#like 'that isn't how it's supposed to work!! there's something wrong with you!!!'

[turtlesandfrogs]

I just had an epiphany that's probably incredibly obvious to anyone who was not raised in a hyper-individualistic culture, and I need to share it.

How many times have you seen someone not being able to do their house chores on their own experssing the idea that it's something wrong with them? How many people talk about the strategies they use that enable them to do the work- listening to music, podcasts, body doubling, etc, etc? How many times have you thought there was something wrong with YOU because you have a hard time keeping up with dishes, or laundry, or cleaning in general?

We're a social species! We're supposed to work together, not alone! You did not evolve to be put in a box all by yourself and do mundane, repetitive survival tasks every day!

(this is NOT saying that there isn't space for solo activities, or denying the existence of people who like alone time)

Up until very recently, very, very recently on the evolutionary time scale, humans would have been working TOGETHER on daily, repetitive, mundane tasks. Practically every time I see a video of some group that hasn't been colonialized or industrialized, doing some task from hunting to harvesting crops to building structures to making food and textiles, they're working together. Aside from hunting, they're either talking or signing.

We're playing music and podcasts to ourselves as a stand in for the species-appropriate enrichment activity of working with another member of our species! Everyone knows that leaving a dog home alone all day is hard on the dog and if you don't do something to help them cope, you're going to end up with a neurotic dog. Everyone* knows you can't have one goat or it'll spend all day and night screaming for love and attention. Everyone knows that it's not good for social species to be alone-

And yet for a long time American culture expected a woman to be a housewife and be home alone all day cleaning and cooking. Guess who got a reputation for having mental issues? Housewives who were left alone at home all day. Before the pioneers (which is a whole boatload of ethical issues we're not going to touch on because this is just one blog post, but whooooo boy), when were people expected to live as a single family unit and do work all by themselves all day long?

No wonder Americans have a mental health issues! We are not meant nor did we evolve to be alone!

And now, today, how many people live by themselves, or even when they do live with others, how many people EXPECT to do daily chores as a solo task, and then thing there's something wrong with them when they can't do it?

And yes, some people can- but is it good for all of them? Is it pleasant? Is it something that should be expected from everyone? Should it be expected from everyone all the time?

Is there a blindingly obvious reason why anxiety, depression, and just, general poor mental health is so prevalent in our hyper-individualistic culture?

(And before anyone comes after me pitting freedom against collective work- you can have autonomy while working with others. Also I think you'll find that not a lot of us in individualistic cultures actually feel that we have a high degree of autonomy.)

I think I'm gonna start a chores club. Or start talking to people on the phone while I do chores. My god, what have we done to ourselves?

*Everyone who has raised goats

[sonderinghiraeth]

Loki, who watches you drag yourself through the tower elevator and out onto the common floor, senses your bad mood simply by your aura. You're dripping with melancholy and something... deeper. Did a mission go wrong? Were you injured? He's nose deep in a book, simply peering at you now, rummaging through the pantry of the open kitchen for some chips.

Loki, who doesn't say a word when you make your way out of the panel doors and onto the balcony to one of the tower deck hammocks. Who would he be to intrude? He only ever antagonizes you, and while he is a villain, you were hard to decipher this time around. You had your own secrets, and he wasn't about to potentially puncture one that was unripe for him.

Loki, who stays in the living room, though his book had long been thoroughly read and annotated. He was hoping to at least watch you drift to your room, see if your mood had improved. Steve had momentarily met with you out there, sitting at the hammock adjacent to you, but his mouth never moved. Rogers was good at that, he realized. He was patient enough to always let the other person bloom instead of prying them open. Loki's skills were still rather elementary to say the least.

Loki, who watches Steve leave the balcony after giving you a rub on your shoulder. He pretends to be dozing on the couch, not opening his eyes until the elevator dings to notify that Steve has left the room. It's safe to say it's late at night by now, and it's just unlike you to be so distant. Sure, you were snarky and coy with him, but you were always so loving and receptive to the other team members. Something's off.

Loki, who silently approached you from the balcony as if you were a plague patient. Taking his sweet time to sit on the hammock Steve sat on next to you. You hadn't moved from your lounging spot, staring off into the New York City skyline with a dullness behind your irises. He doesn't know what to say, or if he should say anything. It always works for Steve to not say anything.

Loki, who screams a breath of relief in his mind when you finally speak. "Oh, I thought you would be Thor at first. This is a surprise." You say, sitting up from the fabric as it creaked underneath you. Loki huffed, blowing a stray piece of hair away from his forehead. "It's your lucky day, isn't it?" He mutters. He's shocked when you reply back, tone deathly flat. "Yeah, something like that."

Loki, who finally steps into his own unknown territory. "Would you spare me the niceties and simply tell me what has you so... Down?"

And you crack yourself open like an egg, tears finally making their way down your cheeks. Loki's bracing himself for something horrendous. A family member passing, a pet being put down, a mission gone so bad it risks your spot on the team, a million possibilities are vibrating through his head at mach speed.

But your answer leaves his eyebrows knitted to the hilt of his forehead. "I really don't know. I wish I did, but today has just been the worst day ever somehow without anything even happening."

Loki, who realizes how painfully he can relate, and without much thought, he stands from his own hammock and walks over to yours, gesturing to your side. "May I?" You scoot slightly, allowing space for him. He takes his seat, glancing at you once before concocting his reply. "If it calms you to know, I've had plenty of days like those myself, suppose that might be why I was sent in substitute of Thor."

You, who arches a brow. "They sent you instead of Thor?"

Loki, who waves his hand. "Well, no, but that oaf hasn't had a silverless spoon a day in his life. I'm much more a prime example for an occurrence such as this."

Loki, who exhales a breath he didn't know he was holding when you laugh, nudging his arm. "You're supposed to be being nice, Loki."

"What? I'm plenty nice, let me have my allowance."

Loki, who awkwardly shifts with you in the hammock until both of you are squished side by side after you complain that the lack of support is hurting your back. You were both looking up at the ink of the New York night, starless and pitched. "I have a journal sometimes that helps me when I have these kind of moments, but I don't know, today it just wasn't helping."

"Tell me what all happened, even the most meaningless of moments."

Loki, who lets you talk, and talk, and talk. It started with your egg breaking while you made avocado toast this morning, and then your shoelaces on your good combat boots began to fray while you got ready for a mission, Nat couldn't make it to your joint training session last minute, you ran out of your good shampoo, you broke a nail, it was simply just a petty luck kind of day. If Loki were there, he would have fixed it all for you with the wave of a hand. Only if you weren't looking though, of course.

Loki, who could drift just from the peace of your voice. The way you talk when you're defeated. It feels twisted for even him to take pleasure in it. However, your mood lightens with each transgression you unleash, and you seemed to have totally tired yourself out by the end of it. It leaves you both in the ambience of 2 in the morning in the middle of New York, cab horns distantly honking, and some hoodlum's voice echoing up to the balcony. You both can't recall how long you stayed like that for.

Loki, who realizes why that is when he wakes up the next morning, neck sore and bent out of shape, sun penetrating his eyes he realizes the heat of another body is still wedged to his right. He blinks his eyes open, greeted with the sight of your head lolled on his chest, quietly snoring, and one leg thrown over both of his. He goes to brush a strand of hair away from your face before the balcony door comes dashing open, Tony with his iPhone camera in hand and pointed towards the two of you, cackling out snarks about how this is going to look so good on all of the lobby TVs downstairs.

Loki, who first goes to curse Stark, but bites his lip before he gently covers your ears as if you were a newborn fawn. And he doesn't complain about the videoing, he doesn't try to be brazen and pretend like it was some sort of misunderstanding, instead he hisses in response. "Lower your voice before you wake her!"

Loki, who, after chasing Stark off, allows you to wake on your own time, despite how uncomfortable he is in his current position. It's almost wordless when you do. You're surprised at first, and mutter out a quick apology before standing. Loki shakes his head, standing along with you. He goes to fumble some excuse as to how you both ended up in that position, but you interrupt him with a quick. "I should probably shower."

Loki, who allows you both to not mention it for weeks on end after it happened, despite Stark and Thor's relentless teasing on group dinner nights. You only give each other a shared annoyed glance before returning to your food.

Loki, who, almost a month later, shows up at your bedroom door near midnight. He's hunched over, hair messy, tied into a half-bun, in sweatpants for the first time ever, and just downright depraved looking. You allow him to speak first, and he offers you a shrug.

"Care to trade an ear for the night?"

Loki, who mopes for hours about Thor beating him in a game of tennis, somehow he managed to eventually find his head in your lap on your bed.

[princeramil]

It's literally not about who's wrong and who's right between Ramil and Paytai; it's not even about if they get a happy ending or just break up because it didn't work. It's about treating abuse as what it is: A CRIME!

Listen, I'm not someone who's pretending one bl show teaches lessons because I am very much capable of thinking and understanding what's happening. The fact that my analysis doesn't coincide with TNP discourse is at least concerning.

I know Khanin and Charan are main characters. I know Khanin is always right and perfect and we all should be like him. I know he's supposed to be the hero. This is not my first series and won't be the last and also I'm a grown person, graduated and working. It's not like I need someone to explain me how bl works or that this is just a series.

I wasn't the one who expected TNP to treat good causes and address them. They put themselves in that position when they made Khanin care about woman's rights or toxic air. These are problems that must be resolved because they not only affect one person but humanity. Ramil's abuse isn't a particular case, he even clarified that on his speech. Rachata has been treated as a villain for a lot of things but mostly because he is an abuser. So, it's portrayed as a problem, as a conflict, an issue everyone knows and witnessed and also something it seems to be naturalized and also perpetuated by the families in Emmaly. It seemed like it during the whole series until now.

Last episode, in some way, the writers make it look like it's only Ramil's problem. Why? Because he can't just stop his father from being abusive. No one else was blamed, not everyone else who watched and never did anything to stop the abuse all these years, just Ramil.

It doesn't make sense. The king decides (with the help of all princes) that the mine stays because it benefits them, that means it's an Emmaly problem. The tradition decided (with everybody's agreement) that women can't compete, and that's an Emmaly problem as well. Both were addressed before and after the speeches from respectives characters. Now, abuse is the only issue that was never addressed publicly, it's just Ramil and Paytai's problem. And it's probably going to be treated privately and that's not how you heal from the trauma. Rachata can't live all his life protected by the silence, and Ramil needs to get justice, and I'm not talking about a trail, I'm talking about making everybody know Ramil's truth and why he is the way he is because until Ramil's abuse isn't exposed, Emmaly still hold secrets to be revealed and injustice continues.

BUT apparently, it's not a crime because it's just some kind of hardcore accessory to make Ramil and Paytai look more "interesting"???? Because now Ramil is an immature kid who's only problem is replicating his father's behavior AS IF ALL HIS STORYLINE WASN'T HIM TRYING NOT TO BE THAT. But just because his love interest is offended (rightfully) for the last traumatic experience, he is the only responsable to fix this. Because magically now Ramil COULD do something to stop his father????

Don't get me wrong, I understand Paytai and I would never speak for him because enduring all of that must be so hard and he obviously is so affected that he needs to leave immediately. I understand his pain and because he's another victim we can't really blame him for feeling humiliated and hurt.

It's the way the series makes it look like everything that needed to be solved already did, and what's not solved is just Ramil's responsability, because he should know, he should be braver, he should, he should, he should. Ramil always has responsabilities but he doesn't have any rights.

Paytai COULD escape and that's because he knows a life where he's not treated abusively, where there's compassion and understanding. Ramil never experienced any of that, Paytai is still too weak to offer all of that, he just makes him company and sacrifices himself, but he's still Ramil's responsability. Ramil CAN'T escape because he doesn't even know there's an exit, he thinks this is the only life he can hope for, and he accepts it if he's having at least SECONDS of happiness with Paytai. He's the real Prince trapped in the big castle and he needs someone to save him. If he's not getting that, he at least needs someone to FIRST tell him he's a victim and also that he deserves better and that it's possible to be better. That would give him the opportunity to find strength to make one last sacrifice.

No one is going to be there to say that.

You can't ask Paytai to do that too.

Someone, who's morally right, should have compassion, treat him with kindness for ONCE and tell him what to do, make him come back to reality after being deep isolated and depressed, constantly frustrated and having panic attacks. But it seems like he can't have it because he is the villain, and because his cause is good, let's just make him all his fault.

I will finish this here because if I don't I won't stop writing until I can't anymore.

[alexwasntthere]

So I know there is a bunch of fics where Tim gets kidnapped by Red Hood, only for Jason to realise 'oh, this boy is traumatised and Bruce isn't helping' and then proceeds to either become his parental figure or older brother. And I love the 'enemy to caretaker' trope, I really do (my Ao3 history knows it better than anyone else).

But, what if Tim gets kidnapped and instead of Jason keeping him willingly, Tim just... blackmails him into it because this is his chance to bond with the Robin before him (plus, he could get some information on RH's work and gang), and any time Jason does something Tim doesn't like it just goes:

Jason does something Tim doesn't aprove off

Tim: I will tell Bruce you are alive

Jason, who was just gave him tea instead of coffee, raises a brow

Tim: Stop or I'll let Bruce knwo your exact location

Jason: WHAT DID I DO?

Tim: You are breathing wrong

Jason, flabbergasted

Tim: Grow down

Jason: ????

Tim: Either you get smaler or I am telling-

Jason: How am I SuPPoseD To dO THaT?

Now from here it can go two ways,

1, Jason gets so fed up with Tim that he drops him at Wayne Manor and lets Tim run his mouth because if he has to deal with that kid who has preservation skills of wet paper for another two hours, he is going to kill someone or himself.

Or, Jason actually bonds with that little menace and starts to appreciate him, maybe they work a case together, maybe they just bond over some TV show, regardless, they actually start to act like brothers.

And then shit goes south, I have nothing for this part, but for some reason, Tim decides to tell Bruce RH really is Jason before Jason is ready to see his dad again. Obviously, Jason wants to comfort Tim, but when he gets home, Tim is nowhere to be seen.

After some searching in the whole of Gotham, actually working with the bats to find his little brother, Jason decides to call Talia in hopes she knows where the kid went.

Now imagine Talia telling him that Tim is with Ra's and just felt like having tea with him, and the Batfam absolutely loses it. Imagine Jason having to go visit his other side of family to take his little brother and getting Damian in the pacage.

Imagine the three of them coming back to Gotham and being just like: "We are back, and also this is Damian, your blood son, happy Father's Day."

[lifeafterpsychiatry]

this is probably a hot take even for antipsych stuff— idk I’ve not really managed to do that much research— but like, I think not only are a lot of diagnoses bullshit frameworks but like. It really seems to me like the framework itself *intends* NPD + ASPD to be the evil disorders. Like it doesn’t work because you can’t diagnose evil, there’s so many things wrong with the premise itself, but like, they tried to draw some targets around the concept of evil. (Which does probably mean there’s some small correlation, although 1. Maybe not bc it’s not like the framework is successful 2. Who fucking cares) Like I basically have NPD (not diagnosed but why the fuck would I try to get diagnosed) but I really see it more as a reclamatory term than a self-diagnosis.

Also when people criticize the name it’s so funny to me bc like yeah the self-interest disorder is named after the mythological self-interest guy?? Like yes Narcissus isn’t viewed positively but that’s because being primarily self-interested isn’t viewed positively. It’s a disorder whose main features are considered synonymous with evil to most people, how the fuck do you want to name it

this started cuz I wanted your input but ig I’m kinda venting now sorry

Yeah, like there's a lot of critical things to be said about diagnostic labels as a whole, but especially with NPD and ASPD it gets super obvious that there's literally no compassionate or progressive way to apply these labels to people.

They are clearly attempts to categorize and diagnose evil and abuse more so than attempts at "helping people help themselves", and the pathologizing way people view these disorders isn't "just" about irrational ableism, but also about how the framework itself is being articulated and sold by supposed professionals.

I'm not saying that it's impossible for people to relate to these labels, reclaim them and use them for good - some people do manage to go beyond the intense pathologization and get something constructive out of identifying with ASPD or NPD, and more power to them. But as a whole these labels aren't really meant to be that helpful, and receiving them sure won't improve your treatment - they're just meant to single out "bad" people in an "official" capacity.

(This does of course not imply that people who get diagnosed as either are actually inherently bad people, as the idea that evil and abuse is actually tied to a specific disorder is ableist and wrong in itself. Even if you deliberately try to create an "evil person disorder", that's something you made up, and it won't be fair or apolitical who you choose to diagnose or how you treat them afterwards.)

[nightlyrequiem]

Pen Pal V

Valeria breaks out of prison and holds you to your word that friends have each other's backs.

AO3 Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6 w.c- 2,128

A/N- I hope the people responsible for Spotify smart shuffle suffer and die.

Tags/Warnings- Inmate!Valeria, Friendship, Implied Developing Feelings, Open Ending, Prison, Post-Modern Warfare II, Fluff, Murder, Prison Escape, Slice of Life

Your growing distance is starting to grate on Valeria's nerves. She thought your issues were resolved when you had that talk, but she was wrong. You're still acting skittish around her. Avoiding eye contact. Acting uncomfortable. You try to hide it, but Valeria can tell.

She's laid up next to you in your bed with the laptop positioned on your lap. Playing some movie she couldn't care less about. Something dramatic on screen is happening, someone is dying. But she can't tear her thoughts away from you. To an outsider, it may seem like you're very invested in the movie. Your eyes are locked onto the screen and you're unmoving. But Valeria has gotten to know you well during her stay with you.

She can read your body language like it's her own. You're using the film as an excuse to not look at her. You're not moving because you're uncomfortable. Valeria's ass starts getting sore so she shifts onto her thigh. She sighs quietly, bored out of her mind. She looks at you again.

"How was work?" She asks carefully. Staring at you closely.

"Good. I guess." You murmur. She watches for any subtle movements, the tic of a brow, the twitch of the mouth.

It's often not the big obvious expressions that give a person away but all the little, unconscious ones. Or the lack of. Valeria can tell you're carefully trying to keep a neutral expression and that says just as much. She tried talking to you, she tried reassurance. You should be flattered, Valeria rarely forms genuine bonds with people, and she felt one with you. But all you're doing is reminding her that silly little connections are just wastes of time.

She removes the soft blanket from her lap and gets off the bed. The pins and needles in her legs make her feel unsteady so she grabs the wall for support. Immediately you look up at her. Took you long enough, she thinks irately.

"Where are you going?" You ask.

"To bed. I'm tired." She replies evenly. She turns away without giving you time to respond and walks out of your room. A few minutes after she lies down, she hears the movie stop.

*                                                     *                                                      *

"Is this everyone left?" She asks, Appalled. She surveys the pitiful crowd in front of her. What's left of her soldados. A measly ten people.

"... Well... yes," Diego says, scratching his goatee. "Everyone either died or got caught. There's at least nine more sitting in cells right now, but after you escaped, they cracked down on security. There's no getting them out."

Valeria scowls. 

"Or maybe you're a coward." She snaps. From the corner of her eye, she watches Diego's jaw clench. 

She's being unfair, she knows. It's not Diego's fault that most of her men are either dead or arrested. But Valeria's never been a fair person. Especially not when she's frustrated. And finding out that she can count all her manpower on one hand in very frustrating. 

"What am I supposed to do with this sorry lot?" She spits. "Alejandro has double our numbers and firepower." Saying that out loud only riles her up more, feeding the flames of her anger until it's burning her from the inside. 

"But he doesn't have your cunning." Diego replies, trying to ease her displeasure. It only does the opposite. She doesn't need his comfort. 

Valeria rounds on him. Despite being shorter by a few inches, he stumbles back.

"Do not talk down to me." She warns. "And never underestimate that little cockroach. The fact that you think he isn't cunning proves just how cunning he is." She whips around and starts pacing. Trying urgently to think up a solution. Her frustration mounts into uncontrollable levels when she just keeps thinking of you. Such a nuisance you're becoming, living in her mind like you own it.

This can still be salvaged. If she pours enough thought into this thing, she can pull it off. At the cost of a few lives, maybe. But her men are expendable anyway. She could coerce you into telling her what's wrong, why you're acting so strangely. If she could just bait you into - She whips around, scowling intensely. She can't concentrate on what she needs to be. You're becoming a liability.

She shakes her head to clear it and faces her men. She scans them critically, harshly assessing all flaws and weaknesses.

"We attack in seven days." She reminds them. Watching them close to make sure they're paying attention. "The only advantage we have is surprise. We are outmanned and outgunned. Be smart, win this, and you will reap the highest rewards." She says, knowing that not even half of them is likely to survive.

Even so, they perk up. Greed lighting their eyes and blinding them to reasoning. Man's fatal flaw.

A short, stocky man steps forward. Chin raised, daring to look her right in the eye. "When we're done there won't be any bodies to send home to their families." He promises confidently. 

Good. Valeria thinks. No bodies. Save for one which Valeria will use as the ultimate example. Who will serve as a border marker and a warning to her enemies not to cross her.

The front door clicks shut quietly behind Valeria. She kicks off her boots and glances at you sitting on the couch. 

"It looks warm out," You comment. Valeria heads into the kitchen to find something to ease the rumbling in her stomach.

"It is." She replies absently. She roots through cupboard pickily. She can feel the abrupt silence from you and knows there's more you want to say.

"I was thinking I'd take a walk." You finally say. Valeria rolls her eyes. Do you want her permission?

"Knock yourself out." She mutters, closing the door without taking anything.

Fabric rustles and she hears your feet lightly hit the carpet.

"Want to come with?" You ask awkwardly. You don't really sound like you want her to come with. So why offer? She stands upright and glowers.

"I'm pretty tired." She replies. You look down and pick at your already destroyed cuticles.

"Oh. Well... it would be just a quick one, to the convenience store down the road. I'd feel safer if you came."

She hesitates. Of course. It's dark out. The desire for protection is overriding your discomfort around her. What is she? Your personal bodyguard? If you want something from the store that badly either go on your own or wait till tomorrow. 

"Fine." Valeria replies. Surprising herself. She was fully intending on denying you, but her mouth works faster than her brain.

She quickly regrets her decision to come. It's quiet and awkward. You keep a respectful distance from her. At one point your hands accidently brushed, and you shoved them into your pockets. Valeria tries not to think about how that hurt. The convenience store lights wash out the sidewalk in front of it, and when you pull open the glass door, a little bell announces your arrival.

"Do you want anything?" You turn to her.

"No."

"... Okay." You pull away. Valeria stands by the door with her cap and head lowered. Hoping she's not attracting the attention of the clerk. She curses herself. This was stupid and careless, why did she come with?

She's relieved that you get what you need quickly and pay so the two of you can leave.

"It's such a nice night," You say. "Haven't seen the sky this clear in a while. The moon looks great. Like the lighting. It's nice. Very pretty." 

Valeria glances at you. Wondering what the sudden bout of chattiness is about.

"Yeah." She answers.

"Yeah." You parrot quietly. You allow the both of you to walk in peace for only a minute before you're speaking again. 

"You mentioned not having time for men but what about... others?" You suddenly ask. Valeria furrows her brows, what the hell are you talking about.

"Others...?" She implores.

You look at her with owlish eyes. "Like, I don't know." You laugh deprecatingly. "Never mind, I'm not sure... I'm just trying to make conversation. Are you mad at me?"

Valeria stops walking and it takes you a second to realize. You stop and look at her. The expression on your face softens her up, but only a little. You're far too obvious about your feelings. You're looking at her like a kicked puppy about to be sent back to the pound.

"I'm annoyed with you." She replies honestly. 

"Why?" You frown.

"Why? Because you're still acting weird around me even after our conversation." She says sharply. She doesn't have the patience for this. 

"I know, and I'm sorry. But I can't just stop being anxious. Things go wrong all the time, even when you plan to the last tiny detail. There's always something being overlooked, there's always someone who doesn't stick to the script. And that's all it takes to unravel everything. I'll lose my home, my life, you."

That last sentence sticks with her. She can't help but feel a little twinge of pleasure at you not wanting to lose her. no one's ever worried about losing her.

She slowly snakes her hand into yours and squeezes, testing the waters. You stiffen but don't pull away. She likes the warmth from your hand.

"We'll be just fine." She promises. "I have a plan for everything. Backup plans have backup plans." She knows that for all her reassurance, a part of you will never stop worrying. She'll just have to get over it.

"Okay." You nod. Squeezing her hand back weakly. "Let's get going then."

You don't drop her hand the entire way back. She's not sure if you forgot you were holding it, or if you just wanted to hold it.

*                                                         *                                                        *

It's a lot easier for Valeria to think and plan without you being secretive and edgy towards her. She's not sure what about that talk was different from the first, but it worked. You're back to being yourself. Lounging in the same room as her, bantering, laughing. 

And Valeria's own focus is much clearer now.

"Hm. I don't think I like this." You screw up your face and push away the grease stained takeout box you were eating from.

"What it is?" Valeria cranes her neck to look.

"Noodles, but the sauce tastes odd." You frown at it. You offer it to Valeria, and she takes it, coiling a few strands on the plastic fork and pushing them into her mouth. The flavour is intense and vibrant. But she sees what you mean. The sauce is oddly salty. Almost overwhelmingly so.

She abandons the noodles to go back to her own meal.

"I'm going out after this and I probably won't be back for a day or so." She tells you, shoving a piece of pork into her mouth. 

"Where are you going?" You look up.

"To finish what I should've finished years ago." She says. This catches your attention and you stop eating, expression growing serious.

"Already?" You reply. You don't sound very pleased.

"Yes. I need to do this. But once it's done, everything will be fine. I'll be able to go home and leave you in peace." She jokes, but your lips only lift halfway.

"I kind of like having you here." You admit, focusing on your food. Valeria can't help but share the sentiment. She likes being around you.

She shouldn't have eaten so much before coming here. Her full stomach is making her sleepy and she cannot afford any mistakes just because she's tired. She adjusts the tactical vest she's wearing, tightening it to fit her body better. The two recon men she sent to stake out Los Vaqueros' main base of operations came back with an all clear. Most of them are congregating there. In a little base a couple miles south of the town.

Alejandro won't be at that one, but Rodolfo will. and Valeria knows how close those two are. Attached at the hip to a disgustingly vulnerable degree. She checks each sheath again to make sure her knives and guns are there. Once she's satisfied she surveys her men. All suited up for battle and ready. Waiting in the bed of an armored truck.

This is it. Win or die. She pictures your face and wishes she gave you a better goodbye, just in case. All a promise to her has ever been just a way to manipulate people into doing what she wants. She's never particularly felt the need to keep them. But she promised you everything would be fine, and she certainly feels the need to keep that one. She hauls herself into the back and sits down.

"Let's go." She nods to the driver.

[glistenling]

I like to reread your angst posts about glisten. Do you have any more glisten angst brewing in that brain of yours? 👀

ask and u shall receive This is kinda long all i know how to do is yap

boom! go my attention grabber

anyways,

Since the Toons were created from the characters from the animated TV show, there are going to be some significant differences between the two. When something is recreated in the image of something already existing, it tends to stray from the initial idea. Creating new life and throwing it into a world that's nothing like what they know is cruel.

The Toons in the cartoon (the side characters specifically) were created/written as more simple, borderline one-dimensional characters. Characterized enough to make nice lessons for the children and to build the world surrounding the Main Characters. Just like many cartoons aimed towards children

The introduction cards are really all there is to their characters in the show. Nothing more, nothing less. Something the target demographic of young kids could understand.

a lot more below the cut !!!

In the animated show Glisten was a sometimes socially unaware egotist (and possible perfectionist, but nowhere to the extreme of the living Toon counterpart) who loves the spotlight! Sometimes acting as an "antagonist" on an episode by episode basis. Not in a villain way, but since his "ego brings up new issues", he was definitely in the wrong in multiple episodes. A teaching opportunity on how being proud can be a good thing, but if taken too far it could unintentionally hurt others. The end of an episode like this would consist of everyone making up, and relationships are stronger than they were before. Everything wrapped up perfectly because Glisten's love and loyalty to his friends is what matters most to him.

A living breathing "person" created to be like that isn't exactly plausible. Life doesn't work that way. It could mentally break anyone. For Glisten specifically (the real life Toon) his need to be perfect originally comes from a mix of his ego and the need of familiarity where everything works out how it's "supposed to".

He quickly learns in the real world that it doesn't work out perfectly at the end of the day. Arguments with friends don't simply resolve themselves just because he cares about them. Though, he can't properly process this fact since it's something he wasn't given the ability to do, and he was never taught to either.

Everything he was created to know fits into the real world like a puzzle piece with too many sides. So, he comes to the conclusion that if HE is perfect then everything will end perfectly. It's the only solution he can think of. It's all he has to hopefully feel a sense of "normality".

His once and only sometimes mildly irritating ego becomes a lot more noticeable for the other Toons. If he is more outwardly confident about how he's perfect, if he does everything he can to be perfect, if he makes sure to not mess up, then maybe everything will be alright just like in the cartoon.

His initially created, but genuine confidence is slowly but surely replaced by feigned confidence. He fully focuses on how he presents himself, often forgetting to care for his friends, and more importantly, himself. It causes more genuine issues which just causes him to push himself more.

This doesn't become a consistent problem until after the shutdown of Gardenview. Yes it was pretty hard for him during Gardenview's time open, but preforming for kids was easier than making sure both you and your loved ones don't die. Preforming was also something he quite enjoyed. It was a nice distraction from stuff, and he can't rely on it anymore. Everything is much more bleak, and anyone would give anything for the whole situation after the shutdown to resolve itself.

Just as Glisten was getting semi-used to (which was not at all) the system he set up for himself, it all fell apart right in front of him.

At this point he pretty much lost all sense of why he needed to be perfect in the first place. It's just expected of him, and day by day it just becomes more mentally and sometimes even physically taxing, i.e., him trying to perfect his teleportation trick. As his whole world shifts, this is all he really has left. Yeah he has his friends, but what are they if he isn't perfect. 🤷‍♂️

What was once a way to try and achieve the only thing that was known to him became an unhealthy obsession that takes a tole on him nearly every day. A consequence of creating life where it shouldn't be created.

Side** Not just Glisten, but several of the Toons definitely struggle with various disabilities (both mental and physical) due to the nature of what they are. I've seen a few people on twt talk about the physical disabilities some of the Toons have, and I think it's a very interesting discussion that not enough people really seem to get into.

And in general the thought that completely new life was created and was thought to be a good idea is as cool as it is, quite frankly, tragic.

_______

smaller stuff related to this

----

Glisten was always jealous of his animated show self. Not like that version of him was real, but his emotions surrounding it were.

He would watch the episodes with himself in them a lot after Gardenview closed. They always ended happy. Why couldn't things in the Gardenview Center end happily? The Toons were created from the show. It feels unfair to Glisten that he can't have what he was created to be does. He watched the select few episodes several times. It gets to the point he's using some of the exact same mannerisms as his animated self when around others. His jealousy from years prior only shows itself more clearly in his mind now.

----

Many of the Toons have similar feelings as Glisten about their animated counterparts. Though the difference is they talk about said feelings. Whether it be with other Toons or the Toon Handlers.

Glisten didn't do this. He created his own way of fixing things. Talking to someone never even crossed his mind initially. Now he can't simply talk to someone, even though he needs to. He'd never admit it. He's too far in his mentality of having to be perfect.

----

Arther and Delilah weren't able to give the Toons all of their memories, only bits and pieces. So basically they made them watch the episodes and told them "those are your memories".

----

Glisten was created as a woman when brining the Toons to life, despite him being a guy in the show. This was done as a way to not cause a stir of anger within the parents. He already wasn't the most popular between some of them. Having a living breathing version of that character didn't seem like the best idea.

When he was created there was some confusion between the fact that he was supposed to be a guy, but he wasn't. Needless to say he wasn't having any of it and the change didn't last.

It does cause him to struggle with his body image since he wasn't created physically as a male Toon. There's not a major gender difference between the Toons. Most wouldn't even say there IS a difference, but Glisten definitely found something to pick apart.

He doesn't tell any of the other Toons that he's technically trans. None of them know aside from Rodger. He found out because he tends to snoop through all the concealed records, and he found the report on it. Obviously Rodger doesn't tell any of the others, that would be horrible.

This would definitely fuel his jealousy for his animated counterpart. The fact he wasn't initially a woman in the show honestly pisses him off if he really thinks about it.

_______

unrelated silly (mostly) hcs

-In a timeline where Twisteds are recovered, Glisten would have trouble with his voice. It would constantly be more raspy and strained. It would probably go out completely at times if he talks too much. The constant crying and calling out definitely damaged his vocal cords.

-Glisten's favorite candy is the Almond Joy. He somehow always manages to get his hands on them. No one is sure how.

-Probably more of a canon thing based on his room, but Glisten has a major sweet tooth. He is constantly eating candy.

-He really loves cheeseburgers with mayo, egg, bacon, onions, and pickles. I will not elaborate.

-Glisten has a perfume that smells like the Perfect in Pink scent by Bath and Bodyworks. It's his favorite.

-He likes to draw occasionally. As shown on the signed photos of himself, he's actually pretty good.

-He keeps those signed photos on hand incase someone asks for one.

-He is about 2 years older than Rodger. He looks like he is the younger one, though.

-His teleportation trick causes him memory issues.

-Too much caffeine gives him heart palpitations (totally not projecting)

this is a lot oopsies also if something doesn't make sense sorry ive done written so much on my notes app it's overwhelming to look at LOL

[castlebyersafterdark]

I think a lot of this fandom tends to misrepresent what happens on this show because of not understanding the time period. The Wheelers are abusive and neglectful to people who have gotten gently parented. But that was just what life was like back then. Parents didn't track their kids every move. They couldn't. Sure sometimes this was neglect. But the Wheelers as they are depicted on screen, are not shown as neglectful. They are just shown as normal parents of the time. It's relatable to a lot of people watching. I had a similar upbringing and I personally don't think gentle parenting is great. I see a lot of kids still struggling with emotions when that type of parenting was supposed to help make kids emotionally intelligent. I think there is something to be said for giving kids a little independence and letting them figure things out for themselves. I don't really think parents being constantly involved in everything their kids do is going to lead to well rounded adults. I think it leads to a lot of young adults who can't handle their problems without their parents. I think that's where the confusion comes from with the teens and young adults in this fandom. They aren't familiar with being given freedom and independence and it seems scary and dangerous to them. Not all parents are great at talking about emotions and sometimes it's better for kids to work though those things on their own. I see people confused about the AIDS references too. This was impacting a lot during this time. So I don't like when people in the fandom are so dismissive. And an extension of this is people comparing Reagan to Trump when they aren't comparable - at least the reactions to each of them aren't comparable. A lot of people loved Reagan. It's why we have a cast of outcasts. They are all people Reagan didn't like. They are people who didn't fit in and they are shaped by the time period. The time period on this show is important and isn't just for nostalgia. So it's not just that the fandom struggles with figuring out how Mike and Will are showing IH. They really don't understand how much each of these characters don't fit into their town in different ways. You have to understand the setting of the show. It's like a character itself. I think some of the young people in the fandom like to assume the younger characters are relatable to them and are there for them. But I don't think they understand them as well as people who were actually teens in the 80s.

As a history buff - all the analyzing and historical context for everything really is a big part of what intrigues and interests me about the show. Even moreso than the deeper "theories" that people otherwise get into! Why the characters might act the way they do, why the sets are the way they are, the references and how they are integrated and reformatted for a modern audience, the music, the costuming, the character arcs and motivations, what was actually going in real history at the time, the culture. Ahhhhhhh. The 80s. My focus eras have always been fixated on the 80s and 90s so that's what drew me to this show in the first place - and not quite a nostalgia factor, it's just what I feel is a very interesting era in modern history, even how close it feels in context of humanity. But it's important!!

The Wheelers are such a worthy topic. I think a misunderstanding is definitely whewwwwwww as you've detailed, some validity there. Definitely cannot hold them up to some of today's modern parenting practices. And the "well, it was normal and commonplace and that's The Way it Was" as I state myself is not something incredibly praise-worthy, but it's realistic. The way it was isn't always Right, but it's not all Wrong - there's nuance and consideration. Are they the best examples of parenting???? No. But, neither is Joyce. Clearly both Karen and Joyce love their children. In different ways. With different lives. I don't think it's useful at all to be like "oh Joyce loves her children more than Karen loves her children." That's not really fair. I do think it's fair to say Ted loves his kids more than Lonnie loves his, however.

Anyway, I think you hit a lot of engaging topics in your ask about parenting styles and a greater conversation is to be had about the whole era context and differences but I'll leave this as is. You made interesting points!!

And ooohhhhhhh yes!! The other contexts - the societal pervasiveness of the fear of the AIDS crisis and the differences in the conservative presidency, then and now. All to be considered for the show - and you cannot completely use modern sensibilities, caveat to the writing and creation happening today, so there is a retrospective and commentary angle as it's not a true product of the times.

"You have to understand the setting of the show. It's like a character itself."

This this this this.

[smile-files]

me, after taking a sociology class, looking at the disproportionate hatred people have for furries: this is all structural functionalism's fault

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

None of our hands are clean

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[shippingmyworld]

My brother's advice any time I vent to him about my job: "Become a streamer."

[light-wrath-paradise]

dude no offense but as a system you are so painfully obviously plural i mean this in a completely neutral way but youre plural boi

Are you for real or are you kidding? Please you gotta be honest with me about shit like this, I'm constantly afraid that all of my problems are actually universal (and I am the only one who's bad at handling them) and that I am just "faking" that there is something wrong with me.

[kittlyns]

It's always a little surreal for me when a parent commends me on being good or patient with their child cuz I'm quickly reminded that they have no idea the only group of people I'm truly comfortable around are kids

[sweetcalebb]

Oblivious boyfriend Caleb !

[Part 1] [Part 2]

wc: 2.6k

a/n: sorry i had to make caleb suffer. he's also still kinda stupid, so read at ur own risk!! i kinda made myself sad so i'm gonna start working on fluff/smut.

pairing: non-MC!reader x caleb

content: self-indulgent, angst, emotional neglect, quiet breakup, fem!reader, avoidant!reader, i had to make caleb ooc, he's a basketball player, college au, hurt/no comfort, lots of caleb just spiraling and rotting in his own guilt

p.s this one isn't as bad.

——

Caleb didn't know.

You never yelled at him, never really told him what was wrong. You just shut down, then pretended everything was fine again. And when he pushed, you deflected.

He never meant to hurt you, he was just careless in a way he didn't understand. He saw it now.

It was too late, but he saw it.

He kept checking his phone. Kept biting the inside of his cheek and bouncing his leg every time he was met with an empty screen.

"She's not gonna text you."

Caleb glanced up at his teammate, shame creeping up his throat.

"I know."

It'd been a week since the breakup. But he kept checking his phone for new text messages. Kept staring at it in the morning, waiting for a good morning text that never came.

It was dumb.

The way he was always looking for you—in every crowd, in every coffee shop, in every library.

The past week had felt like a month. A month of torture—of replaying every interaction he ever had with you and finding his fault in every one.

"You gonna be good for the game next week?"

Caleb's eyes hardened just a fraction. "Why wouldn't I be?"

His friend stared at him, a little too knowingly. They both knew what he wanted to say. 'Because your girlfriend broke up with you, duh!' but his teammate just pressed his lips into a thin line and shrugged.

"You.. I dunno—You just haven't been that focused lately."

Caleb sighed, tearing his eyes away and tossing his phone in his bag. He wasn't even supposed to have it out; if his coach saw, he'd be running lines.

"I'll be fine," Caleb insisted, shuffling back onto the court as if that might give him some peace, but his teammate just followed him.

"Look, if you ever wanna talk—"

"I'm fine," Caleb bit out. "I'll—I'll be fine, alright?"

Silence. Then finally, his teammate sighed and shrugged.

"Alright."

But Caleb wasn't fine.

He was anything but.

At night, he'd lie in bed, his eyes burning from how long he stared at your guys' last texts. In the morning, with his eyes all red and puff from the night before, he'd rummage through his drawer to find something to wear and pause the Hello Kitty pajamas he'd bought for you two.

He'd stare at it too long—enough to feel his stomach curl and his chest tighten—then he'd stuff it to the back of his drawer. It always found its way back up when he looked through it the next day though.

The morning of his game, he found them again. Held it for a little too long. Rubbed his thumb over the fabric as he remembered the last time he wore them on a comfy night in with you.

Maybe that's why he missed the first shot. And the second. And the third.

Maybe that's why he kept looking in the crowd like he might find you there, in that little corner you loved so much. He always said it was hard to see you up there and you always said you got a better view of the game. Of him.

He'd smiled then. Never complained about it again, because how could he when your eyes were all soft like that?

"Caleb! What the hell?"

Caleb stumbled as his teammate nudged his arm. It was meant to be a light push, but he was caught off guard.

"What?" Caleb breathed out, but he knew. He didn't have to look at his teammate or even listen.

He was fucking up.

He was losing them the game. Like he lost you. Like he—

"What the hell are you doing? You said you'd be fine."

"I am," Caleb insisted, even as his eyes flicked to the stands again.

Fuck. Stop it.

They quickly darted back, but his teammate had already caught the look. Everyone knew what this was about.

His teammate looked like he was about to say something else before the whistle blew. Their heads snapped toward the bench where their coach was gesturing them over.

The minute Caleb got close enough, his coach immediately grabbed him by the shoulder and pushed him onto the chair.

"Coach—"

"Are you kidding me?"

Caleb flinched. His tone stung more than he wanted to admit. Normally, he didn't care about things like this, but he was raw and exposed. And when Caleb met his eyes and saw the anger and disappointment, he couldn't bear to look anymore.

Shame.

That was all he felt.

Shame, shame, shame.

Shame for missing those shots. Shame for forcing his coach call a time out. Shame for not realizing he was losing you. Everything came back to you.

"How the hell are you missing those shots, Caleb? We need you and you think now is the best time to start half-assing..."

His voice trailed off. Or rather, Caleb wasn't listening anymore. He couldn't. Everything around him grew muffled. Fuzzy. Distant. It was just him and his thoughts.

He kept messing up.

He should've known. He should've seen when you were upset—he did—but you never told him what was wrong. You always brushed him off, why didn't you just—

No. It was his fault. He should've known. He should've—

"Sit the rest of the game out."

Caleb blinked, finally looking up. "What? No, I'm—"

"Hey, you, you're in."

Caleb's chest stung. But he didn't argue. Instead, he sat back, the chair creaking under his weight as he watched someone take his spot.

He was losing it.

Basketball used to make sense. It used to be his. Now he couldn't think straight. Couldn't find it in him to make the shots he was always valued for.

He watched the rest of the game in silence. Didn't cheer. Didn't speak. Not even in the huddles when his coach was glaring at him like the look alone might force some encouraging words out of him. He gave nothing.

He was too tired.

After the game, when MC approached him, he barely said a word—just followed her out the gym to walk her to her dorm. Usually, he would've been with you—his sweaty arm draped over your shoulder, you giggling softly when he ranted about his favorite plays or how nice you looked up there.

"That was..." MC thought for a second, then bluntly ended with, "bad."

Caleb scoffed. "Yeah. Pretty bad."

A beat of silence.

"You kept looking at the stands."

Caleb's jaw tensed, his grip on his duffel bag tightening. It was a reflex. He was used to finding you there.

"She's not there, Caleb."

Hoarsely, it came out, "I know." Even if he didn't act like it. Even if he still checked his phone or looked up at the stands, he knew.

"You miss her."

"..Yeah."

"So what happened?"

Caleb sighed. "Don't."

MC ignored him. "Why did you push her away?"

"I didn't—" Caleb bit back his exasperation. "I didn't mean to. I never meant to."

He swallowed hard. He could feel MC looking at him, waiting for some sort of explanation he wasn't sure he was ready to give because what the hell did he say besides, 'I fucked up'?

"I just—She was quiet. She got hurt, never talked to me about it, then pretended it never happened."

"So you're blaming it on her?"

Caleb's head snapped toward her, guilt burning in his veins. "No! That's not what I'm saying! I'm saying I didn't know."

He took a small breath, his voice softening. "I didn't know how much she was hurting."

Another quiet breath.

"I didn't mean to hurt her."

"But you did."

Caleb's throat tightened. "What are you doing?" he asked, his steps slowing to a halt. "Do you think I don't feel bad? That I don't know?"

MC stopped beside him, her eyes softening at the telltale tick in his jaw. "You know I love you, Caleb, but you were shitty."

He felt sick.

"I know that," he murmured.

"You treated her like a second thought."

Caleb felt a lump forming in his throat now. He could defend himself. Say he didn't mean to treat you like that, but at the end of the day, he did. So, he kept his mouth shut and let her continue.

"You know how embarrassing that is for a girl?"

Caleb let out a shaky breath. "MC—"

"People don't get this."

He blinked. "What?"

"They don't get our friendship. They don't understand that when you pat my head or grab my waist, it doesn't mean anything."

Caleb couldn't speak. He was too embarrassed.

He never thought it could look like flirting. With anyone else, sure, it would've been flirting. But with MC? It meant nothing. She was like a sister to him.

But you thought he—God, he was horrible.

"You mean well. I know you do, but you hurt her." A beat. Then, "So stop looking for her."

Caleb didn't say anything. He just stared, his throat a little too tight and his eyes a little too glassy to see right.

MC sighed, wrapping her arms around him in a quick hug. "I'm sorry. Goodnight, Caleb."

"..Night."

-

Caleb tried to stop looking for you. Maybe it would be better that way. For both you and him.

And that day, he really did. He kept his eyes down, fought the urge to whip his head the other way when he thought he saw someone who had your hair.

But then he actually saw you. It wasn't a figment of his imagination—no, you were there, walking down the sidewalk with a friend right in front of him.

He wanted to apologize. Blurt out whatever sad little story came out the second he got close enough.

But he didn't.

He didn't deserve that.

So he clutched his bag tighter and tensed his jaw to keep his mouth shut.

You wore a hoodie (not his, he noted), and your hair was pulled up in that hairstyle you did when you were too lazy to do it in the morning.

You looked pretty.

Too pretty.

And looking completely content as you laughed at something your friend said.

Then your eyes met his as you walked past, and it wrecked whatever illusion of composure he had left.

Because your smile didn't drop instantly. It was more of a natural stop, like the moment of laughter was over. Not because his presence did anything to you. No, like you just... didn't care.

Like he wasn't someone you shared a bed with or went on dates with. Like he wasn't the boy you told everything to at one point.

You looked at him as if he were a complete stranger, and finally, it hit him.

Really hit him.

He didn't lose you when you broke up. He'd lost you way before then. He was just too blind to see it.

Caleb had no right to feel hurt. No right at all, but it didn't stop the burn. The ache. If anything, it intensified it.

-

That night he stayed up until 2 a.m., drafting a text message to you. He wasn't even sure if he'd been blocked or not. He tried not to think about it too much.

Caleb reread it to himself over and over again, his finger hovering over the send button multiple times, but he couldn't do it.

He could hear MC now. "You cared too late."

It made his chest ache and his eyes sting.

He could hear you, too, crying on the phone with him that night, murmuring that quiet, "I'm tired."

God, he remembered too much.

The flashing lights, the crowd pressing in, the bass vibrating in his chest.

You, standing near the drink table, twisting the hem of your shirt. He thought you looked bored. He didn’t realize you were overwhelmed.

He should’ve known when you stopped reaching for his hand.

He tried. Even when everyone was joking and playing a shitty game of beer pong, he glanced over at you, tried deciphering whatever messages you were or weren't sending him.

He was stupid.

They were all right there.

Caleb had managed to slip away from the crowd and sit down beside you, carefully, as if you were some spooked animal.

"Hey.. You okay?"

You nodded, but you wouldn't quite meet his eyes. "I'm fine," you told him over the music, but your voice barely reached his ears.

He leaned in again, about to ask something else when his teammate grabbed him by his arm and started pulling him toward the beer pong, claiming it was his turn to play.

"Wait—Y/N is—"

"She'll be fine! Just one quick game!"

Caleb glanced over at you one last time. Even if he stayed, would you have told him what was wrong? His stomach curled. No, probably not, which is why he gave in with a grudging, "Just one game."

And when he came to check in later, he said, "Hey, you wanna get out of here?"

You'd smiled and said no.

Now, looking back, that smile felt rehearsed.

He should’ve known it was your way of saying please don’t make me spell this out for you.

He should’ve tried harder.

Fuck.

And then you left.

After that group picture—that was the last time he saw you. Caleb didn't notice it then, but he did now, and he felt it—the way you slipped away from him. Quick. A little too quick. Like you couldn't stand to be near him.

He looked around. He thought he spotted the top of your head as you nudged the crowd, but he didn't get a chance to go after you because his friends were fussing about how bad the picture was.

About how they needed another one.

Caleb swallowed hard. "Y/N isn't here—"

Flash!

Caleb blinked. He barely had time to speak again before his friends were nudging him.

"Dude! Smile!"

So he did. And when the picture was done with, he looked for you. But he couldn't find you. You weren't by the drinks. You weren't by the couch. You weren't in the bathroom. You weren't in any goddamn room he checked.

But maybe he just kept missing you.

So he texted you and started asking people about you.

No one knew where you were.

And when he checked his messages, he was left on read. Fucking read.

Dread filled his chest, like no matter how hard he tried to deny it, something was incredibly wrong.

But he kept texting you. He had to make sure you were okay, at least.

That's when you went on do not disturb.

It stung.

It made him wonder if you were okay (physically at least). If you were you still at the party. Because you wouldn't try and go home, right? He was your ride.

So, for hours, he spiraled.

He even texted Tara, your dormmate who also wouldn't answer.

Then everything else happened—

You finally responded and he—

You left.

Caleb clenched his jaw, fighting back the lump that crawled up his throat.

He stared at his texts, the letters glaring back at him. It almost felt like they were taunting him, laughing in his face for being so oblivious.

His finger trembled over the send button again.

He missed you. He missed you so much.

He reread his text one last time, trying to look for any typos through the blur of tears he'd fought so hard and failed to keep down.

'I know I was careless. I didn’t mean to make you feel small or forgotten. I don’t deserve another chance, but I wish I could take it all back. You meant more to me than I showed. I'm sorry.'

Caleb took a shaky breath, finally tapping the send with his thumb, and all at once, everything came crumbling down. His throat closed, his stomach tensed, his chest burned.

Not delivered.

He blinked rapidly, trying desperately to keep his everything down.

Maybe the wifi was acting up again.

He waited a second, refreshed his messages, turned his wifi on and off. Still not delivered.

No.

No, you—you didn't.

With a shaky finger, he pressed the call button.

He waited for the usual ring.

But it never came.

Instead, he got: 'The person you are trying to reach is not available.'

You did.

[autistichalsin]

In retrospect, four years later, I feel like the Isabel Fall incident was just the biggest ignored cautionary tale modern fandom spaces have ever had. Yes, it wasn't limited to fandom, it was also a professional author/booktok type argument, but it had a lot of crossover.

Stop me if you've heard this one before: a writer, whether fan or pro, publishes a work. If one were to judge a book by its cover, something we are all taught in Kindergarten shouldn't happen but has a way of occurring regardless, one might find that there was something that seemed deeply problematic about this work. Maybe the title or summary alluded to something Wrong happening, or maybe the tags indicated there was problematic kinks or relationships. And that meant the story was Bad. So, a group of people takes to the Twittersphere to inform everyone who will listen why the work, and therefore the author, are Bad. The author, receiving an avalanche of abuse and harassment, deactivates their account, and checks into a mental health facility for monitoring for suicidal ideation. They never return to their writing space, and the harassers get a slap on the wrist (if that- usually they get praise and high-fives all around) and start waiting for their next victim to transgress.

Sounds awful familiar, doesn't it?

Isabel Fall's case, though, was even more extreme for many reasons. See, she made the terrible mistake of using a transphobic meme as the genesis to actually explore issues of gender identity.

More specifically, she used the phrase "I sexually identify as an attack helicopter" to examine how marginalized identities, when they become more accepted, become nothing more than a tool for the military-industrial complex to rebrand itself as a more personable and inclusive atrocity; a chance to pursue praise for bombing brown children while being progressive, because queer people, too, can help blow up brown children now! It also contained an examination of identity and how queerness is intrinsic to a person, etc.

But... well, if harassers ever bothered to read the things they critique, we wouldn't be here, would we? So instead, they called Isabel a transphobic monster for the title alone, even starting a misinformation campaign to claim she was, in fact, a cis male nazi using a fake identity to psyop the queer community.

A few days later, after days of horrific abuse and harassment, Isabel requested that Clarkesworld magazine pull the story. She checked in to a psych ward with suicidal thoughts. That wasn't all, though; the harassment was so bad that she was forced to out herself as trans to defend against the claims.

Only... we know this type of person, the fandom harassers, don't we? You know where this is going. Outing herself did nothing to stop the harassment. No one was willing to read the book, much less examine how her sexuality and gender might have influenced her when writing it.

So some time later, Isabel deleted her social media. She is still alive, but "Isabel Fall" is not- because the harassment was so bad that Isabel detransitioned/closeted herself, too traumatized to continue living her authentic life.

Supposed trans allies were so outraged at a fictional portrayal of transness, written by a trans woman, that they harassed a real life trans woman into detransitioning.

It's heartbreakingly familiar, isn't it? Many of us in fandom communities have been in Isabel's shoes, even if the outcome wasn't so extreme (or in some cases, when it truly was). Most especially, many of us, as marginalized writers speaking from our own experiences in some way, have found that others did not enjoy our framework for examining these things, and hurt us, members of those identities, in defense of "the community" as a nebulous undefined entity.

There's a quote that was posted in a news writeup about the whole saga that was published a year after the fact. The quote is:

The delineation between paranoid and reparative readings originated in 1995, with influential critic Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick. A paranoid reading focuses on what’s wrong or problematic about a work of art. A reparative reading seeks out what might be nourishing or healing in a work of art, even if the work is flawed. Importantly, a reparative reading also tends to consider what might be nourishing or healing in a work of art for someone who isn’t the reader. This kind of nuance gets completely worn away on Twitter, home of paranoid readings. “[You might tweet], ‘Well, they didn’t discuss X, Y, or Z, so that’s bad!’ Or, ‘They didn’t’ — in this case — ‘discuss transness in a way that felt like what I feel about transness, therefore it is bad.’ That flattens everything into this very individual, very hostile way of reading,” Mandelo says. “Part of reparative reading is trying to think about how a story cannot do everything. Nothing can do everything. If you’re reading every text, fiction, or criticism looking for it to tick a bunch of boxes — like if it represents X, Y, and Z appropriately to my definitions of appropriate, and if it’s missing any of those things, it’s not good — you’re not really seeing the close focus that it has on something else.”

A paranoid reading describes perfectly what fandom culture has become in the modern times. It is why "proship", once simply a word for common sense "don't engage with what you don't like, and don't harass people who create it either" philosophies, has become the boogeyman of fandom, a bad and dangerous word. The days of reparative readings, where you would look for things you enjoyed, are all but dead. Fiction is rarely a chance to feel joy; it's an excuse to get angry, to vitriolically attack those different from oneself while surrounded with those who are the same as oneself. It's an excuse to form in-groups and out-groups that must necessarily be in a constant state of conflict, lest it come across like This side is accepting That side's faults. In other words, fandom has become the exact sort of space as the nonfandom spaces it used to seek to define itself against.

It's not about joy. It's not about resonance with plot or characters. It's about hate. It's about finding fault. If they can't find any in the story, they will, rest assured, create it by instigating fan wars- dividing fandom into factions and mercilessly attacking the other.

And that's if they even went so far as to read the work they're critiquing. The ones they don't bother to read, as you saw above, fare even worse. If an AO3 writer tagged an abuser/victim ship, it's bad, it's fetishism, even if the story is about how the victim escapes. If a trans writer uses the title "I Sexually Identify as an Attack Helicopter" to find a framework to dissect rainbow-washing the military-industrial complex, it's unforgivable. It's a cesspool of kneejerk reactions, moralizing discomfort, treating good/evil as dichotomous categories that can never be escaped, and using that complex as an excuse to heap harassment on people who "deserve it." Because once you are Bad, there is no action against you that is too Bad for you to deserve.

Isabel Fall's story follows this so step-by-step that it's like a textbook case study on modern fandom behavior.

Isabel Fall wrote a short story with an inflammatory title, with a genesis in transphobic mockery, in the hopes of turning it into a genuine treatise on the intersection of gender and sexuality and the military-industrial complex. But because audiences are unprepared for the idea of inflammatory rhetoric as a tool to force discomfort to then force deeper introspection... they zeroed in on the discomfort. "I Sexually Identify as an Attack Helicopter"- the title phrase, not the work- made them uncomfortable. We no longer teach people how to handle discomfort; we live in a world of euphemism and glossing over, a world where people can't even type out the words "kill" and rape", instead substituting "unalive" and "grape." We don't deal with uncomfortable feelings anymore; we censor them, we transform them, we sanitize them. When you are unable to process discomfort, when you are never given self-soothing tools, your only possible conclusion is that anything Uncomfortable must be Bad, and the creator must either be censored too, or attacked into conformity so that you never again experience the horrors of being Uncomfortable.

So the masses took to Twitter, outraged. They were Uncomfortable, and that de facto meant that they had been Wronged. Because the content was related to trans identity issues, that became the accusation; it was transphobic, inherently. It couldn't be a critique of bigger and more fluid systems than gender identity alone; it was a slight against trans people. And no amount of explanations would change their minds now, because they had already been aggrieved and made to feel Uncomfortable.

Isabel Fall was now a Bad Person, and we all know what fandom spaces do to Bad People. Bad People, because they are Bad, will always be deserving of suicide bait and namecalling and threatening. Once a person is Bad, there is no way to ever become Good again. Not by refuting the accusations (because the accusations are now self-evident facts; "there is a callout thread against them" is its own tautological proof that wrongdoing has happened regardless of the veracity of the claims in the callout) and not by apologizing and changing, because if you apologize and admit you did the Bad thing, you are still Bad, and no matter what you do in future, you were once Bad and that needs to be brought up every time you are mentioned. If you are bad, you can NEVER be more than what you were at your worst (in their definition) moment. Your are now ontologically evil, and there is no action taken against you that can be immoral.

So Isabel was doomed, naturally. It didn't matter that she outed herself to explain that she personally had lived the experience of a trans woman and could speak with authority on the atrocity of rainbow-washing the military industrial complex as a proaganda tool to capture progressives. None of it mattered. She had written a work with an Uncomfortable phrase for a title, the readers were Uncomfortable, and someone had to pay for it.

And that's the key; pay for it. Punishment. Revenge. It's never about correcting behavior. Restorative justice is not in this group's vocabulary. You will, incidentally, never find one of these folks have a stance against the death penalty; if you did Bad as a verb, you are Bad as an intrinsic, inescapable adjective, and what can you do to incorrigible people but kill them to save the Normal people? This is the same principle, on a smaller scale, that underscores their fandom activities; if a Bad fan writes Bad fiction, they are a Bad person, and their fandom persona needs to die to save Normal fans the pain of feeling Uncomfortable.

And that's what happened to Isabel Fall. The person who wrote the short story is very much alive, but the pseudonym of Isabel Fall, the identity, the lived experiences coming together in concert with imagination to form a speculative work to critique deeply problematic sociopolitical structures? That is dead. Isabel Fall will never write again, even if by some miracle the person who once used the name does. Even if she ever decides to restart her transition, she will be permanently scarred by this experience, and will never again be able to share her experience with us as a way to grow our own empathy and challenge our understanding of the world. In spirit, but not body, fandom spaces murdered Isabel Fall.

And that's... fandom, anymore. That's just what is done, routinely and without question, to Bad people. Good people are Good, so they don't make mistakes, and they never go too far when dealing with Bad people. And Bad people, well, they should have thought before they did something Bad which made them Bad people.

Isabel Fall's harassment happened in early 2020, before quarantine started, but it was in so many ways a final chance for fandom to hit the breaks. A chance for fandom to think collectively about what it wanted to be, who it wanted to be for and how it wanted to do it. And fandom looked at this and said, "more, please." It continues to harass marginalized people, especially fans of color and queen fans, into suffering mental breakdowns. With gusto.

Any ideas of reparative reading is dead. Fandom runs solely on paranoid readings. And so too is restorative justice gone for fandom transgressions, real or imagined. It is now solely about punitive, vigilante justice. It's a concerted campaign to make sure oddballs conform or die (in spirit, but sometimes even physically given how often mentally ill individuals are pushed into committing suicide).

It's a deeply toxic environment and I'm sad to say that Isabel Fall's story was, in retrospect, a sort of event horizon for the fandom. The gravitational pull of these harassment campaigns is entirely too strong now and there is no escaping it. I'm sorry, I hate to say something so bleak, but thinking the last few days about the state of fandom (not just my current one but also others I watch from the outside), I just don't think we can ever go back to peaceful "for joy" engagement, not when so many people are determined to use it as an outlet for lateral aggression against other people.

[dollfacefantasy]

IF I WAS A RICH GIRL PT.3 ♡

pairing: bodyguard!jason todd x fem!reader x bodyguard!dick grayson

summary: the events of last night leave an ugly mark on your relationship with jason that also bleeds over into your time with dick. will the three of you find a way to make things work? or will some other security firm have to take on your case?

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, angst, double penetration (p in v + anal), fingering, car sex, edging, hints of exhibitionism, light brat taming, arguments, mommy + daddy issues

wc: 19.3k (good heavens)

a/n: the rock (me) has finally come back to tumblr dot com. i hope you guys like this chapter!! it's dramatic as fuck, but isn't that the fun of fanfic. and thank you for all the love on this story!! i'll have the next one out soon-ish. peace and love, reblogs and comments are always appreciated <3

part 1 | part 2

When your eyes finally opened again, you found yourself alone in bed.

The room was bright now, and the TV had been turned off. It was quiet, no soft breaths coming from either side of you, no hushed voices chattering back and forth above your head.

You sat up slowly. Judging by the intensity of the sunlight outside, it was a little later in the morning than you’d usually wake up. That explained why your bedroom was vacant spare yourself.

Your hand came up to rub the sleep from your eyes. Flashes from a few hours ago flooded your mind. Jason’s hands around your throat. Dick’s quiet retelling of the past. The harsh words exchanged on the balcony through the biting winter air.

How had everything shifted so much in such a short span of time?

You dragged yourself from the comforts of your pillows and blankets and stumbled into the ensuite bathroom. Your movements came slower, less motivated, like your body was weighed down with the pain from the night before. It was weird. As you moved, you felt this weight in your chest. Some lighter form of mourning. One that came laced with a substantial dose of anxiety. You tried not to dwell on it while brushing your teeth.

It just didn’t make sense to you. How could someone that’d only been in your life for such a short amount of time leave you feeling so out of sorts? A month ago, you didn’t know Jason or Dick existed. You’d lived for years and years without them. Even having them around now, it wasn’t anything serious. It wasn’t as though they were your boyfriends. They were just supposed to be for fun. And like with all your other objects of entertainment; when you tired of them, you should be able to start looking for the next. Never before had you been this unsettled by the possibility of losing one — or technically two.

Though, it probably wasn’t fair to think about the whole issue as if it was a collective one. Dick hadn’t done anything wrong. In fact, he’d made all the right decisions. He told you not to go down there, to just leave Jason to his own devices for the night. You just thought you knew better.

As soon as you’d spit in the sink for the final time, back to your bedroom you went. Your luxurious pajamas landed in the nearby hamper in exchange for a soft pair of sweats and an oversized shirt from your dresser. You weren’t going anywhere today. There was no reason to dress up. Normally, you’d try a little more for something cute, but with the mood you were in right now, flipping through random pieces of clothing to find something pretty and comfortable was the last thing you wanted to do.

With a huff, you exited your room and headed across the lofted walkway to the stairs. You could hear their voices coming from downstairs. They were muffled, hushed under the assumption you could wake and enter the room at any time.

You padded down the staircase. As soon as you stepped into the living room, you saw them in the kitchen at the counter. Dick was on one side, eyes laced with concern and his lips in a straight, displeased line. Jason stood on the other. His head hung down towards the marble.

Neither of them saw you right away.

For a few seconds, you considered going back upstairs. You weren’t really in the mood for talking things out or forgiveness of any kind. But Jason wasn’t your boyfriend. He was your bodyguard, and you were gonna have to be around him at some point or another unless he asked for a reassignment. You figured it would be best to just get it out of the way now, to avoid letting the tension mount into anything more.

So you headed further into the room. You dragged your feet a little, trying to make some noise that would alert them to the fact that you were there. The small scuffles didn’t pull them out of their conversation with each other though.

It wasn’t until you were a few paces behind Dick that Jason caught sight of you. Like an ashamed dog, his eyes lowered towards the countertop he was leaning against. His usual demeanor had seemingly vanished. It was weird. You didn’t know what you’d anticipated from him, but it wasn’t this.

Jason shying away clued Dick in to your presence. He turned around, and to your relief, he seemed the same as normal. His soft eyes and faint smile beckoned you closer despite the awkwardness from the guy standing a few feet from him.

You tentatively walked the rest of the way to them. Even though he tried being subtle, you noticed how his eyes fell to the base of your throat, clearly trying to see how visible the marks from Jason’s fingers had turned out to be.

If today was any of those that came before, you probably would have been all over him and then bound around the island to give Jason the same treatment. Arms would have snuck around waists, and your face would have squished against either of their chests. Maybe if you were lucky (which, with them, you always were) they’d be kind enough to part your legs and start your day off extra nice.

But today, your palms stayed flat on the cold countertop. Your feet remained planted on the ground below you. You didn’t say anything, not a joke to break the ice or an accusation to bring the conflict to a boiling point. Just nothing. Absolute silence permeated the kitchen, and you found your eyes mimicking Jason’s gaze at the sleek marble.

The invisible wall of ice that had formed around you was broken by Dick’s hand landing between your shoulder blades.

“There she is,” he said, ever the mediator. “You sleep ok?”

“Yeah,” you answered. Your voice came out quiet. Maybe the quietest you’d been over the course of their stay.

You could tell he was trying to take some of the weight from the two of you, but everything still felt so overwhelming. 

His hand started to move in tight circles on your back, easing some of the tension in your shoulders. But when one part of you calmed down, it seemed like your anxiety just targeted somewhere else. Your heart stuttered in your chest as you tried to will your eyes to look at Jason. It shouldn’t be that hard… It was just an argument. Not the end of the world. Your body couldn’t seem to accept that though.

“How are you feeling?” Dick asked next. His hand slipped around to your front, boosting your chin to give him a clear look at your neck.

“I’m ok,” you said and shrugged. 

You took a step back from him and shuffled over to the fridge. Normally, you ate up attention like that. Milking injuries had become almost a natural talent for you at this point in your life. You’d picked it up at eight years old when you sprained your ankle during a tennis lesson. You continued with it at fourteen when your driver got into a car accident on the way home from school that left you with a fractured wrist. And you’d stuck with it at eighteen when you’d tripped while walking into one of your father’s campaign events.

One of the only times your father felt a need to take your side was when he believed someone or something else had harmed his daughter. Playing up how victimized you felt never failed to get you attention. It just didn’t feel right in this case.

If anything, for the first time in your life, you didn’t feel that desperate need to be noticed. You’d much rather shrivel up and seep into the crevices between the floorboards. Any attention to the small markings circling your neck just brought you shame, and more so, they made you worry about Jason. If you felt embarrassed and guilty, you could only imagine how he was doing.

It was kind of odd. You couldn’t remember feeling so subdued about something like this ever before. You’d been allowed to quit tennis over your ankle. You’d cried and cried for weeks about how terrified you were because of the car accident. And you’d thrown a monumental fit over the falling incident. All without ever for a second questioning yourself.

You could still sense Dick’s concerned stare on your back as you popped open the large refrigerator and briefly scanned the shelves for something to eat. Nothing looked good today. You nudged the steel doors closed again.

A quiet sigh left your lips. You knew you should try saying something, but it just felt weird with Dick standing there, almost supervising you and Jason like two rowdy pups that couldn’t be left alone together. You were sure Jason had told him what happened. How honest he’d been was the real question, but Jason was so hard on himself, you doubted he’d try to paint himself in a better light by withholding details.

Your eyes flitted between them, deciding how you should broach the subject, or if you should broach it all. Would pretending everything was fine be better? Who should you even address? It would be awkward to just talk as if Dick wasn’t there, but what business of his was it how ugly Jason made you feel?

Seconds later, as if some divine force heard your internal gripes, Dick’s phone rang from upstairs.

“Damn,” he said, looking between the lofted walkway and the pair of you. He seemed reluctant to leave. “I’ll be right back.”

You tried not to look too relieved as he left the room. With a deep breath, you took the spot he’d been standing in. Right across from Jason.

He finally looked at you. His murky green eyes stared across the island into your own. Your heart skipped a couple beats. You had to swallow down the nausea creeping up on you.

“I hope you know I feel like shit about what I said…” he started quietly.

You couldn’t take it. You looked down at the counter again where your fingers fidgeted idly with one another.

“You don’t have to. I know you were really upset. I shouldn’t have intruded,” you said at a similar volume.

“That’s no excuse. I should have better control.”

“Everyone slips up now and then…” you said and shrugged. “We can just forget about the whole thing.”

For a moment, you found the courage to look at him once more. But it evaporated just as fast upon seeing his expression. He looked worse than before. Sadness had mixed in with his shame, and it made you feel like throwing up.

“Really,” you continued. “It’d probably be for the best if we just moved past it. I’m not gonna hold it against you or whatever.”

“You could if you wanted to. You haven’t had trouble calling me out for anything else. I’d deserve it,” he said.

The words hung between the two of you. This was obviously not “anything else.” This wasn’t him teasing you with an annoying nickname or insulting your choice of clothing. This was him calling you out with nearly psychic precision, striking each of your insecurities with shattering force.

You simply shook your head. “It’s fine. I’d really rather just forget about it,” you said.

The ceiling creaked overhead, presumably from Dick walking around while taking that call. You hoped it would last a while longer. For once you didn’t want anyone on your side. You didn’t want him playing mediator.

Jason seemed reluctant to accept your answer, but given you were the one hurting it wasn’t like he had room to argue.

“If that’s what you want…” he said. “But just… I didn’t mean what I said.”

Maybe if you were in a better mood you’d roll your eyes or laugh at that. If it wasn’t such a sensitive topic, if the words didn’t hurt just to recall, if they didn’t apply to you, maybe you would have been happy to call him on this too.

“Yeah you did,” you said. “But I don’t blame you for it.”

“I don’t want-”

“Please just let me move on from it,” you continued. “I don’t want things to be weird from now on just cause you said a couple things about me.”

“It wasn’t just a couple things. You don’t have to-” he tried, but you took a couple steps back now. 

It was too much. You were trying to be the opposite of how you normally would act. You were trying to be better. Why was he pushing back? It felt like there was no way to win.

“It was, and I’m ok, really. I’d rather just leave it in the past and forget. I’m a big girl. I can handle a few mean words,” you brushed off.

He stared at you with those sad, traumatized-pitbull eyes but didn’t say anything more. You headed back to the stairs, following your original plan of retreating to your room for the rest of the day. Maybe time would make this feel better. A few days would allow the pain to dull, and things could go back to normal.

Nearly a week went by, and unfortunately, you’d been wrong. Things had not gone back to normal.

They weren’t as bad as that first day. For that first twenty-four hours after, tension was built into the very walls of the penthouse. You stayed in your bedroom, only going downstairs in the evening to grab some food.

Dick lingered around. He so obviously wanted to check on you and make sure you were doing alright while you so obviously did not want to talk about anything related to the incident with Jason. You didn’t know what Jason got up to most of that day. He never came up to try and see you or anything. He respected your space like you hadn’t with him. That thought made you feel worse.

That night you dreamt about the two of them. It wasn’t a nightmare. You didn’t thrash around like Jason had the night before. There was no intense action or dire situations. Instead, it felt empty. You walked around a world inside your head where both of them had left you, where they had moved onto other cases and left you behind as nothing more than a memory.

Your eyes opened in the darkness of your room. You didn’t have a racing heart or a frantic mind. Rather a sense of melancholic dread rattled around inside your chest.

You decided then and there that you would make sure your dream stayed just that. It wouldn’t become real. They wouldn’t just serve the rest of their time on your case like some awkward prison sentence. You always got what you wanted, and this would be no exception.

So the next day and every day that came after that you changed your strategy.

The next day you went downstairs, dressed like you normally would. You kept your head held high and your shoulders back, and you acted as if Jason had never called you the poster-child for daddy issues.

Dick seemed willing to play along with you like usual. He didn’t acknowledge how upset you’d been, content to move on exactly like you had asked. In his eyes, there was no use prolonging the whole thing. It wasn’t like you and Jason had gone back to being at each other’s throats, so that was good enough for him.

On the other hand, Jason wasn’t as easy to satisfy. It wasn’t that he disapproved of the way you chose to handle yourself. He wasn’t out right mean to you or anything like that either. He simply became… distant.

And you fucking hated it. You’d honestly prefer him tearing into you to whatever weird awkward limbo the penthouse had settled into now.

When the three of you went places, he remained completely professional. His eyes watched everyone in the room but you. And at home he was the same. He kept to himself, stayed silent during meals spare a few comments here and there. He wouldn’t joke around with you like before, but he wouldn’t mock you either. He was just indifferent, and it was driving you fucking crazy.

Dick tried reassuring you that it was normal. You hadn’t done anything wrong, this was just how Jason could be some times. He was a private guy, and when something was bothering him, he kept it to himself until it went away or his frustration bubbled over.

You tried accepting it, but it was a difficult transition. Jason spent most of his free time up in the guest room you’d assigned him to on his first day. A tiny piece of your brain assumed it was only a matter of time until he packed up his things and left you to Dick alone. You could imagine it — just waking up to him being gone. His stuff cleared from his room, his motorcycle gone from the parking lot. Not a word of goodbye. An exit as quick as he entered, leaving no evidence that he was ever a part of your life.

The whole dilemma consumed your thoughts while you tried watching this movie with Dick. You sat against him with his arm around your shoulders, your foot bouncing on the floor while anxiety completely clouded your mind. The fact that you had seen this movie before wasn’t helping you focus any.

You looked up at him to check how he was faring but found his head tilted back against the soft cushion. His eyes had fallen shut while his breaths came out at a slow, steady rhythm.

Just to be sure, you nudged him once.

“Dick?” you whispered.

Still nothing.

Ever so carefully, you pulled away from his body. Half of you expected him to wake up at the feeling of movement or the sudden lack of warmth pressed to his side, but he didn’t. He stayed sound asleep as you retreated from the living room and headed towards the stairs.

You knew it probably wasn’t the smartest decision. Shouldn’t you have learned your lesson about chasing after Jason? But even if the events of that night repeated, it didn’t matter. Fighting would be better than constant, unending tension. That was what you told yourself anyways.

As you crept along the walkway, you didn’t hear anything coming from his room. You wondered if he was sleeping already. The lights were still on though. You could see a sliver shining from where the door was opened just a crack.

Upon peeking inside, you didn’t know what you expected to see. Whenever Jason was with you, he seemed to do things he knew would entertain you or occupy your attention. Right now though, in the solitary peace of the bedroom, you found him reading.

He was lying on his bed, one hand holding the book apart above his head. His eyes scanned the pages quietly until his other set of fingers came up to turn the page. You stood there for a few moments, contemplating whether or not you should interrupt. But your longing for him won out over the small ability to be considerate you possessed.

You pushed the door open another foot or two and rapped your knuckles on the frame. See, you were being better. Two weeks ago, you never would have knocked.

He looked away from the pages at the sound. Once he saw it came from you, he sat up, putting the book on his nightstand.

“Oh, you don’t have to…” you started, but really you wanted his full attention, so you stopped yourself short.

“It’s fine. Did you need something?” he said simply.

You stood there for a few moments, not knowing what to do. Because, yes, you did need something. You needed him to stop being so fucking stiff. You were about one monotonous reply away from crawling on your knees and begging for him to disrespect you like a normal person again.

“Um… I just wanted to see you,” you said instead. “I just wanted to see how you were doing.”

Taking a leap of faith, you walked into the room a few paces. He didn’t tell you to get out or back up, so in your mind, that was a good sign.

“Yeah?” he said.

You nodded. “I feel like I haven’t seen you that much lately…” you continued.

A huff of what sounded like laughter came from his lips, yet he didn’t appear happy. “Well, I’m doing fine. Same as always, you know,” he shrugged.

“Are you? You don’t seem the same…” you said, walking even closer to his bed. “I just…”

You couldn’t get the words out. Every sentence you spoke felt like traversing a field of landmines.

“You just what?” he asked.

Your eyes fell to his blankets covering the mattress. Part of you had hoped that he would just understand what you were trying to say. That he would want things to go back to normal as badly as you did.

You sat down on the edge of his bed. Your first instinct was to get more confrontational. Dragging this out was painful. It would be so much easier to strike, to force him to tell you why he’d been acting this way, why he’d been punishing you for his own actions. But you knew that would only make things worse.

“It’s nothing. Nevermind…” you finally answered. “What were you reading?”

You were trying your hardest to appear unaffected. It wasn’t the best performance you’d ever given, but if he saw through it, he spared you the torture of saying something.

“Nothing special. Doubt it would be your taste.”

“How do you know? I like all kinds of things.”

“Do you even like to read?” he asked. 

“Oh come on,” you scoffed. “I’m not stupid if that’s what you’re trying to say.”

For the first time in days, a bit of his spark flickered back to life. 

“That’s not what I’m trying to say. It just doesn’t seem like something you’d enjoy doing. Reading takes patience. Something you don’t have a lot of.”

You knew he was joking, but it stung. The words sliced into you like fresh cuts on already wounded flesh. They were just another way he disapproved of you.

“I have the patience… I used to do it a lot more when I was younger, but if something interests me, then I’ll read it.”

Getting all sad probably wouldn’t help your case, so you tried remaining lighthearted. You didn’t want anything serving as a callback to the other night. If that meant shoving your feelings down and putting on the face you wanted him to see, you could. You’d had a lot of practice at that over the years.

You rolled your eyes and crawled closer to him. “Just tell me what you’re reading,” you said. 

Maybe you just had to take the first step. If you could entice him into playing along with you, that could repair things.

“Why are you so interested?” he said. He wasn’t moving away at all. That was good.

“I wouldn’t be if you weren’t being so secretive,” you replied.

The two of you stared each other down for a few seconds before you lunged for the nightstand. He sprung into action just as quickly. His arms looped around your waist, keeping you away from your target. For a split second, everything fell back into place.

You squirmed in his grasp, playfully wrestling him a little. He did it right back. The size advantage he had on you made it a quick struggle. In no time, you were flat on your back, pinned to the mattress with him above.

He gazed down at you, and he looked like the Jason you knew. There wasn’t any forced restraint or haunted resignation. His features relaxed, his eyes softened. All as he focused on you.

You opened your mouth to taunt him again but he beat you to it.

“Pet Sematary,” he answered. “Pretty basic.”

You grinned up at him, elated at his shift in attitude. And he actually smiled back at you. It wasn’t a big one, but it rarely was with Jason. If anything, it was the best case scenario for this situation, so you were more than pleased.

That was until his eyes drifted down. It was a natural movement, one he had done many times before while on top of you. But now his pupils didn’t catch on your collarbone or breasts. Instead, the marks on your throat brought them to a halt.

The little bruises from his fingers had almost healed by now. They were barely there, close to being completely faded. But that wasn’t good enough for him.

He brought one of his hands to your neck. His index finger traced over them, dragging across them as if playing connect the dots. That smile melted away in seconds.

You grabbed his hand, gently wrapping your fingers around his palm. “They don’t hurt,” you said softly.

“Doesn’t matter. They shouldn’t be there at all.”

“It was just an accident, Jason,” you said. Your voice had gone so quiet it was only a couple decibels louder than a whisper.

“One that never would have happened if I was doing my job,” he said. He brought your hand to his lips, leaving a soft kiss on your knuckles before he let you go entirely and sat up.

You followed him upright. “Oh come on. This isn’t… It’s not like that,” you said. You were trying your hardest to be careful and not overstep again. “Even if you were being the absolute pinnacle of professionalism, that still could have happened.”

“It wouldn’t have,” he said.

“It could have. It’s not like you were distracted, so I got hurt or something. It was totally out of your control. There was nothing to protect me from there. You let your guard down because I let you. Because this isn’t like your other jobs. You couldn’t have done anything to stop this.”

He shook his head, dropping it into his hands for a moment. “I should have known better. Even if there’s nothing to protect you from, I shouldn’t be putting you in danger by letting you get so close to me.”

Without even thinking about it, you rose to your knees behind him. Your arms draped over his shoulders, and you slotted your head against his neck. You could feel his heart beating with your own against his back. Your eyes closed. You couldn’t help but think he might have been right in saying you were out of your depth the other night.

“Don’t say that,” you whispered with a few kisses to the back of his neck. “You pushing me away for the whole week feels worse than a few seconds of your hand on my throat.”

His fingers began to trace small lines up and down your forearm. “It was a few seconds then, but it could have been so much worse. It’s not worth the risk,” he said.

“Yes, you are,” you said, bordering on pleading. Your arms' grip grew tighter around him. “I miss you, Jason. And it’s so fucking stupid because you’re right here. I see you everyday. You’re only ever a few rooms away. But I miss you. You feel so far away, and I hate it.”

What you really hated was the fact that you could feel your throat starting to close up and tears stinging your eyes. In an attempt to keep them hidden, you squished your face against the back of his neck harder. It had been years since you had this much trouble hiding pain. The last time had to be almost a decade ago, some time during your teenage years.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. But he didn’t take it back. He didn’t pull you closer. He didn’t say anything that gave you the impression he’d be letting you in again any time soon.

“Don’t be,” you said, your voice cracking against your will. “Don’t be sorry, just be normal. Just be how you were. Just stop shutting me out.”

“I can’t. Hurting you fucks me up too, you know? I can’t do it again,” he said softly. He sighed and gently began to peel your arms off of him. “You’re a sweet girl. For all your attitude, you got a good heart buried in there somewhere. All that shit I gave you, it was just-”

“Wh-what?” you stuttered incredulously. A few tears leaked from your eyes simply because of how much they had widened. You wiped them away as quickly as you could. “What are you doing? Why are you talking like this is a break up or something? Like you’re trying to let me down gently?”

Jason rolled his eyes. “I’m trying to make you feel better, but-”

“Oh my god. You are. My bodyguard is dumping me,” you said and pulled back from him all on your own.

He looked at you, not in anger or satisfaction. If anything, he just looked tired.

“Call it what you want. I just want you to know that I didn’t mean that shit I said, and I don’t want you believing any of it. That’s it.”

“That’s it?” you repeated, your regular attitude clawing its way back to the surface. “So what? You’re just gonna ignore me for the rest of the time you’re here?”

“No. I’m gonna talk to Dick tomorrow about reassignment.”

Hearing that shattered what little you had left of your more demure facade. The words struck you like bullets. You got off the bed and onto your feet. Playing nice was bullshit if this is what it got you.

“Well go ahead then! Do whatever you want! Just leave like nothing ever happened! If you think I’m gonna beg you to stay here, you’re crazy!” you snapped.

He just stared at you, which only made you feel more pathetic. Here you were yet again, stamping your feet and trying to hold back tears over an argument. The only difference between then and now was he sat behind a desk instead of on the other side of a bed.

You didn’t wait for a response. Getting out was all that mattered. You turned on your heel and practically tore the door off its hinges as you left. It stayed ajar while you stormed down the remainder of the walkway. When you went into your own room, that door slammed firmly behind you.

The loud bang from upstairs snapped Dick awake. He came out of the haze of sleep immediately on edge when he realized you were no longer at his side.

After shutting the tv off and rubbing the drowsiness from his eyes, he headed up there. On the way past Jason’s room, he peered inside. All he got from him was a grim look and a shaking head. At least he could be sure nothing was seriously wrong now.

He headed the rest of the way to your room and slipped inside without a sound. It was quiet in there — dark spare the dim glow of your bedside lamp. He’d expected worse for some reason. You seething or in tears, pacing with some furniture knocked over or at least a couple pillows scattered around.

But you were just lying on your bed, completely still and silent. It was only when he got closer could he see that you were nearly vibrating with how upset you were.

“Hey, you disappeared on me,” he said while approaching the bed. He started off light, trying to get a read on just how bad your mood was. All the bickering he’d seen between you and Jason prior to this was just that — bickering. But the door slamming hadn’t sounded like the conclusion to a minor disagreement.

And you gave him no response, so he figured it was worse than whatever he thought.

He sat down on the side of the bed and leaned across to rub your shoulder. Your muscles were taut beneath your skin like a rubber band close to snapping. “What’s wrong?” he asked softly.

“Jason is a fucking asshole, that’s what,” you choked out.

That was all you really said about it to him for the rest of the night. You’d give little pieces here and there about how you hated Jason and you wished he’d just left you alone to begin with. He tried coaxing out the full story, but you wouldn’t budge.

He did all that he could — stayed with you until your body went lax and your cries decreased to occasional sniffles. You just needed some time to calm down, he assumed. Tomorrow you’d tell him what happened or he’d find out from Jason, and everything would work out.

However, the morning brought a different story than he’d hoped.

You slept in much later than usual. He figured it was half due to the exhausted state you left yourself in after being so upset and half due to the overcast weather outside. The sea of clouds blocking the sun left your bedroom doused in murky gray, much darker than usual.

Once you were up, he tried offering to take you out for some breakfast. He’d drive you anywhere you wanted to go. The two of you could even walk around after, maybe do something else until you had to get ready for the fundraiser you were attending in the evening. He thought it would be good. A distraction and a way of keeping you and Jason separated.

But all it got him in return was a glare.

He raised his hands in surrender. “Not in the mood. That’s ok. Do you-”

“I don’t need you to feel sorry for me or like take me out to pity breakfast or whatever,” you interjected.

“Hey,” he said, more serious than he usually spoke. But he had to be. You had more bite in your voice than he’d heard so far. “It’s not like that. I’m doing anything out of pity, and you should know that.”

“Well that’s what it feels like. I can deal with being upset, you know. I don’t need you trying to handle it or distract me,” you huffed. You rose from your bed and began putting the pillows and blankets back into place with obvious irritation.

It was becoming clear to him that you were just in a pissy mood, and you were going to be difficult for the sake of it. Jason’s warning from that first day rang through his head again. Maybe his charm had reached its expiration date with you. But unlike Jason, he didn’t have a problem remaining cordial with you.

“Fine. If you need space, I’ll leave you alone,” he said as he began to back up towards the door.

Before he could leave, you asked one more thing. “Have you talked to Jason yet?”

His brow raised at the word yet. “No,” he replied.

“You should. He’s the one that could use handling,” you grumbled while walking towards the ensuite bathroom.

He just let you go without saying anything else. It was probably for the best that he did talk to Jason while you mellowed out some more.

“What did you do?” he asked as he entered Jason’s room without so much as a knock.

Jason, who had been in the middle of doing some sit ups on the ground next to the large windows, didn’t stop his reps upon Dick’s intrusion. He simply glanced over at him, unamused.

“What are you talking about?” he asked.

“You know what I’m talking about. Why is she so upset?”

Finally, he sat up for good. Though he didn’t seem eager to have the conversation. With a bitter laugh, he shook his head and stood up.

“She told you it was my fault?” he said.

Dick paused before shrugging. “In so many words.”

He clicked his tongue in disapproval. “She must be really pissed if she won’t even tell you the full story.”

“So you tell it to me.”

“There’s not much to tell. I told her I was sorry, said she was a nice girl, and told her I planned on asking you for reassignment,” he said before looking over directly at Dick. “So, I guess I’m asking now. I think I need to be moved to another case. What do you think?”

Dick rubbed his eyes. That would do it. Now it made perfect sense to him why you’d been so agitated. He sighed before making eye contact with Jason again.

“Is that really what you want?”

He nodded, expression hard and unfaltering.

“Alright… I’ll see what I can do. I’ll make a few calls tomorrow,” he said. “Are you leaving now? Or-”

“I’ll stay till you find me something else. Not like I’m in a rush. I don’t have much else to do,” he shrugged.

“You gonna come to that fundraiser tonight?”

“Might as well,” he replied.

Dick nodded. “Right… Well I’ll let you know when I work something out.”

That served as his parting statement to Jason. There wasn’t much else to discuss between the two of them. At least not right now.

He headed out, shutting the door behind him. From there, he didn’t know where to go. Technically he had his own room, but the penthouse had become a tangled web of tension. He felt like no place would bring refuge right now.

With a sigh, he headed in that direction anyways. He wasn’t happy about Jason’s decision for more reasons than he could articulate to either of you. Not only were you gonna be even more miserable when he actually left, but Dick didn’t want to see him go either. 

Jason kept things balanced around here. You and him bounced off each other, took out all your frustration towards life on one another. With him around, Dick could always be the good cop. He could forever be the one to take care of you, to fix things. He never had to deal with your attitude before this morning.

But he also didn’t want Jason to go because he knew what this was. He’d done it before. Most severely after that case went wrong, but whenever he made a mistake it seemed he couldn’t help retreating.

The same man who never turned down a fight, who talked more shit than anyone else he knew, fled at the first sign of someone wanting to get closer. Dick used to not understand, but he’d drawn conclusions over the years. No one could see the deep cracks along his surface if he ran before they ever got close enough to get a good look.

He flopped back on the bed, noticing how the mattress had less spring than the one in your room. It didn’t matter. It would be comfortable enough for him to relax until the three of you had to drive across town for the fundraiser later tonight. 

Maybe after that he could talk to Jason, try to convince him that this wasn’t something he needed to run from. If that didn’t work, maybe he’d talk to you about the importance of being able to let things go, that every rejection wasn’t a personal attack of the highest degree. Hell, maybe he could just get drunk enough at the fundraiser that the two of you would have to take care of him and come back together over that.

It didn’t matter. No option was gonna be fun, easy, or pleasant.

God, why couldn’t the two of you just go back to banging things out?

You spent most of the day in the bath. Hours went by with your body submerged in steaming, rose-scented water. It was hot enough to sting. Almost as if you believed the heat could kill the gross feeling of abandonment crawling all over you. 

Every time the water got cold, you’d refill the tub. Candle light flickered along the walls, painting the pale tiles in shadows. You watched them shift around in silence, not in the mood to occupy your attention with anything. It was too hard to focus. Everything seemed to remind you of your current dilemma, and the inability to distract yourself made you wish you hadn’t been so hard on Dick who probably would have been successful at relieving your stress.

Once you finally couldn’t stand the feeling of your water-logged skin anymore, you rose to your feet and pulled the drain. The water rushed away in an urgent spiral as you reached for a towel. The pale pink fluff dragged across every inch of your body. You shimmied it around yourself until there wasn’t a bead of water left to roll down your skin.

The rest of your routine came in that quiet, practiced way that seemed automatic. You applied a healthy coat of lotion all over, squirted a few different serums into your hands to work onto your face.

By the time you made it back to your bedroom, it was late afternoon. The sun was setting outside. From the lower angle, it cut through the clouds, painting your room a warm orange.

You still had a couple hours before that fundraiser. That stupid fucking fundraiser. Quite possibly the last place on Earth you wanted to go tonight. You couldn’t remember what charity it was for, let alone why your father was making you attend. He’d already won the election. What was the point of kissing ass now?

Staring at your phone, you tried to think of any excuse that could get you out of it. There had to be a way you could stay in and wallow instead of mingling with a bunch of walking bank accounts for the evening. Just one call feigning cramps or something…

It wasn’t worth it though, and you knew that. If you ditched this thing, you’d have to do something more torturous next week. You’d get a call from your mother about how much he did for you, how it disappointed him when you couldn’t be bothered to show some gratitude. 

When he expected you at something, you went. That was that. You dressed up all pretty, smiled for pictures, and tried to conceal your misery until you were allowed to slip away. At least now that you were older, you didn’t have to go home with them.

You walked over to your closet, running your fingertips along your options for a dress tonight. Your mother had sent you one like she did for all the events you attended with them. It was long, emerald green with off-the-shoulder sleeves. But like with all the gowns she sent you, it would stay hung up on the wardrobe door for the night.

Instead, you selected a dress that was to your liking. It was just as long as the other one but in sparkling silver. The straps were thin on your shoulders, and the waistline was snug around your figure.

You put on some makeup to match and styled your hair with a little more effort than you would on any other day. It was weird. As much as you hated things like this, you found yourself always trying your best with your appearance. No matter how many you went to, you never fully understood your own motivation. 

Part of you thought it was a way of proving something, showing off to them that you were still at the top of your game no matter what bullshit they threw at you. Another part believed it might be petty. Your mother, for all the years she treated you as competition, could now live with the fact that you were beating her each and every time.

Or then again, sometimes you believed you just liked looking nice. Who was to say?

When you had finished assembling your look, it was almost time to go. The bright orange sun had disappeared beyond the horizon, and the skyscrapers had all lit up in its place. You rose to your feet and slipped on some pumps to go with your dress before heading out of your bedroom for the first time today.

You could hear one of them downstairs in the kitchen. Dick or Jason, you couldn’t really tell. The sounds weren’t distinct enough to make a real guess. You honestly couldn’t say who you’d prefer it be right now. Both would be awkward.

It didn’t matter though. You’d have to face them both before leaving anyways. You headed downstairs and towards the kitchen quietly. Upon getting closer, you saw Dick. He stood there in a crisp black suit, fixing his tie. Even if you were in a shitty mood, you couldn’t come close to denying that he looked good.

Once he heard the click of your heels entering the room, he looked up. He seemed to have a similar reaction to your outfit. His pupils raked downward over the length of your dress before returning to your face.

“Hey,” he said, his voice soft. It made you feel like total shit. You could snap at him for no reason, and he’d still talk to you as if you were the most precious person on Earth.

“Hey…” you said back.

“You look beautiful. That dress-” he said with a playful whistle, “-good choice.”

“Thank you,” you replied, looking down at the sparkles sewn into the fabric.

The prospect of apologizing for earlier popped into your head, but before you could act on it, another voice interjected.

“Ready to go?” Jason asked.

The deep timbre of his words pulled you around to finally face him. You tried to hide your reaction as best you could; though, he probably saw the way your eyes widened based on the smirk that appeared across his lips. 

Like Dick, Jason wore a dark suit. Only with him, it was much more jarring to you. Dick looked almost natural in nicer clothes. They went right along with his pretty hair and picture-perfect smile. But before this very moment, you’d never even imagined Jason in clothes other than the plain shirts and pants he normally wore.

His shoulders were so broad and his arms so thick that part of you would have thought a suit would look comical on him. But that clearly wasn’t the case as he stood before you now, dressed in fabrics tailored to him exactly.

“See something you like?” he asked. He stepped in your direction before slowly doing a 360, mocking the way you’d shown off to him time and time again.

“I’m looking at you, aren’t I? So obviously not,” you said flatly, looking away before you embarrassed yourself further.

“Ouch, that hurts, you know,” he said, unable to hide his amusement as he feigned a wince.

“Why are you even coming? Don’t you have some place better to be yet?”

“I didn’t know you were so eager to see me go,” he taunted. “But not yet. Plus, I don’t want to miss one of my last chances to enjoy the pleasure of your company.”

Your expression grew more irritated, but before things could get any worse, Dick’s hand landed on the small of your back.

“Let’s head out if we’re all ready to go,” he said.

Reluctantly, you nodded. You shuffled towards the exit of the penthouse, grabbing your clutch off the side table on your way there. 

Just a few hours. You could get through this.

Your hand shielded your eyes from the few flashing lights that shrouded the entrance of this place. It wasn’t a swarm by any means, just a few photographers here and there from local papers. Definitely not the largest crowd you’d seen before the doors of an event you were dragged to.

Not far behind, you could hear Dick handling the valet and Jason shutting the back door. You didn’t bother waiting for them. You made your way up the stone steps to the doors of the hotel without stopping for a single picture.

A hand slipped around the crux of your elbow as you got closer to the large glass front. You didn’t have to look to know it was Dick. While his and Jason’s hands weren’t that much different physically, their touch was like night and day. The way they grabbed and handled and held alone was enough for you to separate the two.

“Something wrong?” you asked quietly.

“I should be asking you that with the way you bolted,” Dick replied at the same volume.

You took a brief pause from walking to look over your shoulder at him. A few paces back from him, you spotted Jason lagging behind a bit, keeping clearly intentional distance between him and you.

“I’m fine. I’m just not in the mood for pictures or any of that,” you said.

“I get it. I just couldn’t have you getting so far ahead. I don’t know if they’ll let us into this place without you,” he joked.

“They’d be doing you a favor,” you sighed before resuming your walk, albeit at a slower pace.

You kept it slow enough that Jason was forced to catch up to you or risk looking out of place. He came to follow at your other side while the three of you strolled through the open entryway.

It led into a foyer of sorts. One with sleek marble floors and a trio of ornate chandeliers dangling from the ceiling. Staircases and elevators led to other floors of the building, but you knew the luxury event hall was just further along on this level.

You didn’t speak a word while walking down a spacious hall. It didn’t take long to reach the room you were looking for. It was one of the first ones to your left.

The door was propped open, giving you a preview of your night. A warm glow doused the room. Tables took up most of the space, and there was a bar off to the side. Patrons meandered about, drinks in hand while they talked to one another. Wordless music drifted out from inside, loud enough to provide a background to conversations without overtaking them.

Without trying to give away how much you dreaded this whole thing, you stepped forward. You tugged your arm free of Dick’s hold before heading in further at the pace of someone wading shark infested waters. 

At first, you didn’t recognize around half of the guests. They could have been out-of-state invites or some of the foundation’s employees. Maybe they were just people in this city whose circles you never had the pleasure of mixing with.

But as you got deeper into the room, familiar faces started sprouting up like weeds. You saw a handful of his associates along with their spawn littered throughout the place. A couple of them waved to you. They smiled at you with the manufactured joy of people you were forced to socialize with during adolescence. You offered a fake smile back though and gave them a lazy flick of your wrist as acknowledgement. 

Dick and Jason weren’t talking at all. They offered no distractions or relief from this crowd. You ended up glancing in their directions once or twice to make sure they were still there. Of course, they were. Dick was watching the place, observing the other people here with thoughtful eyes. Jason was also focused on them, but for a visibly different reason. Disdain oozed from his very being. He didn’t hide the fact that he loathed these people like you did. A sliver of you wondered if any of that judgement rubbed off onto his perception of you. As if it wasn’t tarnished enough already.

All you wanted was to find an open table. Most of them were occupied by a couple of people or had drinks scattered on top of them, marking that someone had already claimed part of it. You wanted one that offered the largest chance at no talking.

You thought you spotted one over towards the wall opposite the bar. Just as you were about to dash for it, you noticed the group standing a few feet from it. They were a collection of a suits with dresses attached to their arms, but only one pair shot a wave of nausea into you. Your mother and father in all their glitzy, artificial glory.

Before you could escape to the bar or hide in the bathroom, he had his sights on you. He called out to you in that tone that naturally boomed across the distance. You wished you could dissolve into the floor. Or, at the very least, collapse and have to be carted away from them off to the hospital.

They were the people you most wanted to avoid speaking to unless it was completely necessary, the two individuals that were absolutely guaranteed to make your mood worse, so of course, you’d spot them right away. And of course, they’d drag you into a conversation you wanted no part of.

Your mother started gesturing you over along with him. You forced your feet to move step by step in their direction. The fake smile didn’t find its way to your lips this time.

On the bright side of things, your father had all but dismissed the other men he’d been talking to by the time you approached him. That was for the best for both of you. With the mood you were in, you weren’t confident in your ability to bullshit smalltalk with his colleagues.

You could barely stand the hug he pulled you into. Pressed against his side, you mumbled out “Hi, dad.”

He smiled down at you as he let you stand straight again. “You’re late,” he said. “I almost thought we’d missed you or something.”

“No… there was just traffic,” you replied, smoothing your dress out a bit.

“That’s why I offered to send you a driver for tonight.”

His hand came out to gently pinch at the flesh of your cheek. You couldn’t turn your head away fast enough. It was more humiliating than normal. Jason and Dick were right there. You didn’t want to sound petulant, but the entire display made you look like a spoiled child.

“A different person driving the car wouldn’t have made the traffic clear up any faster,” you said.

He chuckled before sighing, making a show of your denial for the rest of your little group. “You keep growing up, but I can always count on that attitude never changing.”

You gritted your teeth to stifle down the response you might have given if there wasn’t a crowd of strangers around. Instead, you focused your attention on your mother, offering a wave in her direction.

She reached out for you, her hands smoothing over your shoulders and down your arms in place of a verbal hello.

“You didn’t like the dress I picked for you?” she asked.

“It was fine. I just wanted to wear this one tonight.”

She just hummed and raised her brows. Calculated indifference. A weapon in her arsenal she used against you often. You fucking hated it but wished you could wield it in your own right just as much. That was one thing you hadn’t gotten from her. The ability to detach with total ease. To ice everyone out and leave them still so desperate to be let back in again.

Useful attributes like those had skipped you right over. You’d inherited her eyes and figure, her volatile emotions and apparent need to handle everything in the most dramatic fashion possible. The small part of you that always felt spited, neglected, looked over — you were convinced it came from her as well, either in the form of genetics or learned behavior.

She was everything you loathed about yourself in the form of someone else. She was the future you didn’t want, a walking ghost of a past you got to live in right now.

You stared at this older, sadder version of yourself for a few more seconds before she did you the favor of looking towards the men behind you.

“Who are your friends, sweetheart?”

“They’re not friends. They’re the bodyguards dad hired,” you said flatly. You weren’t in the mood and she wasn’t worth a more accurate label. You glanced back at them one at a time. “This is Dick, and that’s Jason.”

“Nice to meet you,” Jason said, formal as ever. He stuck out his hand and shook hers.

Then Dick swooped in with his own hand, a smile already on his face. “It really is,” he said.

You couldn’t stop yourself from rolling your eyes. The prince charming thing was cute when he was doing it to you. Not your mother.

She looked him up and down, a faint smile on her lips. “You’ll have to forgive my mistake. Neither my husband nor my daughter keep me in the loop with these kinds of things,” she said.

You could feel your blood pressure rising by the second.

“Because they’re just precautionary. They don’t actually do anything,” you said.

Your father cut you off. “Don’t be disrespectful. They do what I ask of them. They keep you safe. They keep you out of trouble.”

They keep you controlled. That was the final statement that went unspoken. Not that you minded. It wasn’t close to being true. You could only imagine the conniption fit he’d have if he caught wind of the fact that he’d basically been paying them to rearrange your insides on the daily for the past several weeks.

His attention landed specifically on Jason next. “I don’t think we’ve met face-to-face before. It’s nice to meet you.” He stuck out his hand for a shake.

And Jason reciprocated without falter. “Likewise, sir,” he said.

Sir. You actually laughed. Jason could call you whatever he wanted but at least you had enough of a spine to not feign respect for people you could barely stand.

“Don’t feel too bad about it. He’s gonna be leaving soon anyways,” you said, trying to mask the bitterness lacing your tone.

That got everyone’s eyes on you. Your mother and father looked skeptical while Jason was almost glaring. Dick seemed concerned, but you were too irritated to care at this point.

“Is that so?” your father said, his eyes shifting from your direction back to Jason. “That’s a shame, but it wouldn’t be the first time she’s run someone off.”

“Dad-”

“Oh, it’s nothing like that,” Jason said before you had the chance to snap. “She’s been a peach. There’s just another case that requires my attention.”

You wondered why he was even bothering with a lie. “Yeah. I didn’t run him off. He’s choosing to walk away,” you subtly shot at Jason.

Completely ignoring your comment, your father continued. “Well you’d be welcome back any time. Around my building or at some of our events. Even if she ever needed anyone again. I mean really, you’ve done such a good job with her. She’s mellowed out over the years, but by now, I usually would have gotten some kind of complaint.”

The words chipped at you bit by bit. Maybe if you didn’t resent him so much it wouldn’t have mattered. His remarks would feel like the playful ribbing he wanted them to sound like. They wouldn’t serve as bitter reminders of the image he painted of you, of how he took all of your bad decisions and shitty ways of handling things and made them who you were.

After taking a sip from her champagne glass, your mom looked at Jason too. “You two must have the patience of saints. The next time I go out of the country, I’ll have to get your number from my husband.”

You couldn’t take it anymore. “Oh please, mother. He barely tolerated me. I doubt he’ll want to be around either of the people who made me this way.”

And suddenly, it was awkward. Suddenly, they were all looking at you again, but this time with something close to pity. You couldn’t fucking take it. They could talk about you like you weren’t there, even shake hands over it for god’s sake, but you saying something in the same vein was too far apparently.

With a roll of your eyes, you mumbled, “I’m thirsty. I’m gonna go get a drink,” and then wasted no time before turning on your heel and walking off.

The heat of humiliation sweltered around your head like a monsoon cloud. It was a distant feeling, but familiar all the same. You didn’t understand it — why they stabbed at your insecurities so openly, why you reacted the same way after all these years.

You’d nearly reached the bar when a hand clasped around your bicep, stopping you in your tracks. Your head whipped around, ready to annihilate whoever was interfering with your escape plan.

“Hey, it’s just me,” Dick said softly. “You took off so fast. I just wanted to check on you, make sure you’re alright.”

He stood there with his worried expression and eyes full of the desire to help. Any other day you might have collapsed into his arms right then and there, desperate for him to make it better. But tonight your inflamed sense of rejection had control of the wheel.

“I’m fine,” you said.

“You don’t look it.”

“Well I am.”

He hesitated for a moment but persisted. Even with the groups of people scattered all around you, talking and moving about, he was determined to not let you slip away.

“You can tell me. We can talk about ‘real stuff,’ remember? I’m not trying to-” he started.

“There’s nothing to tell. I just can’t take them with their fake bullshit, and I can’t fucking take Jason going right along with it. That’s it.”

“That’s not nothing,” he said. “And I don’t blame you. I’m not gonna-”

“Look, I don’t need your help, Dick,” you said, quiet enough not to draw further attention. “I don’t need you to try and tell me it’s ok or that I didn’t do anything wrong. I don’t need you to look at me like I’m some kind of broken Barbie doll for you to fix. This-” you gestured wildly at yourself, “-is just who I am, ok? I don’t need you making me feel like I’m any better.”

He didn’t try reaching for you again. You couldn’t blame him in the slightest, yet part of you still felt disappointed as his expression lost its persistence. Without physically moving at all, he retreated, pulled away from you and rescinded the lifesaver he’d thrown your way.

Your eyes stung as you turned around and stalked the rest of the way to the bar. This whole thing was spiraling so far out of proportion, and you just couldn’t get a handle on it. You quietly ordered yourself a drink, something strong enough to take the edge off. Something that could loosen you up and make you less likely to lose it on the next person who spoke to you.

Jason stood against the wall, watching as Dick came skulking back like a dog with his tail between his legs. He’d managed to drift away from your parents pretty easily after you stomped off. The area he was in now was relatively uncrowded. A couple of tables kept it blocked off enough that no one accidentally wandered over.

Dick came to lean next to him, his eyes still out on the main part of the room, intentionally avoiding your silhouette at the bar.

“She didn’t wanna talk,” he said flatly.

“Of course she didn’t,” Jason shrugged.

Dick sighed. He glanced at Jason for a moment, taking in his nonchalance towards your little episode.

“I know she gets on your nerves, but I think she’s really upset. I don’t think this is for attention or to cause a scene,” he said.

But Jason didn’t relent at all. “I’m sure she is. But she’s a big girl. If she wants help, she can ask for it. She can do more than stomp off like a teenager who got grounded.”

The conversation could have died there. In a way, Jason was right, and Dick knew it. You could communicate better. You could actually handle things like you claimed you had the ability to instead of sulking and avoiding. But he also knew it was a double-edged sword. Jason wasn’t the best at communication either. Trying to get the two of you to work together was like expecting brick walls to close the gap in an alleyway.

After a few minutes of silence, Dick tried again.

“Even if I don’t find you a case by tomorrow, I think you should leave, man,” he said quietly.

Jason turned his head, looking him in the eyes. “You’re kicking me out?” he asked, almost mocking.

Without a trace of humor, Dick nodded. “If that’s how you wanna take it, then yeah, I guess I am. Hanging around isn’t good for either of you. It drives you crazy, and it makes her sad. And I don’t want to be the one dealing with it all the time either, so I think if you’re done with her, you should just go.”

Despite the chatter of conversation and the hum of music all around them, the room felt silent for a moment. A shadow seemed to cast over Jason. His arms crossed over his chest and his gaze went back to the other part of the room. Some part of what Dick said had bothered him.

“I’ll try talking to her,” he finally said. “But if she throws a fit, then I’ll be done.”

For the first time in a while, Jason’s choice surprised Dick. He nodded, wanting to offer encouragement but fearing if he gave too much support, Jason would change his mind.

He took a breath before pushing off the wall and heading in that general direction. Dick watched from the same spot, silently hoping this wouldn’t end in a screaming match or security having to separate the two of you. You had seemed pretty upset when he went after you, but he wasn’t the one who’d done the damage. His comfort couldn’t heal your wound as easily.

His hopes didn’t go anywhere though because about halfway to the bar, Jason turned back to him with a perplexed look. He said something, but Dick couldn’t hear. He followed in that direction, allowing his ears to pick up the message the second time.

“She’s not over there.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, instantly looking for himself.

Sure enough, you were nowhere to be found. Dick brushed past Jason to get closer, his mind snapping into work-mode without missing a beat. He scanned the whole area, the surrounding crowd and the spots behind taller patrons. Still nothing.

“Fuck,” Dick said and rubbed his face.

“She’s probably still here,” Jason said. “It hasn’t been that long. She couldn’t have gotten too far away.”

Dick nodded. This wasn’t a matter of life or death. It wasn’t like other cases where losing sight of a client could mean the next time they saw you you’d be on the floor in a pool of blood or photographed in the paper after being found in a river. Rather, this was a question of whether or not next week they’d still be employed. Whether or not their firm would be able to find work in this city for much longer. Your parents had been singing their praises only minutes ago, but he could only imagine how fast that would change if you got into some sort of trouble. 

He could see it going wrong in so many ways. Different scenarios flashed through his mind like warnings. He could just imagine you wreaking drunken havoc out in the lobby. He could picture you picking up his car from the valet, taking it on a joy ride around town till you crashed into something.

His eyes swept the room one more time. He checked to be sure you weren’t moping around the edges or slumped over at a table anywhere. Once he was sure you’d left this room at the very least, he waved towards the door.

“Let’s check out there before we start thinking of any other place,” he said.

Jason went along without protest.

The two of them left the banquet hall and headed back down the hallway they’d come. They eyed each group meandering throughout, but you still weren’t there.

They reached the lobby. Luckily, you weren’t at the front desk having a meltdown. You weren’t around any of the other guests entering the main doors. You weren’t collapsed on the stairs. Dick was about ready to accept that you’d left when Jason broke him from his thoughts.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Dick’s head snapped in Jason’s direction before following his eyeline to a large pillar near the set of  elevators. Finally, you were in view. Your back was pressed to the marble, some guy leaning into your bubble. His laminated ID dangled between your bodies. Your fingers toyed with the hem of his tie.

Jason sounded and looked actually pissed. Dick knew he probably shouldn’t be the one to handle it if they didn’t want to cause a scene. But before he could suggest anything else, Jason was talking.

“Go get the car. I’ll be out there with her in a couple of minutes.”

“Jason, don’t-”

“Don’t worry, dad. I’m just gonna talk to her. Like you said,” he said. Though his expression gave the impression that a civil conversation was the last thing on his mind.

But he was already stalking over to the two of you, so Dick figured having the escape route ready was the best case scenario at this point.

As you twirled this guy’s crimson tie around your index finger, you also came to the realization that you had no idea what you were doing.

He’d been next to you at the bar when you threw back the shot you’d ordered. It took a second, but you recognized him after a moment of staring. You hadn’t seen him in years, not since your second semester of college. He hadn’t changed much since then. A different haircut, a nicer outfit, but he was still the same guy who’d come over at any time of night if you sent him a text about needing to have some fun.

And you needed some fun right now. You needed a distraction, and the way he was looking you up and down in return told you he was willing to to be one for the next couple of hours.

It didn’t take much to coax him away with you. A gentle touch of your hand upon his forearm, a lip bite, and a couple of innuendo-ridden statements about catching up and taking a trip down memory lane, and he was following you out like a dog on a leash. 

Men at these things were easy, and he was no exception. They wanted everyone to think they were so smart, so respectable, but they treated it as barely a step above a bar. At the end of the day, it was a place to find a hookup for the night before they headed back to the capitol or another event in the morning.

He was staying a couple blocks away at a more budget-friendly hotel. According to his ID and the facts he’d eagerly shared about himself, he was chief of staff for a representative also in attendance at the fundraiser.

You stood against the wall now, looking up at him. He’d called an uber, and now it was just a waiting game. Enough time for you to either double down or regret your mistake before you’d even made it.

Neither came to pass. Jason appeared beside you and your suitor faster than you could get away.

“There you are. I thought I’d lost you,” he said. His voice sounded lighthearted, but upon looking in his eyes, you knew that wasn’t the case.

“If only,” you shot back with a false smile.

“You know, if you wanted some attention, you’d only have to ask Dick,” he mocked. “There’s no need for the disappearing act.”

You stared at him with pure hatred — something much stronger than your normal annoyed side eye — as if you could will him away with the intensity of your anger alone. The guy who’d been so interested in you only seconds ago stood up straight.

“Who is this?” he asked, glancing between you and Jason.

“He’s no one,” you answered.

He looked at you with suspicion. That answer wasn’t gonna satisfy him. Not when the no one in question was someone like Jason. Someone who stood at least six inches taller and weighed a minimum fifty pounds heavier.

A few seconds passed before he fully turned to Jason. “Look, man, if you’re her boyfriend, she didn’t tell me anything about that. I’m sorry-”

“He’s not my boyfriend. He works for my dad-” you tried to cut in.

“I’m her bodyguard. But I do have some advice, kid,” he said, eyes flitting down to the badge hanging from his neck. “Consider this a favor. If you want any kind of job in Washington, banging a senator’s daughter when she’s got a few drinks in her probably isn’t the best way to go.”

“I didn’t-” you started but he already had a response.

“Maybe I should leave you two to work things out…” he said, clearly not wanting to deal with all of your drama.

“No! You don’t have to-” you tried.

But Jason smiled at him and ended the conversation with two words. “Great idea.”

Your old “friend” slipped back several feet, tapping the screen on his phone, if you had to guess, to cancel the ride. You rolled your eyes. He couldn’t even give you a wave goodbye before fading into the background with some other group of people.

Your attention snapped back to Jason, a glare already settled in your eyes. “I’m not drunk. I didn’t have that much to drink.”

“Then why are you acting like this?” he said, somewhere between taunting and serious.

“Oh fuck off! What? Are you jealous? You already told me you didn’t want anything to do with me!” you said, loud enough that a few people nearby looked your way. You went to swat at his chest, but he caught your wrist with ease.

He stepped closer, almost assuming the position that the other guy had vacated. “That’s not what I said,” he said, voice lowered. “And despite what you may think, I care about you. I don’t want you doing something you’ll regret or getting hurt just because you’re upset with me.”

“Give me a fucking break,” you scoffed. “You have no right. It’s not your job to stop me from making decisions you don’t approve of.”

“This isn’t about what I approve of. I’m getting paid to keep you out of trouble, so that’s what I’m doing.”

“Hm. It wasn’t considered trouble when you were the one getting to fuck me,” you said.

That touched a nerve. The air went cold around the two of you. Nearby crowds faded further into the backdrop. You stared at each other as if it was a contest with survival on the line.

Your wrist was still in his grasp, his strong fingers wrapped around your limb tight. You couldn’t just walk away even if you wanted to. But honestly, you didn’t want to. This hurt in the best kind of way. This was what you were used to, lashing out, tearing into another person and then letting them rip you to shreds right back.

Tension stirred between you both hot enough to create an electrical charge. You swallowed hard, waiting to see what he would do next. It was his move in this little game. His eyes stayed on you, pensive as he contemplated how to proceed.

“Look. I understand that you’re pissed at me, but you’re embarrassing yourself. You didn’t want to sleep with that guy. You wanted to make us feel bad or make yourself feel bad or I don’t even know. But it’s enough. You’re acting like a kid who got her favorite toy taken away,” he said quietly.

You could tell he was trying his best to stay cool, but his words had the opposite effect on you. He had hit the bullseye with that one. That ache in your chest grew more intense, strong enough to push a fresh wave of tears up into your eyes. 

“How dare you. You think you’re the toy? That’s rich,” you spat bitterly.

His brows furrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he said.

You tugged your wrist away hard to get free, but you didn’t go anywhere. You stepped forward, closing the minuscule amount of distance left between the two of you.

“You used me, Jason. You played with me until you got bored,” you choked out. “You didn’t have a problem being around me when I let you fuck me whenever you felt like it, but the second I wanted a little more, you just threw me away.”

“That’s not true,” he said, not even taking a moment to consider. It was an immediate defense.

“It’s not? Really? You know it is,” you seethed. “You try to act like you’re so much better than me, like I’m so pathetic, but you’re just as bad. You’re pathetic. You protect people for a living, but really, you watch out for yourself. You take what you want from people, and then leave when it gets hard for you.”

“Really?” he hissed. As if the two of you were magnetized, he seemed to be drifting further into your personal space with every moment that passed. The only thing keeping him quiet was the potential of causing a public scene. “That’s what you think? That I take? That I don’t care?” he asked.

“I know you don’t,” you said, simple and petulant but with enough force to wound.

Quicker than you could blink, the hand that was on your wrist pulled hard and began dragging you to the hotel’s front exit. You stumbled along behind Jason. For the sake of your dignity, you put on a show of resisting a little. 

He didn’t even seem to register it. The two of you continued through the lobby without incident. Attendants stood near the doors, saying goodbye and helping guests with luggage. Their customer-service smiles faltered as Jason blew by with you in tow. The look on his face was enough to ward off any goodnights from anyone.

You nearly tripped as he brought you onto the stone steps out front. The front of your heel snagged on a door stopper, but his strong grip was enough to keep you upright.

“Jason!” you scolded. “Slow down! I wanna avoid face planting and breaking my nose if possible.”

“Keep up then. You didn’t have any problem being fast when you were trying to run off with that little prick,” he said.

Thunder clapped in the sky above. It had started pouring rain some time between when you first entered the venue and now. You were still under part of the entry structure, so the water wasn’t hitting you yet. It was getting closer with each one of Jason’s forceful strides. You could see it smacking against the ground several yards away.

“Where are we even going?” you asked.

“Where do you think? To the car. Dick should have it back from valet by now,” he said. “You’re going home, and then you’re going to your room.”

You knew he said it on purpose. He phrased it like that to rile you up, to poke at you. But it worked nonetheless.

“Don’t talk to me like that!” you snapped and smacked his bicep with the back of your free hand as hard as you could.

Your hardest was nothing to him though. He whipped around faster than any human should be able to and grabbed your jaw.

“Do it again, and I swear I’ll fucking put you over my shoulder. I’ll carry you to the car kicking and screaming in front of all your daddy’s friends,” he said.

A chill shot through your body. For once, you didn’t have anything to say. Seeing him like that, jaw flexing, eyes blazing… you didn’t doubt that he would pick you up and cart you off like a bratty little kid if you didn’t listen.

He released your face and turned around, continuing in the direction of the street. The covering above ended in a few paces. Droplets of rain began pelting down on your skin, getting your dress and hair wet.

“This isn’t changing my mind, you know!” you called out to him from behind. Your desire to have the last word won out over self-preservation every time. “Dragging me through the rain, being all mean just cause you can’t handle the truth!”

He didn’t even stop walking to placate you. “Not a single word of what you said was the truth,” he said.

“Just because you don’t like it doesn’t make it not true!”you say. “This is exactly what I was saying! You can’t just have a conversation! You have to feel in control!”

“Shut the fuck up,” he said. His fingers were digging into your arm hard enough to bruise, but he still kept walking. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The curb was coming up fast. You knew he was reaching the boiling point, but you didn’t care. You wanted to keep prodding and picking him apart until he crumbled.

“Of course I don’t. Because nobody can understand the great tragedy that is Jason Todd. We’re all too clueless and naive to know what you’ve been through,” you spat. 

The both of you brushed past the valet drivers like you had the employees inside. Jason briefly glanced at either side of the street to ensure the two of you wouldn’t be mowed down in the middle of this pleasant discussion.

He wasn’t giving you the reaction you wanted though.

“The reality is that you don’t want help, Jason! You act like you’re so irredeemable, like it’s not a choice, but it is! You keep running away and locking everyone out because you’d actually have to improve if you let them in! You’re gonna be alone forever, and it will be all your fault!” you said just as the two of you reached where Dick was waiting in the car across the street.

It was then, beside the sleek metallic black exterior, that he finally, truly cracked. He spun around, one hand clamping over your mouth and one pressing your shoulder to the car. You stared up at him with wide-eyes, taking in what you’d reduced him too.

“Be quiet,” he said. “Just stop fucking talking.”

The pressure on your face wasn’t that hard. Without much effort, you slipped one of your own hands up and pried his off. You opened your mouth to speak again, but he cut you off.

“You think I like pushing you away? That I like not knowing how to let you in?” he asked. His voice sounded strained, almost broken. “Do you think it’s fun for me to watch you get hurt and then tell me what a piece of shit I am? Do you think I want to leave you because I don’t know how to fix anything?! Don’t you think I wish I could be more like Dick? That you came to me as easily as you did him?”

Your heart pounded so hard in your chest that the sound rivaled the storm clouds. Streams of water dribbled down over his face like longer forms of tears. His damp hair stuck to his forehead. He looked like a mess.

“How am I supposed to know any of that if you don’t tell me?!” you asked, your voice cracking in shame a little. “I wasn’t trying to fix you or change you or whatever. I just wanted to be more than a client you tell stories about in the future.”

The argument stalled between you and him. He was breathing heavily, only a little harder than yourself. The pressure on your shoulder eased as his hand slid to the side and flatted against the car window. His other fingers went beneath your chin, tilting your head up. Your noses were less than an inch away.

“I swear…” he mumbled. “You’re such a brat. Think you know everything, but you’re fucking blind if you really believe you mean so little to me.”

There were no words in any language that could convey the emotion that flooded your body. He took your breath away while filling you with the most vigor you’d ever experienced. The dwindling anger in you vanished entirely. You could only think to do one thing.

Your hands wrapped around his neck and pulled him, closing the tiny gap between your lips. He didn’t pull away. His hands fell to your waist, keeping your body as close as physically possible to his.

In the back of your mind, you knew this wasn’t the smartest move. You’d already put on quite the show on the way here. The last thing you needed would be someone spotting you across the street and bringing the news to your father that you were making out with some stranger against another one’s car.

But none of that really mattered right now. It couldn’t. Not when you had Jason’s tongue entering your mouth. Not when you were stumbling around to the passenger door. Not when he was groaning against your lips in a way you hadn’t felt in what seemed like eternity.

He popped the door open before falling inside and tugging you on top of him. You slammed it shut behind the two of you, barely making sure your dress was all the way inside before diving in for more kisses.

“Woah, what did I miss?” Dick said from the driver’s seat.

“Shut up and drive the car,” Jason mumbled against your lips.

“I leave you two alone for five minutes, and I swear…” he said. You could hear that smug smile in every word.

The headlights beamed onto the slick road in front of the car. Rain continued knocking against the roof as he put into drive and took off. Dick had the radio on low in the background. The sound of your kisses combined with your and Jason’s breathing muffled it substantially.

You cupped Jason’s jaw, keeping his face level with yours. Your tongue flicked across his lips before delving into the warm cavern of his mouth. A small sigh fanned over your face, warm air that felt cool from the beads of water all over your skin.

He was just as eager as you. His hands stayed on your hips, gripping through the shimmery fabric of your dress. The skirt of it was already riding up from your position, and you were certain he’d have up around your waist in no time.

You ground yourself down on him, rolling your hips a few times in fluid motions. A quiet groan crept up his throat.

“You feeling a little desperate, baby?” he murmured. “Been a whole week since I had you.”

“Mhm,” you whimpered, pressing yourself down on him again.

He gave your ass a quick slap, a bit of encouragement before his fingers dug into the plush flesh. You moaned and dropped your head to his neck. Your lips found refuge in the skin there. You kissed up and down his throat with the same fervor you had for his lips. Little beads of water slid onto your mouth, rolling down from the strands of his hair.

Your teeth scraped over the pulsing artery in his neck. The sting of him wanting reassignment was still scorching inside you, so you wanted to leave some marks on him. Tiny purple flecks he could take with him on his new job.

“You were throwing such a fit… all cause you missed me,” he murmured right beside your ear.

“Cause you were being mean to me,” you corrected.

“Mmmm… that’s right. I guess I was,” he said.

He shifted underneath you, leaning further back into his seat. You chased after him with your wanting mouth. Your hands fell between your body towards his pants. You were more than ready to get to some real making up, but he stopped you short. His fingers clasped around your wrist and tugged it away.

“But it was only cause you were giving me such a hard time.”

He smirked as you whined in disappointment. You tried reaching down again, but like you’d learned many times before, your will was no match for his strength. He flipped you around on his lap with ease so that your back was flush against his chest.

Now his fingers tucked beneath the hem of your dress and yanked it upwards. He bunched the fabric just above your panties, leaving the lacy white exposed.

“You wouldn’t let me apologize, wouldn’t let me leave in peace, said some real nasty stuff to me, tried running off with some other guy,” he whispered, his breath hot on your neck.

“You deserved it,” you huffed as you wriggled in his hold.

Was using the painful events of the past week as foreplay the best way to cope with the ache they left behind? Probably not. But really, all you took away from that was that he sounded a little bit jealous, which had you preening more than anything else.

Jason’s hand slithered down your body to the space between your thighs. His fingers found your clothed cunt with practiced ease, almost muscle memory. He rubbed the thick pads of them over your clit, swirling over the little bud in rough loops.

A moan erupted out of you into the car. Your head flew back against Jason’s shoulder. It wasn’t like you’d been totally celibate since you and Jason fought, but his and Dick’s touches were different from each other. Not better or worse, just different. And you’d been missing Jason’s half of that whole.

In the midst of your ecstasy, Dick reached up towards the rearview mirror and angled it down to get a look at the action.

“Hey,” you whimpered with a little pout.

“What?” he laughed. “You were giving me a hard time too, sweetheart. I deserve a little compensation.”

“That’s right. Let Dick watch. If he’s not taking your side, you know you were pretty bad,” Jason said. 

His freehand came up to paw at your breast. It slid under the top of your dress, getting his palm on your bare skin. Your flesh was smooth as silk, malleable and pliant under his command. He squeezed it nice and tight how you like before his fingers began toying with your nipple.

The car came to a stop at a red light. You kept moving, writhing and squirming on his lap. Your heels came off at some point. They dropped to the floor with one another. Dick watched with his full attention now. His eyes raked over your face and your gyrating torso, your swiveling hips and finally Jason’s digits delving under your panties to get at your pussy.

He didn’t waste time. The tip of his fingers poked at your entrance before the rest of them slid inside. He pumped them in and out. You were wet enough to make it easy, and your arousal only spread with every thrust of his wrist.

You mewled, arching your back off his chest. Your eyes rolled back so hard you thought you saw the headrest behind you.

“You're lucky these windows are tinted, princess. Otherwise you’d be giving the car next to us a real show,” Jason teased.

Your walls spasmed around his fingers. You turned your head to the side, lazily glancing out the window with half-lidded eyes. The vehicle to your right had a man and a woman around your parents' age. They sat with their eyes on the signal ahead, waiting for it to flip over from red to green. Both of them remained completely oblivious to the scene stopped beside them.

“Would you like that, baby? Everyone seeing how bad you want me, how desperate you get without me taking care of you for a little while?” he breathed. “How pretty you look when you’re all worked up?”

To go along with his words, his hand left your chest and crept towards the button to open the window. It took your brain a couple of seconds to register what the movement actually meant.

“Jason!” you whined, bucking your hips and grabbing his hand away.

Both him and Dick laughed. His arm snuck around you, pulling you close as could be.

“I’m joking, I’m joking,” he said. “No one else gets to see that. Just me and Dick.”

“Just you and Dick,” you repeated with a faint nod.

Your body melted against his radiating warmth. You relaxed again, letting the pleasure overtake you once again. He was rubbing you just right. The heel of his palm ground on your sensitive clit while his two fingers continued to curl inside of you.

You were fast approaching the edge. Your breaths came quicker, your limbs got more fidgety. But just as you began to crest that high, the light beaming into the car swapped to green. With the red went your pleasure, fizzling out as his fingers pulled away.

“Jason!” you said again in that same whiny tone. You tried to smack his arm, but he was quick enough to block.

“What?” he teased, pecking at your neck and cheek.

In the haze of a lost orgasm, you struggled to get the words out. You looked to Dick for help, but his eyes were back on the road. He tutted, sensing your indignant look.

“Ah-ah. You didn’t want my help, remember?” he said.

“I’m sorry,” you whined. Your bottom lip started to puff out into your signature look. “Can’t you guys gimme a break this one time. I was upset too, y’know…”

Jason let out a breathy laugh behind your ear. “Yeah, you were,” he said softly between a few more kisses.

His hand made its way back down to your center and stayed there for the remainder of the drive. He kept you on the edge, bringing you close enough just to teeter but not actually finish. It drove you crazy in the best way.

You didn’t even notice your surroundings as Dick turned off of the main road and pulled into the parking lot for your building. It only dawned on you that you were back home when he shut the car off and the engine went quiet. 

Jason pulled his hand from your panties again, this time for good. Your head floated off his shoulder and glanced around. By now, your legs felt as wobbly as a baby deer and your head was spinning without the constant rush that had been coursing through you for the last twenty minutes.

Even though you hadn’t cum, the same sort of needy longing welled up inside you while looking between the two of them. Jason was just grinning at your little stupor while Dick had a bit more fondness written on his face.

You couldn’t help it. Before you knew what was happening, you were crawling over the center console into Dick’s lap. Your arm wrapped around his neck and your lips peppered kisses all across his face.

“I’m sorry I was giving you a hard time,” you mumbled. Jason being mad at you was one thing — almost a natural stage in the cycle of your relationship at this point — but Dick having any sort of negative feeling towards you? Dick who was so sweet and caring and everything you needed whenever you needed it? That could not stand.

He chuckled, his lips curving into a smile under all your affection. “That’s alright,” he said softly. “You were just having a shitty day. It happens.”

“Not to you,” you said, only half-joking.

“To me too.” He smiled. 

On the opposite side of the car, the passenger door popped open and Jason got out, the straps of your heels hooked around his index finger. He ducked back in, giving you two a look that suggested he wanted to move things along.

“You got her?” he asked.

Dick nodded in return.

The door slammed shut, and his hands rubbed up and down your back. “You wanna walk or…”

“Or.” You nodded.

Returning one of your small kisses, he opened the driver door. He shifted you off his lap before stepping out. You watched him move, admired how the nearby lamppost cast a glow over his fluffy hair and striking features, ogled how his arms flexed as he fixed the skirt of your dress.

After he deemed your appearance suitable if anyone happened to spot you on the way in, he lifted you from the seat and nudged the door shut. He held you like a princess while walking to the sleek entrance of your building, and with the stars sparkling overhead, he looked the part of prince charming.

You let your head fall back over his arm as the three of you headed in towards the elevator. The doorman nodded at Dick and Jason as they passed with you. You doubted anything they saw would get back to your father, but just in case, you’d rather have them report that you’d had one too many at the event than the fact that you were making out, ready to fuck both of your bodyguards as soon as the elevator struck floor 70.

Once those doors shut to give you three the privacy of the cabin, you were squirming out of Dick’s arms onto your feet. You reached up towards Jason, pulling him down to your mouth in a hasty exchange. Your other arm reached back for Dick though, still wanting him close.

He was happy to oblige. His lips found your neck and planted soft pecks all over the area that spanned from your ear to the strap of your dress. 

You hadn’t had both of them on you in what felt like an eternity, and now it was like reentering heaven. Hands gripped your hips, felt up your ass, rubbed across your stomach. You couldn’t keep track of what limb belonged to who, but that was fine.

As soon as that delicate chime resounded through the small square space, the three of you stumbled into the penthouse. You didn’t have a specific destination in mind. In all honesty, you would have been content to do it right there on the entry floor.

But they guided you down the hall and into the living room. Your palms found the back of the couch. You used the smooth surface for balance while they continued their dual efforts. Jason still had command of your mouth while Dick had moved his attention elsewhere. His nimble fingers took hold of the zipper on the back of your dress, working it down with ease.

That shimmery silver fabric parted to reveal your spine. He hooked his digits around one strap and then the other, slipping them off in tandem and leaving you there in your pristine white lingerie.

“You knew we were gonna be making up, wearing something this pretty,” Jason mumbled as he lightly snapped the hem of your panties against your skin.

“Nuh uh. I’m always this pretty. You should be used to it by now,” you said with a little smile.

“Yeah, yeah.” He grabbed a handful of your ass cheek before giving it a firm smack.

Dick’s hand laced with one of yours and began pulling you around the end of the sectional so that you all were on the side of the seats. You plopped down, leaning back and showing off a little for them.

The view didn’t go unappreciated. Their eyes traced over about every inch of your frame while undoing their ties and shrugging off their suit jackets. You took the time to pull off your panties and kick them aside.

Jason finished undressing first and sat down beside you. His hands grabbed your waist and tugged you on top of him. Your thighs spread across the width of his meaty legs.

“You want me first tonight?” he asked, reaching down between the both of you to stroke his cock. He swiped his thumb over the tip. A bead of precum followed, a pearly drop he smeared on your soaked folds.

You bit your lip, hesitating for a moment before answering. “I want both of you first…” you say tentatively.

His brows raised, but you could see in his eyes he was far from opposed to your suggestion.

“You want both? At the same time.”

You nodded.

“You think you’re ready for that?” he asked, almost teasing. “That’s a lot, especially for someone like you. You get overwhelmed so easily.”

Your face heated up, especially cause he had a stupid smirk on his. With a little scoff, you nodded again.

“I want it. I want all of you while I have you. Don’t wanna waste any time waiting for anything.”

Your fingers caressed over the muscular swell of his biceps, a distraction from the sentiment hidden within your words. Jason sensed it too. You knew without even looking. His hold got slightly softer, he stopped rubbing the head of his cock over your slit for a moment. But instead of dwelling on it, he looked beyond your shoulder.

“You hear that, Dick? You think she’s ready for two at the same time?”

You felt the feather-light touch of Dick’s fingers on your shoulders before he even responded. They massaged your muscles, swirling around as he leaned down to kiss the skin next to your ear.

“If that’s what she wants,” he said. “You know I have a hard time giving her anything but.”

It was hard not to squirm under all the attention, but you managed to stay composed. You planted your palms on Jason’s chest and gave him a subtle set of puppy eyes, just for good measure in case he wasn’t sold on the idea yet.

But his velvety tip slotted at your entrance again. He pushed up a little, just to tease the idea of popping inside.

“You gotta hold still, alright? No moving around or trying to help out,” he said.

You nodded again just as he slid a couple inches of his length inside. Your lips rounded out as the familiar stretch hit you. You wanted so badly to sink down, to take more until you were settled on his lap, but he just told you not to move.

Luckily, he acted for you. His hands clasped around your hips and brought you down until he was fully sheathed inside of you. He kept you there for a moment before rocking you up and down a couple of times.

Your head fell back, only for the sight of Dick smiling down at you to fill your vision. He pet one side of your head, his fingers curling to cup your face while his other set ventured South. Jason had you still now. His hips did all the moving so Dick would have the opportunity to open you up.

His thumb was the first thing you felt. He rubbed it on your puckered entrance. You couldn’t help it, how your eyes widened a little. Both at the same time. It was really gonna happen.

“Tell me to stop if you feel anything you don’t like,” Dick said softly, planting a kiss on your forehead and then dropping into a crouch to focus his attention down there.

His thumb left you, but just for his tongue to replace it. You squealed at the wet sensation, your hips jerking involuntarily.

Jason’s hands tightened around you. “Fuck, she’s liking it so far,” he hissed as your walls fluttered around his cock.

Dick chuckled from behind you and then really went for it. You leaned forward onto Jason’s chest, giving him ample space to work.

He stayed down there for a little while. You couldn’t be sure how long — time was never easy to gauge in situations like this. He worked with a mix of his fingers and tongue. At first it felt weird. You’d never say it hurt, but it just felt odd. But as time passed and he stretched you further, you found yourself opening up to the possibility of this working.

Jason continued pumping in and out of you all the while. He kept his pace slow, not wanting to finish too early. His shallow thrusts gave you short bursts of pleasure. Enough to keep you somewhere in the middle of satisfaction and wanting.

You were hanging onto the edge when you finally felt a thicker nudge against your back entrance. Dick’s smooth hand rubbed over the length of your spine.

“Just relax for me, baby,” he said.

He slid himself up and down your crack a few times before finally inching in. Your nails dug into Jason’s chest and your toes curled. You squished your cheek against his skin. It wasn’t bad enough for you to tap out, but it was definitely more intense than a few fingers.

“You got it, sweetheart,” he murmured against your hair. His thrusts even came to a halt, letting you focus entirely on adjusting.

“You’re doing so good,” Dick praised. His voice sounded so strained. You wondered how different it felt for him.

He pushed forward until you let out a little pained squeak. Then he paused. He stayed there and drew back before working in again. Once he finally got most of himself in, he stopped for real. Both of them kept completely still, just allowing you to take in being full of both of them.

“How’re you doing? Is it feeling good yet?” Jason asked softly.

You nodded faintly against him, keeping your head pressed to his body. The beat of his heart under your head helped ground you.

“You feel so fucking good,” Dick sighed.

“You can start moving if you wanna…” you said.

“You sure?” they both said, a rare moment where they sounded totally in sync.

“Yeah,” you reaffirmed.

“You got it then. Always getting what you want,” Jason teased gently as he began working his hips once more.

Dick started a few seconds after him. He went a little slower, letting you get used to the movement. You mewled at the stretch, but it wasn’t painful like before. Along with Jason’s cock distracting you, it didn’t feel bad. You kind of started to like it.

Both of them kept firm grips on the flesh of your hips in different places. Dick’s thumbs pet stripes down the curve of your ass as his hips.

“So, so good for us,” he murmured with a squeeze. “So perfect.”

And praise came from Jason too, more freely than you’d ever heard it flow from his lips.

“Our pretty baby,” he cooed. “This is all you needed. To know we want you. To feel how much we need you.”

You nodded with a shuddery gasp, your head bobbing up and down lazily. Their rhythms were practically inverses of each other. When one went in, the other slid out. You were completely full for fleeting moments but never totally empty.

After a little while, it was more than you could take. You melted onto Jason’s chest, half-heartedly grabbing at him in a bid for some sort of stability. He held you closer with one arm across your shoulder blades and used his other hand for more leverage on your hips to pump his cock deeper inside you.

Every brush of his tip against your sweet spot drew you closer to release. Your eyes fluttered and warmth flooded every inch of your body.

“I’m right there with you, princess. Come on. Let go for me,” he said.

The rumble of his voice coaxing you to the edge worked almost as well as his physical touch. Your muscles tensed up before you felt that euphoric burst inside. A loud moan poured out of you onto his chest. You rolled your hips on him, unable to stop yourself from ignoring his previous directions.

It didn’t matter though. Dick pulled himself out of you a second later. You heard a couple soft grunts and then felt the warm splash of his cum on your back.

Jason came inside you. He buried himself all the way to the hilt before letting go with a loud groan. His neck flexed while the muscles in his arms twitched. You would have really admired the sight if you weren’t so fucked out yourself.

The three of you all came down at a similar rate. Dick slumped down to sit near the both of you on the couch. He ran a hand through his hair as he caught his breath. You slowly rolled off of Jason and sprawled out across a few cushions.

Silence filled the room around you, but for the first time all week, it wasn’t awkward. You were totally content not speaking right now. There wasn’t some void waiting to be filled. Rather, you were content with only their presence.

Jason was the first to get up. He slowly rose from the comfort of the couch. You watched lazily as he headed in the direction of the stairs. For a second, your stomach twisted with anxiety. Had you let yourself be used again so easily?

But he came back not even a full minute later with a water bottle and a rag to clean you up. Dick slid closer, not one to leave you hanging either. He took the damp cloth from Jason’s hand and brought it down between your legs and over your back.

You laid there and let them tend to you without a word until Jason carefully guided you upright. He tilted the now-open bottle against your lips, getting you to take a couple swallows of the cool liquid.

“Take it easy, pretty girl,” he said softly.

A bead of water rolled down from your lips onto your chin as he pulled the bottle away. You wiped it off with your index finger, your eyes flitting between the both of them.

While you may have patched things up, they still weren’t entirely normal. You were in a weird sort of limbo right now, just waiting to see what they would decide to do next.

Jason leaned in to plant a barely-there kiss on your temple. You took his large hand in your own, clasping your fingers around the warm flesh. “I’m gonna go put some clothes on,” he said.

He stood up and headed towards the stairs again, this time to actually leave the room. Your hands trailed down his skin, lingering on his fingertips before finally letting him go.

You contemplated your next move for a moment before turning to Dick. You took his hand as you’d done to Jason’s and gave it a squeeze.

He met it with that small smile of his. Reaching out, the bows of his fingers coasted over your cheek.

“You feeling better than before?” he asked.

You responded with a nod, determined for that to be the absolute truth.

“Good,” he said.

You stood up from the couch next and began picking up the clothing that was strewn about the area. He helped you out, picking his own garments and a couple of Jason’s. Together you both took them upstairs to your room.

While there, you put on a pair of fresh clothes, just a t-shirt and some shorts. Nothing too extravagant. You were too tired for that. 

Dick followed suit, pulling on some sweats to lounge around in. He flopped back onto your mattress and opened his arms for you.

You smiled and looked away playfully. “I’ll be right back. I’m gonna get myself some more water.”

“Don’t be too long,” he teased.

“Don’t be impatient,” you said, in the same lilted tone.

You shut your bedroom door behind you and made your way across the walkway. On the path there, you just happened to notice. Jason’s door was shut. Seeing that stung a little bit. Maybe you hadn’t mended things as well as you thought.

But you forced yourself to shake off the impending doom and gloom. Even if things weren’t perfect, they were a step closer to better. It might take time. You had patience, just like you’d told him. He was worth the effort.

Once you reached the kitchen, you did fill up a glass of water for yourself, but you didn’t head back up to your room immediately. Instead, you drifted towards the balcony doors. It was dark out there, the horizon so vast it made you feel as if the wind could sweep you up and carry you away.

You unlatched the lock and cracked the door open, stepping outside. The night air instantly sent a chill across your exposed skin. The wind nipped at your legs and sliced over your forearms. You wrapped them around your torso for some semblance of warmth.

Despite the wind, it was quiet out here. The city was lit up down below, but you couldn’t hear the noise of it. You approached the railing, still a step or two away from actually touching the barrier.

The fresh air filled your lungs. For the first time in days, you didn’t feel wound up about something. Things had settled with Jason, you knew Dick wasn’t upset with you, and you honestly couldn’t care less about the things your father had said earlier.

You wished you could be like this all the time. Serene and tranquil, not so reactionary, lashing out at the slightest deviation to your wishes.

The door opened and clicked into place again behind you. You spun around, heart beating fast, but it was only Jason.

“Hey…” he said, taking a few tentative steps in your direction.

“Hi…” You took a couple in his as well.

You met in the middle, equidistant from the glass doors and the steel railing. Your eyes met his. A silent exchange passed between the two of you, one without words or even coherent thoughts, just raw emotion.

His arm came out before you could say a word. He looped it over your shoulders and brought you in to his chest.

“Thought you never came out here?” he asked.

Your hand curled around his bicep. “I just felt like it tonight.”

Another few seconds went by with the wind doing all the talking. But he didn’t let things stall for too long.

“I went to your room. Dick told me you were getting water.”

“Why’d you go there?” you asked quietly. Your fingers swirled little patterns on his arm while hope bloomed in your chest.

“Maybe I wanted to be in there with you two tonight…” he said, so soft and faint as if he was forced to confess it.

“Just for tonight?” you whispered, tilting your head up to see him clearly. “Will it be your last?”

“No,” he said back. A simple answer, but the only one you needed all the same. He wasn’t leaving. Not yet anyways.

You squeezed your arms tighter around him, shutting your eyes and taking a deep breath of his air.

“You can always be in there. Whenever you want,” you said.

“Good. I’m gonna hold you to that for the next few weeks.”

The next few weeks. A dreadful reminder that your relationship rested upon the foundation of an ever-ticking clock. It didn’t matter right now though. Not while he was in your arms, telling you he wanted you back. You could worry about what would happen down the line in January when it came.

“Let’s start right now then.” You stepped back and took his hand, leading him back inside and up to the bedroom. In there, with both of them, time wouldn’t matter. Other assignments or obligations would have no effect. You could bury yourself in the mess of pillows and blankets, happy that you had managed to turn things around just this once.