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miryum · 2 days

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The Canary and the Robin (Jason Todd x Reader)

Summary: You find Jason being tortured by the Joker and decided to take him in, imperfections and all. If he happens to be your soulmate, so be it

Warnings: I know reader acts like a white person in a horror movie but bear with me, OOC Talia, descriptions of torture, Joker hurting Jason, descriptions of flashbacks of torture, allusions to sexual assault from the Joker unto Jason but not descriptive at all, panic attack, ignore locations and timelines, timer soulmates once they turn 8, swearing, a lotta angst (literally starts out with Jason’s funeral), but happy ending, hurt/comfort, Jason doesn’t have guns or an autopsy scar in this cause he’s Robin still and lemme tell you it’s so unnatural for me to write him without those, perspective switching, conscious wording (so everything is written like that for a reason), Jason’s awful parents and their drinking and harassment (just descriptions on them yelling and drinking and smoking), spoilers to Great Gatsby, kinda open ended, but also not at all? if that makes sense, lemme know if I missed anything

Word Count: 12k so grab some snacks and tissues

Canary in a coal mine is a common term meant to describe something that’s unusually sensitive to conditions that make it a useful early indicator of negatively changing circumstances.

Jason’s funeral was on May 16th, just eight months after he had been taken by the Joker. Alfred had chosen daisies, lilacs, and lotuses for the flowers, but Bruce brought a bouquet of hyacinths to lay on his son’s casket. As much as Bruce Wayne liked to flaunt his wealth, these hyacinths were hand pulled from his own gardens. Roots and dirts still clung to the end of the stems when Jason’s coffin was lowered into the ground.

Dick had come in from Bludhaven. When he had heard the news, his timer stopped and reversed itself until it added a year and a half onto his time. He had just gotten a brother and had been learning how to be a role model when his brother was dragged away from him, kicking and screaming. It wasn’t fair, Dick kept repeating to himself. A teenager shouldn’t be targeted just because he eagerly trailed on Batman’s heels, snarky comebacks and smirks ready to fire.

There was a public funeral where paparazzi clicked away at their cameras and Bruce stood stoically in the front row, clearing his throat at the podium when he had to make a eulogy. There was then a private funeral where the casket was actually lowered beneath a gladiolus bush. There were no eulogies for none of the family could bring themselves to say much. It was just Bruce, Alfred, Dick, and Barbara. Selina Kyle showed up that night in Bruce’s room and Dick pretended not to hear Bruce’s sobs. Alfred stood in the doorway of Jason’s old room, feather duster in hand. After a couple of minutes, he hung his head and walked off, closing the door behind him. Nothing was cleaned.

The next day, tabloids displayed the pictures of Bruce Wayne standing by a casket. Bruce stopped investing in any companies that did. His own stock dropped, but Bruce wasn’t answering his financial advisor’s calls. He wasn’t answering any calls.

It was late one night and Dick couldn’t sleep. He had been wanting to return to Bludhaven, but whenever he opened his suitcase, he couldn’t bring himself to pack. He found Alfred in the kitchen, pouring some hot tea. “I figured you would join me one night,” Alfred commented without looking back.

Dick couldn’t help but chuckle, rubbing his eyes. “Your sixth sense is never wrong, Alfred.”

Alfred slid a cup over to Dick who took it thankfully, not caring that the tea burnt his tongue. Perhaps it was what he deserved for not being there to help Jason. “I should’ve-”

“Mister Grayson,” Alfred cut him off. “The Joker was ten steps ahead of Batman. Not even the powerful Nightwing could’ve helped. And you could not have flown to Africa in time.”

“It was closed casket,” Dick whispered out. “I didn’t even get to see my little brother before he was gone.” His voice cracked and he cleared his throat.

“It was closed casket because Master Wayne couldn’t find Master Jason’s…” Alfred exhaled and corrected himself, “He couldn’t find Master Jason.”

Dick’s head lifted and his hands clenched around his cup. “What?” he breathed out. Desperation filled his voice, “but Alfie, he could still be out there! Jason could be alive!” Alfred simply gave him a stern look and Dick’s stomach bubbled with nausea. “Yeah,” he muttered bitterly. “I don’t know what I was thinking.” His jaw tensed and after a moment, he decided, “I’m going to go back to Bludhaven tomorrow.”

“Safe travels,” is all Alfred said.

It was then that Bruce woke from a nightmare of his dead son screaming out for him.

~~~~

You hadn’t meant to be passing by Arkham Asylum. It wasn’t something one did intentionally; in fact, many people went out of their way to avoid it. But it seemed as if fate wasn’t on your side today, for when your car broke down right outside Arkham Asylum, you didn’t notice the watch on your wrist ticking down quicker and quicker. You swore to yourself and took the mace out of your glove compartment before sliding your keys in between your fingers. Arkham Asylum had been practically abandoned for years, but perhaps there was a janitor or receptionist who could help you get service. Then you could call a mechanic and get the hell out of there.

The gates to Arkham had rust creeping up the edges and the lock clanged sharply against its chains. Maybe there wasn’t going to be a receptionist in the building… But perhaps there would be a phone you could use. In order for the gates to creak open, you had to force your bodyweight against the metal and try to shove the lock out of the way, praying you didn’t get tetanus in the process.

The door to Arkham, however, swung open without a sound. It seemed as if someone had been regularly visiting the Asylum, even if there was no one to visit – or love – in the building. “Hello?” you stage whispered, phone flashlight on, and finger on the button on your mace.

There was clearly a reason why the public wasn’t exposed to Arkham. All reports were classified and no photographers were allowed in. Wide-eyed and mouth slightly agape, you stared around at Arkham Asylum. The halls were long and dark, meant to cause paranoia and confusion. It was certainly working on you. The only light peeking through was from the grime covered windows and your flashlight. The ceiling was crumbling slightly and you were pretty sure Arkham had been under construction when it had been abandoned; otherwise, how could you explain all the dust, debris, and graffiti? You didn’t even want to think of the disease-carrying rodents that were surely scurrying underneath your feet.

“Is anything here? That can help me?” Your voice echoed down the cell block, vibrating off the metal bars and old bunks.

You reeled back when your foot kicked a pebble, sending it ricocheting off your sneaker. After the pebble settled some yards away, you took in a steadying breath. You heard a faint sound, one that didn’t sound at all like a pebble. “Hello?” you asked again. Shadows danced around as you shone your flashlight down the hall, messing with your mind.

When you strained your ears, it sounded as if a faint wail could be heard. Your brows furrowed with worry and instinctively, you started towards it. Your watch ticked down faster as disquietude and anxiety rippled through you like snakes, biting and twisting in your veins. Your flashlight bounced over empty, desolate cells as your pace quickened and the screams got louder. You contemplated calling the police, but when you checked your phone, you didn’t have any service. And who knew if the police would help or not? Arkham was a place only the brave or stupid went; right now, you were pretty sure you were the latter.

The screams took you deeper and deeper into the Asylum and you prayed that you would be able to find your way out. If you ever got out… your mind immediately thought.

It wasn’t long before the blood curdling howls shook you to your bones. They seemed to be coming from a cell, yet when you pointed your flashlight towards it, heart thumping at what you might find, there was nothing. But the screams were there. You weren’t making them up. Where the hell were they coming from– oh.

A shiver ran up your spine when you noticed the comical trapdoor in the corner of the cell. You wondered if the Arkham architects intentionally put it there when they were designing this horror house, or if an inmate had scraped a hidden passageway with a spoon they stole from the cafeteria.

Nonetheless, when you pried open the door, a wall of whimpers and cries from torture hit you full force. You shook your head, steeling yourself, before swallowing down the queasiness. The goosebumps on your arms were full-time residents now.

Your feet carried you down the dirt steps of the trapdoor. Your mind wasn’t particularly your own. Your brain was foggy. Your body felt like a child had taken your hand and was leading you down the steps. Later in your life, when you thought back to that moment, you knew the universe had been guiding you. But even if you didn’t make it out of Arkham Asylum, you knew your life was going to drastically change. The nonexistent hand squeezed yours in comfort as your heart jumped and pounded when the faint light at the bottom of the stairs grew brighter.

A small chamber resided under Arkham Asylum, as you found out that day. In the chamber were two people. One held a crowbar dripping with blood. His back was turned to you, but any citizen of Gotham would recognise that pastel green and purple suit anywhere. The Joker was alive.

But the second person caught your eye. He was strung up from the ceiling, crusty, brown chains trapping him midair. The red outfit he was wearing was being held together by tatters, but you didn’t know if the outfit was originally red or covered with blood. A black and yellow cape was clinging onto the victim’s back, burnt and torn. A green utility belt had been thrown in the corner, its pockets overturned and emptied.

And your timer buzzed against your wrist.

You didn’t register it at first, but after a moment of incessant buzzing, you tore your horrified stare away from the ruined man and to your wrist. A crude joke bounced into your head: so either my soulmate is the Joker or someone who wronged him… Either way, not ideal.

The Joker stood proud and tall, shoulders thrown back and grin wide. “Come on, Robby,” he taunted. “You and I both know these little excursions of ours go better when you make noise. How I love to make you sing…”

It was then you registered the Robin symbol on the man’s breast. You slowly pieced everything together, realising that the person in front of you was the presumably dead Robin. You couldn’t help the little, amazed curse word that slipped out from between your lips.

The Joker slid out a syringe from his pocket and slunk up beside Robin, injecting the green serum into his neck. Joker chuckled as he pressed the liquid further into Robin’s neck, whispering into his ear, “now, now, you mustn’t leave me, Robby. But whatever would you leave for? Now that the Bats has forgotten you.” Joker was mercilessly teasing the sidekick, spit flicking onto his cheek. Robin whimpered, a parched and cracked noise from the back of his throat.

“Louder, Robby, louder!” The Joker coaxed in a cooing voice. You grimaced and wanted to crawl out of your skin at his voice. Once you realised your mace wasn’t going to do you any good, your eyes darted around the small torture dungeon. Eventually, they landed on a discarded, bent pipe that had a disturbing red colour coated on. You willed yourself not to think of what the substance was.

Even though Robin’s limp, swinging body was facing towards you, you doubted he could see you. With the drugs running through his veins, his vision would surely be blurred and his mind muddled.

It was just your luck when, as you were inching towards the pipe, your phone decided to work and began buzzing loudly, indicating a call from your friend, Talia. The Joker whirled around, crowbar in hand and you squealed, grabbing the pipe. Before the Joker could react, his eyes widening in shock, you swung the pipe at his head. With the clang of metal against skull, the Joker collapsed, unconscious. You stared down at him, disbelief flooding your body. Oh my god, I just killed the Joker. Or, at the very least, gave him a good concussion. Your hands shook as a little pool of blood seeped out from Joker’s head. You dropped the pipe and it clattered to the dirt floor. A little groan that escaped Robin and your still-ringing phone brought you back to Earth.

“Shit, shit, I gotta get outta here,” you muttered, looking around frantically. Your phone kept ringing and with a swear, you brought it to your ear. “What?” you growled out.

“Wow, what has your panties in a twist?” Talia asked back snarkily.

You held your phone between your shoulder and your head as you hurried towards Robin. “Nothing, nothing, sorry,” you muttered as you attempted to free him from the chains. “Why’re you calling?”

“Why are you so stressed? You sound like you just ran a marathon,” Talia said through the phone. You could envision her checking her nails while doing so.

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” You finally got Robin’s wrists to slip from the chains and he fell down onto you. You grunted under his weight. Apparently, just because he had been starved and tortured for months didn’t mean he had lost his superhero muscle.

Talia paused for a moment and you could practically hear the gears in her brian turning. “Do you need me to help hide a body?” she asked suddenly.

You laughed nervously as you shifted Robin to your shoulder and began dragging him towards the steps. “No?” you finally answered. “Though if you wanted to meet me by Arkham Asylum with your working car and a cure for an almost dead superhero, that would be great.”

“I will be there in twenty minutes.”

~~~~

“How did this happen?” Talia demanded, more curiosity in her voice than malice and anxiety. You were in her passenger seat, staring at the wounded Robin who was laid in the back. Talia weaved through traffic with ease, headed towards the Yuyan Building.

“I don’t know!” you cried out, panic infusing itself into your blood. It felt similar to the way the Joker had infused serum into Robin. You clutched at the seatbelt, hoping it would take some of your dread. “My car just stopped working and then I was just going into Arkham Asylum like an idiot and I found the dead Robin! He was supposed to be dead, right? It was all over the news!”

“And then Batman got another Robin,” Talia added, almost bitterly. You shot her a confused look and she glanced over at you. Her eyes flickered down to your wrist before you yelled at her to focus on the road again. “You are a rational person, Y/n,” Talia began as the car screeched to a halt outside an imposing, ornate building. You stared up at it as Talia got out of the car. You scrambled to help her with Robin. The two of you each had one of his arms over your shoulders, his feet scraping along the ground, head lolling to the side, as you carried him in. “I do not think you would go into Arkham Asylum without something else guiding you,” Talia continued. “Do not think I did not notice your stopped timer. He is your soulmate, is he not?”

You nodded, not trusting your words. You were worried you would start crying if you actually had a moment to process all of the day’s events. “Will your dad help?” you asked finally, voice wavering.

Talia chuckled dryly, eyes narrowing on a fixed point ahead of you. She led you and Robin deeper into Yuyan Building. “If it gets on Batman’s good side? Absolutely.”

“I’ll take him after you’re done healing him,” you added quickly. “I’ll take him back home and care for him if you and your dad help me this one time.” You realised it sounded like you were begging for help. Briefly, you wondered what had happened in such a short time to make you care so much for Robin. Part of you decided it was what any rational, kind human being would do – help someone who was badly hurt – but another part of you knew that wasn’t the case. You felt tied to this boy you didn’t even know the name of. Whether it was through your soulmate bond or not, you knew you were connected to Robin. You felt his pain and terror. Even though he was unconscious, you could feel his resistance tugging against you. He didn’t want to go with you. He was scared of what you might do to him. His emotions dug into you and you felt a whimper crawling up your throat, begging for escape.

It was then you steeled yourself and decided one thing: you weren’t going to let your soulmate die.

Yuyan Building held deeper secrets, you realised. Talia directed you down long hallways and steep stairwells and you felt bad for the custodians who had to clean up Robin’s trail of blood. It was long minutes, full of you groaning under Robin’s weight and Talia looking unaffected, before Talia stopped at a large, ominous door.

You couldn’t look Ra’s in the eye as he slung Robin into the Lazarus Pit. You could only watch the bubbling green liquid as Robin slowly sunk to the bottom. Agonising minutes ticked by, halted only by Ra’s and Talia whispers to each other.

You hugged yourself tightly after five minutes passed and you called anxiously to Talia, “do- does he need help? Is he hurting? Why is it taking so long?”

“He had a lot of injuries, Y/n,” Talia reassured you, coming to place a hand on your shoulder in comfort. “He will be okay.”

Yeah. He’ll be okay.

~~~~

Jason’s eyes burned. Green was all that he could see. He tried to breathe in, but the only thing that filled his lungs was the green surrounding him. When the liquid filled his lungs and he coughed out, bubbles trailed up to the surface like a safety rope guiding the way.

Jason stretched a hand out in front of him, muscles aching at disuse. “Well, we wouldn’t want you to run away, would we, Robby?” The Joker’s voice called after him as Jason kicked his feet futilely. “Not our little prince!”

A flitting feeling coursed through Jason: curiosity and concern, but he was too weak to form a thought. His arm, reaching out towards the bubbles that led him upward, didn’t look like his own. He remembered the scars criss-crossing along it and he remembered the dirt and grime infecting cuts and burns, even digging its way underneath his nails, but he didn’t remember looking so… strong. Since when did he have the muscles and veins that looked like years of exercise had paid off? Batman had kept him fit – Robin needed to be able to hold his own, but he didn’t quite remember it working so well.

His hand finally breached the top of the green waves, grasping up towards breathable air and safety.

Green. Like the Joker. Another one of his charades. A playing card, to show Jason he wasn’t free yet. He was never free.

Everything was disillusioning. His vision veered sideways before becoming foggy and nausea crashed through Jason, like the waves in which he was trying to fight against.

“Stop struggling!” he heard someone cry out, “you’re making your own waves! You have to swim.”

He saw someone reaching out towards him and without a second thought, Jason extended his bandaged hand, clinging onto the buoy in the storm. Their hand was soft and comforting and dragged him out of the water. Jason allowed himself to be dragged. He didn’t have the energy to fight the Joker. He had given up much too long ago.

“What did you do to him?” someone asked once Jason fell to the ground. The world spun around him and he couldn’t recognise whomever was speaking. He gasped in desperate air, filling his deprived lungs.

“Take in a good, deep breath, Robby. Smell that blood? It’s yours. A reminder that Bats isn’t gonna come save you. Doesn’t it smell delicious?” The Joker hissed at him, inhaling himself. He cackled and licked his lips. “You’re a sweet little bird, aren’t you?”

“Why does he look like that?” the same voice asked. Jason heard a small thud over the ringing in his ears.

“The Lazarus Pit not only receives, but it returns, ten times stronger,” a deep voice explained. “It takes what it has been given, and it blossoms it into its full potential. What it needs to become.”

Jason flinched away from the hands that rested on him. The hands retreated and Jason wondered what new tactic the Joker was trying. The Joker never retreated.

The voices were getting more frantic and his heartbeat seemed amplified. As Jason was slowly lifted up, he passed out.

~~~~

The next time Jason woke up, the first thing he noticed was the clock. There was a digital clock on a small table beside him, green numbers staring unblinkingly up at him. Green as in the Joker. Clock as in a bomb. Does he want me to defuse the bomb? Or is it all a trick? The Joker never let me see any clocks. Time was a valuable construct, one the Joker used to his advantage. If Jason didn’t know how much time had passed, the Joker could stretch the days and the torture.

It took Jason a moment to blink the sleep from his mind. Then, he let his eyes flick around the room as his body stayed perfectly still. It was a tactic he learned from Batman – never let anyone know you were awake. He could categorise helpful information for later, such as possible escape routes, and if the Joker didn’t know he was awake quite yet, there would be less time for torture.

The former Robin was in a room. He didn’t recognise it and that scared Jason more than he would ever admit. There was a dresser opposite him with pictures on it. He couldn’t quite make out who was in the pictures, but it didn’t quite matter yet. A closet door was closed and next to it stood a tall mirror that had a blanket thrown over it. A small bookshelf sat beside him and when Jason had the mental capacity, he couldn’t help but feel the pull to read the titles. It smelled better than anything in a long time. Instead of urine and festering skin, this place smelled like lavender and vanilla.

It was only then Jason realised he was laying on a bed. And there were no restraints tying him down to it.

What new tactic was this? What scheme was the Joker pulling? What game did he want Jason to play? What was the objective? The trick Jason had to uncover to live another day?

Green and purple and yellow whirled around Jason and he gripped his head, begging the colours to stop. Carnival music played loudly in his ears, that same damn tune for the past thirty six hours.

Strapped to a chair, there was nowhere to escape the Joker’s mind games. Jason had been sedated more times than he could count and dragged to new locations where the Joker found new ways to torment him. Today’s lucky special was the Joker’s old hideout at the abandoned carnival.

It wasn’t long before the Joker’s voice rang out from within hidden speakers. “Show me those street smarts, Robby! Play with me. Maybe I’ll let you go…” he jeered and inveigled.

The spinning stopped and Jason planted his feet on the ground. His head dipped and his mouth hung open, eyes crossed and half-lidded. The Joker stood before him, leaning on his crowbar. “Ah, ah, ah,” the Joker tsked. “You're losing your touch, Robby.” The Joker ran his tongue over his teeth, lips curling up in a tantalising grin before lifting the crowbar back.

Jason didn’t hear anything before he blacked out.

It had seemed that he had blacked out in real life too, for the time had advanced three hours and the sun had sunk in the sky. Next to the clock was a tall glass of water and a small plate of crackers. Two pills of unassuming tylenol sat nearby.

Someone had been in here, Jason realised. The thought made his skin crawl and he quickly flung off the sheets, not used to the feeling of cotton. After a quick analysis of his body, even though his skin was already wrecked and flayed, there weren't the telltale nail marks on his thighs that the Joker had been there in his sleep. The only thing out of the ordinary were the bandages and cleaned wounds. His armour was nowhere to be seen and he had been stuffed into pyjama pants and a shirt that seemed a bit tight.

Panic flashed through his spine and Jason flung his legs over the mattress. He promptly collapsed and his knees ached at the impact. It took a moment of forcing his lungs open and letting oxygen flow through his system once more until he was able to crawl pathetically towards the covered mirror. His fingers twisted around the sheet and dragged it downward, letting it pool on the floor and around his legs.

Staring back at him wasn’t his face. It was the face of someone who had lived ten more years and seen fifty more years of battle.

Jason promptly swung his fist at the glass, shattering the mirror and letting the shards rain down. But he could still see his reflection. Jason forced his eyes away from the unfamiliar face and the scars he could feel burning into his skin.

Just a trick of the Joker. That’s all it ever was. He was never free and never more would believe so. Everything was consumed by that pale skin, green hair, and purple nails. Everything was a mind game followed by excruciating pain.

His gaze drifted back to the water and crackers. It could be tainted. But the Joker also needed him alive to continue their games. There was always a grace period for Jason to heal before the next session began.

He limped back to the bed, downed the water, not daring to touch the pills, and fell back onto the pillow. He shifted and adjusted the pillow. It felt uncomfortable. He threw it to the other side of the room before rubbing at his aching wrists. His skin there was red and irritated, not used to being out of chains. That was unusual, when Jason truly thought about it. The Joker knew how powerful Jason was. Jason had even managed to escape his chains once, back when he was healthy and convinced Batman would come and rescue him. But a bullet to the malnourished stomach was enough to stop anyone.

He kept massaging his hands until his fingers skirted over the bare skin of the inside left wrist. It felt like something should be there. Something was missing.

“Well well well,” Joker’s voice crooned in his ear. The man’s fingers curled around Jason's wrist. Long fingers tapped a tune on the proud watch that sat on Jason’s skin, ticking like a heartbeat. “Does our little Robby have a soulmate?”

The boy’s muscles tensed, protesting against the Joker for the first time in weeks. He had been trying to keep the watch hidden for as long as possible, but he should’ve known it was futile.

“But who on earth could love you?” The Joker questioned deridingly.

Jason’s cracked lips parted and he forced a “no” from his parched throat. “Don’t.”

The Joker giggled – a high pitched, ugly sound that would haunt Jason’s nightmare’s for years to come. “Oh… and have you met your true love yet?”

“Stop it.” Jason wiggled away from the Joker’s searing grip but nothing helped.

The psychopath’s nails embedded crescents into Robin's skin as he forced his wrist around. “No no no,” the Joker tsked as he watched the clock inch down towards zero. “You haven’t met them yet… what?” He turned back towards Jason, eyes wide with fake innocence. “You think they’re gonna come save you, Robby?” A burst of laughter bubbled from the murderer. “Never,” he hissed in Jason’s ear, making the boy cringe away, his chains swinging with him.

A sob crawled its way up Jason’s lungs as the Joker grabbed his chains, steadying him, before licking a stripe up Jason’s cheek, leaving behind saliva and horrid breath. The Joker then licked his lips, relishing in the taste of Robin’s blood and tears.

“You really think you deserve anyone?” The Joker whispered in his ear, more serious than Jason had ever seen him. His fist clenched around Jason’s watch and the boy let out a whimper. “You don’t.” The glass cracked under the Joker’s force. “Deserve shit.” He ripped the soulmate watch from Jason and threw it to the ground. The delicate watch sprang open and the timer stopped in its tracks.

Jason let out a guttural scream as the Joker ground the glass into the dirt with his heel.

~~~~

A loud thump yanked Jason out of sleep. A sharp feminine yelp followed and Jason was instantly on his feet, no matter the spots that danced in his vision.

A small voice in the back of his head that sounded suspiciously like Alfred chastised him for not staying in bed and letting his body heal. “Master Jason, how are you supposed to fight crime if you can’t even walk straight?”

Nevertheless, Jason pushed open the door, raggedly breathing and clutching his side. He was sure he looked like a serial killer of some sort, blood staining through his bandages and hair sloppily matted to his forehead from sweat.

A girl stared at him from across the room. She was smaller than him, was what Jason noticed first. He then noticed her eyes. They were a striking colour and seemed to bore into him, knowing his every want and desire. They were cautious, yet Jason thought he imagined excitement running deep within the girl.

“Who’re you?” Jason mumbled out, leaning heavily against the doorframe.

The girl took a breath and said, “I’m Y/n.” A blanket was curled around her feet, much like the blanket that Jason had snatched from the mirror hours earlier. Her hair was a bit messy and Jason categorised a pillow propped up against the armrest of the couch.

“How’re you—” Jason cut himself off and shook his head. “What’re your… Who…” he struggled to find a question that encapsulated everything while not giving too much away about himself.

Y/n took a step closer, almost as if he was a wild animal that she didn’t want to startle. It didn’t work; Jason stumbled back over his feet and back into the bedroom. Y/n didn’t follow. “I was at Arkham Asylum three days ago and found you.”

“What were you doing there?” Jason demanded, his words slurred.

“My car broke down,” Y/n explained easily, though Jason didn’t believe her one bit. “I was looking for help and… found you instead. I had to call a friend for help.”

Jason was done with pleasantries. Alfred had frowned upon swearing, and the boy had quickly learned not to use the words he had heard on the street or the insults villains spat at Batman once they were in handcuffs. But he wasn’t standing next to Batman in bright spandex anymore. He was bleeding through someone else’s clothes and he wasn’t in his own body and there was a girl who was wearing a dark green sweatshirt and green reminded him of the Joker. “Bullshit,” he growled out. His voice didn’t have that prepubescent squeak to it anymore and his veined hand reached up to massage his throat.

Y/n’s brows stitched together and she stared up at him, slipping the cuffs of her sweater over her hands. “No. It’s not bullshit. I promise,” she said, her voice saccharine. “Look, you’ve been sleeping for almost three days, trying to sleep off that poison the Joker put in you, I’m sure.”

Jason flinched back so hard that he stepped back onto the glass shards from the mirror. It cut into his heel and he winced, blood already leaking from the wound.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Y/n exclaimed, crouching down and then standing back up quickly. “I’m sorry. Do you want me to help you with that? Why don’t you sit on the bed and I’ll grab some bandaids.” Y/n hurried away out of the bedroom and Jason stood still.

Help.

Help you.

“You’re gonna help me win back Batman, Robby,” the Joker whispered in his ear, spit flicking on his face. “You are vital. You will be his downfall.”

Help.

Help me.

Y/n came back, shaking Jason out of the parallels. “You’re not on the bed,” she commented. Jason’s feet automatically moved towards the bed — he knew better than to argue with the Joker, but then he remembered he wasn’t with the Joker. This was a girl who looked like one strong look would have her cowering beneath him, especially if he actually had the physique he saw in the now-broken mirror.

“Who are you,” he repeated his question from earlier, turning back to look at her.

“Y/n,” the girl reiterated, head tilting slightly.

“No.” Jason shook his head. “Who are you. Who do you work for?”

Y/n’s brows scrunched together in confusion and she said, “well, my boss is named Marlene, if that’s what you’re asking. But I don’t see how that’s particularly relevant.”

Jason’s chest rose and fell and he brought his hand up to claw at it. “Liar,” he hissed out. “You… you liar!” A yell curled its way up through him and his nails scratched at his throat, trying to tear this unfamiliar voice from him. Who was he? This wasn’t Jason Todd, the broken boy from Crime Alley. This was someone much more dangerous and unpredictable. Batman had always taught Jason how to analyse plans and choose the one with the highest success rate. But this was a different Jason. This Jason was a tornado, sweeping through every emotion he didn’t know how to handle.

He saw green. And that only reminded him of the years spent under the Asylum.

Jason tore the sheets from the bed. He shoved things off the bedside table and consequently the lamp fell, its bulb shattering and then flickering out. The room was plunged into darkness. The only source of light was from the barely rising sun, peeking its rays into the window and bathing the edges of the room with pink and orange and yellow.

The light danced across Y/n’s face as she stared around at the damage Jason was inflicting. Pity and guilt ran rampant on her face and she didn’t stop him.

Jason moved throughout the room, the only things he spared being the dresser and the bookshelf.

After some time, he collapsed onto the floor, heaving in breaths. It wasn't long before he slowly leaned back to lay down. Y/n carefully sat down next to him, staying a good couple feet away. "I know you don't trust me," she said. She slipped her sleeve down her wrist, tucking in her hands. The outline of a watch pressed against the fabric and Jason stared at it numbly and unthinking. "But my name is Y/n. I work at the Gotham Gazette. My boss's name is Marlene. She's pretty nice and I'm up for a raise soon. I've lived in Gotham my whole life, even while my brother moved away the first chance he got. I've contemplated leaving for a long time, but I could never bring myself to do it." She pointed to a picture that sat on her dresser – one of the only things Jason hadn't destroyed. "That's him. My brother."

Jason didn't move his head to look. His green vision began to fade.

“When I was growing up I had a fish. His name was Captain Sparkles,” Y/n kept on talking. “He was pretty cool and lived a long time for a fish. Two years, if you’re interested. I’m going to Gotham University and studying English so I can hopefully move up the line of command at the Gazette. My parents are chill and are empty nesters with two dogs out in the countryside. My dad always pledged never to get a dog, but now I’m pretty sure they’re ahead of me in the will.” She chuckled and tugged at her hair.

Jason turned on his side away from her and he missed her eyes trailing after him sadly. Y/n swallowed and blinked away the sting of impending tears.

“I have a little routine going,” Y/n continues, her voice cracking slightly. “You know, wake up, go to class — I’m a sophomore — come home and do homework. When I don’t have class, I go to work.” The girl wraps her arms around her knees and tucks her chin in. “What I’m trying to get at, I guess, is that I don’t work for the Joker.”

Jason flinched and cradled his head in his hands. Everything Y/n was telling him seemed true; she didn’t seem like an agent of the Joker, but his mind screamed at him to not trust anybody. Each syllable she spoke seemed like a reminder of how normal he was supposed to be. Day in and day out, when the Joker was pushing Jason’s limits, pulling him to the brink of death, Jason had wished to be normal. To not have met Batman that fateful day. To not have accepted the Robin pedestal. To go to high school and college and live in a dorm and get drunk and then regret it the next day.

What he would give to be normal.

“I’m sorry,” Y/n muttered. “I didn't mean to say his name. I know it must be triggering.” She exhaled and was silent for a moment. “I’ll go,” she eventually whispered. “If you need anything, let me know.”

Jason heard her stand and move to the door. No! Please don’t go. I- I can’t be alone. I don’t know how to be alone. But the words didn’t come.

The door clicked shut behind Y/n. Tears made their way down Jason’s face and his body shook with the effort to keep silent.

I would rather you torture me than make me be alone, he thought. My thoughts are more dangerous than any weapon.

~~~~

For all of Jason’s life, soulmates had always been in his realm of knowledge. Like bombs. He had heard the word in the news, playing with whatever he had scavenged off the street, his mom smoking on the couch behind him, TV blaring.

But children are oblivious and it wasn’t until later in his life that he figured out what the words meant. ‘Bombs’ became synonymous with Gotham City and ‘soulmate’ became a word Jason held close to his heart.

Everyone had a soulmate and it was common for the kids on the playground to compare their numbers ticking down. Younger children, who had yet to get their timer, gazed wistfully at older kids’ watches. Rumours of someone’s timer speeding up or slowing down blistered around the jungle gym and it chilled young Jason’s blood with the thought of not getting to meet his soulmate soon enough.

But besides those insignificant bouts of worry, Jason was very proud of his soulmate. He would be running around the playground and when he heard someone bragging about how soon they would meet their soulmate, Jason would stop the game of tag and go over to compare numbers.

Not everyone was as lucky as him, however. Some kids would be teased because their timer estimated that they wouldn’t meet the love of their life until they were on the brink of death. While Jason never stood up for the victim, he would never be the one to bully them. His own mom had smashed her timer when she met Jason’s deadbeat dad, wanting to defy the universe and choose her own lover. It had only led to jail time, alcohol, and negligence. Sometimes, late at night, Jason would wonder what happened to his mom’s true soulmate. Were they still out there with a paused timer, wondering who didn’t think them good enough? Did they also think they could find answers at the bottom of a bottle or did they pick themselves up and reroute their life?

What would’ve his life been like if he had two parents who loved each other and were destined to be together?

But whenever Jason was feeling down, or he got a bad grade (which didn’t happen often), or he was beaten up in the alleyways of Gotham, or his mom smashed a bottle by his head and screamed at him, he would cast his eyes down to his soulmate timer and just remember that someone out there was for him. That someone was fated to love him. And very early on, from the moment he realised what having a soulmate actually meant, Jason decided that he would wait for however long it took and go through whatever it meant to find them.

“Whose clothes are these?” Jason whispered, his voice cracked and desolate the next time Y/n came into the room to offer him the little food he could stomach.

“My brother’s,” she answered easily, setting down the plate of toast and some other easy food. “I thought they would be a bit big on you, but then the Lazarus Pit made you ginormous, so they’re a bit tight now. Sorry.”

“Lazarus Pit?” Jason pushed himself to sit up, muscles groaning in protest.

“I don’t know how much you remember,” Y/n admitted. “But once I got you out of Arkham, I brought you to my friend Talia. She has some… powerful connections to some influential people and was able to help heal you in the Lazarus Pit. I just didn’t know how much it would alter you.”

“That explains a lot,” Jason admitted dryly, thinking of his new physique, emotions, and tinted vision when he had gotten mad.

Y/n leaned against her dresser. “I didn’t know what else to do. I’m sorry if you didn’t want me to help, but I needed to. You were going to die and I need…” she trailed off and her eyes flicked down to her wrist.

“You need what?”

“I couldn’t let someone die,” Y/n finally decided on.

Jason accepted her answer. He felt a small tug at his chest, almost as if something wasn’t right and he wanted to correct it. “What’s…” His eyes trailed to her lap where she held her hands. His jaw twitched and he shook his head. “Never mind.”

“You can ask me anything,” Y/n offered, a smile lifting the corner of her mouth. Jason’s eyes widened when he saw her smile and his heart fluttered. Jason decided that, even if he didn’t trust Y/n yet, he would do whatever it took to keep that smile on her face.

“No, I have nothing– I’m good– no–”

“Spit it out, Robby. What do you want to tell your darling Joker? What are your… worries? Your concerns? Your dear Uncle Ace?” The Joker circled around an exhausted Jason. “Trust me. You can tell me anything…” His speech was slow and intoxicating. Alluring, was the word Jason would use to describe it. It was tugging him in. Jason’s eyes slipped down into sleep just as another needle pierced its way into his skin, courtesy of the Joker.

Jason dug his nails into the palm of his hand over and over, fingers twitching over his cuticles. His face started to heat up and he swallowed roughly, blinking slowly. “I’m okay,” he mumbled out, even though Y/n didn’t ask.

“Do you need me to leave?” she offered.

Jason dragged his head back and forth, attempting to shake it. Eventually, it lolled back and banged against the wall. “Sorry, what?”

Y/n stood up on instinct. “Robin?”

The title sent lightening up Jason’s spine and his gaze snapped up to stare at her, fuming. “Don’t- don’t call me that!” he screamed out. “I’m not! Stop it!”

Dearest Robin. How Batman will miss his little protégé.

Robby…

Robin!

“Let me go!” Jason shrieked. He wiped his hands on his shirt before reaching up and pulling at his hair. Everything felt wrong. “Why won’t you let me go?! Just give up,” he pleaded desperately. His eyes, wide and frantic, swept around the room until they settled on the shards of the mirror he had smashed.

His body was a graveyard.

It was only then that Jason truly comprehended how imperfect he was.

Scars trailed down his arms and legs and he could even see a smattering of them peeking out of the collar of his shirt. Each scar and bruise was a reminder of each thing the Joker had done to him.

Each scar is an adventure, Batman’s voice resonated in his head. An image of Batman patching up young Robin’s bloody nose flicked through Jason’s mind.

Each scar is a reminder you were never there for me, Jason thought bitterly. Each scar is a reminder that I’ll never be free of him. I’ll always be tied to the Joker. And that’s what terrifies me the most. That’s what makes me hate you, Batman.

“Okay, okay,” Y/n surrendered, holding her hands up. “I’ll leave. But I can’t let you go. It’s not safe yet.”

It was then that Jason drove his fist into the wall. Y/n made a little squeak of surprise and seemed to flinch.

She quickly left and Jason didn’t have time to feel bad before he crumpled onto the bed in exhaustion, bits of plaster now on the floor and sheets.

~~~~

Time after time again, the Joker visited him. The Clown Prince of Crime had grown bored with the relentless torture. There had been new tactics — he had to keep it interesting, of course — but even waterboarding hadn’t quelled the ache that the Joker felt after the boy had grown used to the whipping of chains against his skin, leaving the boy bruised and internally bleeding.

So it was time to pull out all the stops. The Joker strolled into the makeshift dungeon. Robin didn’t even look up at this point. “You look grim,” the Joker stated, pouting theatrically, even though his audience was a despairing one. He strolled over to the table where he kept all his instruments. “Which one, which one?” the Joker sang, running his fingers over the knives, corkscrews, ropes, and other devices to land on a pitcher of water.

Jason inhaled and exhaled slowly. The Joker poured a generous amount of water into a glass before lifting it to Jason’s lips and tilting it back. “There you go…” the Joker cooed, caressing Jason’s cheek. “Drink it all up like a good little boy.”

Jason’s chapped lips searched hungrily for the water, not caring what the Joker’s motive was. He was too thirsty to wonder.

It was only the first in a long line of drugs.

“I don’t know what to do, Talia,” a lilting, frustrated voice came from the other room, stirring Jason awake. He was sure that whenever he heard Y/n’s voice, he would snap to attention, ready to throw himself to his knees and execute whatever she commanded.

Woah. Where did that dedication come from?

Even when Jason assumed the title of Robin, there was never such blind complaisantness to what Batman ordered. He would always have some street-kid spunk in him.

So why was he feeling so utterly protective over Y/n? It had to be the fact that she saved him from the hellhole the Joker had carefully curated and manipulated. Didn’t it?

Or was it something else?

“No, I’ve been trying to do all my work online, and it’s been working, but I can only go so long before I have to go into the office or go to lectures.” Y/n listened to her friend for a long minute on the phone and Jason strained to hear them. “No, but I feel responsible – that’s the wrong word – but protective of him.” There was a pattering of feet as if Y/n was pacing. “This is kinda a big deal. There are movies and books written about this connection and yet, mine is huddled in my room, sleeping off drugs and the evidence of torture!” Her voice cracked up at the end and Jason physically stood up.

Bile rose up in his throat and Jason’s knees slammed to the ground, pain shooting up his bones and reverberating in his muscles. He cursed under his breath and pressed his head to the cool hardwood, trying to overcome his nausea.

Stars swirled in his vision and laughs echoed in his head. Jason mumbled words of encouragement to himself, but they were distorted and ugly. Like the Joker. Oh, how Jason dreaded the thought of becoming him. His forearms hit the floor and instead of the Joker’s words stabbing at his brain, it was a static frame of white noise, blocking out everything. Vision was the first thing to go, eyes squeezing out the late afternoon light. The second thing to leave Jason, as everything does, was time. Was it minutes or hours he sat on the floor before the door burst open?

Words were muted and Jason nodded when Y/n asked if she could touch him. Warm palms encased his jawline, thumbs brushing along his cheeks. “He’s not here,” Y/n whispered. “I’m here. Robi- no, tell me your name. Please.”

“Jason. My name is Jason.” Somehow, Y/n had eroded away his concern and distrust, replacing it with ease and invulnerability. He would never have thought it possible in such a short time, even without his history with the Joker.

Y/n exhaled a small laugh and a bright smile came to her face. Jason looked up at her, brain still buzzing. “What? What’s funny about that?” he managed to get out.

“Oh, no no no,” Y/n was quick to reassure him. “I didn’t mean to laugh. That was rude of me. I’m sorry.” One of her hands guided down to rest on his back, rubbing soft circles. In his anxious stupor, Jason curled up in front of her, instinctively resting his head on her lap. If he could see her face, he would’ve seen Y/n’s eyebrows shoot up with hopefulness. However, he definitely heard her intake of breath. “It’s a very nice name.”

“How- how does your boyfriend feel about me staying here?” Jason finally asked after a minute of him slowing his breathing.

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” Y/n said, sounding amused.

“But you have a soulmate timer,” Jason pointed out.

Y/n tilted her head, curiously. She didn’t think he had noticed that. One of her hands moved to Jason’s hair, gently brushing it back from his forehead. She ran her fingers through the white stripe which she had come to find very attractive. Tension left the boy’s shoulders and he tucked his head into her lap. “Everyone does,” Y/n replied. “It doesn’t mean I’ve found my soulmate yet.”

“Have you?”

“Yes…”

“Oh.”

Jason laid in her lap for a long minute and eventually asked her, “is he nice to you?”

Y/n laughed lightly, sighing a bit before saying, “he’s still getting to know me. He’s a very reserved and tentative person and we only met a little while ago. However, he’s been opening up pretty quickly and I’m very proud of him.” Her fingers tapped against Jason’s hair, curling the strands around her fingers before lightly scratching at his scalp with her nails. She noticed how his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down when she did that. Tucking that information away for later, Y/n added, “he’s gone through a lot in the past and I just want to make him feel safe.”

Deep in his bones, Jason could almost feel her sadness and dedication. He wasn’t sure what magic had given him the power to be so in tune with this girl, but he wasn’t going to let anyone take it away from him. Not even her soulmate.

Turning the conversation away from something that would surely wound him if he pried any deeper, Jason declared quietly, “I’m going to install some deadbolts and locks on your front door and windows soon.”

“Pardon?”

“It’s not safe for you to help me.” It never is for anyone. I’m a poison, infecting everyone I touch. “I want to make sure you’re safe before I leave.”

“Leave?” Y/n exclaimed, staring down at him. “No, you’re not ready to go yet.” A part of her was worried she was being selfish, wanting her soulmate as close to her as possible, but one look at the bandages she had just replaced the night before said otherwise. There was less blood than there had been days prior, but Jason was not in any condition to leave bed, much less leave the apartment.

“You can’t keep housing me forever, Y/n,” Jason muttered. “And I’ll be damned if I’m the reason you get hurt.” His head was still in her lap, but he couldn’t meet her eye. It was imperative that he play with the seams in his shirt.

Otherwise she might see him beginning to cry.

“Please leave,” he begged, voice breaking pitifully. Y/n couldn’t bring herself to argue, gently slipping out from her place underneath Jason and resting his head softly on the ground before closing the door behind her.

The nightmares were worse that night. ~~~~

True to his word, Jason ventured out into the apartment the next day like a zoo animal inspecting its new habitat. He crouched his shoulders, bowing his head in an attempt to diminish his size. He still wasn’t used to being so large and accidentally bumped into the kitchen counter and a lamp.

He was able to install the majority of the new locks and deadbolts until he slid the deadbolt of the front door closed. It whined and creaked beneath his fingers and his mind flashed back to when

Jason awoke slowly. A small groan left his lips, but he stayed still. It was a tactic he learned from Bruce – never let anyone know you were awake. He could categorise helpful information for later, such as possible escape routes, and it was quite possible that he was one movement away from death. He had to be careful.

But this wasn’t Africa. This wasn’t where Jason was desperately searching for his mother when Batman ran into the warehouse, seconds before the Joker let loose a bomb.

That’s all Jason could remember.

Blood was sticking his hair to his head and Jason clutched his side. It ached from bruised or broken ribs that pressed to his skin. However long he had been unconscious, it had been quite a while. His body was already malnourished and crying out for medical care.

Jason attempted to crawl to a standing position, but when his ankles and wrists caught against metal, restraining him, he knew something else was at play.

The whine and creak of a deadbolt unlocking caused him to turn his head towards a door he hadn’t noticed. A man in a pinstripe suit stepped through, a long crowbar in hand. Jason didn’t need the upturned red lips to know who was there.

“Oh, don’t worry, Robby,” the Joker coaxed as Jason stared up at him, pure terror gripping his veins. He had never been so close to the Joker without Bruce. Where was Bruce? Why wasn’t he here? The Joker squatted down to Jason’s level, running a gloved hand over the boy’s bloody hair. Jason flinched away, but it didn’t deter the Joker. “You and your Uncle Ace are going to have some real fun.”

“Where is he?” Jason sobbed, scared when he didn’t feel the blood on his hair. Why wasn’t he bleeding? What was the Joker’s new game?

“Where is who?” An unfamiliar voice asked despairingly.

“Bru— Batman,” Jason corrected himself in his stupor. “B-Batman.”

Y/n stuttered, “I don’t know Batman. I’m sorry.”

Jason groaned in pain before a hysterical laugh bubbled from him. He clutched his stomach, on all fours, eyes wide and clouding over with green. Must he always be connected to the Joker? If he could eradicate that damn colour, he would. His fingers ghosted over the place that the Joker threatened to brand him.

“Maybe I’ll make it permanent on our five year anniversary,” the Joker hummed, knife gently poking into Jason’s cheek. The faded scar of last month’s ‘J’ was what prompted the Joker to re-carve it into the boy. Blood dribbled down Jason’s cheek, joining his salty tears. It didn’t hurt, the wound being surface level, but just the thought of more things tied to the Joker made him gasp for air, crying softly.

“So you’ll always be reminded of who was the one to beat you. The Clown Prince of Crime!”

Y/n had barely noticed the ‘J’ until Jason dug his nail into his cheek, tracing the scar. The path was imprinted into his memory.

The skin turned red at the irritation and Y/n caught Jason’s wrist the next time he moved up to trace it again. “Stop. You’re hurting yourself.”

Jason muttered things under his breath at her, but he didn’t pull away from her hold. “He branded me,” he finally spit out. “And it’s only because you found me that he didn’t carve it into my skull,” he said sarcastically, malice in his voice. His eyes blazed a fervent green and he shook his head. “But at least I knew what was coming. At least I knew that a month had passed when he redrew his initials.”

Y/n opened her mouth to argue, but Jason spoke before she could. “I… I’m worried,” he began slowly. “I’m becoming more of the Joker than I am Batman. I was supposed to look up to Batman, but what if he and the Joker are one and the same? Both hurt me. One abandoned me and the other took that for granted.”

“He didn’t mean to abandon you, I’m sure,” Y/n whispered. “No one would ever willingly abandon you.”

Jason grumbled out, groaning at her words. His lips twitched downwards and his biceps flexed. “No one? Everyone did!” he screamed out. “My parents, Batman, Alfred, Dick! Everyone abandoned me!”

Y/n ignored the last name Jason listed off, before murmuring, “I haven’t.”

“Not yet,” Jason whispered after a moment. “But you will.”

~~~~

A couple days later, Jason peeked out of Y/n’s room, one of her blankets in hand. “You deserve your room,” Jason mumbled when Y/n looked up from her book, astonished.

“I– Jason, you need the most comfort,” Y/n said, gently closing her book. “I’m fine on the couch.”

“You need to get back to work soon,” he said, hugging the blanket close. “You said it yourself. I can’t be the reason that you’re putting your life on hold. You- you need to get back to normal.”

“You are my nor–” Y/n cut herself off before exhaling slowly. “Don’t worry about me,” she began. “I’ve slept on the couch many nights when I had papers to complete or binge-watched too many episodes of The Good Place.”

Jason’s features softened slightly and he took a step forward. Y/n took the hint and scooted over on the couch, placing her book on the small coffee table she had. “What’re you reading?” he asked as Y/n turned on the television, opening up to the first episode of The Good Place.

“The Great Gatsby, for one of my English classes,” Y/n said.

“Really?” A smile slowly grew on Jason’s lips, something he hadn’t experienced in years. His muscles ached a bit from the disuse, but Jason was now addicted to the feeling.

Y/n decided that she was now also addicted to the sight of Jason smiling. “Yeah. We’re covering the symbolism of water that spans throughout the book. In fact, in the first couple of pages, Fitzgerald references the White Star Line, which is a boat that sank on the same route as the Titanic. Gatsby, obviously, dies in the water, sinking, just as those boats did. Fitzgerald really is an excellent writer.”

Jason was pretty sure he was in love. Or maybe he still was on drugs. Whatever the feeling, it was nice and unexpected and new.

“I do think you’ll like The Good Place,” Y/n continued. “I won’t spoil anything, but it has some pretty amazing underlying themes.”

“I’m sure,” Jason replied quietly, burrowing under the blanket. It didn’t quite manage to hide his large frame, but it managed to hide his quickening heart and blush that was slowly spreading.

Just before the first episode started, Y/n quickly hurried to make some popcorn. She plunked the bowl in between the pair and then snatched some blanket away from Jason. “You run hot,” she explained when Jason shot her a bemused look.

The Good Place was a wonderful show, as Jason soon learned, but what was more wonderful was when Y/n’s cheek pressed against his shoulder and her knees curled up and her eyes fluttered closed. When her breath slowed with sleep, subconsciously trusting him enough to be at her most vulnerable, that, Jason found out, was what was truly wonderful.

Bruce Wayne had never before seen a street rat more excited to see Batman, especially when that street kid was trying to steal from him.

But what was particularly amusing was that the boy wasn’t particularly excited to see him, but more excited to show Batman his soulmate timer.

“No! No, you don’t understand!” the boy cried ecstatically. “It just fast-forwarded! Meeting you means I get to meet my soulmate sooner!” He bounced on the balls of his feet, eagerly shoving his wrist towards Batman’s cowl, showing the vigilante his timer.

“Yes, very… exciting,” Bruce hummed out, not sure whether to laugh or reprimanded him for trying to steal the Batmobile’s tires.

The boy laughed, a big grin covering his small features. “I wonder what they’re like. Have you met yours yet, Batman?”

Bruce raised his eyebrows and a chuckle slipped through. “Yes, I have. It’s a wonderful thing.”

As the child kept rambling about his soulmate, Bruce knew that he had just found the next Robin.

~~~~

Y/n sat on the kitchen counter, legs crossed. She had a textbook in her lap and was mumbling out phrases for memorisation of an upcoming exam. A small smile couldn’t help but expand on Jason’s face as he listened to her mumbles. He paused from his work in the small kitchen, back muscles rippling as he reached for the marinara sauce. When he went to dump the pasta into the strainer, the pot clanged against the metal faucet.

The Joker rattled his crowbar against Jason’s chains.

“Jay?” Y/n said softly, guiding him out of his memories before he could get too lost. “You can stop straining the pasta. All the water’s gone.”

“What?” he choked out, turning his head so he could see her.

“The pasta.” Y/n shifted forward so her legs hung over the edge of the counter. “It’s okay. It’s been okay and it will continue to be okay. You- you can let go.” The euphemism wasn’t lost on Jason.

He let the pasta pan drop in the sink and faced Y/n, eyes shining with unshed tears. “No. That’s not what I meant.” Swallowing down the feeling, Jason continued, “what did you call me?”

“Jay,” Y/n whispered.

The Joker paced around Jason after a few days without any torture. “It’s been too long, Robin,” he said, shaking his head. “I think it’s time to make you sing for your Uncle Jay.”

“Is that okay?” Y/n asked softly.

Bruce shouted from the other room, “Jay! Come on! The gala’s starting soon.”

“Jason,” Y/n repeated. She reached out and touched his shoulder and the boy came to stand between her legs. Jason dropped his head on her shoulder, beginning to sob quietly. Immediately, Y/n brought her hand up to rest on his head and the other arm to curl around his back. “Don’t you dare,” she shook her head as Jason began mumbling his apologies. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

And suddenly, everything was okay. Because Y/n was there. “Bruce called me Jay,” he murmured out. “An- and then he called himself Mr. Jay.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to trigger-“

“No, it’s okay,” Jason looked at her, eyes shining with tears. “I like it when you do it. When you call me that.”

“You do?” Y/n asked, hands on either side of his face, cupping them closer and when her hands trailed to hold his neck and then one brushed back his hair oh this must be heaven, Jason thought, eyes fluttering shut. What he would give to live within her arms, always feeling safe and always feeling loved. She had that strange power over him and while Jason usually didn’t like people having power over him, he decided that when it came to Y/n, he didn’t mind. Not at all.

“Yeah,” he whispered, his voice lilting up with an infliction of infectious love.

Jason stood there, comfortable in her arms and secretly hoping that Y/n would never have to go to work and would always just stay here. Where he could just keep… holding her and touching her and making sure she was safe because if Y/n wasn’t safe, Jason was pretty sure he would go on a rampage. If Y/n wasn’t safe, if Jason wasn’t holding her, then it was only because the Joker had found him and ripped him away from the only thing he had ever loved.

And that would’ve been the cruellest method of torture.

No amount of chains would hold him back. No amount of drugs would make him forget Y/n. And no amount of hate would make him forget the amount of love he felt when Y/n held him close and he could hear her heart beating steadily. In that moment, Jason could pretend her heart beat for him.

He knew his heart beat for her. Then his mind flashed back to it all.

The boy’s muscles tensed, protesting against the Joker for the first time in weeks. He had been trying to keep the watch hidden for as long as possible, but he should’ve known it was futile.

Jason’s cracked lips parted and he forced a “no” from his parched throat. “Don’t.”

“Stop it.” Jason wiggled away from the Joker’s searing grip but nothing helped.

Jason let out a guttural scream as the Joker ground the glass into the dirt with his heel.

“Oh, picky picky picky,” the Joker teased. “Sensitive, are we?”

“Lemme go! Don’t touch her! Don’t you dare!” His voice cracked and blood began to trickle down his arms as the chains rubbed against his irritated skin and broke the surface. But he would take the pain a thousand times over if it meant he could get to his watch.

His soulmate. His love. It was all gone.

“Yes!” the Joker cried out, exclaiming loudly. His hands began to shake and a large grin spread on his maniacal face. “Yes! Emotion, Robby! This is what I want! Give me the fucking emotion! If I had known, I would’ve smashed that watch a long time ago.”

Jason lunges towards the Joker, face contorted with rage. “Don’t you fucking dare! Get- stay- no! No!”

It was the most he had ever fought against the Joker. And the Joker adored it.

“You… you’re my…” Jason choked out, jaw tensing slightly as the dots began to connect.

He didn’t know when Y/n had begun to cry, but as tears streamed down her face and she nodded desperately, things seemed to all click into place. “It took you long enough,” she joked pathetically.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Jason breathed out, his hands tightening on her thigh, a protective instinct washing over him. “Oh, no, no, no,” he shook his head and brought her head in his hands, brushing away the tears. “I didn’t mean- I’m sorry…”

“No, it’s not that,” Y/n’s voice cracked. “I’m not unhappy, not in the slightest—” Jason was so sure of their bond that it hadn’t even crossed his mind that she might reject him or not love him due to his past. “—but I just never thought that you would- that I would-” She hiccuped and Jason’s eyes darted across her face, wanting to somehow help, but so unsure of himself.

Slowly, Jason sank to his knees. Y/n still sat above him, on the counter, staring down, baffled. Her eyes were red from crying and her lips were parted, but she had never seemed more beautiful. “What- what are you doing?” she murmured.

“I’m showing you how much you affect me,” he answered simply. “Quite literally, you saved my life, Y/n. And if that’s the only way you touched my life, I would consider myself the luckiest man on Earth. If no one has told you those words before, then everyone else is a fool. If you allow me to stay around and cherish the best thing that’s ever happened to me, gladly, I will.” Y/n slowly slipped off the counter, standing before him. “But that’s a lot of ‘ifs’. And I’m not willing to potentially lose you over some ‘ifs’. I know I’ve made you uncertain and I’ve wrecked your apartment and I’m so sorry,” he chuckled dryly. Jason’s hands were shaking as he slowly slid them up Y/n’s legs. She shivered under his touch, backing up until she hit the counter behind her. Jason lifted his hands from her, giving her a moment if she needed, but one look in her eyes led his hands right back to her body. “You’re like a drug,” he whispered, pressing his face to the side of her thigh.

“Drugs are very very bad,” Y/n managed to get out.

“I know.” A small smirk appeared on his lips. His lips suddenly looked very kissable. “The Joker taught me that. If I could go back and kill him, I’d do it in an instant, but… I’d also thank him. And I’d thank Batman. And Nightwing. And my mom. And everyone else in my life because they all led me to you.” Y/n’s knees buckled and Jason helped ease her down so she was sitting in front of him. He choked on his tears slightly before saying, “so many people believe in equality in the universe. So if all of that is true, then perhaps every bad thing that ever happened to me was just leading up to you. You… are so good that the universe needed to even it all out.”

Y/n began shaking her head vehemently. “Then let me damn the universe,” she whispered. “Because clearly, it’s been unfair. You were gifted to me, Jason. It’s not fair that you went through so much shit while I lived a fairly light life.”

“Maybe I’m not good enough…”

“Don’t you dare suggest that,” Y/n cut him off sharply.

“Then perhaps I took the hardship you were supposed to endure,” Jason offered the explanation. Before Y/n could argue, Jason said, “and I’d do it again.”

Y/n laughed lightly, drying her eyes with the heel of her palm. “I don’t want you to go through that again.”

“Then it’s a good thing I don’t need to,” Jason muttered, leaning forward slightly to nuzzle into Y/n’s neck. He slowly, as if testing the water, pressed a kiss to her skin. Feeling her inhale, Jason grinned and repeated the gesture, wondering if he would get the same reaction. He did. After a moment, he exhaled, his breath tickling Y/n. “I’m going to need time,” he muttered. “I’m not going to be the perfect soulmate you deserve right away.”

“I don’t expect you to be. You’re already perfect to me.”

“I’ll work on it,” Jason compromised. “I want to deserve you.”

“You do–”

“Y/n,” he pleaded desperately. “Let me do this for you. Let me be the best Jason Todd for you.”

Seeing that he wasn’t going to back down, Y/n nodded after a minute. “Okay,” she said. “We’ll get through it all together.”

“Maybe we should seal the deal with a kiss.”

A bubbling laugh filled Jason’s ears and he couldn’t help the large grin that came over him. “Hmm,” Y/n conceded. “Alright.”

And so they did.

“Mom, why’re we here?” A small hand gripped onto her mother’s.

“I signed us up for a soup kitchen,” her mom explained. “It’s coming to the holidays and we should be doing something good for others. Gotham isn’t always the nicest place to live and we’re fortunate enough that we can help when needed.”

“Hmm,” the girl conceded. “Alright.” She puzzled a bit over the thought that some people weren’t as fortunate as they were, before asking slowly, “do we need to help them any more than usual?”

“What do you mean, Y/n?” the mom asked, checking the street names as they passed. The girl frowned, her hair in small pigtails. “Well… Should we have brought clothes? Or blankets? How… How much do they need help?” She struggled to find the right words.

“No, they’re not homeless,” her mom said. “They just need a bit of help bringing food into the family, you know?”

“Okay,” Y/n accepted the answer easily.

“Just, hold my hand, will you?” the mom said, even though her daughter was already clutching her hand. “This isn’t the safest part of town, though nothing bad will happen. The sun is out, so there’s nothing to be worried about.”

Out of nowhere, a small boy barrelled out of an alleyway, shouting at some other boys that were running behind him. He crashed into Y/n, who’s mom scooped her up on instinct. “Oh, I’m sorry!” the boy cried out, head whipping from the two females back to the people chasing him. The boys behind him carefully came to a slow once they saw an adult with her daughter. “Uh, where are you two ladies going?” The boy asked, eyes darting back and forth between the groups. Ultimately, he decided that a stranger was more safe than those kids, simply because she was a mom.

“To the food kitchen,” Y/n supplied before her mom could shush her.

“I can show you the way!” The boy jumped at the opportunity, beginning to walk backwards away from the group of bigger boys. Y/n’s mom looked between the malnourished boy who was silently begging with his eyes to the group who had a smearing of blood on their knuckles.

“Okay…” she decided. “Show us the way.”

The young boy jumped up and began striding away, beaming with the safety of an adult. Y/n’s mom set her down carefully, gripping her hand tighter than before. “Stay close by,” she demanded. Y/n nodded.

The boy had dark hair that was cropped slightly at the sides with a tuft of it that fell over his eyes. His eyes were blue and he wore a red hoodie that fell just a bit too long over his jeans. “Wow,” he chirped as the trio got farther away from the alleyway. “Thanks. Let’s just say I’m not exactly on those guy’s good sides.” He kept rambling, Y/n’s mom shooting him cautious looks every once in a while, but he didn’t seem to notice. “What’s your name?” he asked Y/n, skipping over to walk by her side.

“Y/n,” the girl replied. “Y/n L/n.”

“That’s a nice name,” the boy grinned. “How old are you?”

“I’m five.”

“I’m seven!” The boy placed a haughty hand to his chest. “But my birthday’s tomorrow.”

Y/n’s mom hummed. “Oh. Are you excited to get your soulmate timer?”

“Yeah!” The boy beamed up at the woman, turning a corner. “Super excited. But this is the soup kitchen. You know, my mom should be stopping by soon. But thanks!” He began jogging off, waving goodbye.

“Wait! What’s your name?” Y/n called after him.

“Jason! Jason Todd.”

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bestworstcase · 1 day

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I can't remember whether you've answered this before, but. You postulate that everything Salem does in 8.9 after learning Yang's identity is a ruse to justify letting Yang and the others go free; that threatening Emerald is a deliberate attempt to provoke Hazel into attacking her so she has an excuse to turn her attention away from the prisoners.

My question is: Why does she need an excuse? Salem doesn't answer to anyone, and I can't see any particular risk in just saying "I've decided you're free to go, goodbye" and leaving the kids baffled. So what does she have to gain from... making herself seem more dangerous and unreasonable than she is? Not that I think she feels any hope she could convince the heroes she's reasonable -- as you've stated, Oz has done a very good job de-personing her for a very long time -- but I'm not sure why she would go to the effort of constructing an artificial scenario solely to make her enemies think she's more monstrous. What's her motivation here?

in the course of answering the question of her motivation i'm actually going to lay out my argumentation for reading the salem vs hazel fight this way, 'cause i don't think i've ever done so comprehensively before. (on tumblr, anyway.)

the foundational theory isn’t "salem did all this as a ruse to let her hostages go" but rather that this duel with hazel is a performative means to an end. and the reason i think that is the way the fight itself, along with the duel in the lost fable and the brief altercation with the kids preceding the fight, are choreographed.

to preface this discussion, rwby's fight choreography is subordinate to characterization. (this is less true in v1, wherein centerpiece fight scenes put a greater emphasis on style and spectacle, but from v2 onward there’s been an increasing focus on using combat to develop character.) team rwby vs ace-ops is a good example of this: ruby struggles in her matchup with harriet not only because she’s a grimm-fighting specialist whose main advantage (agility) is negated by her opponent being able to match her speed, but also because her heart isn’t in it; she pauses to plead with harriet to stop and think about what she’s doing and never really recovers her footing.

so my first presupposition is that salem isn’t an exception to this principle and her fight with hazel is not meant to just be a dramatic spectacle that Looks Cool but has nothing substantive to say about the characters involved. the writing and fight choreography are reliably cogent and i trust that the same amount of thought was put into this scene. i say this because i think "empty spectacle" is the only other way to parse what happens here.

now on to the most salient piece of context: we know that salem can fight well. because, as ruby puts it, we’ve seen what she’s capable of. the lamp showed us.

in the lost fable, we see:

salem and ozma fighting together, back-to-back, as they escaped her father’s fortress together.

salem stopping a nevermore the size of a commercial plane cold, and then crumpling it up like tissue paper.

salem matching ozma, a skilled, highly-experienced warrior who at the time had the combined might of the four maidens put together at his disposal, exactly blow-for-blow in their last duel.

nevermore crunch gives us a sense of not just the force but also the sheer precision of control that salem has over her magical power. the first fight tells us that even with no formal training, salem had the raw talent (and desperation) to keep up with ozma and hold her own against professional soldiers; the second fight tells us that by the time the ozlem kingdom fell, salem and ozma were equally matched in terms of skill.

the fanon idea that salem can't fight but won their duel by virtue of her invulnerability—whittling ozma down one lucky hit at a time—is a) contradicted by the swift and even back-and-forth volleys shown, and b) plainly at odds with the fanon nonsense that ozma spent most of the duel desperately and futilely on the defensive fighting to shield the girls from her onslaught.

from the tableaux in the second fight, it's hard to determine whether salem bothers with self-defense under normal circumstances (she doesn't, in the tableaux, but nor does ozma). but that in itself isn't a reason to presume a lack of skill in combat because salem has no incentive—other than pain avoidance, which given her extreme tolerance for pain isn't much—to fight defensively.

with all this in mind: we begin with her altercation with the kids.

salem enters the scene by exploding her way out of the whale. notice the kids knocked over like bowling pins on the left: oscar was standing approx. fifty-three feet away from the epicenter of the blast, measured based on salem being six feet tall. (<- with perspective taken into account. from wall to edge, the dock is 48ft wide)

emerald keeps her feet, perhaps because she knows better what to brace for; she's about the same distance away. in any case, salem's next move is to launch herself to the edge of the dock (again, a distance of 48ft—measured based on a different screenshot) and stretch to grab emerald in a fraction of a second.

ok. the women's world record 60m sprint is 6.92 seconds; this works out, rounded, to about 28.4ft/s. at that speed, you can cover forty-eight feet in about 1.7s; salem closes the distance in about half a second, which works out to 96ft/s. from a dead stop.

salem is could-probably-keep-up-with-ruby-rose fast.

next point. these two frames:

are a split second apart. the blast is aimed at ren and when jaune leaps in front of him, hits his shield right in the middle:

had jaune not gotten there in time, this would've hit ren squarely in the chest. in any case it hits with enough force to blast both boys off their feet and slams them into the flesh wall (roughly, eyeballing it based on several shots) 20-30 feet behind them hard enough to visibly strain jaune's aura. keep this timing in your mind for later. salem can fire these things off literally faster than you can blink.

the distance between her and ren at this point is approx. forty-five feet, again using the wide shot from earlier to measure. precise accuracy isn't impressive at this range necessarily but it's worth noting in relation to ren, who fires on her from the same distance, kneeling, with his fully automatics. every bullet goes wide:

& then salem whips around and noscopes him.

similarly, she sticky-hands yang in the face (catching her gauntlets only because yang throws up her arms to shield herself) while upside down with her eyes closed and paste for bones. she's a GOOD shot.

another detail to note here is the difference in salem's reaction to ren's attack versus yang's; ren fires on her, misses, she retaliates with her magical equivalent to his guns, but when yang punches bombs into her chest a second later, salem literally just stands there, even lowering her arm to let yang do it...

...and then after being blown up, rather than firing back with magic, snags yang and pulls her over to look intently at her:

we know that the reason salem grabbed emerald is with the intent to question her about what happened to the lamp, because salem concludes from the available facts that em must have stolen it. we also know that when ren shot at her, salem returned fire immediately, within a fraction of a second—this woman is inhumanly fast, and the time between these two frames:

is exactly equal to the time between these two:

what this tells is that salem did have time to blast yang in the gut with magic. through the whole sequence with yang punching her, salem is looking at yang's face, her gaze tracks down to follow her movement. she sees this coming and she's reacting to it, just making a deliberate choice not to retaliate.

and then she grabs yang.

this is the first weird thing salem does in this scene—every move she makes prior unambiguously follows from salem's belief that emerald stole the lamp and her desire to recapture oscar and take the relic back—and i don't think it's a coincidental that the weirdness begins with salem noticing yang...

...whom she saw like, two days ago rushing forward to comfort ruby after salem your mother-ed her to the ground. i've made this point before but prior to her arrival in atlas salem might at most have seen toddler pictures of these kids; ruby takes after her mother enough to be impossible to mistake for anyone but summer's daughter, but yang isn't even biologically related to summer. so salem wouldn't know her on sight. but this interaction a couple days ago would've given her enough circumstantial context to at least guess that this girl is summer's eldest.

so here, when salem sees yang and instantly flips from slinging bolts of magic around with enough force to break or at least visibly strain jaune's aura to sticky-handing yang to drag her over and grab her, the question is okay, why? why does that shift happen? what is it about this moment that alters salem's motivation? and because the situation hasn't changed whatsoever and there's no other reason for yang to have any significance to salem, the simplest and really only cogent explanation is her relation to summer rose.

onwards. salem isn't expecting oscar to zap her. you can tell because every time salem takes a hit on purpose in this scene, she either tracks her opponent's movements or visibly braces herself and neither of those things happens in the split second between oscar starting to fire and his blast hitting her; and also, she grunts in pain both when it hits her and when she doubles over afterward. given that oscar shouts at her first (so he has her attention) and what oscar and ozma say when they discuss the state of the merge in 7.13 and earlier in 8.9, i think it's pretty likely that salem didn't realize oscar could tap into ozma's magic and thus he caught her off guard.

also i'm not sure oscar realized he could do that until he did it. look at this boy. he's so busy going "wait what?" at himself that he doesn't even notice salem yeeting yang at him until a split second before yang hits him ->

that, or oscar's use of magic jostled oz to the front and neither of them were expecting that to happen.

at this point salem stops fucking around and pins everyone to the floor. and again this is something i want to emphasize because it is effortless for her. when she does this to hazel in 6.4 she makes a gesture with her hands, but here she just decides it's going to happen and it does. (which tells us that the gesturing in 6.4 is for show, just like flipping the table and raising her voice. she's exaggerating her irritation into this over-the-top anger for the sake of intimidating everyone else in the room. it's performative.)

anyway, she hangs emerald on the wall, conjures a ball of magic, and:

SALEM: What did you do with the lamp? EMERALD: ...N-nothing! [Salem leans in to hold the magic close to her face.] SALEM: It's missing. Where is it? EMERALD: I didn't do anything with it! SALEM: Where—[she lowers her hand, turning away]–is it?

ok. salem can tell when people lie. she's also grimm—she can probably sense or perceive emotion the way all other grimm do.

emerald isn't lying to her and salem knows she's telling the truth. the pseudo-repetition of the questions obfuscates this a little, because they're almost but not quite the same, but salem believes both of the truthful answers emerald gives her.

her initial assumption is that emerald stole the lamp and must have done something to hide it ("what did you do with it?"). emerald is startled, confused, and answers "nothing." salem explains why she's asking ("it's missing") and then asks if emerald knows where it is or who took it ("where is it?") because her next guess is that emerald conspired with somebody else who stole the lamp while emerald snuck oscar out.

when the lamp went missing, there were eight people on the whale: salem herself, hazel, emerald, neopolitan, oscar, yang, and these other two children whose names salem probably doesn't know. right before the seers sounded the alarm about intruders, salem encountered emerald and someone she thought was hazel in the corridor. at that point in time, salem expected hazel to still be interrogating oscar, as she's mildly surprised to see him: "ah, hazel. have you gotten what we need yet?"—and 'hazel' behaved oddly enough that salem was side-eyeing him before the alarm distracted her. her reaction to emerald a few minutes later ("you really have been honing that semblance of yours") confirms that she's figured out that 'hazel' was really oscar.

hazel assumes there is an alarm that will go off if they move the lamp, but he's wrong: neo swipes it seconds after they leave the chamber, and salem doesn't know anything is wrong until a) the seers alert her to the presence of intruders, several minutes layer, and b) she goes to personally secure the lamp and finds it already missing.

so salem does not know exactly when the lamp was taken, only that it happened before the seers sounded the alarm. that her suspicion falls first on emerald suggests that salem has—for whatever reason—already considered and ruled out the possibility that the intruders are the thieves (most likely, because the seer alarm calls convey more information than just "stranger danger!" and salem knows the intruders didn't get that far into the whale before being caught). plus by the time she's questioning emerald, salem has a) terrified emerald well past being able to maintain her semblance, which requires active focus, and b) visually confirmed that none of the intruders nor oscar are carrying the lamp with them.

ruling out emerald as the thief therefore leaves her with just two suspects: neopolitan, or hazel. now, salem does not have any reason to trust another of cinder's little pet illusionists, so on the face of it neo might seem to be the obvious suspect.

BUT.

salem expected hazel to be in oscar's cell at the time she unwittingly caught emerald in the act of helping oscar escape. and she knows that hazel is attached to emerald—that's why she punishes him for lying to her in 6.4 by forcing emerald to answer the question hazel tried to dodge, she knows hazel lied to protect emerald.

and emerald could not have freed oscar from his cell without hazel knowing about it.

based on the facts of the situation as salem understands them at the point when she turns away from emerald to ask, rhetorically, where the lamp is, there are only two possible explanations:

hazel stole the lamp while emerald helped oscar escape.

neo stole the lamp while emerald tried to sneak oscar out, either with hazel's assistance or while hazel was somewhere other than where salem expected him to be, doing something he shouldn't.

there is no way—no way—that salem does not realize, at this juncture, that hazel has most likely betrayed her. this woman is a clever strategist who has been running circles around ozpin and his inner circle since the show began and, while she lacks the charisma and social dexterity to be a truly masterful manipulator, she understands human nature and her manipulative tactics are always very shrewd. unless you're willing to assume that the writers just idiot balled her for the sake of the plot—which i'm not; rwby is too well-written—salem's assumption now is that hazel stole the lamp.

(which, she's wrong, but the underlying reasoning in how she handles the situation on the docks up to this point is an application of occam's razor; she begins with the simplest explanation and works upward in complexity from there, so she'd land on hazel stealing the lamp before she got to "neo stole the lamp, emerald freed oscar, hazel was doing something else.")

the shift in her tone as she turns away from emerald and the things she then says to oscar evince this also: her second "where is it?" is rhetorical. she knows that either hazel or neo has it, and hazel is the more likely suspect. since neither of them are here at the moment, but neither of them can leave the whale except through the dock, the question is no longer urgent. she has the situation fully under control. all she needs to do is wait.

so her attention shifts to oscar or ozma. (whether oz is fronting or salem thinks he’s fronting because oscar used ozma's magic is somewhat unclear, but given that she correctly identifies them in both 8.4 and 8.6 i'm inclined to think she’s right this time too, and oz got pulled forward by oscar’s use of his magic)

SALEM: Look how you've diminished. How you've lessened yourself—and for what? These children? This ruined world...? Why—do—you—keep—coming—back? YANG: Why do you?! [Salem glances at her, startled.] YANG: All of this endless death, just because something bad happened to you once upon a time? Nobody gets a fairytale ending! Everything I've lost—every person I've lost!—is because of you! SALEM: And who is it I've taken from you, girl? YANG: Summer Rose. My mom. SALEM: Hm. [amused] Her again?

as i said, salem already has reasonable confidence that this girl is summer rose's eldest daughter, but if she had any doubt or uncertainty prior she now knows for sure. "and who is it i've taken from you, girl?" is salem both engaging with what yang said to her and also fishing for a confirmation that she is who salem thinks she is, which yang obligingly gives to her.

so at this juncture salem now has three goals:

don't severely hurt or kill summer's daughter.

determine who stole the lamp and get it back.

recapture oz/oscar.

with the third being a means to the end of finding out how to access the lamp. this makes #3 the lowest priority, because there are at least six people who know the "password" (ozma, oscar, ruby, yang, and their two teammates) and if salem loses oz/oscar now she can still try to capture one of the other children later.

of the first two, which is more important doesn't really matter yet, because right now they aren't in opposition. she can accomplish the first by not doing anything to harm yang and the second by staying put until the thief—either neo or hazel—tries to get past her.

of course, then hazel IMMEDIATELY shows up. he is, remember, salem's primary suspect at this point and she knows that he, at a minimum, wasn't where she thought he was when emerald snuck oscar out of his cell. even if hazel doesn't have the lamp, salem has to consider him a possible traitor until proven otherwise because there is also this unspoken question of how emerald got oscar out. either hazel was incompetent or he was an accomplice.

salem wants to know which it is.

he walks onto the docks, greets her. salem glances over at him and sees that he does not have the lamp, so either he stashed it somewhere on the whale with the intent to sneak it out later or he isn't the thief. the question of how emerald got oscar past him remains. there is a possibility that hazel wasn't involved in the jailbreak or the theft—he's been in and out of that cell all day—and if salem makes this accusation and she's wrong, she risks losing his loyalty. right. like hazel is already terrified of her and she knows ozma has been feeding him bullshit all day about how she's bent on destroying the world, she walked in on that.

if she takes an aggressive posture here on the basis of an incorrect suspicion that's going to play right into ozma's hands by making her look unreasonable, untrustworthy, dangerous. even if he remains loyal in the moment, he'll have all of this in the back of his mind and he might turn against her at a more crucial juncture in the future.

salem is very risk-averse. she's not going to do that. so now she has a fourth goal: test hazel in a way that will strengthen his commitment to her if he remains loyal, or else force him to definitively prove himself a traitor.

when salem meets emerald and 'hazel' in the corridor earlier in this episode she says "ah, hazel. have you gotten what we need yet?" and then, after the seer alarm, "it seems we have guests [...] find them!"

when hazel arrives at the docks, salem says "ah, hazel. i found our guests." the intonation of "ah, hazel" is the same but exaggerated, and salem's taking "we have guests: find them" and flipping it around; "i found our guests." now, she's aware that the 'hazel' she spoke to in the corridor a few minutes ago was really oscar, so hazel doesn't have context for why this is funny. but she's making a sarcastic little joke at his expense about how she doesn't trust him now.

"ah, hazel" is how she greeted the false 'hazel' whom she did trust and told to find their "guests." she suspects that the real hazel was an accomplice to this scheme so she parodies that greeting and then makes a sardonic jab at him as if the false 'hazel' in the corridor were real and just failed so abysmally at finding the intruders that salem had to do it herself. and then she specifically draws his attention to emerald and goes "this one was helping them."

and this is the test, right.

before she asks emerald "what did you do with the lamp?" salem conjures up a ball of magic and holds it up where emerald can see. very unsubtle threat. she does the exact same thing here.

"this one was helping them," she says, magic crackling in her hand where hazel can see it. there is, again, a very unsubtle threat that she'll hurt emerald. and then she pauses for a solid three seconds, which doesn't sound like a lot but it's the similar in length to her other dramatic pauses like "find the girl that did this to cinder... and bring her to me" (~3.5s) and "before you go, inform tyrian... that i wish to have a word with him" (~2s)

in 6.4, salem asks hazel to give her a specific piece of information about cinder, and he tries to evade by saying "i take full responsibility," so she flips the table, pins him to the ground, and intimidates emerald into telling her instead, because she knows hazel is lying to shield emerald from the imaginary threat of salem's wrathful retribution.

in this scene, salem has emerald pinned to the wall and makes an implicit but extremely clear threat to hurt emerald because, she tells hazel pointedly, this one was helping the intruders sneak oscar, the boy hazel was supposed to be interrogating at the time, off the whale: SIGNIFICANT LOOK. DRAMATIC PAUSE.

this is the test. this is the test. the last time salem put hazel into a situation where he anticipated a punishment falling on emerald's head, he lied to try to redirect that punishment onto himself. if he tries to do the same thing now, he's either going to implicate himself as an accomplice, attack her, or exonerate himself by lying (because salem will know that he's lying if he falsely claims to have been in on it a la "i take full responsibility").

she's not making any accusations but she is giving him the chance to come clean. the last time this happened and he lied to her, she bullied emerald to punish him. the implicit promise she's making this time is that if he was also "helping them" and he tells her the truth now, she won't hurt emerald. if he gives her what she wants, she'll reward him with what he wants.

as. usual. she does not communicate this clearly enough for it to be effective (⭐️ SHE TRIED) and hazel doesn't give her anything to work with, just stands there silently, so... she escalates. "take the boy back to his chamber; i have work to do with this one."

if hazel's silence is because he's upset but still remains loyal, he'll obey and she'll know that she has a much firmer hold on him than she thought. if... he was involved, then his silence is because he's trying to figure out a way to salvage this situation. she still does not have absolute certainty. so she provokes him by raising the stakes and turning her back on him.

um, another noteworthy detail that i think supports reading "i have work to do with this one" as a performative threat salem's making to force hazel to make his loyalties clear:

salem touches emerald's face with this very ominous-looking magic crackling around her hands and nothing happens. the specific threat she's been making in this scene of "answer me or i'll burn your face with this nasty dark magic" is quite literally bluffing. it doesn't hurt emerald upon contact with her skin. emerald just experiences the untold horrors of salem grabbing her face.

HOWEVER. escalating in this manner a) takes the risk of hazel choosing to betray her for emerald’s sake right now even if he wasn’t an accomplice before, and b) insures that if hazel is already a traitor, there will be a violent altercation.

the former is a much less dangerous risk than alienating hazel if he's truly loyal by making open accusations (an immediate betrayal that she provoked and is prepared to handle vs a possible betrayal an unknown amount of time in the future which might catch her with her guard down). the latter is a problem, because there are children glued to the floor who will be in the crossfires of any fight, and one of those children is her general's eldest.

and this is where that second goal of "don't severely harm or kill summer's daughter" comes into play and comes into conflict with salem's need to recapture oscar & oz and recover the stolen relic. it's at this point salem has to make a decision about what to prioritize, and her choice is to—if hazel does what she expects him to do and attacks her—let the children go while she "fights" hazel, then pry information out of hazel once they're gone. so she reveals that her priorities are:

summer's daughter.

the lamp.

hazel's loyalty.

the lamp's "password."

also notice that salem does keep her implicit promise not to harm emerald if hazel gives her what she wants—she releases emerald, too, after hazel punches her. she's thinking ahead to what she'll do once the children are gone and she has hazel alone on the docks. by letting emerald and the rest of the children escape, she removes his motivation for betraying her: he no longer has anyone around whom he could possibly sacrifice himself to protect from salem, because all of them have made it to safety. now salem can pin him to the wall and start asking questions.

either hazel took the lamp and stashed it somewhere on the whale once he realized she'd caught the children, or neopolitan stole it and—if she's still aboard—will need to pass the docks sooner or later. so salem stays put, with hazel, until she has the lamp in hand again or knows where hazel hid it. summer's daughter is safe, hazel has no one to sacrifice himself for (and she has some leverage to counter ozma's lies; letting the children go is her proof that she isn't unreasonable), and salem has everything she needs to get the lamp back. she might have to capture someone again in the future to extract the lamp's password, but there's a chance hazel learnt it from oscar before the jailbreak and theft.

worst case scenario, neo stole it and escaped before salem intercepted the jailbreak on the docks, but at least by questioning hazel she'll be able to determine whether that's the case.

a partial victory is preferable to a loss, and knowing what to sacrifice in pursuit of one's priorities is important. this is salem's basic strategic philosophy and it shows through in her actions throughout this scene; she's making choices about what matters to her most and what she can afford to let go, always with the intent to achieve as many of her goals as possible, in descending order of importance.

with salem it's important to keep in mind that she thinks like this. strategic acumen is her greatest strength and being able to evaluate all of one's objectives in terms of priority, feasibility, and tactical means at once is a critical strategic skill. strategy is about the long term, big picture thinking, where salem excels. so she almost never does anything for just one reason; every decision she makes is a balancing act taking into account all of her important short- and long-term goals.

speaking of which, i've so far limited this discussion to her immediate objectives in this scene, but it's worth remembering that salem has long-term plans that she is working toward and her actions and choices in any given scene are mediated by the big picture; her inner conflict regarding cinder aside, salem is never going to do anything that achieves a short-term goal by harming her strategic ends (and her erratic behavior toward cinder arises from a conflict between her strategic ends and her increasing reluctance to treat cinder like a pawn, i.e. her big-picture wants and needs can no longer be easily reconciled.)

it's much harder to discern salem's long-term objectives because we don't really know what her plan is, except in the broadest strokes. but we can hazard a few guesses:

salem is very circumspect about what happened to summer rose; it may be necessary for her plans to preserve the heroically-martyred idea of summer rose—the most obvious reason would be that "summer was the best, and even she failed" is a very exploitable weakness in her opponents' morale.

if salem intends to confront the brothers face-to-face, using the final judgment as bait, and she fails, the only thing she can do that might prevent the gods from annihilating remnant is ensuring that everyone is rallied against her. forcing the truth of her existence into the open while performing to "monstrous evil witch bent on destruction of all things" expectations is the surest way to do that.

likewise, winnowing her own inner circle such that she is truly and completely alone by the time she has all four relics in hand may be part of the plan.

also worth taking into consideration are the ways salem's trauma circumscribes her decision-making. she is:

terrified of rejection.

terrified to care or admit to caring because the divine mandate is a justification and a threat of genocide strictly to punish her, and she knows it.

convinced that no one will ever truly care about her, hear her, or want to help her without getting something in return.

resigned to being seen as a monster no matter what she does, solely on the basis of her inhuman appearance.

all of these things predispose her to retreat behind her emotional walls and just reflect the expectations of others back to them. she's been viciously, brutally punished every single time she's tried to be authentic and vulnerable with others and it hurts less to shut down and be what she's "supposed" to be than to try and be cut down over and over again. this is a defensive learned response and it informs both her strategic planning and her tactical decisions; even in situations where breaking expectations and being emotionally honest might benefit her if people were to give her a chance, she's not going to do it unless she is really, really certain that she won't be punished for trying again.

now, to wrap this up, let's go over the fight with hazel.

i actually debate with myself a lot as to whether salem did or didn't anticipate hazel punching her, because she a) doesn't brace and b) cries out when his fist makes contact with her face, but i am certain that by this juncture salem did expect and was counting on him to do SOMETHING to stop her. the sequence of events is this:

salem approaches emerald while telling hazel, "take the boy back to his chamber; i have work to do with this one." after a brief pause, hazel answers "yes. of course," and begins to walk over to oscar. at this point, salem puts both of her hands on emerald's face and leans in to emphasize the threat, but still doesn't hurt her.

keep in mind that there is a significant distance between salem and oscar. relative to her position when she entered the scene, salem has moved (roughly, eyeballing) about thirty feet to the left and knocked oscar about the same distance from where he fell when she burst through the side of the whale. so they're still about fifty feet apart.

an able-bodied human walks about 4.2ft/s at a normal pace on average; hazel is quite tall—i believe word of god is eight feet, but he is NOT two feet taller than salem, the top of her head is level with his shoulder line, which if salem is six feet tall exactly would make him about 7'2"—which gives him a much longer than average stride, so we'll presume his normal walking pace is about 4.5ft/s.

when salem walks from emerald over to oscar, it takes her about twelve seconds. if we assume that her pace is the average 4.2ft/s, that would make this distance just about exactly fifty feet. 50ft 5in, to be precise. the consistency here between the visible spatial distance and the temporal distance suggests close attention to detail on the part of the creative team.

(salem returns from oscar to emerald, off screen, in about two seconds, but this is not problematic given her super-fast gliding pace—we can assume that salem slingshot herself across most of the distance and then walked the last couple steps.)

so at a normal pace of 4.5ft/s, it should take hazel about eleven seconds to walk from salem's side to where oscar is... and in fact it takes him exactly that: he begins to walk at 14:35 and stops in front of oscar at 14:46. again, the consistency is telling—particularly because there is no dialogue at all in this span, so how long it took wasn't dictated by the length of a spoken line.

hazel picks oscar up, murmurs "no more gretchens, boy," into his ear, pushes the long memory into his hands, and then drops him again. this takes another ten seconds. hazel turns away from oscar and begins to walk back toward salem at 14:56, punching her at 15:04, so his return is faster but within the range of a brisk walking pace (eight seconds, fifty feet, approx. 6.3ft/s).

the reason i'm belaboring this point is that salem says "i have work to do with this one," and then... stands there without doing anything except holding emerald's face menacingly for a genuinely awkward amount of time. thirty-one seconds, counting the beat before hazel began to move. it's not even clear that salem said anything to emerald—when hazel turns away from oscar and the camera cuts back to emerald and salem, em blurts out "i really don't know!" but whether this is in response to another question salem asked off-screen or just responding to what she assumes salem wants from her is ambiguous.

compare the way salem questioned emerald earlier in this scene: she asked two questions, one after the other, confirming that emerald didn't take or hide the lamp and doesn't know where it is. as soon as it became clear to her that she wouldn't get useful information from emerald—because em truly did not know anything—salem dropped it and moved on to Plan B. she doesn't LIKE emerald and she's ANGRY that em tricked her and helped oscar escape, but what salem CARES about is finding out what happened to the lamp. she's not going to waste her time trying to get blood from a stone.

and compare the way salem conducts herself when she interrogates oscar in 8.4. again, her questioning is guided by practicality, but the more salient point of comparison for this discussion is what salem does when she shifts gears to punishment and torture. namely, she just tortures him. no hesitating, no warnings, no threats, no grandstanding, she just turns around and does it. practical, again.

if what salem intended to do at this point in the scene was torture emerald, either to punish her or for information, she would do so.

instead, salem just...clutches emerald's face. evilly.

for thirty-one seconds.

now, i will remind you that salem has excellent spatial awareness; she sticky-hands yang from at least ten or fifteen feet away while upside-down with her eyes closed. hazel's footsteps are clearly audible. when hazel enters, salem hears him speak and answers him across this fifty-foot span. oscar cries out when hazel picks him up and grunts in pain when hazel drops him, which also makes a quite loud thud. hazel's footsteps would also be audible to her when he returned, although they aren't to the audience.

so she'd be able to sense hazel approaching her again, and if she paid attention—which she must have, because salem's just spent half a minute doing the bare minimum to sell that she's toootally going to start torturing emerald, any second now, and the only reason for her to do that is if this is about intimidating or provoking hazel—then she would have at least heard him dropping oscar, so she knows he isn't "taking the boy back to his chamber" as ordered.

ok.

when the focus shifts back to them, salem's got emerald like this:

this shot is at 15:01.167. hazel will punch her at 15:04 exactly, which at his brisk pace of 6.3ft/s means he's about eighteen feet away. around 15:02.750, when hazel is less than eight feet away from her, salem begins to pull back, lifting her arm as if preparing to strike:

she holds this pose without moving for almost a whole second. remember just how fast salem can be. her release when she fires back at ren, from the moment she begins her 180° spin to the moment the opalescent bolt leaves her hand, is sixteen frames. from the appearance of the black/violet magic bubbles to the release of the opalescent bolt is one frame. ONE.

when she reaches this position, hazel is quite literally right next to her. he cannot be more than three or four feet away, and we can see in both the initial shot and the replay from the opposite angle that he comes at salem directly from the side, not from behind her.

the point is that salem can see him. unless you have vision problems impacting your peripheral sight, even if you're looking straight ahead, as salem is here, you can visually detect motion directly to the left or right within a close radius. and indeed:

salem's gaze flicks to the side before his fist makes contact, and the wider shot from behind shows just how close he is to her before throwing the punch.

and the last detail i want to note regarding the punch is that salem lets go of emerald when hazel hits her, which is something that she does NOT do when yang blows her up:

if salem can remain standing and keep her death grip on this girl's arm while her ENTIRE TORSO IS EXPLODED WITH BOMBS, it... does not matter how strong hazel is or to what degree salem may have been caught off-guard. she had at least a split second recognition before his fist hit her face; that alone is enough to reflexively clamp down on emerald's jaw if she didn't want to let go.

so whether or not salem anticipated that hazel would punch her in the face specifically—and it doesn't seem like she did, given that she yelps—she must have had at least a vague awareness of his presence/approach (because he marched right up to her), and she made the choice to just ragdoll with the hit. the simplest explanation is that once she heard him drop oscar and start power-walking back toward her, salem knew he was going to try something to save emerald and committed to the bit.

she also isn't actually ragdolling; she lets the force of hazel's punch throw her off her feet, but then instead of falling she soars away in this high arc, flips herself around in midair, drops down in a perfectly-controlled landing at the far end of the dock, and rises again:

ok? ok. this sequence, from the end of the slo-mo reaction shot to when salem reaches altitude, runs 15:08 to 15:11—three seconds.

and then she just, erm...hangs out there, not doing anything, until hazel finishes cramming dust into his body and turning his back on salem to give his heartfelt last goodbye to emerald and everything, and faces salem again at 15:41. at which point she says "so, you've decided against vengeance for your sister, after all this time?"

thirty. seconds.

during which the ONLY ACTION salem takes is this... this:

<- make a particular note of how jaune reacts. the tactics guy. while the other kids gasp in shock/relief, jaune is like "wait what?" as he pushes himself up to look at salem—he's confused, because he knows intuitively that Something Weird just happened.

why did she do that?

she didn't need to. it wasn't an accident. salem manifested these sigils with a mere thought, and later in this same scene we'll see her do that again right after hazel smashes her head like an egg. summoning these things also clearly doesn't inhibit any of her other powers, so this is effortless for her and costs her nothing to maintain.

either happened by narrative fiat, because the kids had to escape and the writers just couldn't be bothered to figure out how. the... problem with this explanation, aside from the obvious that rwby is a well-written story that doesn't pull this sort of bullshit, is that the prelude to the big fight makes a HUGE POINT of,

this! oscar is already free and has long memory. if the intention is for the kids to escape while hazel keeps salem distracted, you don't need a narrative contrivance like this; you just slip in a shot or two of oscar snapping these grimm hands or disarming the sigils with his own magic to release his friends instead.

orrr... salem let them go on purpose.

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

wheeze. ok. we're almost done.

remember how salem can go from empty fist to black magic bubble to releasing an opalescent blast in just three frames?

this first shot is at 15:49. the second is at 15:51. in between, salem just kind of sways side-to-side and then waves her arms around for forty-five frames. even if we count only from her conjuring of the Big Bubble at 15:50, it's twenty-two frames—longer than it took her to snap around and fire off a blast that hit her target dead-on and slammed two teenage boys into a wall some 20-30 feet back.

woman's telegraphing harder than a dark souls boss here.

and speaking of aiming...

these are the three bolts salem fires in the wide shot. top row on the left is her first shot in the instant before hazel begins to run up the slope—i've marked the trajectory and the eventual point of impact in green to make it easier to see that this would not have hit him even if he hadn't moved. top row on the right is the real impact, with hazel now running. on the bottom row are her next two shots. one strikes the edge of the dock nowhere even close to him, the other hits the ground about 8-9 feet in front of him (measuring based on hazel being 7'2" tall). and in the next shot:

it's not that she never hits him. hazel is quite a bit farther away from her than ren was and he's also running at a dead sprint while dodging blasts. tricky target. it wouldn't be strange at all if she missed.

but look at where she is aiming.

top row: both bolts strike the ground 1-2ft directly ahead of him—in the shot on the left, he's veering closer to the wall to avoid stepping on the point of impact. bottom left: this is a second bolt aimed just a little bit forward and 1-2ft out from the wall relative to the top right; these two bolts strike eight frames apart and hazel lunges sideways toward the dock's edge as the second one comes into frame, so when salem fired the second one, hazel was still where he is in the top right. and (the clincher) bottom right: this bolt strikes six frames after the one preceding, 1-2ft directly in front of him, and hazel swerves toward the wall to avoid stepping on the point of impact; notice the correction from #3 to #4 when hazel swerved more toward the ledge than salem anticipated.

not a single one of these bolts is actually aimed at hazel. salem is aiming to hit the ground directly in front of hazel, close enough to convince him that she means to hit him but also low enough that if she misjudges his speed she's going to strike his ankles... and when one blast nearly hits him in the head or chest because he jumped further sideways than salem guessed he would, she instantly corrects her aim to ankle-height again.

she is herding him.

up the docks, closer to her, away from the children, all while taking care NOT to hit him without being obvious about it.

this is the same kind of behavior we see from her in 6.4, where she's at worst a little vexed but flips a table and shouts and throws him to the ground as if she's in a terrible fury—and then a minute later hazel tells her something that genuinely infuriates her and we see her freeze while the windows start to crack, before she sends them all out of the room and struggles to press this rage back down.

because there is a huge difference between the loud, explosive "anger" salem performs to intimidate her associates and her real anger, which she tries very hard to contain.

in a similar vein, we get this fleeting glimpse of salem's actual skill in combat when she spins around and blasts the boys into a wall in the time it takes to blink... and then she sees yang, and the key changes. instantly. for the rest of the scene.

onward. hazel vaults over salem's final bolt and launches three fireballs at her. as these spiral up toward her, salem threads herself between them like they're not even there—it's really fast, the whole sequence from when the fireballs form in front of his fist to when she slings past the third one is forty frames and if you count from when the first fireball enters the frame, her evasive maneuver is over within twelve frames. as she continues past the last fireball, salem swings her arms to finish her movement, as if she's going to lash forward and fire off a riposte:

but then instead, she re-centers, pauses, and does... this:

which i'm sure looks very impressive and terrifying for everyone on the ground, but she is... literally just tossing magic around in random directions. this is not an attack. this is a light show. a firework. her big swarm of magic bubbles spits out of of the opalescent bolts and only one hits anywhere close to hazel. she is just fucking around.

from here, hazel sprints to the edge of the dock and launches himself into the air above her, where he dust-conjures a biiiiig spiky boulder to smash her with... and, uh. three things. first:

this shot occurs in slo-mo to really underscore what happens here. note that salem is looking up at him and has a firing bubble ready to go. hazel is approx. twenty-eight feet directly in front of her (measured in salems); a few minutes ago we've seen her be dead accurate at just a bit more than half again that distance, and we know a blast from her has plenty enough force to knock hazel out of the sky. from the beginning to end of this shot her head moves as she tracks his motion.

she has a clear shot lined up here. she chooses not to take it. then:

hazel conjures The Boulder, and we get this shot of salem's reaction—from waiting indifferently to see what he'll do to wry amusement. and then she physically braces herself to take the hit:

after which point salem just Lies There letting him pummel her for a few seconds before evidently deciding that she's done enough fucking around for those children she let out of gay baby jail about sixty seconds ago to have gotten away so she'll just flick her fingers (while her skull is caved in and her brains are splashed all over the floor, mind you) to pull some more grabby hands out of the air and wrap this one up except—

—NO WHOOPS THEY'RE ALL STILL HERE. lol.

like the fight is over, when the camera cuts back to the kids. salem has hazel completely immobilized. jaune is at the other end of the docks, shouting for everyone to hurry. "she'll just come after us," oscar says, but if salem cared to recapture any of them she would've left hazel restrained and dropped down off the dock to scoop them up as they hit the ground.

she's visibly irritated after regrowing her face, yes. but we have seen over and over—there are multiple examples in this scene alone—that salem can and will set irritation aside to focus on what doing what is necessary to advance her practical goals. she's poisonous with emerald but asks her two questions and then turns away as soon as she's confirmed that emerald doesn't know anything. she takes a deep breath and shelves her fury at ozma to listen calmly while yang yells at her. salem just isn't a character ruled by her anger.

so the fact that she a) continues to focus all of her attention on hazel after restraining him, and b) actually hurls him out of the restraints, in the opposite direction from her escaping prisoners, and turns away from them to just bash hazel's face repeatedly into the floor, suggests to me that her annoyance is perhaps more because these children are STILL FUCKING HERE and she needs them to be gone before she can start to properly wring the truth out of hazel.

she pays zero attention to the children until she hears long memory activate, which seems to startle her; after that she straightens up and stares him down for about four seconds.

they're about ninety feet apart here. salem covers a just over half that distance in two seconds... meaning she is gliding at what is for her a downright leisurely 24.5ft/s. that's a little bit more than a QUARTER of her top speed which is, in case you've forgotten whilst reading this very long post, 96ft/s. or 65mph.

(and here i will remind you that the walking speed distance math earlier checks out perfectly with the measurable spatial distance between emerald and oscar. this scene was choreographed and animated with very close attention to time and distance and i think that's because the speed at which salem does certain things at different points is doing a lot of narrative work. it's seldom necessary to be this precise but in this scene it matters.)

the point is that while salem does slingshot herself at oscar pretty fast here, relative to how much faster she CAN go, salem isn't trying especially hard to Get Him. this is like a brisk jog for her.

now granted, if hazel hadn't scraped up the wherewithal to, i assume, yeet himself after salem with all the dust cooking his body from the inside out, oscar would have been toast whether salem zipped along at a normal human sprinting pace or clotheslined him at car-on-a-highway speeds. but it does speak to the intensity of salem's interest in getting oscar in this moment versus when she went for emerald at the top of the scene.

salem had, by this point, already given up recapturing oz/oscar as a loss, accepted sacrificing the opportunity to do that as a price she was willing to pay for the sake of 1. getting summer's daughter safely off the whale and 2. after clarifying hazel's loyalties, removing the children from the equation so she can squeeze him for information about what happened to the lamp. i think the possibility that oz/oscar might have shared the "password" with hazel when hazel decided to help them escape would've at least crossed her mind as soon as she narrowed her list of suspects down to hazel and neo, too.

there's also the factor that with hazel now compromised, the only person around to interrogate oz/oscar is salem herself, and because that would involve being in the same room with and talking to ozma for an indeterminate amount of time, i don't think salem's all that keen anymore.

thennnn hazel sets her on fire and she screams and thrashes because she's having traumatic flashbacks to the moonfall and then oz blows her and her whale the fuck up.

thank you for coming to my tedtalk.

#TOO LONG DIDN'T READ:#she's balancing between two main goals #(get yang off the whale & determine #who took the lamp and where it is)#both of which can be advanced at once by #manipulating hazel in this specific way #for reasons that i discuss at extravagant length because 8.9 lives rent free in my head

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seillarium · 16 hours

Text

melt my heart and claim it as yours

tl;dr. the classic 5+1 fic for my one and only love

pairings : portgas d. ace x reader

notes : mild angst (?), happy ending, no pronouns used (as far as i know) but written with fem reader in mind, no proofread, lowercase intended, a few profanities, english isn't my first language, overuse of italics lol, PORTGAS D. ACE LIVESSSS

word count : roughly 3.5k words

sincerely, sei : AAAAAARGHHH OMGOMG I FINALLY FINISHED IT ACTUALLY HOLY SH 😭😭 anyway, please lmk if there are grammatical errors, or typos, hopefully i don't fumble this, i think it's not rlly good. but to be fair, i was experimenting 😥 and how the fuck did i write 3k words??? where did that even come from

─────── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ───────

you're a new recruit of the whitebeard pirates, having been rescued from an organization that experiments on people—honestly you didn't think you'd live this long with how things were going with your life.

you were hesitant at first, meekly greeting the members of the seemingly kind pirates around you. as far as you knew, pirates were pictured as barbaric, evil, and cruel. but all that you see are warm people that see each other as family. it left a foreign feeling in your chest, one that you can't seem to decipher.

but you have only one thing in mind: do you belong here?

your first day on the moby dick was chaos. good chaos, you convince yourself. you were utterly overwhelmed by the amount of people, and holy fuck, did you just get a thousand siblings in less than a day??

they threw a party, for the new nakama, they said. it was heartwarming to say the least, and a small smile appeared on your face for the first time ever since you were put into that hell.

you try to put your mind into what was happening now, 'stop thinking about that, you have a new life ahead of you.' there were a lot of people introducing themselves, though you can't understand most of them. you were dragged, pushed even, as the dining area was suddenly filled. maybe the term 'barbaric' was fitting for them, after all.

the first to approach you one on one was the first division commander; marco. he had checked if you were doing alright, and all you did was smile and nod—biting your tongue, trying not to mention how you think he looks like a pineapple.

the second would be thatch, he was a tad drunk drunk and his mind is cooked. his flirtatious words were slurred. he called you multiple names, he claimed that your smile is quite fetching. you weren't really affected, he is amusing, though.

a few more approached you, some just greeting briefly, some were inviting you to drink (you didn't, the taste of alcohol is shit anyway), and some just gave you a warm "welcome to the crew!"

they sure are a rowdy bunch, you think, as you were leaning on the railing. then another person approached you. he leaned on the railing next to you, copying your position.

when you finally looked at him, your mind short-circuited for a moment. the mysterious man was certainly attractive. he's topless, that's what stupefied you for a second. not that you never saw any other guy who walks without any shirt—this one just has a nice figure, definitely easy to look at.

"hey there! you're the new recruit, yeah? my name is portgas d. ace, it's nice to meet you."

his voice startled you, whoops, you're staring, how inappropriate. he's bowing politely, and it baffled you for the nth time today because; what is this, a pirate crew whose motto is 'we're different from other pirates'?! you had never met a pirate this polite your whole life. you ought to pinch yourself; maybe this is a silly dream after all.

"hello? earth to you, er.." he waved a hand to your face, only then did you look to his face. great, so you were looking at his open tits first?

"(name). it's nice to meet you." you greeted back with a small smile, and he grinned. oh, he looks so... kind. you felt your heart thump—or did it actually stop?

"(name), huh? what a pretty name for a pretty face." oh, cheeky. he's got a coy grin on his lips now. he's like thatch, then. but he succeeded to make you blush slightly.

"thanks...?" wow, way to go! you honestly didn't know what to reply, given that you were locked up for about 5 years with almost no social interaction with others.

he didn't seem to mind, in fact, he looked pleased at your answer. though, he did seem to notice your uncomfortable shift. he props his elbow to the railing, resting his cheek on his hand. "you're adorable."

and your mind clogged again, face exploding into a deep red as you furrowed your eyebrows, forming a confused expression. he seems sober, and he says it like he means it. the temperature just skyrocketed, must be from how flushed your cheeks are.

he laughed at your expression, and you found yourself liking the carefree sound and his boyish grin. he gazed at your eyes again, slightly pink cheeks and a grin that screams mischief. more compliments spill from his mouth. looks like you're in for an embarrassing night.

once the night ended, ace slapped a hand on his mouth, his cheeks flushed—fuck, his shoulder's on fire. he was mesmerized by you, thus, the sudden compliment escaped him. he didn't mean to, but with your reaction? oh he wanted more. he honestly thought flirting would be a good way to take your mind off of things, thank god he didn't fumble. such a miracle you didn't notice how his back was on fire the whole time...

II.

weeks had passed since you became a whitebeard pirate. you learned a lot of things. one, you were living under a rock, literally and figuratively. the lab that you were once in was underground. you've been there since you were 15, causing you to lack knowledge about the recent happenings in the outside world.

two, it was hard to keep up and remember each of their names. your overwhelmed brain is turning into mush at this point, thankfully they're kind enough to say their names over and over again for you.

three, ace. that's it, ace. you learned that he's some kind of lost dog. trailing you everywhere you go, not that you're complaining. honestly if he wasn't sticking to you, you'd be sticking to him.

there's this magnetic pull that drags you to him, seems like you couldn't resist his warm nature. like a moth to a flame you were attracted to him. and you feel yourself burn, not in a bad way—like you were succumbing to his very fire and you think you'll be fine as ashes if it meant you'd be closer to him.

but it's like, his fire flickers when you move forward. he let's you near, but never close. it's like you know him, but you can't get a grasp on what he's thinking at times. like he's keeping you at arm's length.

that does not stop the flirting, though.

"hey, I'm lost, can you give me directions to your heart?"

"if you were a triangle, you'd be acute one."

"aren't you tired? you've been running through my mind all day."

you're becoming a puddle of goo, it just gets embarrassing to the point you can't even form words.

"hey, (name), do you have a pen and a paper?" he suddenly approached you as you were walking around the ship. you shook your head 'no', surprised he's not making moves today.

"damn, no pen, no paper, yet you still draw my attention." he said with a shit-eating grin and a wink. "...."

"wait! (name)!!"

III.

a day alone with ace in a strange island is absolute havoc. you wonder how it's possible for one person to destroy half of a forest. well, to be fair, he is fire.

"are you a dumbass?!" you screeched, running away as fast as you can while a strange lion goes after you both. ace tried to pet it, you almost did too and out of a sudden everything went haywire.

"i didn't know it would be immune to fire!!" he screeched back, holding your wrist and practically dragging you.

"why the hell did you even try and pet a wild lion in the first place?!"

you're now sitting by a bonfire, lit by yours truly. you hug your knees to your chest, watching as the fire dances in the air.

the lion incident has passed, finding out it's actually frightened by water. you crossed a river and found a hilltop—which is where you are right now.

"you still cold?" he asked, sitting next beside you.

"kind of," not really, you're not exactly freezing, you just want more. of him, preferably.

he scooted closer, your shoulders touching. and heat immediately seeps through you. and for a moment you just relished his body temperature.

then the next thing you knew, your whole being was enveloped by his warmth. his arms looped on your waist, his head resting on your shoulder. he sent you a smile, and god, everything about him is warm.

"are you a campfire? because you're hot and i want s'more." and just when you though you could sit in peace.

"ace, you're literally the hot one between the two of us." you answered, exasperated to your wits' end. "aww, you think I'm hot?" you didn't know if you want to slap the smirk off his face or bury yourself 6 foor under.

"n-no?! i mean, you are, literally—" his grin widens. "y-you know what i mean!! and I'm cold.."

"think i can make your heart melt?" oh he did. you sighed, does he really mean all of this? you never really gave him replies, not that you could even form words with how your brain turns into a puddle when he throws you the most cheesy ass pick up line ever. where does he even gets all of these?

"Is it chilly out, or is that just the chill you send down my spine every time I see you?" a scoff escaped you. "it's cold right now."

"well, thank god i brought some socks, you're giving me cold feet." he said rathed dramatically, his body sagging against yours.

"do you really mean all of this?" you asked out of the blue. is he just messing with you? is he really gonna burn you after all? maybe his flames would just combust your lonely heart to oblivion, then leave it to heave in the remaining smoke.

"of course." he replies almost immediately, his eyes seeking yours. sincerity swam in his dark orbs, a soft yet genuine smile on his lips. oh. maybe he was just trying to cradle you with his warmth, after all.

he takes a mental note to take this more seriously. thus, you didn't fail to notice how his lines were a bit more genuine, it still has a hint of playfulness—but everytime he looks into your eyes, it seems as though he's swallowing each emotion in them, fully drowning in you with those obvious lovesick orbs.

IV.

the night was cold, so was your heart. thatch had died, murdered by the hands of his own family. his own nakama. you sat on your bed, blank eyes staring to the window. it was pouring, as if the clouds were affected by the loss. the raindrops fell harder and harder, jut like the pounding in your chest as his death sinks in.

there were sudden knocks on your door. you didn't have to sit up, you knew who it was. "come in.." you croaked, voice breaking slightly.

the door opened and revealed a disheveled ace. he was quiet as he invited himself in, the familiar scent of your room filling his senses. "hey.." he greeted, yet it lacked the familiar warmth he always held. it was replaced by the bitter cold, gnawing at his insides.

"hey, you." despite his state, you felt warm. everytime the pirate comes into view, your heart is immediately filled with fervor. sparks surging through your veins.

ace wordlessly sat down beside you, head hung low and you know why. "I'm going to kill teach." he muttered, his resentment surfacing with each passing second.

"what?" you gaped, and you don't know whether to let him go or not. you weren't sure if the awful pit on your stomach was something worth noting. before you could speak further, his voice cuts into the air. sharp and determined.

"and you can't do anything to stop me." and for the first time ever, he made you cold. unpleasant shivers went down your spine and your heart dropped to the depths of doubt. and before you know it, protests escapes your lips while you shake him. it's unsettling, how you're holding onto him yet he's so cold.

"i don't care if it's dangerous, he killed thatch, he betrayed his own!" he raises his voice, but you can't find it in yourself to even flinch, still seeking that certain fire in his eyes. it's there, it's ignited, but not the kind of flame that you're looking for.

"i just... didn't want to leave without telling you goodbye." he mumbled, voice softening significantly.

"are you saying this will be the last time I'll see you?" you can't ignore it anymore, tears are stinging your eyes.

".... i—" he hesitated, breath hitching. "of course not, I'll come back for you."

for you.

his words rang in your ears, he sounds so genuine yet so full of doubt. and as your gaze on him lingers, all you could see is a lost boy, his judgement crumbling right before your eyes.

"come back alive, okay? I'll wait for you." you told him with such warmth and affection, your hand cupping his cheek.

at that moment, he looks like he'll break, your warmth seeping through his freckled cheek and straight through his heart and soul. it felt so surreal for him, he's made of fire, but it feels as though you were burning him.

"i don't know, it's like you're already killing me here, 'cause you took my breath away."

sigh.

you're on fire.

not literally, but it may as well be with how you can feel the intense determination and fear in your bones. you stood near pops, the tense atmosphere wafting through the thick air in marineford.

ace is there, at the execution grounds—chained, bruised, bloodied, and regretful. you could see him clearly, yet he feels so far away.

and once the war started, you did your best to avoid the attacks sent to you, sprinting straight towards ace. you knew it was futile, the marines surrounding him far too strong compared to you. but you can't stop.

I'm coming for you, ace. the rapid thumping of your heart is all that you could hear, ignoring his desperate pleas of 'don't come here! it's not worth it!'

ace, ace, ace. you repeat his name in your head like a mantra. ace, ace, ACE. you creamed this time, voice breaking.

you legs stopped once you saw the dark hair of a young boy—screaming his lungs as he calls for his dear brogher, along with the intense surge of his haki. you weren't weakened by it, but you felt a sense of relief as he ran through the sea of marines ready to take his life.

instead of heading to ace, you sprinted to the boy—luffy, you assumed based on the countless stories from his brother. you helped fight off anyone in his way, putting all your trust in him.

you watch as he somehow freed ace. in awe as they fought alongside together, having perfect harmony.

you could only watch as he finally ran, straight to were you and the others were. and you felt so light seeing him, alive and well.

yet, you could only watch, as he was provoked by admiral akainu. you could only scream at him to stop, to just let it go. but of course you knew it was pointless. he's ace, he'll never let anyone dare to throw dirt on the name of his savior. he wouldn't let anyone insult the man who kindly called him as his son.

and thus, you could only watch as magma seeped through his chest. the ring in your ears eating up all your sanity, you couldn't even hear nor feel as the others dragged you away—unaware that you were running to him again.

you only watched as he whispered words to his brother, hugging him helplessly.

then everything became a blur.

VI.

the morning birds chirped, or was it the seagulls handing out the newspapers? nonetheless, the light from the window indicates that a new day is starting.

a new day, as you sat next to ace's bed. you never left his ever since you woke up. his organs were ruined, and you wonder how marco and the others had healed him.

but you didn't care about how. all you could ever care about is ace. he's alive. still, he's yet to wake up.

it's been a week, the familiar routine of sitting next to his bed was slowly embedding in your mind. you want nothing more than to see his eyes again, to see that bright smile that makes you think that the sun was nothing but an irrelevant orb up in the sky.

his chest was filled with bandages—another reminder of an ugly memory. you stared at him solemnly, fingers tracing his freckled cheeks.

then he stirred, and you flinched. your mind went blank. the gears in your head only turned once he gazed at you with those pretty eyes—effectively pulling you into the depths of your emotions.

"why are you crying?" were his first words, his voice was strained, his throat dry. only then did you realize everything was blurry.

"y-you—!" clutching his arm almost desperately, you found yourself crumbling in front of him. "you said you'd come back alive!"

"but i am alive." he said matter-of-factly.

"what if you died?!" honestly, you didn't know nor cared if you were making a point. all you did was sob his name over and over again, you arms coming up to wrap around his neck. crying as the man stroked your unkempt hair.

"...is this real?" he then asked, and the doubtful tone you once heard was at it again. you looked into his eyes, witnessing a broken man who looked as though he couldn't believe what has happened. "I'm actually alive?"

"of course you are! you're here, ace. you're fine." you said, partly to yourself, but mainly to him who looks like he'll break you with how he's holding you.

"you're alive. thank god you're alive, ace." and he cries. he cries and sobs and you don't know what else to do but to hold him.

"do i deserve to live? do i really deserve to survive?" and you felt your own tears falling. he sounds so broken, so lost, so doubtful.

you didn't question why he was asking that, rather, you cupped his cheeks and stared lovingly in his eyes.

"you do, ace." was all you have to say. was all he needed to hear. it won't be easy to remove those thoughts, no. but for now, it was enough.

"yeah?" he sniffled, a lopsided grin on his lips. you kissed his tears away, as he closed his eyes in bliss.

"yeah."

he grinned from ear to ear, and you returned it. and you both sat there, just giggling to each other.

"can i borrow your sunglasses? i can't stare at you too much 'cuz you're hotter than the sun." instead of laughing or blushing like you always do, your eyes softened.

"really? your eyes must be weak then. i can stare at you for hours." and before he could even so much as react, you continued.

"you know, you're like the sun. so bright, so warm. and every time i see you, i don't know whether i should bask in you or to hide because you burn me. god, you set my heart on fire, ace. and i don't care if i turn into ashes as long as i can be beside you all the time." you finished, staring at him like a lovesick fool.

he was out of words, his face exploding in a bright red and you wondered how much restraint he has right now to not burst into flames on the spot. he gaped at you as you stared at him like he hung the stars in the sky.

"i love you." he muttered. now you were the one rendered speechless. no words can express how he makes you feel. and you all but grinned, giddy and drunk off of the feeling of his love.

"i love you too." and before you two could lean in and share that sweet sweet kiss, the door opened and you saw the half of the crew falling down from their pile. looks like they've been eavesdropping.

and they didn't even had any shame as they cheered, chanting 'kiss, kiss, kiss!' loud screams of jovial voices filled the cabin once you two actually did.

familiar warmth seeped through your body and cradled your heart. and you had an epiphany at that moment: you belong here, right at this very moment, forever and more.

─────── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ───────

ps. : NAHHH CAN YALL TELL I GOT LAZY AT THE END im sorry it took so long i procrastinated for like 2 days 🙏 thank you for reading!!

taglist : @captainportgasdace @malxoxo (there's so many of yall who liked my previous post, my lazy ass could never, i might tag yall later tho if i get my energy back <33)

#portgas ace x reader #portgas d. ace x reader #fire fist ace #portgas d ace x reader #portgas d ace #ace x reader #op ace x reader #ARGGGHH I CANT BELIEVE THIS #where did those 3k words come from? definitely not from my lazy ass #sincerely‚ sei

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cozzzynook · 1 day

Note

regarding the latest post with bee and cliff being meg and op’s sparklings: what are their reactions to star being bee’s conjunx?

I imagine megs is gonna blow a fuse and immediately try something to make them split, cliff takes his sire’s anger as well but he’s vocal about it, op is trying to be civil here but has his own doubts. bee knew this was a mistake but bought star because it would eventually be known soon, meanwhile star has a smug smile and isn’t (not a lot anyway) phased by bee’s family. drift and ratchet don’t like it either, neither does their sparklings. but their sparklings are more accepting, since if bee likes this menace of a seeker maybe he’s not that bad. (they may or may not be right)

adore and love your writing 🫶🫶

😭 thank you!

Bee is 100% not ready to introduce his conjunx to his family.

Cliff is downright unbearable in his complaining and his sire is over the top literally shooting his canon at Starscream who is laughing and antagonizing the former war mech.

Optimus is no better because he does keep his conjunx from offlining Starscream but he does threaten him with a Spark scalpel curtsey of Ratchet who came to the family dinner with his conjunx and sparklings who brought their conjunxes and sparklings.

Cliff is conjunxed to Mirage who proved his love for Cliff already, so the mech is just sitting back watching everything unfold happy to not be the subject of his conjunxs creators ire.

Starscream is not an idiot.

He does not take Optimus’s threat lightly and he knows to fear that mech more than Megatron. He’s dealt with Megatron for thousands of years, he knows how to deal with him.

Its Drift and Ratchet along with Optimus that he fears.

He knows who Drift used to be and he knows Ratchet can and will take him apart piece by piece.

He has no intentions of hurting or leaving his little space bee but he does wish for this family dinner to be over with so they can go back to the peace and quiet of their home where he can spoil his little brat of a conjunx and enjoy his spoiling right back.

Starscream matches Cliff’s snide remarks right back and matches Ratchets glares with devious smirks while carefully taunting Optimus whenever he makes an underhanded remark and he matches Drifts weary glares with raised optic ridges.

By the end of dinner Bee has enough and lays in on his family for being so rude to Starscream.

“Carrier! You can’t say a word about my choice in conjunx when sire was a warlord!! Sire! You worked with him!!! You both committed war crimes! Uncle Drift you were a decepticon too at one point and Uncle Ratchet you conjunxed him when he was still a con! None of you have the right to judge so stop it! Or I won’t be coming back!”

“And cliff!”

Cliff was just staring with his mouth open since Bee so rarely yelled.

“Stop with the remarks! You hated it when sire and carrier treated Mirage like this! Don’t do it to me and my conjunx!”

Bee stands and yanks Starscream with him who looks shocked and follows Bee before holding him and lifting him up.

“While your family is quite rude to guests. They have a right to worry love.”

“Not you too.”

“I’m on your side always,” Starscream assured him, “but I don’t want to see you arguing with your family or on bad terms. Especially because of me.”

And Bee knew his love missed his trine even if they were simply far away back in Vos it sucked to be without your family close by. Especially since the trio were so close they practically lived with them.

“Lets head back home to Vos?”

And Starscream smiled a little at this, completely focused on Bee forgetting the others who saw Starscream in a different light.

“Only if you all reconcile,” he agreed kissing his yellow loves helm.

“I think we owe you an apology,” Optimus said after clearing his intake passage.

“Sorry Bee…screamer,” Cliff said still such a brat but at least he tried.

Ratchet was still bitter but he did huff out a gruff sorry followed by Drift’s apology.

Megatron had to be elbowed by Optimus and after a few kliks and a sigh he apologized.

Bee bunched up Starscreams dermas before his mate could make things worse.

“Thank you,” he smiled warmly, “i think we should go now. I’ll contact you guys later?”

With a sad nod his creators and split spark hugged him before seeing them off.

Dinner went well since no one was offlined but it was still a disaster.

Bee was wondering what they’d do if the two ever sparked.

He was not looking forward to that conversation.

#starbee #starscream #bumblebee #megaop #dratchet #drift #ratchet #megatron #optimus #cliffjumper #mirage

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february-academia · 1 year

Text

28.04.2023

So much happened this week. (In tags I'll rant about it)

N4 is coming and my prep is not at all good. Took a test today and i failed🥲. But i know my prep is soo bad,it was bound to happen. So have to study for that.

College exams are coming🥹 also have to study for that. The dissertation proposal is in the finalising stage,so that's good. But have to work on it properly imo.

Then i also proposed another research study to my professor and he has encouraged me to go for it. So,also have to work on it.

These very cutu plants in the scorching heat were a treat to eyes and mind.

Got this book from the library and I'm really enjoying reading the essays.

( correction in a tag- she scored less than me in class and she was all sad sad. With her i had to suppress my happiness at moments like these)

#here i go #so here in this clg i have 2 friends mainly they are my classmates and one is roomates also so thsi roomate is very toxic i kinda knew it #from the start but ignoted it bcs we became friends when we used to have online lectures and haven't met each other and somethings happened #in which she helped me so i was kinda obliged to stay w her. and after sometime i kinda strted feeling it. all the bad vibes #the toxicity she carry for other ppl judging them on their appearances and whenever i trued to correct her tries to manipulate things #like she jas all of the mean girl vibe but i the clown couldn't just had the courage or ways to not be w her i so wnated to but couldn't #it was all so fucked up and living w her. i changed i started judging ppl. this was so bad. she went through soem toughtimes and as i frien #friend i cared for her i was there for her almost all the times and most of the times whenever i needed her she was not.#tries to dominate always and the incident due to ehich I'm writing all this is - I'm not earing well properly well from past month she know #and last sunday i was very excited to this dish and i wanted to take more and she said very rudely how much more will you eat? i said i did #not had lunchand almost didn't eat the ehole day what's yhe nig deal abt it why tou saying and stopping me like that and she said i did not #say it she said again i did not say it with that rude voice like she can never be wrong and ppl wjom i rarely talk to have noticed that #I've lost weight but she who luves wirh me almost all the time do not know it whom I've talked to abt this don't knwo it . i didn't have #any appetite after that i just stuffed the food unsideand went outside wiyjout syaing anything 8 wanted ro puke so bad i controlled my #i couldn't beleive what just happened i didn't try to talk to her and she obviously wouldn't bcs of teh ego and then there's another friend #and classmate of us and she has a great bond w her then after taht incident she is also not talking ro me and. avoiding me in the corridor #making me feel like I'm the onw wrong here and thwse 2 ppl were not on talking term a week ago again ego calshes this other girl didn't #so yeah i got snakes here #now I'm all alone but this feels great literally like yes i cried and couldn't sleep bcs even tho i knew they are not always what they show #they were the only obes here i was able to form a bond with ( i hate this part so much now)and i care abt friendships alot but it ended #they are not talking to me I'm not talking to them. but thus whole thing made me free now I'm free i don't have to wait for them everytime #i want to go to library or to a class or to a walk bcs they wanted everything to be done in a grp #and I'm going everyday out to study to walk and to jyst peacefully live bcs now I don't have to deal with negativity and toxicity anymore #i feel myself again my trye self who was kind to ppl who wanted to just study quietly in evening who wanted to just go in class on time #i don't have to feel that if i di this will she judge me I'm feeling free with what I'm wearing I'll enjoy and celebrate all my wins #and achievements of the last year bcs i couldn't even enjoy those when i was with her just bcs she didn't got less tahn me #I'm smiling more nad I'm loving more myself to actually avle to come out of thsi spiral i didn't even know i could so yay #listening to you're on your own kid in loop and it made me so happy #that's it done. there was so much to say ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh hope you got some idea of what's happening in my life #sending you all love and light and if you find urslf in somesimilar situation or any difficulty rn hope you get out of it very soon<3

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shivasdarknight · 29 days

Text

banging my head on the table

why do people have this urge to come onto other peoples' posts and make it about themselves.

the number of times ive talked about My Own Lore publicly and someones come onto My post to talk about their stuff while completely ignoring everything i said.

like do you not realize how shitty that feels. wouldnt you not want it to happen to you.

then why the FUCK do you do it to others.

#yes this is about xiv twt.#original #a recent SERIES of incidents of this nature reminded me of one that had me delete my own damn thread #i was just spitballing echo ideas and someone came in to take my ideas and start talking about their ideas and how to apply my stuff to #their character and everything witHOUT AT ALL acknowledging ANYTHING i said #(this is also the same person who i dm'd when trying to decide between two voice claims for surkie #and instead of giving feedback they just took one of them for their own character #''hey im thinking kaine or jackass'' ''oh i hadnt considered jackass for my character im gonna use that now! :)'' End Me.)#theres a common excuse that comes with a lot of these and i just. theres a point where you need to Stop using that excuse #because its such a widespread problem of people whove never been in collaborative writing spaces that dont know how to Take Turns Talking #or asking into the other person's stuff. like if you ever wonder why i stop talking to you #think for a second and maybe look back at the conversations to see how equal they are in terms of attention and consideration #at some point i just start ghosting bcuz im too exhausted to deal with people who just come onto my posts where im talking about My story #just to redirect to them and their shit and what they do its just #i already deeply feel like shit about what i write and i know the majority of the people who i talk to dont read my shit #i know of maybe 3 people who have out of How many people who've said they would but never have?#who say they like my writing but never actually touch it?#you dont need to add onto it by turning attention back to yourself when im talking to myself on my twt or tumblr.#what i decide to post about my writing is not a launching pad for you to go on about your wol and i s2g y'all need to stop #it's such assholish behavior

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seungminhour · 4 months

Text

[💭] thinking about the types of hugs bf!skz would give you

◞✩ pairing : bf!skz (individual) x gn!reader

◞✩ contains : lots and lots and lots of fluff and hugs and just the boys being so smitten lol, probably some typos, i have not looked over this too well

◞✩ notes : this has been in my drafts for ages, but i never got around to finishing it lol. also, i wont lie, i loved writing in this little bulleted style. im gonna have to write more silly little things like this! anyway, i hope you all enjoy 🫶

01. bang chan - bear hugs

will open his arms and just let you launch yourself into his embrace no matter the mood you’re in

you’re sad? he just opens his arms silently and lets you come to him on your own terms

you’re seeing him for the first time since he left for tour? opens his arms and lets you come flying to him - catches you every single time

literally engulfs you completely

gently rocks you back and forth when you need it, running his fingers through your hair and whispering sweet things into your ear

“shh, baby it’s going to be okay. you’re fine, i’m right here if you need me”

definitely the type to cup your face, wipe your tears away and tell you to “turn that frown upside down” with the sweetest look on his face (it works every single time of course bc your bf is just so sweet and loving and caring and you can’t help but crack the smallest of smiles at him)

tries so hard to shield you away from the rest of the world by being in his arms

also uses it as a way to annoy you

will come up behind you while you’re trying to do something and just drape himself fully over your back

won’t get off until one (or both) of you end up on the floor

02. lee minho - back hugs

i Really have been thinking about back hugs and lee know recently, like it’s taken over 80% of all my thoughts

he especially loves back hugs in the mornings, like i’m talking clingy in the mornings

sometimes you wake up before him and you’ll be cooking breakfast for the two of you and he’ll quietly sneak up behind you and wrap his arms around your waist and just watch as you cook

do NOT try to get him off of you, because he Will retaliate by digging his chin into your shoulder to get you to stop wiggling

you’ll feed him little bites over you shoulder while asking if it needs anything

he’ll do his cute little “mmm!~” and shake his head against your shoulder

you wake him up while while you’re trying to get out of bed? good luck because he’s reaching up and grabbing you by the waist to drag you back in

“where do you think you’re going? it’s not time to get out of bed yet”

holds you there until one or both of you fall back asleep

loves to stand behind you and watch you do your nighttime routine too

asks so many (of the same) questions just because he likes to hear you talk

gets all doe eyed while watching you explain to him the benefits of one face mask over the other

he really is just smitten

03. seo changbin - picks you up and spins you around

this man. oh my god

you cannot convince me that he doesn’t love to pick you up and just take you places

like if you wanna go somewhere and you’re sitting down, be prepared for him to just lift you up and take you where you need

time for bed? he will gently pick you up off the couch and bring you to bed himself, just because he can

absolutely looooooves when you get all flustered by it

“binnie, i can walk myself you know?”

“just because you can, doesn’t mean you should”

is alllllllll about the princess treatment

as a result this translates over to his hugs 100%

literally almost knocks over the guys when he sees you come in the practice room one day

sprints full force at you until he’s scooping you up in his arms to spin you around and around until you’re breathless and dizzy

loves to pick you up and gently sway the two of you when you’re not feeling the greatest

if you come home upset and he’s there, he’s immediately picking you up and rocking you side to side as he runs his hands through your hair

sometimes you want to talk about what’s made you this upset, other time you don’t, so he’ll just hold you in place until you tell him what you need - whether that be a warm bath to relax (which he carries you to) or to be let down so you can pace and rant about how shitty of a day you had

04. hwang hyunjin - buries his face in your neck

he just wants to be as close to you as he can possibly get

loves loves loves the whole skinship of it

sooooo many neck / shoulder kisses!!!

so soft and sweet about it :(

he’ll gently hold you face in one hand while he moves you hair to the side with the other so he can make space for himself between your neck and your shoulder

always leaves at least one kiss to your neck before he rests his forehead there

“you know, hyune, you can’t just hide in my neck forever. at some point you need to come out”

will literally pout, shake his head and shove his face closer to you

he’ll fall asleep like that too

if you two have a movie night on the couch, be ready for him to lay directly on top of you, shove his face into your neck, and then promptly fall asleep within the first 20 minutes

the list of unfinished movies you guys have is astronomically long because this happens so often

you can tell if it’s been a bad day when he comes home and immediately goes to hide away from everything in your neck.

you just hold him there for as long as he needs

sometimes he will talk about it, other times he will just sit there, quietly sniffling while you comb your hands through his hair to bring him a little comfort

05. han jisung - clings to you

i will forever and always stand by the fact that han jisung is one clingy motherfucker okay

like i’m talking he launches himself at you the moment you step through the door when you get home

will not let you go for at least 5 minutes

“hanji, babe, can you at least let me put my things down first?”

the little fucker would hold you tighter and pout “nooo, i just missed you so much, wanna hold you for a few more minutes”

definitely calls it his “recharging time”

will 100% get all whiny and pouty if he doesn’t get to hug you for as long as he wants to

somehow manages to be the worlds biggest blanket hog and the worlds biggest cuddler at the same time

half the time you wake up freezing cold on one side and burning up on the other from where he has cocooned himself in all the blankets and then clung onto you for dear life

does not shy away from sticking to you in front of his friends

if you guys have a movie night with everyone in the dorms, he is not content until you are sat in his lap with his arms wrapped around you and his head pressed against yours

bonus points if it’s a scary movie and you sit sideways in his lap so you can hide your face in his neck when it gets too spooky

06. lee felix - squeezes you

this man just has so much love and happiness to spread, he can’t help but squeeze the life out of you every time he sees you

it doesn’t matter how long it’s been either

a day, a week, hell even if you just go to take a shower and come back he’s squeezing you as soon as you return

most definitely shakes you a bit while holding on to you for dear life

grabs you and does the fully body vibrate thing just to annoy you

sometimes he gets a little carried away and you’ll have to remind him that you actually Do need to breathe at some point

“lix, baby, i can’t- i can’t really breathe-“

“oh!” he’d giggle bc ofc he would, “i’m sorry baby, sometimes i just forget how tightly i’m holding you.”

gives you tiny reassuring squeezes when you need them tho

he can somehow always tell when you’re having even the slightest of bad days

also can tell exactly what kind of squeeze you need

if you come home upset, he’s right there to grab you and hold you tight, kissing the side of your head as the tears that have been building up all day finally come crashing down

tries to physically squeeze the sadness from you because he hates seeing you like this :(

if you come home mad, he’ll sit with you while you rant about your day and offer small, reassuring squeezes to your shoulder to show you he’s listening

07. kim seungmin - rests his head on / against yours

idk smth about seungmin just screams that he loves to rest his head on or against yours

and if he’s tall enough to place his chin on the top of your head? oh he’s giddy about it every single time

loves to wrap his arms around your shoulders from behind, place his chin on top of your head, and just stand there like that

is also a little shit about it ofc

“you’re so short, i can see clear over your head. how embarrassing.”

“yeah, but you love it.”

he does indeed love it.

he loves that he can rest his head against yours if he needs a little recharge and he loves the smell of your shampoo and he loves how close your temple is for him to kiss

oh that’s another thing

he will kiss your temple / forehead any chance he gets - like it’s literally his favorite thing to do

when you really need comfort, he’ll pull you close and kiss your forehead before resting his against yours while you try to forget how terrible of a day you had

softly knocks his head against yours just for the fun of it

he loves to hear you giggle and get tripped up on your words when he does it, so he’ll keep doing it until you physically have to pull yourself out of his embrace just to finish your story

08. yang jeongin - waist hugs

i just really think he would be the type to wrap his arms around your waist and never let go, ya know???

like he would always be holding your waist in some way when you’re out in public just to make it easier to tug you into his arms whenever needed

loves loves loves to slowly move his hands from your sides to your back just to tease you a little bit

will 100% use giving you a hug as an excuse to start a tickle fight tho, so always be on your toes

he’ll sneak up behind you, snake his hands around your waist while acting like the innocent and sweet and loving bf he is

and then as soon as you let your guard down he’s going in for the kill, digging his fingers into your sides and tickling the life out of you

won’t stop until you call mercy

“i’m going to have to take away your hugging privileges if all you’re going to use them for is to tickle me.”

“you wouldn’t dare to take them away. you love my hugs far too much for that.”

walks away all smugly because he know he’s right. you would never deny him a hug, even though you know the risk of it ending in tickles

loves to gently run his hands up and down your sides while he’s listening to you talk

he’ll definitely slide them under the hem of your shirt

sometimes this is to place his freezing cold hands against your warm skin to make you jump, other times it’s to provide comfort when you need it

he’s slide his hands under you shirt and gently runs his hands up and down your bare sides and back when you’ve had a particularly rough day

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charliemwrites · 2 months

Text

There are men across the street.

The house (and you use the term generously) that slumps there has been vacant for some time now. Ever since you moved in a couple years ago, actually. It’s an eyesore for sure. Graffiti on the walls, boards on the windows, a basketball-sized hole in the roof. The porch is the worst of it. Sagging in the middle and crumbling on the ends, stripped and moss-encrusted wood.

But today there are men there, stomping up and down the groaning steps in big, steel-toed boots.

You watch for a bit from the safety of your kitchen window, sipping coffee and batting your cat off the counter. They don’t look like a normal construction crew - wearing all black and not so much as a hammer on their belts. Three of them that you can see, one about average height, one tall, and one very tall. The tall one tags after the shortest of them often, gets pushed and shoved and snapped at it seems like.

You lose interest when the coffee runs out and your phone chimes, shooing you off to the grocery store. All three have disappeared inside by the time you saunter out, keys jingling and reusable bags in hand.

Margot says they’re renovating - likely some rich man’s retirement project. The same thing happened just down the street six months before you moved in, and now Joe has solar panels.

She postulates over the situation across the street while taking delicate bites of the cheesecake she brought over. (A test recipe for her niece’s baby shower in a few weeks. You don’t tell her that it’s too sweet and just sip your tea between bites.) She hypothesizes that one of them is this hypothetical rich man’s son, bringing some handy friends around for extra hands to work.

It sounds about as plausible as Agatha’s mutterings that they’re drug lords, so you nod along and watch your calico sneak up on your tuxedo behind her.

The garden is your own little retirement project. (You’re not actually retired, no matter what your sister snipes. But some smart money moves and a successful writing career is virtually the same with no kids and no spouse.) It’s going about as well as the renovations across the street - which is say, better and quicker than expected.

You planted clover in the yard, and are working on wildflowers in the boxes. The clover is already blooming, little flower tufts springing up for bumblebees to perch on. The wildflowers are mixed success so far, but nothing is dead yet.

You mostly just tootle around to be outside - allotted sunshine lest you become the shut in Bertram accused you of your first couple months.

The cats watch you pick at weeds from the window. Or two of them do. The other one is glaring from the fridge, angry that you tossed her back inside when she tried to slip past your ankles. (With any luck, you’ll have another sibling for them soon, but the handsome orange thing that keeps coming by at dawn and dusk is too stupid to be caught.) All three of them shift to look at something over your shoulder.

“Excuse.”

You don’t startle, thankfully. The voice may be unfamiliar, but neighbors stop by consistently enough that you’re not surprised to have your solitude interrupted.

What you are surprised by is the tall (very, very tall) man standing at the edge of your front yard. One of the renovators.

“Hi,” you say, straightening.

He points a gloved finger at you - no, not at you. Past you. At your cats.

“May I see them?” He asks in a thick German accent.

You blink, surprised and confused.

He’s a big man. Not just unusually tall, but broad as well. Muscle tugs at the fabric of his shirt, cargo pants clinging to his thighs. He also hasn’t bothered to take off the heavy duty dust mask, black sunglasses, or jacket hood obscuring his features. Looks like he’s about to rob you, honestly.

But Agatha’s uncharitable muttering about delinquent men rings like a warning toll. You’re at risk of sinking into the judgmental sea of upper-middle class suburbia, and that’s not water you want to tread.

“Sure!” You reply, ignoring his lack of introduction. “One sec.”

The cats see you dart from view and hurry to meet you at the door, meowing and yowling. You crack it open only wide enough to snatch up your precious firstborn, his leggies sticking out in abject bafflement at being airborne. You make guilty eye contact with your other two fiends before swiftly wedging the door shut again.

Then adjust your son, his little paws resting on your shoulder as you turn. Your visitor is standing right where you left him, perks up when he sees the cat bundled in your arms.

“This is Guy.”

You step closer, ignoring that shred of nervousness that being close to any man (especially one so physically intimidating) brings. To his credit, he only shuffles just enough to offer his hand for inspection.

“Guy?” he asks.

“I wasn’t going to adopt him at first, so I just called him Little Guy for so long that he thought that was his name. And then I did adopt him and now he won’t answer to anything else.”

You come by the rambling honestly - an obligate introvert until you moved to this neighborhood. There are few things you ever want to talk about with strangers, but your cats are one of them.

“He is a little guy,” the man muses.

Guy has no reservations about rubbing his fat face on the stranger’s glove, a purr kicking up in his chest. You relax as the man keeps his touch gentle and slow, that little bit of paranoid tension trickling into the soil beneath your feet.

“The other two aren’t as well behaved, I don’t trust them without harnesses on,” you add, nodding at the window.

The man glances up at them. Doesn’t seem to realize that his demise (and yours) is imminent from their glares.

“What are their names?”

You flush. “Rasputin and Shithead. I tell everyone else her name is Susan though.”

A sharp bark of laughter splits the air like a falling ax, cracks right down the middle. It makes you jump a bit - Guy is expectedly unbothered - but still you find yourself gratified. Laughing is good, it means you’re doing things right.

“Sorry,” he says, “but my friend would like that name.”

You gesture at the house across the street. “One of them?”

“Yes, the short one.”

You only just manage not to snort in amusement, but it doesn’t stop him from noticing. The mask moves, you think he might be grinning underneath.

“Does he know you call him that?”

“Not if you don’t tell him.”

You doubt you’ll have the opportunity even if you wanted to.

Someone’s at the door.

You’re only half-dressed, waist deep in laundry you have no excuse for putting off so long. Aren’t expecting company either - it’s Sunday morning, everyone should be at their various churches or visiting relatives. Can’t remember the last time someone knocked before noon on a Sunday.

Still, it was a big solid knock. The kind that makes you think it’s not the usual neighbor come by to impose on your space.

You glance down at the hem of your sweatshirt, determine it’s far enough down your thighs to be acceptable, and pad to the door.

You open it to another of the renovators. The “short” one - though you readjust that measurement quickly. He’s still taller than you, it’s just that most anyone seems diminutive compared to his friend.

“Morning,” you chime.

“We need your driveway.” His voice is low and rough, blunt. A sledgehammer to concrete. Also German-accented, you note.

“Oh,” you reply, “what for?”

He grunts. “Work.”

And you, a longtime observer of politely shaking people down for information by this point, smile without teeth.

“Oh, a work truck? It won’t make a mess will it?”

“No.”

You hum, glance at your stupid little sedan parked in the middle of the driveway.

“Okay, I’ll move — Shithead!”

You scramble to grab at the black and white blur of evil, sweeping her up in your arms as she meows in complaint. One of her back feet catches in the hem of your sweatshirt and starts to pull it up as she kicks. You curl an arm under her butt for support, but mostly she just takes the opportunity to chomp down on the meat of your thumb.

You glance at the man. “Shithead is very interested in the renovations.”

He stares. “So that is actually its name. I thought you were being rude and Konig didn’t realize.”

Ah, so that’s his name. You never did get that introduction.

“No, yeah, this is Shithead, I’m sure you can see why.”

The corner of his mouth twitches as she unlatches from your thumb, only to bite down on your wrist.

“So! The truck - when will it be here?”

“Noon.”

“Great! See you around!” You shut the door in his face without getting a name.

You threaten, not for the first time, to turn her into a pair of mittens. She responds by attacking your foot until Rasputin tackles her. Guy cries at the door, probably missing a man he met for all of two minutes.

The work truck stays through the night. Your cats spend all afternoon watching the men cross the street and back. Every once in a while, Guy puts his little feet up on the glass - Konig must be passing by.

You glance out the kitchen window only once and make hard eye contact with the third of their trio. He’s somehow even more covered up than Konig, and yet you get the distinct impression that your gaze is not welcome.

You blink and abandon the dishes for later.

The next morning, they’re already at it when you shuffle outside for the mail. Konig raises a slow hand in greeting, but visibly brightens when you smile sleepily and wave back.

You pass the work truck - the back panel is already open for them to unload wood beams and heavy-looking buckets. Construction stuff, as expected - and not messy, as promised.

You spot a red and white flag decal on the rear window. Austria, isn’t it?

“Did you just wake up?” a flat voice asks.

You squint a little through the morning sun at the man from the day before. The rude one.

You yawn. “Mhmm.”

He frowns at you, disapproval plain. Agatha will like him, you muse, shoving a hand in your mailbox. They both seem to have strong opinions about your sleep schedule.

“It is late.”

“It’s only 8.” You tug out a sheaf of envelopes and begin idly flipping through them.

“The sun is up.”

“So what?”

He clicks his tongue disdainfully. You absently click back. Then jump as a big body lands right in front of you. The third man, two wooden beams balanced on his shoulder. He makes brief eye contact with you again, then strides across the street.

“Shoo,” the rude one says. “Men at work, yes?”

You grumble. “See if I bring you cookies.”

Konig glances up from the truck bed, eyes shining. “Cookies?”

Well shit.

Rasputin keeps you company while you cook. He’s the only one allowed on the counter for any length of time. Shithead steals anything and everything, or bats at your hands while you work. Guy has the equal parts endearing and infuriating habit of touching everything with his paws.

Rasputin is the only one who will sit quietly to observe, leaning in for the occasional kiss. Today, he’s watching you bake cookies and assemble sandwiches. A dual-purpose welcome and peace offering to the three men across the street.

Is it too much? Maybe. But you’ve got nothing better to do and kindness won’t break your bank, so. Cookies and sandwiches.

You change clothes while the cookies cool on the pan - a sundress for the warm, late-spring weather. They’ve seen you in your pajamas far too much already.

At the door, you hesitate. This house doesn’t feel inhabited yet, but it also doesn’t feel right to just open the door. It’s quiet inside, so no power tools to drown you out. Making a face, you settle for a firm knock. It takes a minute or two - you think you might hear distant shouting. Then the door swings in fast and hard, nearly startling you.

It’s the third of their trio, the one you’ve yet to speak to. He’s covered head to toe, fabric around his head and face, leaving only sharp blue eyes to glare out.

“Hi,” you begin, hands thankfully too full to fidget. “I brought food.”

His eyes flick to the foil-covered platter in your hands. Then he swings the door wide and pivots on his heel.

“The cat comes too.”

Cat?

You glance down. Sure enough, Rasputin is standing by your legs, his remaining half a tail swishing. You sputter at him - didn’t even realize he snuck out - but all you get is his characteristic raspy “mah” noise. Right then.

He politely trots by your side as you enter, not even shy about your curiosity. The place is gutted, stripped walls and scuffed floors. It smells like dust and plaster and shaved wood. All the lights have been ripped out of the ceiling, exposing wires like nerve-endings.

There are two empty rooms to either side upon entry, a den and a dining room probably. The den even seems to be split into two, with one half sunk lower, accessible by a couple steps.

You follow your unexpected host through the “dining room,” which seems to be more of a satellite staging zone at the moment. There are piles of tools, stacks of materials, a little island of canvas bags. As you pass through, you notice a staircase, and even from the ground floor, you can see that it crosses over to the den on the other side.

The kitchen is stationed towards the back of the house. You try not to wince at the state of the counters. Pockmarked, blistered, scratched, burned, cracked laminate.

The floor has already been pried up to reveal smooth concrete. You scan it quickly for anything that could hurt Rasputin’s feet before entering.

Your neighbor gestures for you to set the platter down on an empty patch of counter, so you do, peeling back the foil.

“Cookies and sandwiches,” you explain just to have something to say.

“Why?” he asks.

You shrug. “To be nice.”

He stares. You blink back.

“I mean, you don’t have to eat them,” you add. “It would just be a waste.”

Rasputin chooses that moment to leap onto the counter, taking a moment to steady himself once he’s landed. With only one eye and a crooked leg, he’s not the most acrobatic or graceful of your babies, but he makes do.

To your shock, though, once he’s gained his bearings, he makes like he’s going to eat one of the sandwiches.

“Ras,” you gasp, surprised. “Absolutely not!”

The little shit doesn’t even resist when you nudge him away, just settles on his haunches, staring at your neighbor. And, to your confusion, your neighbor grunts.

“Konig! Krueger!” he barks.

That must be the rude one’s name. Krueger. You file that tidbit away.

“What’s your name?” You ask. “No one’s told me.”

He eyes you - dare you say suspiciously - letting the silence stretch.

“Nikto,” he rasps finally.

You finish introducing yourself just as the other two enter. Konig’s down to just the dust mask today, while Krueger seems to have donned one for himself.

“You,” Krueger says.

You arch your eyebrows back. “Me.”

“What brings you here?” Konig interjects, much friendlier.

“Well, you really seemed to want cookies yesterday, so I thought I’d bring some with lunch as a welcome to the neighborhood.”

He practically shoves Krueger to get to the kitchen. You politely get out of the way so he can indulge in your offering without getting trampled.

“Danke schön,” he says, scooping up a sandwich.

“No problem,” you answer, smiling.

Krueger deigns to sidle closer, inspecting the platter with a keen eye. Still, you think you see a bit of appreciation in them before he snatches up one of the sandwiches. For some (concerning) reason, you’re gratified by that. (You’ll just blame it on your habit of feeding ferals and strays.)

“I also wanted to give you three a little warning…” Three pairs of eyes pin you in place. You try not to grimace. “Everyone on this block is nosy as hell. They will literally peak in your yard and check your mail.”

“The mail?” Konig asks, appalled.

“Yeah, I started using a PO Box,” you sigh. You’ve only got so much sanity before you start taking sniper shots with a water gun.

“We will handle it,” Krueger says.

“I’m sure,” you demure. “Anyway, that was all. You can drop the platter off later - or I can come get it. It’s not like you’re far.”

You start looking for Rasputin, only to find him perched on Nikto’s broad shoulder. The man doesn’t even seem bothered by the claws digging through his shirt, scratching a finger at the calico’s cheek.

“Huh,” you say, surprised.

Nikto glances at you, pauses. “What?”

You snort at the bluntness, but grin. “Usually I’m the only one allowed to pet him.”

That’s three for three. Well, two and a half. Shithead could have been trying or escape or go for the ankles for all you know. But Krueger seemed to like her, so that counts for something.

“C’mon my little tank, let’s go,” you coo, approaching.

Rasputin nuzzles his face against Nikto’s once, gives him a parting mraw, then leaps into your waiting arms.

“Bye, guys!” You call, waving over your shoulder as you head for the door.

Konig is the only one to respond with a polite, “see you!” But you don’t take it to heart.

#cod #thoughts™️#my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #dark fic #konig #konig x you #konig x reader #nikto x reader #sebastian krueger #krueger x reader #cod nikto #konig cod #neighbor!reader

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mostlysignssomeportents · 13 days

Text

Even if you think AI search could be good, it won’t be good

TONIGHT (May 15), I'm in NORTH HOLLYWOOD for a screening of STEPHANIE KELTON'S FINDING THE MONEY; FRIDAY (May 17), I'm at the INTERNET ARCHIVE in SAN FRANCISCO to keynote the 10th anniversary of the AUTHORS ALLIANCE.

The big news in search this week is that Google is continuing its transition to "AI search" – instead of typing in search terms and getting links to websites, you'll ask Google a question and an AI will compose an answer based on things it finds on the web:

https://blog.google/products/search/generative-ai-google-search-may-2024/

Google bills this as "let Google do the googling for you." Rather than searching the web yourself, you'll delegate this task to Google. Hidden in this pitch is a tacit admission that Google is no longer a convenient or reliable way to retrieve information, drowning as it is in AI-generated spam, poorly labeled ads, and SEO garbage:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/03/keyword-swarming/#site-reputation-abuse

Googling used to be easy: type in a query, get back a screen of highly relevant results. Today, clicking the top links will take you to sites that paid for placement at the top of the screen (rather than the sites that best match your query). Clicking further down will get you scams, AI slop, or bulk-produced SEO nonsense.

AI-powered search promises to fix this, not by making Google search results better, but by having a bot sort through the search results and discard the nonsense that Google will continue to serve up, and summarize the high quality results.

Now, there are plenty of obvious objections to this plan. For starters, why wouldn't Google just make its search results better? Rather than building a LLM for the sole purpose of sorting through the garbage Google is either paid or tricked into serving up, why not just stop serving up garbage? We know that's possible, because other search engines serve really good results by paying for access to Google's back-end and then filtering the results:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/04/teach-me-how-to-shruggie/#kagi

Another obvious objection: why would anyone write the web if the only purpose for doing so is to feed a bot that will summarize what you've written without sending anyone to your webpage? Whether you're a commercial publisher hoping to make money from advertising or subscriptions, or – like me – an open access publisher hoping to change people's minds, why would you invite Google to summarize your work without ever showing it to internet users? Nevermind how unfair that is, think about how implausible it is: if this is the way Google will work in the future, why wouldn't every publisher just block Google's crawler?

A third obvious objection: AI is bad. Not morally bad (though maybe morally bad, too!), but technically bad. It "hallucinates" nonsense answers, including dangerous nonsense. It's a supremely confident liar that can get you killed:

https://www.theguardian.com/technology/2023/sep/01/mushroom-pickers-urged-to-avoid-foraging-books-on-amazon-that-appear-to-be-written-by-ai

The promises of AI are grossly oversold, including the promises Google makes, like its claim that its AI had discovered millions of useful new materials. In reality, the number of useful new materials Deepmind had discovered was zero:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/23/maximal-plausibility/#reverse-centaurs

This is true of all of AI's most impressive demos. Often, "AI" turns out to be low-waged human workers in a distant call-center pretending to be robots:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/31/neural-interface-beta-tester/#tailfins

Sometimes, the AI robot dancing on stage turns out to literally be just a person in a robot suit pretending to be a robot:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/29/pay-no-attention/#to-the-little-man-behind-the-curtain

The AI video demos that represent "an existential threat to Hollywood filmmaking" turn out to be so cumbersome as to be practically useless (and vastly inferior to existing production techniques):

https://www.wheresyoured.at/expectations-versus-reality/

But let's take Google at its word. Let's stipulate that:

a) It can't fix search, only add a slop-filtering AI layer on top of it; and

b) The rest of the world will continue to let Google index its pages even if they derive no benefit from doing so; and

c) Google will shortly fix its AI, and all the lies about AI capabilities will be revealed to be premature truths that are finally realized.

AI search is still a bad idea. Because beyond all the obvious reasons that AI search is a terrible idea, there's a subtle – and incurable – defect in this plan: AI search – even excellent AI search – makes it far too easy for Google to cheat us, and Google can't stop cheating us.

Remember: enshittification isn't the result of worse people running tech companies today than in the years when tech services were good and useful. Rather, enshittification is rooted in the collapse of constraints that used to prevent those same people from making their services worse in service to increasing their profit margins:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/26/glitchbread/#electronic-shelf-tags

These companies always had the capacity to siphon value away from business customers (like publishers) and end-users (like searchers). That comes with the territory: digital businesses can alter their "business logic" from instant to instant, and for each user, allowing them to change payouts, prices and ranking. I call this "twiddling": turning the knobs on the system's back-end to make sure the house always wins:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/19/twiddler/

What changed wasn't the character of the leaders of these businesses, nor their capacity to cheat us. What changed was the consequences for cheating. When the tech companies merged to monopoly, they ceased to fear losing your business to a competitor.

Google's 90% search market share was attained by bribing everyone who operates a service or platform where you might encounter a search box to connect that box to Google. Spending tens of billions of dollars every year to make sure no one ever encounters a non-Google search is a cheaper way to retain your business than making sure Google is the very best search engine:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/21/im-feeling-unlucky/#not-up-to-the-task

Competition was once a threat to Google; for years, its mantra was "competition is a click away." Today, competition is all but nonexistent.

Then the surveillance business consolidated into a small number of firms. Two companies dominate the commercial surveillance industry: Google and Meta, and they collude to rig the market:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jedi_Blue

That consolidation inevitably leads to regulatory capture: shorn of competitive pressure, the companies that dominate the sector can converge on a single message to policymakers and use their monopoly profits to turn that message into policy:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/06/05/regulatory-capture/

This is why Google doesn't have to worry about privacy laws. They've successfully prevented the passage of a US federal consumer privacy law. The last time the US passed a federal consumer privacy law was in 1988. It's a law that bans video store clerks from telling the newspapers which VHS cassettes you rented:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Video_Privacy_Protection_Act

In Europe, Google's vast profits lets it fly an Irish flag of convenience, thus taking advantage of Ireland's tolerance for tax evasion and violations of European privacy law:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/15/finnegans-snooze/#dirty-old-town

Google doesn't fear competition, it doesn't fear regulation, and it also doesn't fear rival technologies. Google and its fellow Big Tech cartel members have expanded IP law to allow it to prevent third parties from reverse-engineer, hacking, or scraping its services. Google doesn't have to worry about ad-blocking, tracker blocking, or scrapers that filter out Google's lucrative, low-quality results:

https://locusmag.com/2020/09/cory-doctorow-ip/

Google doesn't fear competition, it doesn't fear regulation, it doesn't fear rival technology and it doesn't fear its workers. Google's workforce once enjoyed enormous sway over the company's direction, thanks to their scarcity and market power. But Google has outgrown its dependence on its workers, and lays them off in vast numbers, even as it increases its profits and pisses away tens of billions on stock buybacks:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/25/moral-injury/#enshittification

Google is fearless. It doesn't fear losing your business, or being punished by regulators, or being mired in guerrilla warfare with rival engineers. It certainly doesn't fear its workers.

Making search worse is good for Google. Reducing search quality increases the number of queries, and thus ads, that each user must make to find their answers:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/24/naming-names/#prabhakar-raghavan

If Google can make things worse for searchers without losing their business, it can make more money for itself. Without the discipline of markets, regulators, tech or workers, it has no impediment to transferring value from searchers and publishers to itself.

Which brings me back to AI search. When Google substitutes its own summaries for links to pages, it creates innumerable opportunities to charge publishers for preferential placement in those summaries.

This is true of any algorithmic feed: while such feeds are important – even vital – for making sense of huge amounts of information, they can also be used to play a high-speed shell-game that makes suckers out of the rest of us:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/11/for-you/#the-algorithm-tm

When you trust someone to summarize the truth for you, you become terribly vulnerable to their self-serving lies. In an ideal world, these intermediaries would be "fiduciaries," with a solemn (and legally binding) duty to put your interests ahead of their own:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/07/treacherous-computing/#rewilding-the-internet

But Google is clear that its first duty is to its shareholders: not to publishers, not to searchers, not to "partners" or employees.

AI search makes cheating so easy, and Google cheats so much. Indeed, the defects in AI give Google a readymade excuse for any apparent self-dealing: "we didn't tell you a lie because someone paid us to (for example, to recommend a product, or a hotel room, or a political point of view). Sure, they did pay us, but that was just an AI 'hallucination.'"

The existence of well-known AI hallucinations creates a zone of plausible deniability for even more enshittification of Google search. As Madeleine Clare Elish writes, AI serves as a "moral crumple zone":

https://estsjournal.org/index.php/ests/article/view/260

That's why, even if you're willing to believe that Google could make a great AI-based search, we can nevertheless be certain that they won't.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/15/they-trust-me-dumb-fucks/#ai-search

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

djhughman https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Modular_synthesizer_-_%22Control_Voltage%22_electronic_music_shop_in_Portland_OR_-_School_Photos_PCC_%282015-05-23_12.43.01_by_djhughman%29.jpg

CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/deed.en

#pluralistic #twiddling #ai #ai search #enshittification #discipline #google #search #monopolies #moral crumple zones #plausible deniability #algorithmic feeds

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kana-de · 1 month

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★ summary: arlecchino nsfw hcs since her banner is almost out.

☆ cw: nsfw. wlw (fem terms like cunt and pussy used). choking. dirty talk. cunnilingus. strap-on. a bit of belly bulge. arle's hands appreciation.

☾ a/n: this is a repost of the same work bc the first one didn't get any attention at all. also, this is like, the most smut i could write for now so yeah.

— arlecchino loves loves loves holding eye contact with you during sex, especially if it's missionary. her stare is intense, like she'll stab your heart right here and now, but she knows you're only getting more turned on by it. even if it's doggy, she'd bend your back and press it to her chest and she would make you look into her eyes while fucking her strap up into you. her other hand would also slide to your lower belly to feel the bulge of the strap in it.

“don't take your eyes off me. look away once and you aren't cumming tonight.”

— arlecchino knows damn well you get off from just looking at her hands. and she also knows that you love having her hands wrapped around that pretty little neck of yours, so she uses this knowledge every single time. every time she begins with foreplay, her hand sneaks its way to your neck, squeezing it experimentally until she feels your knees weaken or hears a choked whimper leaving your mouth. arlecchino just knows that simply using her hands would be enough to make you cum over three times already.

“you have a very nice neck there, you know. i'm sure that if i'd squeeze a little bit harder, it'd make you squeal nice and loud.”

— is a master at dirty talk, prove me wrong. arle uses her hands and mouth just perfectly. always the low voice, whispering some very hot and dirty things right in your ear. when she's in the mood, she may even use some pet names to flatter you. but usually, she doesn't use anything other than 'dear', 'darling' and 'princess' — the last one is used especially a lot when she wants to pamper you like the princess you are.

“let me guess... you were having so many wet dreams about this, were you not? daydreaming about this for days on end. i bet that now this cunt is soaked already.”

and then:

“what's wrong, dear? cat got your tongue, hm?”

— when arlecchino comes back from work either overworked or mad, she knows she doesn't even have to explain herself to you as she buries her face into your cunt the moment she sees you. i wouldn't call it "taking her stress out on you" though, i think she does it more to calm herself. she eats you out like she's been starving for days even if she did it just yesterday. holding your hips down so you will stop squirming so much after she just gave you your third orgasm. you're becoming too sensitive, but arle doesn't look like she gives a damn, because she knows that if she was hurting you, you'd already say the safe word that you two have.

“shut up and take it. you know i can't help myself."

#genshin impact #genshin x you #genshin x reader #genshin smut #arlecchino genshin #arlecchino #arlecchino x reader #arlecchino x you #arlecchino genshin impact #arlecchino x fem reader #arlecchino smut #genshin impact smut #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x female reader #genshin impact x you #genshin wlw

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laenordeservedbetter · 4 months

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Please, Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want

Words: 1k

Pairing: Clarisse La Rue x Fem!Demigod!Reader (Godly parent not specified)

Synopsis: Clarisse was fine with not getting anything she wanted until she laid her eyes on you.

Warnings: Pining, whipped!Clarisse, This is mostly in Clarisse's POV, handling of dangerous weapons (a dagger and a spear). [Let me know if I missed any.]

A/N: I apologize if the storyline is messy. I wanted this to be longer, but my attention span was not cooperating with me today. I had to take a lot of breaks while writing this because I could not sit still for more than five minutes.

masterlist || previous work

—

Clarisse remembers the first time she saw you.

You were in the forge, polishing some of the newly-made spears because you had nothing better to do. You were under the supervision of Luke since he was showing you around, but the boy had kept his distance, opting to just watch from the sidelines as you worked. Clarisse had walked into the forge, the chatter that was going on around you stopping. You discontinued what you were doing in order to look at her, wondering why your fellow campers were on-edge at her presence.

Your eyes met hers, taking her aback.

She hadn’t seen you before.

Once Clarisse realized that she was staring, she promptly cleared her throat, scowling. “What are you looking at, newbie?” She asked, crossing her arms. Her plans on scaring you, however, failed when you smiled sheepishly.

You had been equally mesmerized by her, something that she failed to notice. “Sorry, you’re just so—”

Clarisse held her breath, preparing herself for an accusation (that she’s mean and terrifying – both of which are true, but words that sting nonetheless). Though, it’s not like she’s going to think about it for the rest of –

“—Pretty.” You conclude your sentence.

Oh.

Clarisse’s brows furrowed. She thought she would hear something insulting, but instead she was met with a compliment? Her eyes searched yours once again, looking for a trace of malice. She didn’t find any, which made her confusion stir all the more. She scoffs, furious at herself for not being able to figure you out. “Whatever.” Clarisse walks away, turning her back on you so as to not show her weakness. She storms back to the Ares cabin, forgetting the reason why she went to the forge in the first place.

You frown as you look at the dagger in your hand, examining the initials engraved on the grip.

C.L.R.

---

The next time Clarisse saw you was when you were watching her train, your eyes following her every move. Clarisse pretended to ignore you until she found herself unable to focus. She put down her spear, turned to you and asked, “Would you like me to teach you?” before she could even stop the words from tumbling out of her mouth.

You nodded eagerly, “Yes, please.”

You walked over and Clarisse pretty much had to use all her self-restraint to not just stand there and stare at you.

“…Alright, so you hold this and—”

---

It had been ages since that day.

Even though you and Clarisse have gotten closer, there was still a part of her that longs for more. See, ninety-nine percent of the time, her wishes don’t come true. Or it does, for a little while, but then it gets ripped away from her grasp. She gets her hopes up and then it all comes crashing down – a cycle that never ends.

Clarisse has come to terms with the thought that she will never gets what she wants. She supposed that she was okay with that, but then you came along and everything changed. For every smile, every crinkle of your nose, every stupid joke that made you laugh, she finds herself wanting to wish that you would feel the same way she does.

“Clary?”

She snaps out of her reverie and looks at you, “Yes?” She felt embarrassed for not paying attention, smiling apologetically.

“I asked if you wanted to—”

“Yes.”

You sit up in her bed, laughing. “I haven’t even finished the sentence yet.” You grab her hand gingerly, locking your fingers together. “I was going to ask if you wanted to go with me—”

“Yes.”

“Clarisse,” You whine, “Let me continue first.” You pout, trying to let go of her hand, but Clarisse wouldn’t let you.

Clarisse shakes her head, holding on to your hand firmly while her other brushes a strand of hair away from your face. “I don’t care. I’ll go wherever you go.” She says genuinely. Being that close to you made Clarisse’s heart race, but she couldn’t bring it in herself to look away because then you’ll know that something was up.

You stare at her in disbelief, crossing your arms, “Really? You’ll go with me to show the new kid around camp?”

Her lips purse and you know you’ve got her. Clarisse lets out a sigh of resignation. “No.” She mumbles. As much as she’d love to spend more time with you, she and you have very opposing ideas on how to welcome new campers.

“Thought so.” You deadpan.

“Why are you the one doing it, anyway?”

“Because I’m still in trouble for staying past curfew two days ago, pretty girl.”

Clarisse froze at the nickname. If her heart wasn’t beating fast before, it surely was now. You chuckle, beginning to make your way out of the bed. “Hey, no, where are you going?” Clarisse grabs your hand, another laugh escaping you.

“To give that tour.” You roll your eyes, successfully prying your hands away from Clarisse’s grip. You ignore her sounds of protest as you make your way to the door.

Clarisse could feel her stomach drop, feeling the warmth slip away the further your distance becomes. The longer she stares at you with your back turned, the longer she thinks you would leave without saying goodbye. To her surprise (and not for the first time), you look back at her.

“I’ll see you later at the bonfire.” You lean against the doorframe, your eyes narrowing. “Don’t be late, alright?”

Clarisse rolls her eyes at the look you give her. She was only late one time and that was because she was debating with herself whether to give you flowers or not. She wanted to tell you the real reason why she was late, but decided it would be best to keep her mouth shut. “I won’t.” She says instead.

“Good.” You straighten your posture, putting one foot out the door while a hand rested on the doorframe, giving Clarisse a smile she knows you only reserved for her. Only when she smiles back do you actually take your leave.

Clarisse gets a sense of hope upon your departure.

Maybe it would be different this time.

She leans back against the bed frame, sending out the same prayer to every god she could think of.

Please, please, please let me get what I want.

#clarisse la rue #clarisse pjo #clarisse la rue x y/n #clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse x reader #percy jackson and the olympians #percy jackson series

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hoshigray · 10 months

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i fucking love ur writing sm mamas!

anyway. Toji making reader pregnant cause toji found out that reader loves kids <33333

It’s fine if you don’t want to. Anyway love you and your writing darling . 🎐

No, noonie, stop bc like, are you in my brain or smthn!!?? I was thinking about this exact prompt for a long while, and I see this appear in my inbox??! Well, well, *cracks knuckles* you've just given me the perfect opportunity mwahahahaha!!! This has been in my drafts for a minute, but I'm glad it's finally done! And omg tysm for loving me and my stuff, honey!! Hope I make ya proud with this one :') ilysm ♡

Also, I'm mixing in another request into this one since it's a pretty small request (reader sucking on Toji's Adam's apple as he pounds you), plus it makes things easier for me in terms of writing out stuff. Hope that's okay with the other requester; if not, my apologies!ヾ(｡﹏｡)ﾉﾞAnd btw, tysm for 1.6k followers, y'all!! Love every single one of you~☆

Cw: Toji x fem! reader - explicit content, so minors DNI - mating press - Daddy kink - fingering (f! receiving) - breeding - unprotected sex (PSA: wrap it up, or get the fuck up!!) - reader skips the pill - fluff at the end bc why not - pregnancy (test at the end) - pet names (angel, baby, darlin', good girl, mama, sweetie) - oral fixation/reader sucking on Toji's adam's apple - the reader has stretch marks on their body bc I said so - praise - overstimulation - clitoral play (sucking & swiping). Wc: 3.4k

Toji, by all means, was not a man deserving of children.

His terrible childhood and upbringing have molded him into an emotionless and reserved person who only feels as though the only person he needs to look out for and care for is himself.

So when the premise of children came to him, he wouldn't give it the time of day. That is until he ends up having youths of his own. Even then, he would do the bare minimum of taking care of them — food, clothes, shelter, and taking or picking them up from school. And to top it off, his job wasn't befitting of a father — a hitman going mission to mission for money that he used to spend for himself, now going to the needs of his kids.

Toji knew Tsumiki and Megumi were better off without a father like him. Fatherhood (or children in general, for that matter) is no easy task, and it's clearly one he's not good at.

But all that changed when you came into the picture.

Never had he seen his kids warm up to someone, an outsider, so quick. Even when he mentioned his children to you at the beginning of your relationship, you didn't falter and happily wished to meet them. And the day you finally did was the day everything became a lot brighter for the entire Fushiguro family.

Not only did Tsumiki and Megumi come to trust you with every visit, but their adoration for you grew tenfold the more you were involved in their lives. And all Toji could do was watch you do your magic, whether it be watching animal documentaries with Megumi, making flower crowns with Tsumiki, or playing with them and the other kids at the nearby park.

And the most impressive part about it all was you teaching and including him in how he could get more involved with his youngsters. Now, his kids are closer to him than ever, going so far as Megumi clapping back on his father's snarky comments and Tsumiki having the man play tea parties (to his dismay, but whatever to makes his little girl happy).

It wouldn't have been possible if he hadn't had you around. You were just such a breath of fresh air to him and any child that came your way. Attentive and caring to the young ones as if you were a natural at mimicking the maternal role. He knew you'd be a great mother to any child, especially your own.

It was that thought alone that made Toji think about you having children. Or better yet, having a child with him. Making you pregnant with his baby. Making you his.

Toji walks down the stairs after putting his son and daughter to bed, his heavy footsteps beating the wooden floor beneath him with every step. He then enters the kitchen area, where he sees you washing the dishes from today's dinner after putting the food in the fridge.

When you notice his presence, you look up and offer a charming smile in his direction, your face illuminated beautifully by the ceiling kitchen lights that the image almost blinds him.

"Hey there." Your voice is always sweet to his ears, still smiling even when you turn back to washing dishes. "The kids?"

"Just finished puttin' 'em to bed," your eyes stay at the sink, but you can feel his heavy footsteps come from beside you. "But they said I suck at tellin' bedtime stories."

Your giggle is heard through the noise of dishes clacking on the rack. "Well, maybe you're not using cartoon voices like I told you to. They like it."

"Yeah, no, I'm not doin' that shit." You chuckle some more at his complaint, and he grabs a dry cloth to dry up dishes from the rack.

It's quiet between you, but Toji will sneak glances at you while you work through the dirty plates. His thoughts from before return, and all he can think about is you with a swollen belly.

The mere idea of having you bear his child fogs his brain. Witnessing your body change and expand with the growth of your little one within you, it's too much for his mind to indulge in.

The more he thinks about it, the crazier and hornier his mind goes. Unable to function suitably, Toji sighs heavily through his nose and places the dish and dry cloth on the countertop.

You notice him make his way behind you, his hands traveling down to your hips as his chin rests atop your head. But you pay him no mind and continue with your task. "Hey, darlin'."

The nickname has you hum to him, eyes focused on the soapy sponge and plate in your hands while your ears wait for him to continue. "Yes, Toji?"

He doesn't reply instantly, roaming his large palms up and down your waist and hips instead. "Ya know I love the hell outta you, right?" He goes on when you nod. "Always takin' care of me and lovin' me. But that love also goes to my lil squirts." A smile creeps in on his scarred lips as you giggle at his way of referring to his children. "It's just crazy to me how you're able to have 'em follow y'r every step, yet I can't even get a hug or smile before they leave for school unless I remind them."

"Well, maybe if their father didn't always bully and call them 'squirts' and 'brats' all day, they would show you some love."

"Shut up," Toji flicks water from the faucet onto your face, forcing you to laugh more from your teasing. His heart swoons from your laughter, having you sway side to side with his body behind you. "But I mean it; you're so good with kids. Makes me wonder how come you never had y'r own yet."

"I just love kids." It was a simple answer. "Plus, I never really had time to care for a child. Got work and stuff, you know. And besides, I practically treat Tsumiki and Megumi like my kids."

"Mmm," he replies aimlessly.

"However," you resume while placing a wet bowl on the rack. "I wouldn't mind having a little one of my own. Now that I'm pretty comfortable with where I'm at in life, I'd love to have a little baby to share it with."

Toji lets your words sink in before saying anything. Now that he sees where you stand on the topic, finally, he can voice his opinion.

"Y/n..." he treads carefully with the words he's about to say. "I've been thinkin' about somethin'."

"Thinking about what?" You can't deny the uneasy atmosphere with Toji's mysteriousness, yet you listen as you turn off the sink faucet.

The two of you stop swaying your bodies with each other. "How 'bout we have a baby?"

Your body goes rigid at the question, and breathing subsides as your mind goes rampant with reflections too fast to comprehend. He wants a child—another child!? With me??!

"Like, right now?" The only question that escaped your lips, your voice hushed to a whisper. No one else is here in the space but you two, although the talk you're having right now feels virtually forbidden to the tongue.

"Doesn't have to be right now," Toji moves his head to your shoulder, his hushed, gruff voice clear to your ears. "But as long as it's with you, one more kid won't hurt, right?"

And your breath hitches when a hand finds its way to the surface of your stomach, his fingers lightly teasing with the flesh of your abdomen. He places his lips on your neck, and you bite your bottom lip to repress a whimper. "Mmmm, why do you want more?" You still press him with questions despite almost dissolving into his kisses. "You already have a gorgeous girl—"

"I wan' have your girl." He murmurs softly to your ear before lightly biting the lobe, and a moan slips past you.

"A-And...a beautiful boy..."

"I want your boy."

"Toji, please," you surprise the older man by turning your body to face him fully, eyes surveying his. "This is no joke! Just because I don't have my own kid doesn't mean—"

You're silenced when Toji brings a hand to your cheek, cupping a side of your face. "I'm not jokin', sweetie. I know I'm not the best dad in the world — hell, I'm pretty lousy at it. But you," he leans forward while you instinctively go backward, hitting the sink behind you. "You're basically a mother to mine and a real damn good one, too. And since ya said things are good now, why don't I make you a parent fr' real."

"Toji—"

"Like I said: it doesn't have to be today or tomorrow. But as long as it's you," his thumb brushes your cheek as he looks deep into your eyes. "Let me give ya a baby, angel."

All you can do is look into his emerald orbs that examine you for a response. The silence between you two is accompanied by the ticking sounds of the clock on the kitchen wall. And after a few seconds, you sigh and place a hand on the big one caressing your cheek.

"If I say yes," your reply has his brows lifted. "Will you give me foot massages and a bowl of ramen at three in the morning and not be a bitch about it when I ask?"

Toji gives you a smile, his scarred lip tugged upwards. And you return one to him as he kisses your forehead.

"Works fr' me."

This is how the two of you end up in the bedroom; the ceiling lights toned down to a low shade, clothes discarded on the cold wooden floor, and the sound of lips smacking fills the silence.

"Mmmm, Daddy..." You whimper through the kisses, your hands find purchase on his strong shoulders, and you yelp when he bites your lip. His lips gradually embark downwards to your neck clavicle. Kisses and light suck to your nipples make you hum in pleasure, and a gasp prompts out when his teeth graze the bud of your soft mounds.

A hand sneaks between your legs and nestles in between the lips of your southern entrance, his big fingers enter inside with the use of the soapy fluid of your cunt, and you wail from the contact while he sucks on your breast.

"Such a good girl, angel." He lets go of your nipple to coax you, his mouth sucking your skin as his mouth continues its journey south. More licks on your body feel hot, kisses placed on every stretch mark he comes across. And he stops when he passes your tummy, coming up to see the view of his digits pushing to and fro inside your leaking chasm. "My fingers feelin' good, mama?"

"Yesssss," you hiss, eyes sewn shut to concentrate on the pleasurable sensation in your slit. He chuckles at your delighted expression before he leans down to suck on your clit, earning a shriek from your puffy lips. "Stoooop, I-I'm too sensitive—Ahhaaaannn!!"

He releases your tender bud from his mouth after placing a chaste kiss on it. "Sorry, baby, gotta have you nice and wet fr' me." He sucks and laps around on your wetness for a few more minutes before withdrawing his mouth from your leaky chasm, substituting his tongue with his big fingers to swipe on your clitoris. Broken sobs seep out from you. "Cummin' on my fingers and tongue, that's my girl."

The throbbing commotion between your legs has your ears ringing and your head pulsing. You've already come three times for thirty minutes. He's such a greedy man, but whatever it takes for you to prep for him.

Speaking of which, Toji props your legs onto his shoulders while aligning his cock to your folds, lathering the girth with your juices. Your heart beats irregularly with anticipation on the rise, a position you're all too familiar with. Toji sees you gawking at his glans kissing your folds, and he sneers salaciously. "Ready, sweetie?"

You give him a smile even through entering your lustful haze. "Skipped the pill and everything, Daddy." And with a kiss on your cheek, Toji wastes no time and pushes his length into you with every inhale you take. And the both of you moan when the cockhead slides right into your vulva. Every inch of his dick descends into you, making you full of his size, and whimpers fail to be suppressed as he scrapes your velvety walls deliciously.

After letting you adapt to him, his hips start with a slow rhythm for you to properly situate yourself with the mating press. However, with how you're gripping around him, it doesn't take long for him to quicken his pace. Soft wails soon become stifled squeals with the bite of your lips from the growing cadence, and your eyes begin to water when the underside of his shaft grazes your inner walls.

But when the tip of his cock finally touches your cervix, a choked scream sneaks past your restraint. And Toji chortles. "Mmmmm, that's what I wanna hear." He grinds his pelvis deep into your cunt, resulting in forced squeaks from your tongue.

"Ahhhnnn! Daddy, please—Oh, Jesus," It hurts to think when Toji accurately jabs your delicate cervix, tears streaming down your pretty cheeks. "Oh, God, it's too much, too mu—Oooohh!!"

"I know, darlin', I know." He comes down to your face, yet his pace does not falter. His speed increases and becomes harsher by the second, and your head pounds hard with every rut. You nibble on his neck, sucking on his Adam's apple as he drills his dick into you. "Nnnngh, so tight on me, mama. Gonna make me go crazy."

As if he wasn't going crazier already with the erratic rut of his hips. Driving his cock deep inside and the sound of his balls smacking your folds is all you can hear. Your face is now entirely hot, matching the tingling sensation of skin slapped together between your legs. You dare to peek down to see the union of your sexes, Toji's member now harboring a white ring near the base. Strings of your slick and his spit keep you two connected during this moment, and more incoherent shrieks are pulled from your throat.

"Nnnaaaaa, ahhhaaaa!!! D-Daddy, please!!" While there's uncertainty about whether your pleas will be heard, you still express yourself to him. "It's coming, it's coming! I'm gonna cum, gonna cummmm!! Nnnmmph!!" And when he comes down to you with his complete weight caging you in, the pressure of his body has you submit to him completely.

"Yeah, wanna cum on Daddy's dick." He says with his condescending, guttural tone that almost makes you melt onto the satin sheets beneath you. "G' ahead, mama—Hmmph! Make a nice mess while I finish here..." His strokes become ever intenser than before; his length brushes your inner walls, and continuous pokes to your cervix prompt your orgasm to climb faster. And you soon fall into a wave of pure ecstasy, your cunt clamping around him desperately while your body trembles.

And Toji is forced to fall into a release of his own when the walls of your slit contract around him, spilling into you with the flex of his abdomen. His sweaty body is on top of yours, and your breathing matches his as you two experience each crescendo.

Heavy exhales sync as you two calm down within your intimate embrace. Your mind slowly returns from its foggy state with the calm atmosphere soothing your body, and your quivers now subsided while the older man lays kisses and sucks on your neck. But it comes to a halt when a sudden yelp comes from your swollen lips because he thrusts into you again, even with your vulva being extremely sensitive.

He lifts his head from the crook of your neck, and it's not to your surprise that he has a smirk on that dumb, handsome face of his. His lips curled to where his teeth peek from under his scar. "Ya know I gotta fuck you more than once, right, sweetie? Make sure you're all filled up 'n all."

You suck your teeth with furrowed brows, but a smile comes up with breathless giggles. "I'm telling you, Mr. Fushiguro, you're most definitely treating me to daily foot massages when I get pregnant."

"Whatever you say," he shuts your threats with a kiss on your soft lips. "My pretty darlin'..."

⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊✩₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

Toji twiddles with something in his hand while you lay on his chest in the shared bedroom. The kids were taking a nap after coming from school, leaving the two of you to enjoy the leisure of each other's company.

But today was a different day compared to any other. Because even if you two are looking at the television with the old rom-com displayed, neither of you is actually watching. Too busy distracted with the smiles plastered on your faces to care for what's on the screen. The only thing corrupting your minds is a matter that has you two in glee after a week of anticipation and mutual work.

The man peers at his hand to look at the object between Toji's fingers. Nothing but a pink and white stick — a pregnancy test. And at the center of the device conveyed two red lines, the signature implication that you were indeed with a child. His child.

"Hey, Toji," the call of his name has him look down at you, still facing the television despite your attention not wholly on it. "What do you think they are?"

"Hmm?" It takes a few seconds for it to click until he notices your hand brushing around your belly. He chuckles. "I'm hopin' for a girl. Wan' 'em to look and act like you."

You hum aimlessly at his answer before you berate him with more of your thoughts. "What if it's a boy? I think it'd be cute to have another mini-you running around the house."

"Nah, one mini-me is enough, and he already talks back to me like he's a teen." You giggle at the light sour face he shows and his complaints about Megumi. "Besides, I don't want another me. I'm already a lousy dad, and I didn't have the best childhood. I wouldn't want you to deal with a child that's exactly like me..."

Silence ensues with the answer; it's the only response you deem appropriate. That was the case until you say what was next on your mind.

"Toji, I'm sure your upbringing wasn't the best because people weren't there for you when you needed them. And although that's shaped you into the man I love, even I wouldn't want you to go through all that for a second time." You can feel the weight of his green eyes on you while you speak, though you don't turn to face him. "Nevertheless, times are different. You have me to love and care for you now—you and your beautiful children. You might not be the best dad in the world, but you've done a great job taking care of them."

"Thanks to you." He interrupts you, and you laugh.

"Yes, thanks to me. And because you have me, this little one won't be going through what you went through. I promise you, you're not alone in this. Because I'm pretty scared as this is my first pregnancy. But that's okay since I have you to take care of me. I'll be there to help you, and you'll be there to help me. As long as that's true, we'll do just fine."

Taken aback by your response, the older man turns to the pregnancy test still in his hand. The more he looks at the device, the more he ponders what you said. And a small smile creeps up on him, coming to a decision himself. At this point, it doesn't matter what the sex of the child will be to him. What warms his heart is that you promise to be by his side, helping him watch your little one — his child — his family grow as the days and years pass.

"Now," your voice brings him back to the present, whipping his head back to you. "I can't say the same if we end up with twins. Because you'll just have to deal with one while I have the other."

Toji puts the pregnancy test on the nightstand and goes for your nose to pinch it. "Fuckin' kid, who told you were funny, huh?" Your laughter only fuels him to mess with you more, but that's okay. He's smiling at your silliness, and that's all you want right now.

Because, even if they're not here yet, no child should have a father who doesn't know how to smile.

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