain. "Now I'm taking what's yours."

And he pulled the sword down.

"DON'T!" 

Slade stopped with the sword pressed to her carotid artery and looked at Dick who was aiming at him with the gun he was holding in his hand this whole time. His finger stilled on the trigger, grip so tight his knuckles bleached but his arm - no, his entire body - was shaking. His breath became shallow and rapid, heart trying desperately to break out of its cage.

"DON'T HURT HER!" he shouted and risked taking a few steps closer. He must have looked like a madman and he wouldn't be one bit surprised because that's exactly what he felt right now - madness. "Don't you fucking touch her or I SWEAR TO GOD-"

Deathstroke scoffed.

"We both know you're not gonna shoot." he said in a tone so light like they were discussing weather or something equally trivial. 

Dick brought his other hand up to steady his grip on the weapon but in his current state it did him no good.

"Watch me."

"Are you willing to risk your precious little girl's life, like you did with Jericho? Or have you learned from your mistakes by now?"

"Don't listen to him, Dick!" Rachel suddenly spoke. Her voice was strong and she was staring at him with terrified but focused eyes. Dick let himself quietly sigh in relief. Whatever drug Slade had given her must be wearing off.

"Shut up." the assassin growled in her face, threatening her with his weapon again. She eyed the sword and gulped down hard but remained silent.

Dick took another step closer.

"Rach, look at me." he asked gently, for a moment not caring about how Slade might react. Risky move but he needed to talk to her. She did as he told her and their eyes met. "Listen, you're gonna be okay. I promise."

"Oh, isn't it adorable." Slade scoffed again, shaking his head. Dick was almost sure the man was rolling his eyes under that hideous mask. "I see you've learned nothing. Even after all this time you lie in their faces that they're gonna be safe with you. It's pathetic."

Neither of them were listening to his little tirade. While Slade was talking they were having their own silent conversation. Rachel held Dick's gaze to make sure she had his attention, then pointed her eyes at the elbow of the arm Slade was holding her with. Then her eyes went back to Dick and she mouthed one short word.

Shoot.

He shook his head, feeling a bile of fear forming in his throat. It was a huge risk. An inch to his right and the bullet could pierce Rachel's chest. All it takes is for Slade to move or Dick's arm to tremble. He couldn't do it. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if the bullet went the wrong way.

But her eyes were full of faith and confidence when she was looking at him. A small smile appeared on her lips. She knew he was hesitating because of her and tried to encourage him as well as she could without Slade noticing. He could read what she was trying to tell him in her face.

I know you won't hurt me.

He would never. He'd rather die the most painful death than be the reason a single hair falls off her head.

He pulled the trigger.

Deathstroke's armor clinked when the bullet made contact with his elbow. It didn't do any damage, but that wasn't the point. Slade cried out, more surprised than hurt because he didn't think Dick would actually fire that gun, but the impact made him release Rachel from his hold. She was still swaying on unsteady feet but she instantly lunged herself to the side, hiding between the rows of benches and getting out of the way.

Good girl.

In the meantime a fight broke out between two men. Dick charged at Slade, fueled by hot rage burning inside of him. He didn't have his Robin suit anymore or any of his gadgets but his body was a weapon in itself due to years of training and experience. He was throwing kicks and punches, dodging and turning and moving. Slade threw away his sword and sent him falling on his back with one strong kick to his chest, but despite the hit pushing all air out his lungs Dick managed to quickly jump back to his feet. They danced around each other like it's a choreography learned a long time ago and the moves are now coming back to them with clarity after years of not using them. Every move of the assassin was full of precision and technicality, cold, strong and perfectly aimed while Dick filled his every action with images of those he was fighting for. He thought of Garth falling to the ground with bullet in his chest while connecting his foot with Slade's jaw, sending his head to the side. He thought of Jason hanging on one hand from one of the tallest buildings in the city with terror in his wide eyes as he punched Slade in the diaphragm so hard the skin on his knuckles split and started bleeding. He thought of Jericho bleeding out on the floor of this church when he jumped on the benches and swiftly moved to find himself behind Slade's back. And he thought of Rachel, pale as ghost and terrified, with blood trickling down her face when he round kicked Slade in the back, sending him to his knees.

"So emotional." the man grunted and straightened up. He reached for his baton and with one push of a button turned it into a spear. "So… attached."

Dick roared like an angry lion and attacked again.

This time Deathstroke got the upper hand, pushing Dick back towards the altar. Blocking the spear wasn't easy without any weapon in his hand and soon he was covered with smaller and bigger cuts. He fell on his back at the stairs, hitting the back of his head so hard his sight became foggy but he still managed to use his legs to cut Slade from his feet. However, the man didn't lose his balance, only jumped out of the way and pushed his heavy boot to Dick's chest, then pressed the blunt end of the spear to his Adam's apple.

"You were right," Deathstroke breathed out, turning the spear around. Dick heard his voice as if coming from underwater. His mask was a blur of color. "Let's get this over with." Then he raised his arm and stabbed.

But the blade never made it to Dick's chest.

First he saw a shadow looming over him and when his sight cleared he recognized the head of blue curly hair. He lifted himself on his elbows watching in horror while his heart screamed in agony.

No. Not again.

Please, not again.

Rachel pushed herself between him and Slade and shielded him with her own body, just like Jericho did five years ago.

She slowly looked down at the blade sticking out from her chest before Deathstroke harshly pulled it out. Her hands covered the wound, her fingers instantly turning red and then she swayed, about to fall down.

"Rachel, no!" Dick cried out and caught her, laying her down on his chest. A sob wrecked his body when he saw the waterfall of blood coating the front of her black sweater, making the warm wool stick to her body. He pressed his hand to the wound, trying to stop the bleeding while she looked up at him with those big blue eyes and he felt tears falling down his cheeks. "Oh God, Rachel. What did you do?"

"I had to- s-save you-" she choked out, a drop of blood trickling down from the corner of her mouth. She covered his hand with her own and squeezed it tight. "I cou-couldn't let you- d-die."

In the meantime Slade stepped back and hid his weapon. He was watching the scene in front of him unfold, still as a statue.

"Now you know how it feels," he said, aiming his words at Dick, who lifted his tear-stained face to glare at the man, "to have your own child bleeding out in your arms. Death would've been a mercy for you, Grayson. This… this is a lesson you will never forget."

"I will fucking kill you." Dick snarled at him, gritting his teeth. "I'm gonna hunt you down, you hear me?!"

Deathstoke chuckled and turned his back to him.

"Good luck with that." he threw over his shoulder then headed out of the church, leaving the other two alone.

Dick made some sort of a sound. A noise that he himself couldn't even describe. It sounded as if something had brutally ripped his chest open and tore out of it. He roared like an animal, venting his despair and anger.

"Dick..." a soft whisper pierced through to his consciousness, drawing his attention. "It's okay."

Another sob shook his body.

"Rachel… Rachel, my Rachel." he whispered, hugging her and frantically brushing the hair wet with blood and sweat away from her pale face.

So much blood. He was completely covered in it now, it soaked through his clothes and bit into his skin.

"It's not okay." he shook his head. "I'm supposed to be protecting you, not the other way around."

She managed to smile at him.

"We're supposed to… save each other… remember?"

"Not like this." he said, his voice breaking. "Never like this."

She squeezed his hand again. Their fingers, slick from her blood, entwined together tightly.

"You were my… save haven."

He froze, his heart hammering in his chest. Then the meaning behind her words hit him like a speeding train and he held her tighter.

"No. Don't say that." he ordered desperately. "This is not a goodbye, you hear me? You're not going anywhere."

"Dick-"

"No! Help me." he croaked, pressing their clasped hands against her bleeding heart. "Use your powers. Take my energy, absorb it."

She coughed, spitting blood. They were running out of time.

"I can't- h-heal myself."

"Yes, you can. You have to."

But she didn't seem to hear him. Her eyelids closed slowly and her head fell on his arm.

"Rachel?" Dick's voice grew louder, breaking and rising like waves away at sea. "Rachel, my baby, please, honey, open your eyes, it's me, Dick, I'm here with you, I'll always be here, please, please…"

He leaned down and pressed their foreheads together, letting out a painful cry. He howled like a wolf, his shoulders trembling, heavy tears splashing on her round cheeks. It was his fault. All of it was his fault. A part if him knew it would end like this the monent he met her. But his love was too strong and he ignored the warning. Now she was paying the price. 

"Don't go, Rach." he begged, his voice shattered. "Don't leave me alone in a world without you in it."

He closed his eyes and squeezed her hand with such force that he felt her knuckles grinding in his grip.

Rachel, please come back. We can do this. You saved my life in more ways than you can imagine. Nothing is impossible for us. I love you, okay? I love you and please come back to me.

He reached deep into his memories. Rachel at the police station in Detroit looks up and stares at him as if she saw a ghost; Rachel, curled up in the bathtub of that crappy motel, surrounded by scraps of paper with crosses drawn on it, throws herself into his arms crying; Rachel leans over him in the asylum and reminds him of his promise to never to leave her; Rachel comes out of the fog with her head held high proudly after defeating Trigon; her smile and eyes wide open when she saw the inside of the Tower for the first time. And many, many other memories he will cherish for the rest of his life.

Heal, he begged because there was nothing else left to do. Take my life, take it all. Heal.

Something changed. Rachel's hand in his hold started getting warmer. He lifted his head slightly, blinking away tears and gasped at the sight of a bright purple glow seeping through his fingers. He watched in complete awe as the wound on her chest slowly started closing until there was nothing left beside a thin pink line that was already fading as well. The color came back to her face and she took a gulp of air, almost choking on it. Then she sat up, her eyes opened wide and she pressed her hands to her chest but to no use because there was nothing there, only drying blood on her clothes. She looked down at herself then back at him.

"How?"

He smiled at her and scooted closer. 

"I told you you can heal yourself."

Her brows furrowed in confusion but then understanding flooded her face and she smiled back.

"It wasn't just me… it was you, Dick. You willed me back to life and… and my powers listened." she grabbed his hands in hers. "I didn't heal myself, you healed me."

Still holding her other hand he reached out to cup her face. She leaned into his touch and closed her eyes.

"All I knew was that I couldn't lose my safe haven." he whispered softly and that's all it took for her to fall into his arms.

She clung to his shirt, buried her face in the curve of his neck and started sobbing. He tightened his arms around her, pulling her on his lap and started rocking her gently. He loved how warm and familiar she felt in his hold, how solid and safe she was. He pressed a loving, desperate kiss on the crown of her head, inhaling the scent of her hair.

"I love you so much." he mumbled into her skin. Rachel shivered and hugged him tighter.

"I love you, too."

Dick leaned away and took her face in his hands, tucking her hair behind her ears.

"Let's get outta here, huh? We need to get you cleaned up."

She glanced at the blood on her clothes, then moved her gaze to his own bloody shirt and jacket.

"You don't look exactly better, you know?"

He chuckled and kissed her forehead, thanking God she was still here.

"Yeah, it was my favorite jacket. Now I have to burn it." they both laughed, happy to relax and lighten up, but looking at her face made him worried again. "You sure you're okay?"

Instead of answering Rachel stood up on her own and reached a hand out to him.

"Definitely."

He took it gratefully and got up to his feet, then immediately pulled her closer, crushing her to him.

"I am never letting you go again." he said, his voice hoarse and heavy from emotion. 

Rachel melted into him and took a deep breath.

"Please, don't."

Over her head he noticed Bruce standing by the church's door. His father smiled proudly at him and nodded, then slowly turned around and walked out, disappearing in the light of day.

#dc titans #titans #titans season 1 #titans season 2 #titans season 3 #dcu titans #dick grayson #rachel roth #slade wilson #deathstroke

[gerardwritestuff]

May 7th 2018

I wonder what happened that day.

I wrote something in phases.

If you want a written entry on what happened I'll tell you.

But only you, I don't think I can trust anybody with this. Plus, no one wants to help me with it concerning my best interests so there's not much done with it.

Well for starters, you want the truth. Right?

You want the absolute truth but how am I warranted to give it to you? What can you do for me that's not euthanasia or some fucked up solution to helping me? What's your grand scheme that's supposedly shrouded in mystery that you can't tell me?

I don't know where to start.

"I think they can help. No, they can't."

It's a cycle.

This carousel of indecision had me so tied up in my own skin, I couldn't trust a soul. I felt like I was bound to perish and not a single person would help my cause.

You think you can help, but then you're faced with something much bigger than yourself and that's when you'll coward out because no one will ever want to take the stand for someone else.

Because that's love.

And no one's big enough to accept that. We shroud ourselves on the façade of help and care but people only care enough for you to stop being their problem after a while.

Pain is a real motivator; and I mean real, unfiltered, physical, raw pain. And the human body loves routine. So when you make pain a part of your routine your brain gives you an outlet.

And that's exactly what happened.

I lost my goddamn mind, at least I think I did. People love telling you things to shield you. No one wants to tell you the truth. It hurts. I thought I was doing the right thing all this time by telling people what they wanted to hear, but the truth is I only played the role of being this useless pawn in the game of life I've been living.

Now read between the lines.

Oh yeah, I remember, end of my second year of college.

Things were going all right, to say the least, I'd been having a blast and I'd thought I'd been doing alright but then I went to that damn counselor.

He gave me an alternative to religion. Told me that I could pour my heart and soul into this idea that everything around me was a message from God. That God was talking to me through the things around me. What the fuck.

My life changed completely.

People say schizophrenia isn't something that one could call an observable science. You can't make sense of it. Hell, it's been 2000 years and we still haven't made anything of it. Not like we're close to cracking the code to the human genome or anything of the sort.

I don't know what to tell you. I felt scared at the start. It was like the world was a chasm of wrath and evil and that everything around me screamed for an escape. But really, who was to blame? You can't expect one to live their lives normally after the truth comes out.

That's insanity. Isn't it?

There'd been a couple of things to contribute to this episode. I'd become shrouded in the fact that whatever I'd witnessed till now had been an amalgamation of my memories and that my perception wasn't driven by inference but by incredulity. The more I got lost in my thoughts, the farther away my sense of discernment drove me. Until then, I'd only ever seen life through the eyes of a fawn, and in this forest, there hadn't been a lot going on. Well, at least for me, that is.

I looked on with disbelief as everyone around me playing this game of pretense would never read between the lines. I fell to the ground thinking of how much I'd lived through basking in a bath of whim and false security. It suffocated me, pushing hard against my back as I sank face-first into the dirt. Nothing was ever the same, because nothing was ever as it seemed.

We try so hard to forget. It helps us, comforts us. We do it every day, as we see the crippled on the street and pay a deaf ear, to be guiltless about how destitute they seem; it makes us feel powerful, to know that if we never remember the pain we once went through, we'd be okay. We hope we will someday.

But that's not the point I'm ever going to try to make. I'm here to tell you that what happened to me, wasn't an option neither an accident. I'm certain things turned out the way they did because nothing would have given me a way out until I reached that point of utter desperation.

What if they can hear my thoughts?

What if they know exactly how much of a monster I really am?

Once I'd entertained that thought in my head, it fed on my psyche like a virus. I let it get a hold of me and very soon I wasn't acting like myself anymore. I didn't know what to do except paint a picture, a picture that made it seem like I knew what I was doing. Like I knew what I was talking about and had me acting like I knew what I was messing with.

Commence a feeling of awe and daring carefree. Something in me had cracked like a glass rod and my sense of self-preservation hadn’t left. It was more toward being swept under the carpet or shoved in the back of a car.

I was playing spectator now because someone else was at the wheel.

And God did it scare me. It made me a complete fanatic. Buzzing my hair and preaching about shit I had no clue about?! I was way in over my head, acting like a prophet no less, and even after I'd gotten over it, it never really left. I needed the world to know that I was losing it, and that it made me special, and that it drove me to believe things. Things that were driven by my convictions and not my real feelings. I drove my family and friends away, made them afraid of who I’d become, and now, I couldn’t be more sorry for acting so numb.

I really needed a change, I didn’t want this to be a one-off thing. I couldn’t believe anyone. When they told me that they were thinking up a solution that was the best for me, I saw it as a ruse. In my head, they were just pretending to care because they were scared that I’d keep acting crazy and wouldn’t let up until my head had cleared.

But there was some good out of it, I guess. I’m not really sure. I can never really tell with all the castles in the air. But I’m glad this shit has blown over, and I’m better now. I hope I never go back to that holier-than-thou shit. I had a few demons that I’ve fought with. Those monsters are in the past now, they’ll turn up more often than not. But that won’t keep me in a whirl, I won’t let them. The future’s in my hands, the past is how I’ll forget them.

Then and only then will I realize,

That the real monsters never existed under my bed, they never did.

The real monsters exist right inside my feeble mind.

Black and white, followed by a question at the end of the reel.

But they never stop.

Days bleed into each other and the one thing you’re left with is the only place you started from.

To draw a line between determination and desperation.

To be able to feel like you needed something else from the mind-numbing regret that just enveloped you and continues to coalesce your being.

Make it stop.

Please, just make it stop.

#writers #writerscommunity #poetry #writer #writing #writingcommunity #love #quotes #poetsofinstagram #poetrycommunity #poems #poem #words #poet #art #life #thoughts #poets #loveyourself #yourself #story #writerslife

[liltingtiago]

The not so broken man

It's the gravity of your indifference, it pulls me closer.

It's your ever-shifting demeanour like a rainbow clover but, I sense falsity in the calm of your tone.

Black specks in the evergreen clue the zones that I have not explored. A new light shines on crooked doors, readied mind for what’s in store.

See, I've realized I rather look at my emotions than feel them and pour them into a vial like some twisted potion. So vile, passionate and turbulent like a shaking ocean.

You are a passing earthquake that permanently left chasms in my heart.

And it’s now severed, you’ll think me clever to give the pieces away.

I’ll keep it simple for you:

                    You've lost, o how you've lost.

                    You had my all. You're insane to

                    let it all go, to fucking waste, it was

- all in vain.

                    How's it taste? The bitter end.

                    Is it sweet to break the chain - you loosely held?

                    You look at me and this bleak - attempt to weld us back together.

                     With hopes and dreams you helped - me swell, you stuffed me up.

                    Sincerely,

                    Your so-called, bird of a feather.

 So the fragments of my heart, they're ready for delivery.

I've been prepared from the start for this change in scenery.

You aren't the first, don't flatter yourself.

You're definitely the worst, I know this well now and - I'll say it out loud, I will scream towards the cosmos.

Push my chest out proud, you're a contagion of ardent pathos. A mountain of mourning that I've overcome.

I've made it, I've done it and now that you're gone

You're probably thinking that I cannot move on.

In this simple rhyme, I can tell you-you're wrong.

You were part of my soul song but now a blurred lyric, so I'll keep lilting along with one less line, one less line in my spirit.

#writerscreed #poetry #poets on tumblr #notsobroken #poets #lilting #spilled ink #poets corner #new poets society #new poets on tumblr #words #my words #spilled words #spilled poem