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ba-hons-film-blog · 1 year

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Film Project - Critical Essay

Project Title

Connection

Project Team

Alex McNeill - Director/Editor/Sound Designer

Jack Weir - Producer/Co-Writer

Ben Anstruther - Cinematographer/Co-Writer

James Stevenson - Production Designer

Yathin Lee - Sound Recordist

500 Word Proposal of my Intentions

After a hugely positive and rewarding experience directing The Tragic Ambitions of Steven Brown back in second year, I am very excited to be back in the director's seat for Connection this semester! This film focuses on a scammer forming a connection with the elderly man he is scamming. Hardly the most likeable protagonist, but that was precisely what drew me to the idea. He is selfish, he is morally corrupt, and he is… ultimately just a broken man who desires the most human of things: company.

The idea of taking a seemingly deplorable character and peeling back the layers to reveal the humanity in them was a very tantalising prospect - taking someone the audience should probably despise and seeing if we can make them feel even the slightest bit of sympathy. I liked the idea of portraying this person without judgement and just letting him exist, warts and all, feeling the film would be more complex and nuanced without feeling the need to box him into any kind of generic category. Some influences would be Mikey Sabre in Red Rocket and Howard Ratner in Uncut Gems, flawed people who nonetheless have humanising traits.

Said traits will be brought to the forefront when he meets the weary but still upbeat Robert. This elderly man is in need of connection just as much as Brandon, and the two form a genuine relationship. The sympathy the audience had towards this elderly man and seeing the positive effect Brandon is having on this lone widower, will be key in influencing their opinion of Brandon and to help them see this true character that has been corrupted by the nature of this environment, which will be highlighted by scenes involving Brandon in other social scenarios. Creating these feelings towards the character is a scary but invigorating challenge as a director and I look forward to collaborating with whomever we cast to bring this multifaceted character to life.

Something I am drawn towards in my work, in films such as Steven Brown, is visual storytelling, and how we can tell the story without exposition. The setting of Leith, this world in which Brandon lives, will be instrumental in informing the audience about who this man is, and why this is the life he leads. Setting the film in Leith is also very enticing from a purely visual perspective, as its industrial nature will give the film a distinctive look and feel. The characters and setting will also help tie the film into real social issues of poverty and social isolation experienced by many groups in Leith, which will help give the film more importance than just a piece of entertainment.

(Taken from the Pitch Document, and adaptly slightly in response to feedback to the pitch. This has not been changed to reflect the final film.)

Critique of Process

Pre-Production

Having two writers was sometimes not the best, concerning some disagreements on the script, although over time the duo became more unified with their intentions. Another positive was, if one person hit a brick wall, there was someone else who could look at their work and keep going.

I think, looking back, each subsequent draft unintentionally took us further from our original objective to humanise our scammer. One thing we were keen on is avoid anything too heavy handed - over the top reactions, blatantly obvious exposition - all being stripped away with each new draft. The only exception is the final scene between the two characters, with Robert’s dialogue being a little on the nose. While subtlety is all well and good, I think we went too far, meaning there is a lot in the film that is difficult for the viewer to decipher, and a lot of ideas weren’t as well realised as they could have been.

Production

On this project, almost my whole team were the co-writers, meaning everyone had contributed to the story and consequently they had a lot of strong thoughts on the film, which is very understandable. For the most part they respected me to direct the actors, although often piped up with suggestions. This was by no means a bad thing - far from it, as they had strong ideas I may not have thought of and were for the betterment of the film. Occasionally though, I felt our opinions were somewhat contradictory and for this reason maybe we should have had some more discussions prior to the shoot, but I think some of this was each person having a subtly different idea of the character in their head. However, we were always able to come to any agreement, so this never presented a big issue.

I think having a small crew worked nicely, especially as none of the locations were too big. There was one occasion where having additional people would have been good for blocking out sunlight, but otherwise it all went well.

Post Production

Working as both director and editor may have been to the film's detriment. This isn't to say that I did a bad job, only that it may have been better to have another opinion. While Ben and Jack brought a fresh pair of eyes, they were obviously very familiar with the story, so it would have been good to get someone with no knowledge in to let us know what worked and what didn’t.

A key thing that needed more attention was the sound design, which is rather minimal and was done by me, someone who is not specialising in sound. I never envisioned the film having overly complex sounds like some of the other films, but i think if we had an actual sound designer onboard, we could have had discussions about this that would have led to us coming up with ideas I would not have thought of otherwise.

I think one obvious thing we moved away from was the more social realist feel we pitched early on. With the majority of the film taking place in quite nice homes, the film just isn’t really in line with the works of a Ken Loach type film. This isn’t a bad thing, but means certain traces of the original idea jar with our finished product - we’re trying to convey a sense of place of Leith, an area most of the film doesn’t connect to, so elements with the walking shot or the sunset montage seem at odds with the serene nature of Roberts’s home.

Critique of final work:

The film received mixed feedback. Here I will discuss the feedback, our original intentions, and how we could address the feedback so those ideas could be conveyed more accurately and effectively.

CHARACTERISATION

A key issue was the characterisation of Brandon. From the earliest stages I had worried about how the central character would be received - while many films focus on flawed characters, those characters are not often exploiting vulnerable elderly citizens for their own gain. My worry was people would not be able to get past this.

The actual issue that people had was they did not understand the character and why he was doing what he was doing. Is it the only way he can survive or is it a conscious choice not to pursue an honest career path? Our thinking was it would be the latter, with him looking down on his “friends” in the bar who all have honest jobs. I was initially keen to keep including more of the characters backstory (nothing overly expositional, just through not responding to certain comments and such things, perhaps with some more concrete answers in the final scene, although still through the salesman facade) but after several discussions we decided not to go this way, being keen to define him by what he was doing in the present, as opposed to fixating on his past. The discussion about his thoughts on his life are still in the film, with the answers about BT really being responses to feelings on his scams - I suppose this makes clear his feelings on his scams, but still does not clarify why exactly he is scamming in the first place. Similarly, the dynamic between him and his friends is somewhat confusing in the bar scene (more on that later) meaning his view of scamming compared to 9-5 jobs is not clear.

Other notes we received were

"There is a disconnect between the protagonist and the environment, particularly the shots around Leith" - The scenes with Robert were intended as an escape from this life, but its hard to make that case when 90 percent of the film is set in Robert's house. I think we still could have had these Leith scenes, but we needed to highlight the depravity of his life in Leith instead of just having them featured in a few shots to transition between scenes. The point of these shots was also to show how Brandon is moving away from the centre on Leith for his scams. This was something that would have been reflected in the gradually calming sound design (going from loud industrial sounds to more distant sounds of activity and birds chirping). However, on the first day, we found a location that gave us a shot idea, panning down from a Leith flat, to show Brandon heading off to “work”. Our thinking was, as we had removed any scenes of Brandon's home, this could be a way to show where he lives without adding anything to the script. Of course, for this to work, this would have to be the first shot in the sequence, being that that sound change didnt work as well. Plus, we probably needed more shots anyway to make the sound change more gradual.

“Main character lacked depth” - This is the same as above, we had the backstory in our head, but in our fear to avoid spoon feeding the audience, failed to convey enough of it to help them understand Brandon.

“More conflict between him and the scam” - As it starts, the only scene involving this is the final scene, but even that is perhaps too underplayed. An obviously example could have had a scene with him counting the money and pausing for a moment, conflicting in his actions before continuing.

“The dynamic between him and his friends is unclear/More information on friends” - As a group we agreed his “friends” all have honest jobs - but with them all in similar football clothing, this is quite hard to figure out. It might have been better if they all wore work clothes, with Hibs scarves, and if Brandon wore something darker or more casual to contrast this, although that might seem odd. Or this could have been in the dialogue, his “friends” could talk about their uninteresting week at their respective jobs, while Brandon looks on from the side and laughs to himself about how these guys make minimal money following the rules, whilst he uses his initiative to score big. Maybe it would have been better to have more interaction with the group, to show how well they gel with each other, and make clear how Brandon differs from them, as opposed to just one guy speaking and only interacting with Brandon, in a way which could be read as a casual disagreement between two friends. The lack of clarity with regards to this scene could also have been an issue of sound (more on that later), but I think regardless of that the beats of this scene needed revising

At the beginning of the project, our mission was to create a disillusion, unlikable character, and make the audience understand them. I think we achieved the first part, and gave them hints of nuance, but ultimately, the audience didn't have the relevant background information to understand why Brandon was a scammer, and for that reason, we fell short of our objective. We even came up with the backstory too, but most of this is not in the film, and i think we could have gotten this in without seeming too expositional.

ACTING

People liked the acting and enjoyed the scene where the two characters were together, which was good to hear. People liked Ross’ performance but some wanted to see him being more weasley - particularly in the opening scene were he is scamming Lesley. Again, we wanted to avoid any cliches, like him drooling over the sight of Robert's money, but there could have been another way to tackle this. Maybe making him overly charming to the point of seeming unnatural. Or having him interacting with people in a more horrible manner outside of his scams, to highlight the difference between his real and fake personalities. They are some touches to show his dubious nature - like this disgust towards the beggar and a moment to rolls his eyes of Robert (during their first meeting, when the older man seems uninteresting in keeping his internet) - but I would agree we needed more of his and to make this thought process in those scenes clearer, whilst not going overboard with them. The main worry, in making him more charming or more weasley, would be going to far, and making the character unbelievable, but I’m sure there would have been a perfect middle ground.

WRITING

“Generally good interactions but sometimes the dialogue was on the nose” - This was a worry of mine when I read the scene interaction with Robert, but I figured it might sound more natural coming from an elderly man trying his best to speak to a disillusioned person in need of guidance. Especially contrasted to the more muted Brandon, who largely responds with single sentences and shrugs. So perhaps there was a more subtle way to pull this off.

“More of central duo, less walking” - we kept the walking shots for the sense of place, but i agreed, regardless of the social realism film we originally envisioned, perhaps those shots didn't work for the film we actually had

EDITING

The editing was criticised for being very pacy in places, with people mentioning it could have been wise to have someone who was solely the editor, to bring the fresh perspective the director may lack. During the editing, I was conscious of this and made sure to get Ben and Jack’s opinions but it might have been wise, even if I was still the editor, to bring in a fresh pair of eyes to give some feedback on how the film played to them not knowing the plot or our intentions. I also should have made more use of the lecturers, but as I was pressed for time with the edit and other work, I worried I would fall behind schedule if I took too much time out. Other key points were:

"Slower introduction to Brandon’s scams" - at 45 seconds, the opening scene is very speedy. This scene was originally a little longer and played better that way. But I cannot blame the brief, so to keep in time and let each scene breath, maybe we needed to change the latter scenes to accommodate its, or just start with Brandon meeting Robert, and have the pub scene take place after their first or second meeting, to start cluing the audience into his hollow life outside these scams. Another idea would be: scrap Connor. Just have Brandon charming over Lesley and leave with her money. It would be much more disturbing, him stealing from this vulnerable woman without anyone to save her, and would make the next scene where he uses her money to buy booze quite sickening. Whereas, establishing their dynamic, then bringing in Connor to shake it up, then having Brandon need to flee, may have been too much for such a short scene, whereas just having this smaller interaction would work nicely in 45 seconds. I did think of this idea during pre-production, but given most of the film involved one on one interactions, I didn't push for this very hard, as I liked that this scene would be different to the rest. Also, I figured this might raise the issue of “why doesn't he just go back to scam Lesley again, if it went off without a hitch?” Either way, it's a very rushed scene with a key purpose (establishing the main character's occupation) that needed more thought.

"More on discovery of Roberts football past" - the reaction shot we have in the film goes on from a little longer, with Brandon giving a more sizeable grin before walking off - sadly this was something that was cut for time, but if we do a longer cut, it will be added back in. Again, I cannot blame the time limit, so maybe I should have directed Ross to do a take where he gives this sizable grin earlier rather than later.

The shots of Leith were remarked on as being consistent with our original pitch but out of place with the decor of the rest of the film, and the exterior cutaways were out of place. Again, this is a good point and an example of focusing on the film you do have and don’t the one you don’t. Alternatively, having more scenes in Leith and more shots to show how he is going from one distinct location to another might have improved this.

“Its unclear who Brandon is staring at in the bar” - Maybe we needed a clearer shot of the Beggar, with regards to being slightly closer to him and maybe being a bit brighter. With regards to showing his reaction to the Beggar (with our intention being to show how he looks down on him), this could have been improved with a different take, maybe a more visible shake of the head, although that might have been too obvious and a bit unnatural. Maybe if the shot of the Beggar was clearer then this reaction would have made more sense.

The passage of time is something that was not commented on, but I think this is something that is not too clear either. The character's hair does change, with him getting a haircut around the midpoint of the film, but it just goes from quite short to slightly shorter. When I mentioned this to my flatmate on showing him the film, he remarked he had not noticed this. I think we could have had bolder costume changes, such as Brandon having a noticeably different jacket, as opposed to just changing ties.

Also, we could have gotten more two shots - visually we preferred the single shots, and to a certain extent, we were saving the two shots for the end of the film, trying to have a continual progression with the distance between the two slowly, from them sitting opposite each other in the beginning to side by side in the final scene. However, regarding the final conversation Ben found out the two-shot was too dark to be used in the colour grade, so it had to go, although we did have a nice over the shoulder shot on Brandon that worked to show the proximity between the two. In general, I agree it would have been nice to hold more on certain shots, but there were a lot of key subtle reactions I wanted to get in and we didn't have a lot of shots where the characters shared the frame, meaning I ended up cutting a lot. For this reason, a fresh pair of eyes may have been nice, as I'm sure there was a solution that would have meant the film was more reasonably paced.

SOUND

The sound was remarked on as being bare but decent enough. The main issue was the bar scene - in addition to the unclear dynamics of the scene, people struggled to understand/hear what was happening. I should have mixed this different, making the characters dialogue a little louder and the atmos/other sounds a bit quieter

OTHER

There were some annoying export mistakes, which were not a good look. We had a lot of issues exporting the film, which often tried to export as a 360 video (???), but finally managed to get it fixed shortly before the crit, meaning we weren’t able to quality check it to the level we should have.

In Robert and Brandons’s first discussion (after meeting at the door) there is one shot where the tripod was set up on the table and it noticeably shakes when Robert moves. While I had noticed it in the edit, it seemed very slight and as that was the best performance, I decided to keep it. It was only when we saw it on the big screen that I realised what a bad call that was, and how noticeable the shake was viewed on something other than a laptop. If we reedit the film, I will find another take for this - the main reason we had to use this was in many of the takes, you can see the crew in the reflect in Ross’ glasses, something we only released after a fair few takes. But I am sure one of the other takes will have a usable section.

Final Thoughts:

Ultimately, there is a lot I am proud of in this film, and I think we worked well as a group, with everyone more than pulling their weight. I think the main area where we felt short was the characterisation - I think we had some good discussions and good ideas, it's just that not all of them quite came across in the finished project.

I think I will re edit the film in the come days, as why not? Any opportunity to practise editing is always good and with the feedback from the crit regarding the pacing (and now being able to edit without the same time constraints) I will hopefully be able to make the film flow better. But the story issues will be more difficult to address, although the lessons we have learned from those issues and the rest of our feedback will be invaluable to take forward to the graduation film.

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not-poignant · 4 years

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Hello, I love your writing and I love how you manage to write complex characters and antagonists I can totally sympathize with (Augus, my precious), so I was wondering if you have any advice on that? Also, how do you decide on a love interest for your MC? Sorry if this is too broad of a question, but your writing advice is always super helpful.

Hiya

I‘m glad you’re enjoying the writing! Honestly I don’t know if I’m going to do a good job of explaining these things, but I hope whatever I say helps!

Writing a sympathetic antagonist

Firstly, most importantly, they have to be sympathetic! I know I know, that sounds stupid, and obvious, but it’s true. Don’t expect every reader to still like your antagonist, they won’t. Not everyone likes villain, antagonist or even antihero fiction.

Re: garnering sympathy:

Show the character as genuinely vulnerable. (Consider Augus being hurt by Gwyn in the dungeon, even if most of it slid off of him, that gag certainly didn’t). (Consider that even though Eran is Mosk’s captor and actually not a very nice person, we understand his motivations for being mean - he has lost his entire family, and he believes Mosk is the reason. He’s shown experiencing constant culture shock, totally alone, and he doesn’t understand the new world he finds himself in). (Consider that Efnisien is living an extremely bleak life, post violent injury, and that he is shown to be vulnerable to his own patterns of thinking).

Show the shift in their attitude that makes them more relatable, or that gives the readers hope that they’re not about to revert back to who they used to be. (Augus clearly being far more even-minded and less destructive for the sake of it). (Eran constantly questioning how Mosk could be capable of his evil, and double-checking on himself, and it obviously being insecurity when he decides that Mosk is evil after all). (Efnisien is forcing himself to attend very personally challenging therapy sessions, and we can see that not only has he not hurt anyone in 3 years, we can see evidence of a life lived that tries to avoid opportunities to hurt people ever again).

Make them human, create common ground. Show them eating food, getting dressed, responding to a major (or minor) injury. Show them loving another character even if they only ever love one other character (Augus saying ‘careful’ to Ash in Shadows and Light was actually the moment that some readers fell in love with him or became intensely curious about him - and so while most readers came around to him in Game Theory, just having Augus genuinely love and feel protective towards his brother was enough to create sympathy and empathy). (Consider Efnisien and his love for Gwyn). (Consider Eran’s love for his family). Make it so that people literally can go ‘oh, I eat food that way’ or ‘oh, I’ve tried to hide an injury before’ or ‘that’s how I get dressed’ or ‘I hate summer too.’ Give them details that can stack up over time and create common ground.

In the case of characters who have done absolutely egregious things, whump the everloving fuck out of them. Like, this was legit a thing I did in Game Theory *deliberately* in order to create increased sympathy for Augus. Even people who have the most intense revenge fantasies re: a character burn out on them after a while. A person who is like ‘yeah I can’t wait to see them tortured and suffering and going through awful pain’ will, very often, get that and realise they didn’t want that much of it. And they will turn to sympathy instead. It’s worked an absolute fucking treat with Augus and Efnisien in particular.

Have someone who is worse opposite your antagonist. (Augus had the Nightingale. Eran has Olphix and Davix and, well, Mosk’s entire family. Efnisien has Crielle and Lludd). Give your villain a villain.

That’s it. You don’t have to make them ‘good.’ You don’t have to rationalise what they did. You don’t have to make excuses for what they’ve done or what they’ll do in the future. Your readers can make up their own minds on that, and they will, with or without your guidance. Augus can still be a waterhorse that eats people and sometimes uses compulsions because he’s impatient. Gwyn can still just straight up murder people without giving them much (or any) warning first.

When you don’t encourage sympathy based on a ‘good/bad’ binary, you can still have your antagonists and villains kind of stay where they are. They might do heroic things, they might do villainous things, the point of empathy is that they’re often doing and thinking relatable things, even if the subsequent actions aren’t themselves relatable.

I don’t do these things for villains that I don’t want to be sympathetic. But I must admit, I am enjoying showing different facets of Davix in The Ice Plague, even though I don’t really intend for him to be a transformed villain or anything.

Deciding on a love interest

This one is harder. Mostly because in some ways, it’s ‘simpler’ on the surface. All you’re doing is looking for a character who has qualities that strengthen your other character, and balance out the imbalances in your primary character and vice versa. They will need to have some things in common too. They also need to get along, and have a reason to get along (especially if it’s rivals to lovers).

Like, it’s hard to describe how I do this because I don’t spend a lot of time on this part. I tend to just...idk, ‘know’ what another character needs and build off that. And that’s fucking useless to break down for other people. BUT, it does mean I can at least use my doofuses as examples:

Augus and Gwyn: They are both people who favour diplomacy over war, but can be extraordinarily bloodthirsty when a situation calls for it, and they’re both actually pretty snarky and bitchy people (things in common). Augus is proud of his sexuality and does not see the point in not fully embracing who you are as a monster, Gwyn rejects his monstrous self and is not proud of his sexuality or his role as a sub (Augus strengthens Gwyn in this, and complements what Gwyn lacks). Gwyn is extremely bold and secure in his ability to manage a Kingdom and also protect his loved ones, he is very able to step forwards into his future decisively, fully confident in his ability to do what is best for the people around him and the nation (Gwyn strengthens Augus in this, and complements Augus’ insecurities in this area).

You can find lots of other examples of complementary traits in Augus and Gwyn in particular (Augus had a happier family, Gwyn didn’t. Gwyn has military and physical training, Augus mostly hasn’t. Augus understands fashion and courtiers, Gwyn doesn’t. Gwyn understands tracking and large-scale military operations, Augus doesn’t. Augus understands finer interpersonal relationships, Gwyn doesn’t. Gwyn understands politicking that’s specifically malicious or manipulative (like the Raven Prince, Augus doesn’t).

Mosk and Eran: They are both people who are extremely determined and share a common goal (Mosk took a little while to get online with that goal, but okay). They are both actually very earnest at their hearts and want people to be happy with them, and they both need guidance from people in positions of authority. They’re both hot-headed (in different ways, but they both absolutely fly off the handle all the fucking time). Ultimately, they want to feel warm and supported (things in common).

Mosk is extremely aesthetic and cares for beautiful things and scenery, at all times, he tends to tune into an environment based on its beauty, Eran on the other hand tends to be a bit stuck in the past, and isn’t always quick to see the beauty in the present. (Mosk enriches Eran’s life in the present, but helping him to focus on what might be beautiful in the present). Eran likes to feel as though he’s helping people and he needs to feel needed, Mosk needs someone to take care of him (Eran enriching Mosk).

Tbh you could come up with a lot of examples. Places where they ‘complement’ each other are also places of potential conflict. Eran being hopeful and optimistic is definitely a point of contention between Mosk and Eran when it clashes against Mosk’s pessimism, even though it’s good for Mosk to be around more hopeful attitudes, and it’s good for Eran to be more realistic sometimes.

ANYWAY. Basically, yeah, I... this second part I’m a lot worse at, sorry. The process of coming up with love interests is very organic, and I don’t actually like, sit down and plan these things. Which means I don’t have a formula to share. (I am very much just making shit up as I go).

Idk if any of that is helpful, but I hope it is. <333

Please don’t listen to my writing advice lol.

#asks and answers #dodgy advice #pia on writing #pia on characterisation #fae tales #i feel like i've answered a lot of comments and asks in the past #about how characters have opposing views #or skills #that actually marry up really well together #in fanfiction #Jack and Pitch were probably the most obvious ones for this #i can't believe how long this post is #you know other authors could say this in like 10 lines?#amazing #wanderinggods

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 2 years

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wrong, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: What's wrong? Nothing. Everything. Something. You can't put it into words that you can speak out loud, but you can do what you do best, which happens to be causing pain. Funny, a certain someone wants you to do just that. Please use me like a drug.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; not quite a dom drop but something close to it; intense D/s smut (fem reader, sadomasochism, choking, begging, fucking his mouth with your fingers, forced handjob, cock ring usage, heavy spanking / scratching, biting / marking, spit kink, ball squeezing, m-receiving oral, edging / orgasm denial, cowgirl); aftercare; fluff; non-idol!BTS – freshly tattooed, sub!Jungkook x noona, dom!reader

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

Ah, yes, the classic conversation that should be immortalized as the epitome of one of the most obvious lies of all time. It earned you a frown and searching, curious eyes. You raised a single eyebrow in response. Maybe you need a taste of me, he said. I’m not a drug addict looking for a fix, was your dry response.

“But I am.”

That was what you were. The drug, the bad habit, the venom that needed to be injected over and over. Without it, dead. With it, on the cusp of alive, because he couldn’t go back, and that how it was, the drug and the addict, you and him.

That was how it ended up this way, with your hand around his neck, taking away his air, him naked and you still clothed in his sweatshirt and nothing else, tilting your head at the discomfort painted all over his face, struggling to survive on wisps of breath.

You tightened your fingers.

“Touch yourself.”

“N… No…”

He was probably sick of being edged. Or, what he thought was worse, you forcing him to cum and wasting it down his legs and onto the hardwood floor.

“First, you don’t let me shackle your arms to the ceiling,” you hummed, referring to the rig above you and him, the hook and descending metal rod on a chain. The leather handcuffs were wound around the chain, dangling, not attached since it wasn’t going to be used today.

You had only bothered to put it up to taunt him.

“B-But, noona, p-please understand… I had tattoo session today, I shouldn’t–”

You cut him off. Impolite. Authoritative.

Your hand was around his neck after all.

“And then you disobey me.”

You pushed his chin back with the pocket between your index and thumb, pressing on the vessels right under his jaw, below his ears. Turned your nails inward and he whined, pitching into desperate refusal as you snatched his left hand, directing it.

“No, no, please, n-no…”

None of these words were Jeon Jungkook’s safe word, so you flicked your wrist, gashing your fingernails across his throat and making him moan. The moment of wet parted lips a perfect picture, those large brown eyes almost closed, his black hair all over his face, mouth accented by a silver ring on the right edge, tiny mole underneath his lower lip quivering.

You placed your pinky and thumb on his jawbone and shoved your other three fingers into his open mouth.

Jungkook nearly choked, squeezing his eyes shut as your left hand closed around his left, wrapping his fingers around his untouched erection, squeezing harshly, his pleas of no shoved down his throat as you fucked it with your fingers and forced his hand to jack himself off, struck with a strange kind of elation, an electric chill that spread like wildfire, all over your nerves and skin. His pretty face ruined by fingers pressed to wet tongue, saliva dripping down your palm. His eyes barely open. Glassy, drunk, the furrow of his brow. An almost apologetic expression as your mercilessly fucked his throat and forced him to jack himself off. His black hair fell back as he tried to keep his chin up so you didn’t hit too deep into his throat, and underneath, hot, hard, fast.

Same old, huh?

There it was.

That little doubt, the source of that nothing, the reason you lied to Jungkook earlier. You weren’t stupid. You weren’t going to back out now, what, away from him and his needs? Away from that part of you that thrived on that pathetic look on his face, doesn’t that make you just as pathetic, and you sucked in a breath, killing the thought, but without you noticing, your fingers had pulled back, his spit streaming down your hand, feeling nothing until his lips closed in and his teeth sank into the first knuckle of your middle finger.

The firm pain made you wince, snapping out of your thoughts.

You’re a prisoner of your habits.

You let go of his hand, placing your palm on his chest, about to push him back.

Jungkook’s dark brown eyes, shining with the ghost of tears, narrowed.

His tongue pressed against the pad of your finger and rubbed slowly. Curled around it, caressing your middle finger. His lips pressed to your skin. Softly, but with firm pressure.

You’ll never get out.

You told it to shut up, shut up, but it was there, it was distracting you and it was pissing you off in its distraction, this was supposed to be your time, how dare these thoughts try to take over you, how dare they try to lock you into a cage, I’m not locked in here with you.

You clenched your jaw, growling, glaring at Jungkook.

You’re locked in here with me.

You pulled your finger out of his teeth and grabbed his head by the hair, dragging it down to press your lips to his, feeling the sting of pain shooting up your hand, then metal and skin, his lip ring punctuating the kiss, strangled moans trapped between you and him, my time, this is my time and I won’t let you take it from me, thrusting your tongue into his warm mouth to create a tangle of wetness. Your eyes were open and Jungkook was watching you, his left hand closing onto your jaw, smearing his pre-cum on your cheek, his scent marked onto your skin and invading your nose, his black hair framing your temples and casting your connected gaze into shadow.

For a millisecond, silence.

Jeon Jungkook staring at you in the dark.

You ruined me, you thought. You let me be who I am, and now I can’t go back.

You placed your hands on his defined shoulders and shoved him to his knees. He let them hit the floor with force, gasping, and you kneeled before him, immediately clutching fistfuls of his hair and devouring him with wild kisses, messy tongue and sucking on his, surrounded by his sound of gargled whimpers and feeling his body shake under you, his knees sliding apart, and, above, the rig was suspended, shackles and chains.

You had made it for him.

You dragged your nails down his scalp, down his neck, down his back, tracing that spine that graced your mattress so many times, swallowing his whine, biting down and sucking on his lower lip. Plan after plan, moment after moment, practicing your hold, devising new ways to cause pain, all for him, all for his addiction, all for his please, no, don’t, sliding the cock ring down, so convenient that it was right beside your bodies, already waiting on the floor, a sadistic chuckle bubbling from your throat, slapping your hands down on his thighs, once, listening to his cry, twice, cherishing his sobbing whimper, dragging your nails down red skin and hard, tense muscle.

You spit on him.

He flinched, his left hand rising and his teeth biting down on his middle finger, trying not to cry.

Jungkook had a safe word.

He could also move away. You hadn’t tied him up.

You slapped his thighs again, hard, so hard even your palms stung, so hard you saw his teeth sink into his finger and the muscles of his neck tighten, dying squeal in his throat. Again, nails raking down inflamed skin, gripping his flesh and piercing him with your hold. He shook his head, sending his hair flying. Over and over, until they were raw with pain and you saw Jungkook snap his head back, spine arching, shifting his weight closer to you so your hits were aimed higher at untouched skin, but too close, too close to his bobbing, stiff erection.

It was dark red, nearly purple, leaking, the head glossy and ignored.

You leaned down and waited.

His head quickly jerked back, his big brown eyes going wide.

You spat on it.

He was nearly crying, biting back a desperate moan.

Look at him.

You purred his name, oh, Jungkook, and his chest heaved, choked voice calling yours back, p-please, I’ll take anything, please don’t s-stop, holding himself up by his left arm, using the other only for balance, part of his right still covered with plastic film and taped down, protecting bright, blended color and black lines.

He trusts you so much.

You lowered your head.

All for him. You became this all for him and he loves it.

Breathed on him, letting flecks of spit splatter over his twitching length, doing it on purpose.

“Jungkook…”

So wet, a seemingly endless stream of saliva splashing down and coating the taut skin, seeing his hips shake, struggling to stay still, so messy, trickling onto the hardwood floor, but who cared, what’s wrong, and you looked up, nothing echoing in your head.

Jungkook held his breath, looking down at you with large, dark brown orbs.

Your hands shot out. Gripped his balls and his neck simultaneously, an open-mouthed smirk cutting through your expression.

“O-Oh, fuck!”

The swearing came out strangled, and you sank your teeth into his inner thigh, fierce grip of his wet balls between your knuckles, not tight but inescapable pressure, choking him much tighter, his moan turning into a wail, your forearm against his chest due to his back arching again, and you bit down harder, intending to leave a dark purple bruise in your violent wake. Sucking hard, kneading the muscle between teeth.

“Mine,” you snarled around the bite of his flesh. “You are mine.”

“Y-Yours…”

It must have hurt a lot. His eyes were becoming unfocused, rolling back, thrusting his hips into your grip, begging you to touch his neglected hard-on, spraying your cheek with your own saliva, and yet he still spoke to you, strained and wasting his breath to assure you that he was…

“Only yours, noona…”

He always could accept what he was before you could.

You unlocked your jaw, strings of spit snapping between your lips and the possessive hickey, and you swallowed his cock, all the way to the base, releasing his balls and neck at the same time.

Jungkook’s hips jerked and he let out a hoarse sob, hitting orgasm but unable to cum, the high shooting through him but brutally unsatisfying, his thick cock throbbing in your mouth and his torso shuddering, jammed into your throat. You rutted the head into the tight depth, sending him into a spiraling wail, slamming his fist into the floor.

“Fuck, please!”

Your lips were touching the cock ring.

Your tongue snaked out and licked the metal, lapping at his abused balls, not looking up.

“P-Please…”

His perfect voice was wrecked, cracked with pain, making it even more perfect.

You pulled your head back, raising your head, taking it in. Trembling torso, dark nipples hard, his neck a little pink, marks of your nails across the sides of taut muscles. His jaw quivering. Lips swollen and red, cheeks glossy with sweat or tears. Both, probably. His black hair hanging, damp, all over his forehead and temples.

Those beautiful brown eyes, pleading you, wanting you.

Jungkook loves you.

You climbed up his body.

Kissed him, long and deep.

Ravenous, he let himself be consumed by it, your insistence, your intensity, your will, moaning into your throat as your hand snaked between your bodies and pressed his hard length to your thigh, hot and wet, slowly teasing off the cock ring, the sweatshirt fabric too thick to feel skin on skin, and it was frustrating him, but you kept him in an oppressive lip lock, his left hand needed to keep his body upright.

The cock ring popped off, hitting the floor with a sloppy clunk.

His right hand gripped the hem of the navy sweatshirt.

You broke the kiss, touching the back of his tattooed hand.

“Let go,” you murmured softly.

Reluctantly, but obediently, Jungkook let go.

You reached up. Gentle. Pushing his hair back, wiping his cheeks with your fingers.

He was a drug too. You tried to resist it, tried to deny the fix, but he forced it on you, his taste, his cry, craving his chase for the high that only you could give. You combed your fingers through his hair, keeping it away from his face, not letting him hide, gazing at those pleading eyes through your lashes.

“You get a reward, my Jungkook.”

The way he looked at you.

Those eyes would do anything, anything for those words.

You backed up, getting off your knees, crossing your arms and pulling up the oversized sweatshirt, tipping your head back so your hair slid out in one fluid motion. Rolled your neck, every action part of the cinema, from your naked body to the lines you created from the simple action of walking to the nightstand, to ripping open a condom and stepping back to him, to sliding it down with deliberate eye contact. The smell of sex was already so strong that you could taste it on your tongue, your arousal heavy and sweet.

His knees must have been killing him, but he either didn’t care or didn’t feel it, blood too saturated with adrenaline to feel anything else but pure unadulterated pleasure as you spread your legs and sank down on him.

There were people who fucked and then there was you and Jungkook.

Your knees on wood, rolling your hips, and you would surely regret it later, but not right now, not with one hand in his sweaty hair and the other around his neck, feeling his hand graze over your chest, his lips parting, moaning at the feeling of your hard nipples against his palm, the moan short-lived as you pressed down on the sides of his neck. Slow, controlling your core, muscle by muscle, slick wet walls closing in, all the way to the base, and he angled his hips up, deeper for you and him.

You exhaled sharply, full of lust and racing eustacy.

Jungkook whimpered, feeding the beast.

“H-Harder… please…”

You ignored him, keeping your pace. Fucking him like you owned him, fucking him like he was a tool, letting his hand grope your chest all over, his strong fingers kneading your breasts, pinching your nipples, trying to convince you, faster, harder, but you remined at your speed and precise pressure, your pussy clenching around him, despairingly tight and yet ever-so-slightly not enough, choking him, but not a strong enough grip.

He wanted more.

You denied him.

It drove him insane.

His cock throbbed, getting harder.

Yours.

You choked him harder.

I’ll never let go.

Fucked him with sudden vicious force, snapping your hips back and then forward, so hard that you even felt the jolt shooting up your spine, but you didn’t stop, tensing your legs and really fucking him, smacking your hips down and fucking him into your bedroom floor. The comfort of a bed less was than a meter away and neither of you wanted that, no, you wanted this, pain and pleasure combined, so much work for the perfect high from the perfect drug, his eyes rolling back and his lewd moans mangled and thin, thrusting his hips into you and using the last of his strength, so desperate and frantic that the rhythm was getting disrupted, and your brain could try and pull you away from this with disquieting pesters, but in this moment was nothing but high-voltage bliss, nothing but Jeon Jungkook.

His red, bitten lips, the tiny mole underneath shaking with tension.

“Mmm, fuck, Jungkook!”

You gritted your teeth and the coil inside tightened so sharply that it snapped, your body ransacked by instant pulsating pleasure, uncontrollable even for you, the master of control, clenching around his length, the waves crashing down and the air was tainted with your sweet slick, drenching his crotch and balls, probably adding to the mess on the floor.

You immediately let go of his neck and grabbed his shoulders with both hands, gasping.

Jungkook whined and thrust up so hard that your knees almost left the floor, his torn groan above you as he came, finally, his cock jerking inside you and filling up the condom, the high so strong that neither of you could look each other in the eye, him staring at the ceiling and you at his collarbones, scrounging for breath and feeling like there was none to be found, sparks up and down your spine, your nerves on fire, your inner thighs screaming at you to get off him.

Instead, you forced your body to lift your head and pushed Jungkook’s chin down, your eyes slipping closed, lips to lips, kissing him fiercely, obsessively, possessively. He kissed you back, just as intense, maybe even more intense, his left arm wrapping around your waist, crushing you to his sweaty, hard chest.

It made you both so sore, those few extra seconds.

Didn’t matter.

You sat in the bath with him later, after cleaning up the mess on your floor.

Pushed his wet hair back, brushing your thumb against his cheekbone.

Jungkook pressed his lips together in silent question. A pout of, did I make it better? That was his nature. He knew he could not make everything better, but he wanted to. He wanted you to feel your best, and you could see that, could see what he was trying to say, you bring the best out of me, and you half-smiled, unsure if desperate-to-crawl-on-one’s-knees was the best of someone, but Jungkook seemed to think so.

It was a lower body bath, just enough to clean up, avoiding getting his arm wet for now. Still, his hair had needed to be rinsed from all that sweat. It was now flat against his scalp, making him look a little silly, but handsome all the same, because he was yours and you would never think he wasn’t.

You moved his hair away from his eyes and he stared into yours.

You didn’t say anything.

The little voice inside your head whispered, this is all you are. You told it to shut up. And in Jungkook’s eyes, you could see it, those intense, dark brown orbs searching, trying to figure out what you were thinking and you almost distracted him again. Almost. It would have been easy. A kiss. A simple touch. A narrowed gaze and the moment would have been clouded, muddled, dissipated. Lust was a tool.

And.

Yet.

“I think I’m too shallow for you,” you said to him.

“I wish you were too shallow for me,” Jungkook said back to you with a small smile.

That was not the answer you expected.

You blinked. Slowly.

Jungkook grinned, sliding closer and making the water slosh. He acted as if he wasn’t in pain at all, even though he probably was. Maybe he liked it. Probably. “If you were shallower, you’d have sex with me more.”

You gave him a look of least amusement.

Water getting cold, suddenly ready to call it off and quit this drug cold turkey, maybe to feel something or, worse, confirm you felt nothing at all. But before you could consider it any further, Jungkook knocked his forehead into yours, leaning against your immobile, deadpan stare and your eyes connected.

Something changed.

Even before he spoke again, you knew something had changed.

Those large dark brown orbs could chase doubts away as surely as they could chasse the high, beating them back with his tenderness, his small smile both playful and mischievous.

“I know I love you.”

You furrowed your brow ever-so-slightly. There were lots of thoughts trying to pollute his words right now, but there was also a universe of stars in Jeon Jungkook’s eyes and for a moment you were stuck mute by the vastness within them, by the light that burned brightest in the darkness.

“You can’t make me change my mind.”

“I–”

Wasn’t, you were about to say, and you cut yourself off because you felt Jungkook’s left hand close around yours and also because you realized, wasn’t I? You or the little voice in your head, did it matter which one was saying the words? In the end, they would have the same effect. In the end, it would end the same.

You held his hand tightly, unable to say anything in return.

His lips were by your lips.

“You won’t try to change my mind, right, noona?” Jungkook whispered.

You blinked hard, for somehow your world had become a little blurry, your world being all that you could see right now, and yet the light caught those big brown irises just right, how strange, several moments of blinking hard to clear your vision and refocus on him, opening your mouth to a shuddering breath, nothing coming out.

Your forehead slid to the side.

His hand left yours and both reached up to grip your shoulders.

You sucked in a deep breath. Shuddered. Placed your forehead against his shoulder and couldn’t say anything, but you knew he could feel it, feel the waterfall within that you blocked with his skin and his muscle, and without realizing it you had wrapped your arms around his torso and pressed your hands to his broad back. Not scratching down. Not causing pain. Not a means to an end.

Hugging him.

You were hugging Jeon Jungkook.

For him or for you?

You could say, I love you back, of course. You could. Anyone would, to him, but he said those words to you. You could say them back. You could. Life would be miserable without him. You knew that. But that wasn’t this. This wasn’t about whether or not you loved him. He knew you did.

This is about what you were.

And what you could not change.

If you said I love you now, it would feel wrong.

You’re just a monster. Jungkook would remind you that you weren’t. You’re just a product of someone else’s pain, so you became this. Jungkook would remind you that you were his and only his, not a puppet of your past. You’re nothing, just a shell of a human being, so obsessed with control that you can’t let anyone have it, not even in something as simple as sex. You’re using him and he’s using you. You can’t change.

You felt his head turn and his lips pressed to your ear.

A soft kiss.

Jungkook would say, I know. That means you’re made for me.

He could be possessive too. Maybe even more than you.

“I like it when you hold me, noona,” he murmured.

You almost let go, saying, it’s getting cold, but his grip tightened, pulling you back to him stubbornly.

“A little longer.”

You held him a little longer.

You won’t change.

Later, Jungkook’s arm and leg were over torso and legs respectively, pinning you to your own bed as he fell asleep. As if there was a chance you would leave your own damn bed. It began, as usual. You got used to the thoughts that came right before falling asleep. Invited them to battle, readying yourself to strike them down one by one. A routine and, to be honest, a tiring one.

But this time.

This time you remembered the things Jungkook would say. Things he said when you offhandedly, perhaps out of left field, commented on yourself objectively, or at least you thought so, and you used to think his replies and reactions were strange.

But you remembered them.

And you realized that he, unawares, was striking down these thoughts that tried to threaten you. Didn’t matter if you thought you could do it alone. Didn’t matter if you told him that you didn’t need him to do that. He hadn’t said it yet, but If you mentioned it…

You’ll pay more attention to me if you aren’t distracted, right, noona?

You squinted at the ceiling even though Jungkook was right beside you, completely silent. You just knew that he would reply with that if you said that you didn’t need him to speak highly of you to feed your ego. He wouldn’t care. He would keep doing whatever he wanted to do and saying whatever he wanted to say. That was the kind of person he was.

What’s wrong?

Nothing.

And then Jeon Jungkook reminded you who you were and that he liked who you were.

No.

Loved.

Loved who you were.

You turned your head. He was right there. Too close. Would definitely make you both sweaty if he stayed this close all night. You had asked him earlier if he wanted to go back to his. Get fresh clothes or something. He had refused, opening the drawers of your dresser that were already overtaken with his things, announcing that he was staying.

“You know me better than I thought, huh,” you whispered to the dark.

Jungkook’s eyes were closed, so there was no light except the artificial ones outside your window.

You closed your eyes too, facing him.

“I love you, Jungkook.”

Silence.

Nothing but the dark of your closed eyelids.

Then you felt a rustle. A nuzzle of nose-to-nose. Warm breath against your lips.

“I knew it,” he mumbled, his tone at the cusp of a laugh.

Asshat stayed awake just in case you said it.

“Go the fuck to sleep,” you grumbled, not opening your eyes.

masterpost

#jungkook x reader #bts smut #jungkook x noona #jungkook smut #jungkook x you #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you

291 notes · View notes

tommyspeakycap · 3 years

Text

Ruined it

pairing - andy robertson x reader

summary - after the england tie, andy’s left sulking while watching the woman he’s fallen in love with apparently cracking on with kt - this request

word count - 2k

"What're you sulking about eh?"

Andy turns his head suddenly at the sound of a voice he’s come to be very fond of. A brotherly voice of consistent reason. Jordan Henderson is always level headed and gives probably the best advice of anyone Andy has ever known, especially off the pitch. It’s why he’s their Liverpool skipper.

Andy shrugs, watching as Jordan takes a seat a little away from him, a row down and three seats over so they’re not too close as they sit in the stadium. The England international has his hands stuffed thoroughly into his pockets for a bit of heat against his rain soaked body, but the Scot doesn’t seem to be bothered by the dark blue strip still rain plastered to his skin. Jordan’s never understood the unbothered nature of many Scottish players and the rain, especially after matches. Tierney could often be spotted kicking about training in shorts and t-shirt even in the snow. But the rain seemed to be the least of Andy Robertson’s worried right now.

His eyes instead are focused down on the side of the pitch, still actually standing in the rain on his fellow left back. Tierney is standing by the goalpost and next to him is someone Jordan has become mildly familiar with through his friendship with Andy, you. Billy and Mason had been standing there a couple minutes ago and since had left to chat elsewhere with Chilwell, but you and Kieran remained talking.

The Liverpool skipper understands immediately why his club mate looks so sour even though they hadn’t conceded a goal. It’s not so much that you’re talking to Kieran, but instead the way that you’re talking to him.

It’s so animated, he’s using his hands to tell a story and you’re mimicking his actions with the same intensity, engaged in somehow simultaneously telling and listening to each other talk. Except Jordan can rationalise. You haven’t seen Kieran in person for ages, this was like two pent up kids seeing their friends for the first time after the summer holidays. So much to tell, so little time to get it across.

“Can’t compete with that, mate.” Andy mumbles, his voice thick with the heavy heartache kind of emotion that chafes a little at the large heart of the mackem man looking at him softly. “Don’t be like that,” Jordan protests with a scoff, “She’s not interested in him.” He insists, but he - again - can understand why Andy might think that. He doesn’t see what you look like when you talk to him. He doesn’t see the way you look at him or how excited you are to speak to him. He can’t watch your conversations from the outside line he’s sitting doing right now with you and the arsenal left-back who you’ve got doubled over in laughter right now. It's very obvious for Jordan to tell that you and Kieran are just friends because he can, and does, get to see what love from you looks like.

It looks like the hearts that basically swirl around in your eyes every single time you look at Andy Robertson.

You're standing down there talking to that cheeky Celtic through and through left back with his hair sticking up funny because of the rain and the thing that he's talking about is you and the Scotland captain. He was the real reason you were at the game, Kieran knows this. He knows you’re smitten, have been since he introduced you to him a few years ago. It had only been a waiting game of how long until one of you to crack and admit it.

Kieran was getting awful bored of waiting and nobody was getting any younger. If he had to hear you talking about Andy and this 'potential girlfriend' one more time, he'll lose the fucking rag. Andy doesn’t have a girlfriend. He couldn't fucking get one because everyone that asked him out got turned down for the simple fact that they weren't you enough for him. Nobody ever would be.

Nobody would laugh at his jokes and rip him a new one when he needed to be told that his patter was genuinely shocking. Nobody, literally nobody, appreciated that little thing he does with his shoulder on a run down the side of the pitch when he realises he might lose the ball like you do. He throws his shoulder forward, almost in a way that can be played off as a natural movement but has just enough on it to send the quickly running member of the opposing team into the closest pitch barricade. When he'd spent the length of the Manchester City game doing it to Kyle Walker, it's all you'd talked about for days. You just love him and it's almost painfully obvious to everyone but the one person who should see it the most.

"They're just friends Robbo." Jordan repeats, but Andy squints with an ever so subtle shake of his head. "It's like a fuckin' movie. Met when they were four, still fuckin' best friends at twenty four. Couldn't write it Hendo." Andy explains, hitting the back of his hand against the palm of his other emphatically, almost as if to drive home the idea brewing in his mind that you and Kieran were set to be together. A perfect couple, of sorts.

"You're being ridiculous." Jordan states simply, shaking his head in disagreement and indifference. "Like, do you realise how stupid you sound? She is not... interested... in ...him."

Andy sighs again heavily, finally tearing his eyes away from you to look at his club mate turned close friend sitting there in front of him. Jordan had his serious, almost dad face on. The one he uses if there is a message he needs to get across or a scolding that he needs to give either to a team member acting up or to one of his children.

"That said," he adds, "You need to tell her how you feel mate, before she is interested in someone else. Won't wait around for you forever."

The words actually give Andy a chill through his spine, making him shiver and not from the cold. He spots you, drifting out of a circle containing KT, Ben Chilwell, Billy, Mason and John McGinn, kind of looking as though you were looking around for someone else. Jordan knows that you are looking for the one man you really came here for. You're almost looking for him to save you, searching for him in the sea of football players standing in circles dotted around talking amongst each other about the game, about their lives and all that other rubbish that had missed talking about.

You're not sure what it is, but it feels like someone's arse that bloody bounces you sideways stumbling in straight into the front of Jack Grealish. Kieran smirks from where he stands knowing he hit his intended target when he hears your 'oof' and Jack's signature Brummie accent asking if you were alright. He casts a side eye up to the stands where he's seen his skipper sitting, a small grin ticking over the former Celtic mans lips as he sees Jordan Henderson patting Andy on the back just as he quickly makes for the stairs two at a time on tired legs.

"It that Grealish?" Andy had asked, eyebrows pulled into furrowed confusion. Jordan nods. "Yup."

That raises Andy to his feet immediately. Kieran was one thing, but to see you basically nose to nose with Jack fucking Grealish was another. That Andy could not even begin to handle even as he helped you back to your feet. "Better move fast." Hendo notes.

Andy does just that, except not in the direction that either Kieran or Jordan had anticipated him going in. When Andy got to the bottom of the stairs where Kieran had expected him to barge through the players and make a break for you, he instead took a swift left and marched back through the tunnel to the changing rooms.

Jordan is the first to spot your frown when you see the number 3 walking quickly off towards the changing room. He can physically see from your face the way that your heart sinks, a soft sigh parting your lips as you disjoin from the groups of talking players and mingling family members to find the side of the pitch that he had left from. Whether or not you were supposed to go back there, you didn't know. But you had come here to see him, watch him play and actually get to speak to him face to face for the first time in a while. Your work had kept you busy and he was travelling for the Scotland matches.

"Andy!" You call out after him, picking up your pace when you spot him rounding a corner quickly. "Andy!"

You know he can hear you, but he doesn't slow down. He keep thundering towards the changing room and you're confused. He was never like this. Andy is such a sweetheart to everyone and to you he was even sweeter. He was funny, he was kind and he made you feel like the world was a better place to be in.

This was very out of character, especially after a game that would be considered a success from their perspective.

"Andrew!" You bark, courage bubbling up to the surface when he pushes through the changing room door and lets it shut behind him just before you walk through.

Andy freezes in his spot, guilt immediately causing through his veins at the sound of you attempting to catch the heavy door. That was uncalled for and his mother would slap him silly if she'd ever caught word of him doing something like that to anyone, but especially. His mum really loved you.

"What was that far? Who pissed in your cereal this morning?" You try to joke as you lean against the door, crossing your arms over your chest with a teasing grin, but he just turns his back to you at his number designated changing spot in the room. He shrugs and pulls his shirt over the top of his head roughly, chucking it down on the bench in front of him. "Just didn't know you were behind me." He mumbles, almost so lowly you can't hear him.

"Right." You scoff with a step takin towards him. He still won't turn and look at you. He has so much anger coursing through his veins and he just doesn't even know why. Just seeing you there, hugging all them and speaking to Kieran before him, the way the arsenal man held you with such a tight squeeze and kissed the top of your head was what he was supposed to be doing. It's what he always did and watching Kieran do that to you knowing it was a routine for him too made him feel like an absolute idiot. Everything for Kieran was completely platonic, simply the act of missing you as his best friend.

"Cause you're not really supposed to be back here." He hints, making your heart sink. Your confidence to confront him dissipates right there and then, forcing you to attempt to swallow back a lump in your throat. He had never even used a tone like that with you before, not even in the petty little arguments you've been in in the past.

In fact had anyone else spoke to you anywhere near anything like that, Andy would have laid them out flat. But he was so fuelled by jealousy and the desire to be alone to wallow in his heartache so he doesn't take it out on his teammate later on a ruin morale that he almost doesn't realise how nasty he's being, even if the words themselves aren't that sharp, his cold tone was enough to make any words seem hurtfully intended. He chances a look back at you, a quick turns of his head to see you staring at him before he turned his head back to face his number stuck to the wall in front of him as he pulled the tape from off his wrists.

"I just noticed you walking off and the guys let me through so I-" You attempt to reason, words shaking slightly as you try to string together an excuse for being there when he clearly doesn't want you to be. God that hurt more than it should. "Are you alright?"

"Just surprised you could tear yourself away from trying to shag KT is all. Or maybe you'd prefer Grealish? Not too sure."

Your heart skips a beat at his snap as he pulls his undershirt from his arm and throws it down with his strip shirt. A puff of air is snorted out your noise, the kind of scoff of disbelief that hits his ears just in time to realise the words had actually just left his lips. With his back to you, he's safe to make screw up his face in disbelief at himself.

You scoff full this time, just about sick of the sight of his back and completely over the attitude. He's not sure what you're doing behind him in the seconds after he spits out those words that he knows for a fact will have hit you hard.

"Here." You tug him from his thoughts, turning him around finally to see you standing there with hurt written across your face. He watches you with his own pain filled eyes as you stand there in a long sleeved blue shirt something like the one he had been wearing under his strip. Right when he turns around, you throw something at him. A bundle of blue material that he barely catches against his bare chest. His head turns down towards it to investigate.

"Fuck you, Andrew." You spit, "Fuck you."

His sighs heavily to himself as he watches the door slam behind you, shaking out the fabric in his hands. His heart literally shatters when he realises what it is. The dark blue Scotland shirt with name and number is printed proudly across the back, something he hadn't even noticed you were actually wearing until you had throw it at him.

He drops himself backwards to sit on the bench, the jersey settling over his cold thighs as his head falls into his hands and a loud "Fuck," leaves his mouth into the empty room.

You power past Jordan Henderson walking along the corridor, looking at you expectantly with a smile that falters the second he see's your face, eyes brimming with unshed tears as you basically run past him. You're heading in the opposite direction of the pitch too, clearly on your way to leaving.

"Don't, Jordan. Just don't." You cut him off, holding up a hand to silence him before he even had the chance to do more than open his mouth. "Just leave it alone."

He reaches out for you, but you're gone before he gets the chance to catch your arm and his eyebrows are tightly furrowed in confusion. He knows that you and Andy have gotten in something similar to fights before, all friends do but never has the left-back said anything that had ever made you look quite so upset. He was usually the one making sure nobody ever did make you that upset.

While the England international stands there confused, it becomes clear he wasn't the only one to see you so upset when a thundering head of dark hair barrels past him towards the changing room with a definitively angry gusto that has Jordan leaping forward to chase after him.

"Fuck did you do, mate?" Kieran booms the second he throws open that changing room door with Jordan behind him, immediately getting in between the two Scotland players. Kieran has a tendancy to get hot headed. He’s very protective and everybody knows this. Andy’s guilty face wasn’t enough to clarify the idea that it was, in fact, he who had upset you.

“Tierney,” Jordan warns, his eyes serious as he switched from friend to captain mode in a split second, “You’d better go make sure she’s alright.”

Kieran lingers shifting from boot to boot, but ultimately does as he’s told and goes after you at a jog that allows Andy to drop his head back into his hands. Jordan turns back to Andy, hands on his hips with a very unhappy look written into his features.

"Now what the fuck did you do?"

“Just fucking ruined everything, mate.”

#andy robertson #andy robertson x reader #andy robertson imagine #andy roberston imagines #Scotland national team #footie fics #football fics #footballer fics

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fumiko-matsubara · 3 years

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List of Multi-talented AssClass Characters

This includes both characters who have actually showcased their many skills and characters who had shown potential to be multi talented.

¤ The teachers, assassins, and Gakuhou won't be included in the list as they are already a given.

Asano Gakushuu

I mean, do I even have to say anything? He's got the grades, the athleticism, the artistry, the reputation, and even being able to responsibly handle all of these at the same time. Rather than asking what else he can do, the better question is: What CAN'T he do??

This guy is the epitome of multi talented because it's not just him having a lot of skills, but you can really expect him to be good at each and every single one of them. Truly an ace.

Akabane Karma

This one is just half-assed lol. But let's be real, I can't even expressed how much of a genius this guy is, it's actually terrifying. Like imagine being able to remember the stuffs you've secretly studied for after two weeks of study ban, to the point that you managed to place 2nd in rankings among the entire 3rd years?? He's ridiculous.

I think it's just him being disinterested that's stopping him, because it should be obvious that he'd be the type to easily become scarily good at the skills he just picked up.

Isogai Yuuma

Being practical is his strongest suit. It probably stemmed from the fact that he's currently the one providing for his family, but I could totally see Isogai picking up plenty of skills just for the sake of making things easier. For all we know, he could've tried applying for different kinds of jobs that required certain skills before he settled on being a waiter.

Then top it all off with his good grades, being athletic, and leading the class well, yeah he's got it good.

Sugino Tomohito

One day we are going to have a whole discussion about Sugino having many hidden talents (that he's also VERY good at doing). Let's start off with baseball. It has been confirmed by Matsui himself that ever since Sugino had joined a local baseball team in town, along with perfecting his own curved ball pitching technique, it's been assessed that in the technical side of baseball, Sugino should have already surpassed Shindou in most areas.

As stated by Karasuma in the character book, Sugino literally has ZERO flaws in his assassination skills and if you look at his stats, there was not a single category that he was lacking in omg. Sugino had also shown exceptional skills in the art department, specifically in acting and drawing, as repeatedly praised by Korosensei.

Chiba Ryuunosuke

Being multi-talented isn't just about having as many skills as possible, it's also about being incredibly good at the skills you have even if they aren't that many. Chiba is a great example of this.

Sniping, maths, architecture, and spatial awareness ー those are some of the skills he was explicitly shown to have in canon and there is no denying that he is good at every single of one these. Not just good actually, but exceptional, to the point of being directly praised by actual professionals themselves.

Kayano Kaede

Being a gifted young actress, it would be no surprise that Kayano would have to have a very wide range of skills in order to be able to tackle any acting role given to her, which is what she was specifically known for.

And who passes the entrance exams of an academically renowned school on their first try at the last minute? She has it all lol.

Kataoka Megu

I think Megu is the type to find herself picking up skills and become good at them since she is a leader with a natural sense of responsibility. Especially when it's sports, because you're telling me that this ace swimmer with a record for freestyle swimming is also good at basketball, enough to both coach, lead, and carry her team all at the same time?? Damn.

Of course not forgetting the fact that she's also one with exceptional grades and is good at languages, Megu is defintely a well-rounded leader. Wish we could have seen more from her.

Hayami Rinka

As remarked by Koro-sensei, Hayami is a "jack of all trades but lacks in her own individuality and passion". Because she is said to be skilled enough in so many things, she became a reliable worker who people can depend on no matter what it is for as she can surely tackle them.

Perhaps a little bit too reliable? While there are some skills that she is obviously good at, like her sniping and dancing, I don't think people would really notice how much of an ace she is at first glance, likely because she wasn't being loud about it (as in she was lowkey).

Maehara Hiroto

Defintely the dress to impress type.

I am adding Maehara to this list because this dude came back 3 years later and suddenly he's good at b-boying!

He's good at sports, dancing, singing, he gets along with people, he dresses well, and for a carefree playboy like him, the last thing you would expect from him is his best subject being Maths, right?

I won't be surprised if plenty of these were just because he wanted to impress the girls he goes on dates with. If anything, it's likely lol. Whatever helps him I guess.

Bonus: Potentially multi-talented

Yada Touka

Being under the tutelage of Irina, it would be no surprise that Yada would end up wanting to expand her skillset as she'd find it beneficial for her in the future.

Nakamura Rio

Maybe because she's bored or just wants to be funny, but Nakamura had shown skills with... random stuffs (like diassembling gadgets or the ability to make geeky boys flustered with her dirty jokes through the school radio... 😭). As long as it can be funny, I think she can pick up anything she can use to toy with others.

Kurahashi Hinano

Drawing! It's surprising because no one can argue that she is the best at it among the girls, but it wasn't explicitly showcased AT ALL (if it weren't for that skills ranking in the manga extras, we wouldn't have known this). I wonder what else she's really good at that haven't been addressed.

Takebayashi Koutarou

I am adding that joke from the career chapter of Koro q that Takebayashi is apparently good enough at dancing to land a career for it 😂

But yes, he also ranked 4th best artist among the boys for being the "2D master". Being an anime fan does have plenty of perks... I wonder how good his singing is 🤔

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bunnimew · 2 years

Text

The Jackest Frost is Live Ch 5

Rating: T Fandom: Rise of the Guardians Relationship: Jack Frost/Pitch Black Additional Characters: Twiner, Jamie, Onyx Tags: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Twitch Streamer au, Youtuber AU, Modern AU, They play video games and flirt, Humor, Fluff

Summary: For @rotg-hope-week : Day 5 Bubblegum pt 1

Jack and Pitch are video game streamers who know of each other, but never had a reason to cross paths...

Until now.

On AO3 here.

“Welcome, everyone!” Jack cried into his mic. It was probably a little loud, but so be it. Jack was excited. “Thank you for joining us for our twelve hour charity stream. Remember, each one of us is representing a different charity and you can tune in to any one of our streams and see the same games today!”

This had taken a lot of organization to put together. Finding a day when all of them were available, whether it was day jobs or family obligations they had to work around, was tough. This was months in the planning, but now they were ready to go.

Jack was so excited.

He went through his typical welcome speech, thanked some subs, thanked his mods, and talked about his chosen charity while he waited for everyone else to get up and going. They had a private chat on Discord for keeping each other in the loop, and Jamie was running a little late. They had done several practice runs to make sure each of their set ups were capable, so nothing too big should go wrong, but Jack couldn’t help his nervousness. Live for twelve hours was a long time.

Once he got the all clear, Jack logged into his Dead By Daylight account and made his way to the private lobby. He put on his favorite survivor skin, Steve—already dressed up and ready to go—and waited for everyone else to suit up. This was going to be so much fun.

Ten minutes in, Jack was already having a blast.

“Twiner, what the fuck. Why weren’t you working this gen?”

For a gamer’s definition of blast.

“Sorry, Jack. I was too busy trying not to die,” he replied.

They had the private Discord’s voice chat feeding into the live stream, one channel for each DBD group, so everyone could hear everyone else. They had discussed it: whether it might interfere too much with the gameplay, but ultimately decided it wouldn’t be too hard for the killer if they could also hear what all of the survivors were saying. They couldn’t coordinate locations for healing parties if the killer also knew where the healing party would be, after all.

Jack scoffed. “Pitch isn’t even over here!”

“Where’s here?” Pitch asked.

Onyx laughed. “Pitch, please.”

They were split into two groups total, all picked ahead of time. Jack's group was Pitch, Twiner, Onyx, Jamie, and of course, himself. Jack was the most popular, followed by Jamie. Pitch, Onyx, and Twiner, by comparison, had nearly no followers.

“Augh!” Jamie cried into his mic.

“What is it?” Jack asked.

Onyx snorted. “Pitch, obviously.”

“I’m not doing anything,” Pitch said quickly.

Yeah, that was convincing.

To say it was strategic to put some of the most popular streamers in with the least popular would not be overstating it. Pitch, Onyx, and Twiner also had some of the more popular charities attached to their streams, in the hopes some people would hop over there to donate and then stick around for a while.

"This gen would be going a lot faster if someone had stuck around to work on it. Oh shit—" Jack swung his camera around to look. The heartbeat sound cue was up, so Pitch was near.

He was playing killer, he was playing Pinhead, and he was terrifying.

“Told you, Jack,” Twiner said. With attitude. “That gen’s not safe.”

"Yeah, he's too close. I can't see him, but no." Jack was not going to say Twiner was right, but he was going to slip away from this generator and make his way to the next one. "I'm not sticking around to die. That gen's not far enough along to be worth it. I'm not against committing, but it wouldn't get us anything."

“Commitment, you say?” Pitch asked in his ear. Jack almost laughed. He was being obvious.

Jack barely had to go anywhere to find what had brought Pitch over. Jamie was bleeding profusely and crouching pitifully behind a wall with a god pallet. Well, Onyx wasn’t wrong.

"Alright, yeah," Jack said. "I can heal you. Hashtag white mage, am I right?"

“Thanks,” Jamie answered, obediently crouching in front of him. “Pitch caught me like, immediately. Not even sure it qualified as a chase.”

“It definitely didn’t,” Pitch told them.

Jamie laughed. “Shut up!”

Jack scanned their surroundings with his camera while they healed. Nothing but corn fields as far as the eye could see. This was one of the most open maps with just rocks and hay bales for cover, and it didn't take long before the red light of Pitch's approach was visible through the break where the pallet was leaning in wait.

"Yup, alright. Time's up. Sorry, Jamie!" Jack said as he backed away and crept in the opposite direction from Pitch.

Jamie slunk away from Jack to hide. “Thanks for trying!”

"Good luck with the bleeding!” Jack cried. “It's way too early in the game to die for you. Byyyyye!"

“If I don’t make it,” Jamie yelled back, “tell my turtles I love them!”

Knowing how close Pitch was, Jack didn’t stop running until he was on the other side of the map. "I'm just gonna… clear the area," he told his viewers. "Go for a gen way out here. Best not to three-gen anyway, yeah? I'm not scared. This is called strategy."

Pitch hummed thoughtfully. “Everyone believes you, Jack.”

Jack laughed, but didn’t otherwise reply. He let Twiner and Jamie fill the stream with chatter for a minute or so, until Jack happened upon someone else from his team.

"Oh hey. Hi, Onyx," Jack said happily. "Fancy meeting you here, doing what you're supposed to be doing." She had swapped into her Nancy skin as soon as she saw Jack in his Steve skin, so they cutely matched for this round.

“I am pretty good at this game, yeah,” Onyx said cheerily.

Jack knelt and shoved his hands into the generator beside her. "Care for some help? Don't mind if I do."

“Two for one deal, huh?” Pitch said thoughtfully. Terrifyingly. “Wonder where you could be…”

Jack rotated his camera around, wary of Pitch coming up behind them. Pitch was mad good at playing killer. Their only hope was gen rushing, and Twiner wasn’t helping apparently.

“Twiner, I swear to all things holy, you better be on a gen right now,” Jack muttered into his mic.

“And what, pray tell,” Twiner asked, “would you do if I was not?”

Jack pressed his lips together and looked right into his cam. Rock and a hard place.

It was suspiciously silent, until they saw the red downed form of Twiner off in the distance. “Oh no. Sorry, Friend,” Jack winced.

“It’s alright,” Twiner said, voice light. “Now you can’t be mad at me about the gens.”

Jack laughed. That bastard! “I’m not letting you off easy just because you’re first hook!”

If the generator finished quickly, Jack would try to go get him, but maybe Jamie would get there first. There was always something awful about watching a friend get picked up from the ground and hung on a hook, even knowing it was all a game and nobody was really hurt. It was even kind of funny, in a horribly morbid way, and really that was the whole appeal of the game, wasn’t it?

“I’m not first hook,” Twiner said reasonably.

“Wait, he isn’t?” Jack asked his viewers. Although Jack had the display on his screen and could check just as fast. “Oh shit, what? Jamie’s had a hook, too? When did that happen? Pitch is fast, but I really thought I would have noticed that.”

“I didn’t wanna draw attention,” Jamie said with a laugh in his voice. “It was a really sad hook.”

“Speaking of,” Onyx said as she hopped up beside Jack and immediately turned to run. Jack was in the middle of a skillcheck, but then he spun his camera and sure enough, Pitch’s red light was clearly visible in the distance.

Jack chewed on his lip and glanced up at his cam. "You know what? I'm committing to this gen.” He made sure he would see Pitch coming, but Jack wasn’t going to move until the gen popped or Pitch hit him, or both. “It’s super close, so I might as well. It’s not like I’ve been hooked, yet."

“That would mean more if Pitch wasn’t great at snowballing,” Onyx said. Her avatar was completely out of sight now. And she was, as usual, right.

But Jack was dedicated now. He said he was going to, so now he had to. Thankfully, the gen did pop just before Pitch reached him, but by then there was nowhere to run. Jack basically stood up right into Pitch’s strike.

“Slug me, Bae,” Jack said.

“I’m not that dumb,” Pitch replied, voice full of affection even as he levered Jack up into the air. “You’re far too good to leave lying around. I’m not going to let you wiggle away. I have a game to win.”

“But I’m just so cute, dragging my own bleeding corpse across the ground,” Jack reasoned. Pitch wasn’t buying it. He was heading straight for a hook. “You should totally just drop me, go hook Jamie again, and then come back. I’ll still be here. Promise.”

“Hey!” Jamie cried through his laughter.

“Heal party!” Onyx cried.

“Wait, shite, where?” Pitch demanded.

Jack scoffed just as Twiner answered, “The main building. Where else would you host a healing party?”

Pitch ran off while Steve screamed and slumped on his hook. Jack took the downtime to thank his subs and check the contributions to his charity. He was doing well, considering they just started.

“You little liar!” Pitch cried seconds later.

“Obviously,” Twiner said. “Why would I tell you where we are?”

“Okay,” Onyx said, “but it’s really funny that he actually checked.”

Jack watched on, helpless, as Pinhead came rushing through the grass around him. The red light that warned of his presence flipping back and forth as he searched for survivors to chase.

When Jack realized Pitch wasn’t going very far, he warned, "You better not be camping me."

“How dare you accuse me of such a basic play,” Pitch sniffed. “I am not camping. I am searching this one particular corner of the map very thoroughly.”

“He’s fucking camping,” Jamie accused.

“Don’t worry,” Onyx said. “We’ve got you. Hey Pitch, the fun part of playing killer is the chase, right?”

“Why does that sound ominous coming from you?” Pitch asked.

Jack laughed as Twiner came up to the hook and pulled him off. Jamie and Onyx were running circles around Pitch, baiting him to chase either one of them, but Pitch veered off to go for Jack, who was still injured.

Twiner spun around and got between them with a flashlight in Pinhead’s eyes, stunning Pitch just long enough to give Jack room to disappear.

“Good job, everybody!” Jamie cried. “And that only cost us half the pallets on the map to do!”

“He’s still on me though,” Onyx let them know.

They could hear the shrug in Jamie’s voice, “Yeah, but you haven’t been hooked, so. Hope you like loops, Pitch!”

Pitch’s voice was drier than a desert. “Oh, they’re the best part.”

“Hey,” Jamie said, reasonably quiet after the excitement of before. “I’m behind you. Come back, I can heal you.”

“Oh sure,” Jack agreed, spinning around and finding a good place to crouch and hide for a minute.

“Onyx, you’re costing me damage,” Pitch accused.

“Then catch me, already,” She taunted. “Are you good at Pinhead or was that just talk?”

Jamie laughed. “Onyx is a god.”

Just then, a generator lit up in the distance.

“What?!” Jack yelled as he and Jamie split up from their healing to hunt down their own generator to work on. “Where’d we get that gen from?”

“Lo and behold,” Twiner said. “I know how to play this game.”

“Onyx, you’re costing me gens,” Pitch accused again.

She laughed. “You don’t have to chase me!”

“You’re out of pallets. It’s only a matter of time,” Pitch reasoned.

“Onyx,” Twiner called, “where are you looping?”

“Oh no,” Pitch interrupted, “you are not getting in the way of this. I am hooking her and you can’t stop me.”

“The barn,” Onyx said when he was done.

Jack and Jamie used their avatars to silently indicate to each other where they should go and which gen to work on, so Pitch wouldn’t have a clue. Jamie was running around with a med kit, which made some sense given his playstyle, but Jack had a toolbox and was absolutely skyrocketing this generator to operational.

“Auugh!” Pitch cried into his mic.

“Got ‘em,” Twiner said.

Onyx said nothing. She was cackling gleefully and couldn’t get a word in edgewise.

“Well,” Jack said, “I think I know what happened there.”

Jamie hummed. "Apparently Twiner's flashlight can hit Pitch from space or something."

"I'm just really good at aiming," Twiner calmly explained. "I don't know if you know this, but I play games sometimes."

"I will admit that you are good," Pitch said factually, "but I also hate you so much right now."

Jack laughed. "I've heard that before."

“Is he still on you guys?” Jamie asked.

“Kind of?” Twiner said.

“He’s in the area, but he’s not specifically chasing either of us,” Onyx explained.

“I like to keep my options open,” Pitch reasoned.

“Oh good,” Jack said, “because I need you busy for just, like, two more seconds.”

Pitch groaned while Jamie laughed and the third generator started up.

"We're popping gens like bubblegum,” Jamie cheered. He and Jack immediately moved off the gen and went in search of one across the map. “Damn!"

Pitch hummed an agreeance. “Yes, I’m going to need to do something about that.”

“Ah!” Onyx yelped. “That was a lucky shot!”

“You say luck; I say skill,” Pitch said.

“Agree to disagree,” she quipped.

“Oh, look,” Twiner said suddenly, “I’m in the way.”

Pitch laughed. “I hate you so much. I’m going to feel so much better when we’re on the same team. But for now…”

“Thanks, Pitch,” Twiner said. “Now I’m bleeding all over the carpet.”

“It goes with the rest of the decor,” Pitch replied evenly. But then, “Is that a Jack I see?”

“No,” Jack said immediately.

It was too late. All four of them were in the same area of the map, and that almost never worked out for the survivors. Jamie somehow walked right into Pinhead’s chain and they were set up to snowball if they didn’t split up and heal soon. Which meant they all needed to keep their ability to run.

"Yeah, I'm gonna bodyblock for Twiner,” Jack said, keeping himself strategically between Twiner and Pitch as they ran. “We’re each at one hook, but I'm full health, so…"

“See you literally anywhere else!” Onyx called through her mic. Jack had no idea where she was anymore.

“Hey Jack,” Jamie called, “try to make it a two gen loop, yeah?”

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s happening,” Jack said as Pitch went for Twiner and hit Jack instead. Now they were equal levels of hurt and it was better to split up than block.

It was some kind of luck that Pitch decided to chase Jack over Twiner. Or not luck, since Jack had the toolbox and Twiner was extra equipped for stunning Pitch. Who cared about strategy, anyway? Jack just wanted his friend to live. Obviously.

"You wouldn't hurt me, would you, Bae?" Jack asked, vaulting through a window to escape Pinhead.

"Of course I wouldn't," Pitch soothed. But then he said, "Steve, on the other hand…"

"Oh, shit!" Jack cried when Pitch surprised him around the corner of a half-decayed building. "This fucker is moonwalking!"

Pitch chuckled. "It’s a perfectly valid strategy, Jack. Don't hate me because I'm good."

"A pallet stun would be really good right about now," Jack said casually. "I wonder where all the pallets went."

"Sorry," Onyx said. She didn't sound sorry at all.

It was over quickly after that. Pitch caught up to him and it only took one swipe to drop Jack on the floor.

Jack made a sullen little sound and sighed. "At least it was a chase."

"Hey!" Jamie cried, but he was still laughing at himself about it.

Pitch picked up Jack’s body and started carrying him away. It didn't occur to Jack to start wiggling in the hold until he saw Pitch pass the first hook.

"Hey, Pitch," Jack said helpfully. "That was a hook." Pitch didn’t reply. "That was also a hook," Jack informed him as the second was ignored too. "Pitch, what the fuck, we've passed like three hooks what are you doing?"

"You'll see," Pitch replied simply.

"Is he taking me to the basement?!" Jack shouted into his mic. "Motherfucker! He's trapping me in the basement!"

"We'll get you back," Onyx assured him. She couldn't say any more than that without giving strategy away to Pitch.

Jack began wiggling in earnest to the background track of Pitch snickering. Unfortunately, he didn’t hit enough skill checks in time to escape the hold before Pitch had him hung up, underground, where it was especially difficult to free him again.

"Well, shit," Jack declared.

"Hang tight," Jamie joked.

"Because I have a choice," Jack laughed.

Twiner's voice was wry when he said, "I mean, you could give up and die. But that would suck so don't do that."

"Aah!" Onyx shrieked. "Fuck! He got me!"

Pitch chuckled into his mic, "I sure did."

"Oh no," Jack said unhelpfully.

Twiner jumped in with, "Where are you? My flashlight still has battery."

Onyx sounded distressed even though this was her first hook. "Near a bunch of hay bales and corn. Just like the rest of the map."

While Twiner asked for details, Jack was distracted by Jamie coming down to unhook him. They escaped and ran a good distance away before stopping to heal each other up, using the usual communication of avatar body language so that Pitch might not realize Jack was already free.

“He’s back!” Onyx shouted in warning.

Twiner sounded a lot calmer despite his words being, “Oh no.”

“The cornfield is the absolute worst place for a chase,” Onyx griped.

“I certainly disagree,” Pitch said.

“You would,” she muttered.

“Well,” Twiner said with a note of finality, “that flashlight was nice while it lasted.”

"I know you're very sad right now," Pitch empathized, "but I also want you to understand just how much relief I'm feeling in this moment."

Jack and Jamie laughed while Twiner replied, "You know what, Pitch? I'm glad we could come together like this and really relate to one another. Over my impending death."

"Oh come now," Pitch said with a click of his tongue. "You're only on second hook."

And sure enough, that was when Twiner's screams filled everyone's ears and the game alerted the other survivors that a teammate was hanging like butcher meat.

All healed up and ready to cause havoc, Jack left Jamie to work on a generator and turned his attention to sabotaging hooks, just to make Pitch’s life hard, as he made his way over to Twiner. There was a chance Onyx might get there first, but just in case.

Unfortunately, mere seconds later, Onyx said, "He's on me again. Sorry, Twiner."

"Oh, it’s fine," Twiner replied. "I'm pretty cozy here."

Jack bypassed a few hooks to get closer to Twiner, then sabotaged the two closest to him before running over to free him. The timing was just right for Onyx's avatar's screams as she was hooked a second time and for Jamie's generator to start up in the distance.

That put three-fourths of the team on dead hook with only one generator to go. It was not looking good for the survivors. Jack needed to get on a generator as fast as he could find one.

Which made his experience of the next few minutes of gameplay very unique. His screen and ambient sounds were that of calmly fixing machinery while the voices coming through his headset were absolute chaos.

"Where is he?" Twiner asked.

"I got you!" Jamie assured.

"Oh look, you're all together," Pitch said.

"Fuck fuck fuck!" Onyx cursed.

"Let me heal you!" Jamie cried.

"There’s no time!" Onyx replied. "Run run run!"

"Wish we had some pallets," Twiner said.

"Yeah, those would be pretty helpful, huh?" Pitch mused.

"Augh," Jamie swore. "He got me with an M-one."

"Go back and get yourself an M-two," Twiner teased.

Jamie snickered. "Right, because that's how you play DBD."

"I'm looping him in the wall maze," Onyx said.

"And she's doing a very good job, I might add," Pitch commented.

"You moonwalking son of a bitch," Onyx accused.

Pitch scoffed. "Of course I'm going to mind game it. I'd be a lousy killer if I didn't."

"Hey, Jamie," Twiner remarked, "come sacrifice yourself like you did at the beginning of the game."

Jamie barked a laugh. "I'm never living that down, am I?"

"We're at least getting a couple of days out of it, yeah," Pitch said.

"We're in the barn now," Onyx informed them.

"Thanks for the heal," Twiner said.

"Oh shit, he's right there!" Jamie shouted.

"Oh shit, I'm right here!" Pitch mimicked.

Jack was dying of laughter and his generator was just about to pop.

Jamie’s form slumped to the ground in the distance, then lifted into the air when Pitch picked him up, as the fifth generator revved up into gear. Jack started back toward everyone else, hoping to body block on their way out if nothing else.

"Where the fuck is my hook?" Pitch screeched.

Jack started laughing all over again.

"You little shit!" Pitch yelled.

Jack could barely get the words out. "Gotta love toolboxes!"

"I don't know if I'm gonna make it," Jamie warned.

"Just keep wiggling!" Onyx told him.

"I've got a gate at ninety-nine," Twiner said.

"Open it," Jack answered. "We're gonna have to make a run for it anyway. We're all dead hook, so."

"How many fucking hooks did you get?" Pitch cried.

"I'm out!" Jamie cheered suddenly. "Open the gate! Open the gate!"

The horn sounded to begin the End Game Collapse as Twiner pulled the lever to let them escape.

"Bye!" Onyx said immediately, and they all knew she was gone. No body blocking from her, then. But hey, at least one of them would escape.

"Jamie, how close are you?" Twiner asked.

Jamie replied with a frustrated grunt. "I'm looping him around the hay again. He's not letting me past!"

"Of course not," Pitch reasoned. "It’s literally my objective in the game not to."

"Surprise!" Jack cried, throwing himself in the way and interrupting the loop.

Jamie cheered again and made a break for it. Jack tried to start a loop, but guessed wrong and ended up running straight into Pitch.

"Jack, are you coming?" Twiner asked.

Jack shook his head. "Nope. I'm as good as slugged. You should just go."

"That feels wrong," Twiner said.

"I'm going to catch him any second now," Pitch interrupted. "He's not being dramatic. He's being practical. I know, I'm surprised too."

"And I'm down," Jack reported.

"You're a good man, Jack Frost," Twiner said in farewell as he, presumably, escaped through the gate.

Pitch picked Jack’s avatar up and began carrying him away.

"Jamie, are you out?" Jack asked.

"Yeah, I left before Twiner," he answered.

Pitch was still carrying Jack, but didn’t seem to be heading toward a hook. "Are you giving me the hatch?"

"Not quite," Pitch said as he set Jack down in a clear space between corn rows.

"What are you doing?" Jack asked, full of curiosity. In the next second he was shouting and laughing all at once. "Oh fuck! He's mori-ing me! You bitch!"

"It seems a most poetic way to die," Pitch calmly replied. His avatar looked right quickly, then left, and Jack was raised off of the ground by hooks and chains, pulled taut, and spectacularly murdered on the spot.

"GG," Onyx said.

Jack was still laughing. "I can't believe you mori-ed me. That was so unnecessary."

"But fun to watch," Pitch quipped. "I'm doing it for your viewers, Jack! I did it for you!"

"Pitch is so full of shit," Jamie said through a fit of giggles.

"Alright," Onyx interrupted. "Who's up next for killer?"

"I'll go," Jack volunteered instantly.

They swapped around their roles. Jack put on his favorite Trickster skin and waited for all of the survivors to get ready.

Pitch and Onyx donned matching Claire and Chris Redfield skins. Adorable.

Then the match was on.

Jack turned and looked straight at his cam.

"Fully understanding that this makes me both a terrible person and a terrible player," Jack said evenly, "I'm gonna tunnel the fuck out of Pitch."

Pitch’s voice came even over the headset. "I don't know why I'm surprised."

"You should just give up and go to the Entity now," Twiner told him. "Jack is gonna murder the shit out of you."

"Jack? My sweet Honey Bear?" Pitch cooed into his mic. "Will you at least make my death glorious?"

Jack considered it. "Yeah, I think I can do that."

And then he did.

#TheBunni #Rise of the Guardians #rotg #Blackice #Blackice rotg #Blackicerotg #Jack Frost #Pitch Black #rotg hope week #rotghopeweek2022

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astorinx-writes · 2 years

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I’ve Written A Lot of Fan Fiction… And I’m Here To Talk About Them

Something I’ve found out about myself over the years, is that I’m quite the jack of all trades. From design, to video making— I feel like I’ve done it all! But one thing is for sure: no matter what, writing is something I can always fall back on. For as long as I can remember, regardless of what I was primarily interested in, I always had writing in the background as a sort of unbeknownst craft, lurking and waiting for its opportunity to shine. So, is it really a surprise then that I’ve been writing fan fiction for pretty much as long as I’ve been an Astro Boy fan? Personally, I’d say no. But regardless— I thought today we would take a look into my fan fiction writing history. See what I wrote in the past, what’s available to read now, what you may be able to read in the future, and what might never see the light of day.

As usual, I gotta hit you with a disclaimer. For those that don’t know, I do have a bit of a spotty memory, so this may not be as all encompassing as it could be. Also, a lot of the works I wrote were when I was a minor. Though, this doesn’t absolve me from having written anything unsavory. I take full responsibility, and I do try my best as an adult now to put my best foot forward. I have a duty to do right by the community and not be a weirdo posting offensive and/or inappropriate stuff.

It’s All In The Past Now

To start, let’s discuss the fan fictions that I have written, but are no longer accessible (for the most part). I’d like to consider these fics gone with the wind, so to speak, and I have no intention of rebooting them in any fashion. These fics are basically dead, and expected to stay that way.

Vivid Insomnia

Probably my biggest undertaking, and what might’ve been my crowned jewel if I was still delusional and thought it was great. Vivid Insomnia was actually not (for the most part) done by me alone. Sure, it did originally start around 2012-2013 with me writing the (technically) first story, “Zoran vs. Uran”, but Vivid Insomnia would’ve not been what it was if it weren’t for the collaborative efforts of both me and my (now) partner. I think what made VI so special to me was how it really felt like an alternative universe, despite not being one at all. Also, the plethora of original characters! There was so much to chew over and get lost in, even though looking back, there were so many plot holes, it was astounding! The quality of said fics also left a lot to be desired. Certainly when I was younger, I was practically parading this series around like it was an MLM sales pitch, but nowadays, my motto is usually “Don’t read it. You don’t hate yourself that much, I promise.”

But what was Vivid Insomnia? Well, to be honest… neither of us really knew.

I mean, in technical terms, it was a fan fic series (something akin to a novel series). But in terms of actual overarching plot, it was quite unclear. When we made the (now deleted) Tumblr blog for the series, we billed it as a series revolving “Astro’s road to recovery” and when I began the rewriting process with “Zoran”, I did make it a point to focus a bit on Astro’s mental struggles. However, where it gets lost, is in its obvious attempt at being slice of life. It’s hard to say what exactly a series is when you have a million things going on at once.

First you got O’shay being a total ass, then you have Astro being mentally ill, and then he gets a girlfriend, and then his girlfriend starts going through shit because she has an abusive mom. Then Astro gets cloned, then the robot Tenma made and shipped off to O’shay out of jealousy decides to [REDACTED] herself, so now Astro hates his clone because it was supposed to be him not her that got dismantled once the experiment was over.

Honestly, trying to explain the plot of VI to literally anyone would be so difficult and convoluted, you’d have no choice but to think it was totally batshit wild. Not to mention the OC plot lines; you have Quinn who already has quite the story line going back as far as when Tenma worked at The Ministry, then there’s Stephen and his… interesting mom. We already talked about Astro’s GF Brianna, but she’s quite the basket-case. Oh, and the self inserts! The self inserts!!!

So, why did it go away? Well, it wasn’t just because it was bad. In fact, I even had plans to rewrite the whole thing and improve it! But the issue lies in the fact that I don’t think there was much I could’ve done, knowing what I know now, to improve upon it in a relevant time frame. You see, not only was the series plagued by so much convolution, but it was also… a bit problematic.

For starters, the amount of toilet and adult humor had no business existing there in the first place. Maybe I did find it funny back then, but I think now as an adult all I can do is cringe and seriously wonder why no one thought to pull me aside and tell me to knock it off. Of course, I can’t go back and change what I did, time travel isn’t a thing. But what I can do, is own up to what I did and make a commitment to be vastly cleaner with my jokes.

I think through looking back at VI, I’ve become a lot more stringent with what I write and consume. And sure, some may say I’ve become a bit prudish as a result, but I think I owe it to myself, and the audience I have to, as I mentioned earlier, not be a weirdo.

Secondly, I think the psychology knowledge and better understanding of mental health that I have now makes what I had written before leave a bit of a sour taste in my mouth. You see, when I wrote VI, I had practically no knowledge of mental health— I wasn’t even fully sure of what I had going on personally. So, I suppose it’s congruent for me to have written something a bit on the fearmongering/distasteful side. But again, I’m not absolved of the repercussions of my actions, nor of the responsibility to apologize for it. To the mental health community, therapy is not a sin or something to fear, and I’m profoundly sorry that I portrayed it as such. Especially given the audience I had while VI was in the works, it was erroneous and borderline malicious, and for that, again, I am sorry. As I’ve learned so much more, I know now that my works shouldn’t demonize the tools we have at our disposal.

That wasn’t the only reason it went away, however. Apart from the harsh truth that it probably wouldn’t have been till I was 30 that the series would’ve been finished, I realized midway through working on my secret project, that if I wanted to write about the “general” premise of what VI “supposedly” was about, I’d have to start completely from the ground up. Now, I don’t want to get too deep into this point because I want to save it for when I mention my “secret project,” so all you need to know is that I found something better, and I’m willing to make peace with VI as a result.

The Love Trilogy

Picture this: it’s 2016, you just left Google+ for Tumblr because you thought being able to customize the way your desktop blog looked was cool, and you find out there’s an actual community dedicated to this show you like! In true Sage fashion, my initial thought was, “I gotta let these people know I write fan fiction!” But I wasn’t just going to make an AD post about Vivid Insomnia, I had to make something original! So, I did, in the form of Painting With.

Painting With (yes, named after the Animal Collective album of the same name), for those who don’t know, was a (very) short one-shot about Astro and Reno. Basically (if I remember correctly), Reno gets asked by The Ministry to either paint a mural, or put up a billboard, something like that, and brings Astro along for the ride. Now before Painting With, I was of course a big Astro x (my OC) Brianna shipper, naturally because of VI. But during this time, despite me not remembering much, I do know this is when I started to shift and practically became an Astro x Reno (AKA “Retro”) shipper overnight. Painting With was basically my first foray into writing Retro fan fics, and if you know me in any capacity now, you know it would not be my last.

So Painting With gets good feedback! And so, I decided to come back with another fic, Escape The Dinner Party. Not intended to be a sequel, but after I wrote the next fic, Dream Sequence, it was pretty apparent at that point that I was onto something.

In comes The Love Trilogy, a name I gave the series of fan fics I had written so far, and would continue to write for quite some time. Basically, the entire plot surrounded Astro and Reno deciding to leave, fearing oppression. Now, what it actually ended up being was more like “Reno takes a 2-week vacation from work and Astro tags along,” despite it originally being billed as a runaway fic. TLT I’d say was a (small) step-up from VI quality wise, but it was definitely plagued by being dialogue heavy, to the point where there was certainly more being said, then there was being done. In my defense, I hadn’t read a single book in forever, so knowing how to structure a paragraph was not my forte, but at least it didn’t have original characters up the wazoo or jokes better suited for something like “Rick and Morty”.

Where it did fall short, however, is in its portrayal of O’shay. I’ll admit it: I hadn’t seen the 2003 series in quite some time, and I think it did play a role in how I thought O’shay was character wise. So, no, making him essentially a baddie in both VI and TLT was not “accidental” technically speaking, but obviously now I know he’s not a raging queerphobe and total ass with no regard towards his kid's mental health because he thinks it’ll make him look bad.

There’s also something to be said about writing something queer and making it trauma based. I think now when I look back, I can see where my past self was coming from, but I could’ve honestly done without the trauma plot and maybe have made it a bit… cuter, I suppose? I mean, they’re going on vacation! There was so much I could’ve done with that, and the whole “dream sequence” thing that happened too could’ve been the dash of spice I needed to add angst to the series! But I digress…

After writing arc 1 (it’s hard to explain, but basically, I wrote 10 fics and lumped them together like TV episodes in a season) I went on to write arc 2. That one was arguably much slower in terms of release, but it at least didn’t deal so much with O’shay. Instead, Astro gets some unexplained bug that Reno has to fix. It reminds me a bit of “Astro Reborn” from the 03 series, except (spoiler alert) Reno doesn’t take Astro to Tenma, and manages to fix it on his own. I did plan to work on arc 3, a prequel arc meant to explain how Astro and Reno started dating in the first place, but at that point I was bored with the series, and I needed a change of pace. So with that, and another reason I’ll get into later, the series got the ax.

No matter what, though, TLT will always hold a special place in my heart. Not so much because of the material itself, but the way it broke down barriers for me. You see, at the time, I wasn’t working on anything else but VI with my partner, and it was starting to get to the point where I was afraid of working on anything solo. What if I wouldn’t finish it? What if it didn’t come out as great? So many questions, it really got in the way of me being able to write. Now, I unfortunately am not a “words” person (let it be known I’d be in a much better place if all it took was for me to hear the right words or work through my issues logically), it takes experience for things to actually click and internalize.

So TLT was just that! It was an experience that significantly boosted my confidence in being able to write solo. But most importantly, it made me give less of a shit! Nowadays, I just see writing stuff like fan fictions as just… something. If I go weeks without a fan fic update, or never finish a certain fic, who cares! It’s this sort of “fuck it” attitude that’s been honestly quite freeing. In fact, I kind of now find my old mentality/opinion to be a little silly, but I do understand where past Sage was coming from.

A Gift Wrapped Present… For The Present!

Now, we’ve gone over what once was, but what about the now? What’s fully out there and available for you to sink your teeth into? Whether these fics are finished or not doesn’t determine its status being a part of this section. If you can read it on fanfiction (dot) net or ao3, then it’ll be here.

Tales From The Laboratory

After working on The Love Trilogy for so long, I was starting to get a little bored with it. For starters, I was coming to realize my portrayal of O’shay was flawed in more ways than one. And I also just wanted a fresh start, no more worrying about fanon rules set up in the series that I had to follow, also no more fics where the plot boiled down to Retro in their lab together just shooting the shit and getting sappy. It was okay once, but it gets boring rather quickly. So, because of this (and the other reasons I mentioned earlier) I gave TLT the ax, and went on a sort of hiatus as far as writing Retro fics goes. Eventually, though, I wanted to get back into it, but again not in the TLT universe, or even for TLT. So, I decided to start something new!

Tales From The Laboratory, as the name implies, is essentially a collection of one-shots (fandom speak for “short story”). Every story is about Retro, and even for the most part, has Astro and Reno as the sole characters in the fic. For the most part, they don’t intersect or belong to a linear plot line (except for Going Further Away, which we will talk about soon), and some may or may not be AUs.

Technically, this series is ongoing, but I can stop it at any time since again there’s no main plot to be had, so there’s nothing really to be resolved. What has been cancelled, however, is Going Further Away. This was sort of a “series within a series” if you will, with installments that were meant to be peppered into the “normal” one-shots being posted. Sort of like a “oh, let’s check back in on what they’re doing!” scenario. Why it’s being pulled is pretty much similar to why TLT is done. I just don’t think the series is necessary, and to be quite honest, it reads more like a fic I’d write just for myself and have for keeps. The plot is basically similar to TLT, so there’s the “queer trauma” element as well, and it just overall doesn’t pique my interest as something I’d be publicly posting about.

Other than that, though, TFTL is still growing strong, and I actually just posted a new fic, Is It True (yes, named after the Tame Impala song). My next one, Dancing With You (named after the Jane Inc song) is slated to come soon, and will hopefully be the start of a sort of miniseries where I write fics based off songs in Retro’s Spotify playlist.

Buzzcut Season

I guess this is technically named after the song by Lorde, but I wouldn’t say it was intentional (unlike the ones in the past that were intentional). My idea was simple: each “fic” (or rather one-shot if I’m being honest) would surround a character with something they need to overcome. Originally, I intended to write more after just the 3 chapters that are up, but after stewing on it and losing interest, I decided to cut it to just those three.

There’s not really much else to say, except a funny IRL anecdote that I hope at least (1) person finds funny. I am quite the lazy person, and I also don’t like writing stuff that isn’t at least remotely AB related. So, when I was assigned to write a short story for my junior year English class, I basically ripped myself off and slightly modified one of the chapters to use for the assignment. I (obviously) got caught, but I never contested it because I wasn’t about to admit to my English teacher I write fan fiction. So, I took the L and lived with the shame. Take it from me, buds: don’t plagiarize, not even yourself!

Little Effort, Big Adventure

One of my favorite episodes from the 2003 series has got to be “Lost In Outland”. So naturally, I would make a fan fiction (vaguely) inspired by it. And by vaguely, I mean not at all related, but I do remember wanting to make this after having seen LIO, so perhaps there is a connection… somehow. My idea was simple: a light on plot, silly little story where Astro travels by train (for some reason) to various towns and cities to see how the locals live. I based it on this idea that Astro doesn’t really leave Metro City much, but has always wondered about other places nearby, so they work out a plan with O’shay to make it all happen.

The funny thing about this fic is probably the fact that I was so consistent with it. I had a bi-weekly schedule (AKA 1 new chapter every other week) that I did follow through with for a while. Why did I stop? Well, at the time, I wanted to rewrite Vivid Insomnia, and I had technically already begun that process with writing Zoran, but it was far from finished, and NaNoWriMo was coming up, so I thought that would be a perfect opportunity to finish it up. Now of course looking back, I (and probably you too) could see why that was a stupid decision, since VI got cancelled in the end. But I guess it’s just something I have to make peace with. And I was happy with what I made for Zoran anyway, so I suppose I shouldn’t be too bitter.

As it stands right now, the fic is pretty much in development hell because I have so many other things (even outside of fan fictions) to work on. Perhaps maybe one day I’ll get the spark to keep working on it and finish what I started, but for now, it’s basically in limbo.

One Shots (And Boy Are There Many)

This one is basically an amalgamation of all one-shots I have at the moment. Obviously, these are all finished, and you can find them on fanfiction (dot )net and ao3!

First, let’s start with Parental, this has got to be my most popular one shot out of all of them for sure. Fun fact: I actually got my partner to help me write this one! Back when we wrote Vivid Insomnia, she used to write the lines for Tenma. So, when it came time to write him, I knew just whom to call. And I gotta say, while this fic is a little rough around the edges, and certainly has some stuff I would change if I could write it all over again, I totally get why this is as popular as it is. Without spoiling the story, basically Astro decides to pay Tenma a visit during the winter time to see if he’s okay, and that’s all I can say.

Second, we have My Dad Eats Collard Greens For Breakfast. Sort of an “unofficial” sequel to Parental, I originally came up with the fic title way before knowing what the plot was going to be. I was basically shopping it around and seeing what fic ideas the title would best suit. Eventually, I decided on a fic where Astro visits Tenma again. But this time it cuts right to the chase, wherein Astro’s already there. Now again, no spoilers, so I can’t say what happens while they’re there— you’ll have to read it to find out.

Finally, there’s Pronouns. You ever get so pissed off at dumb people sliding into your asks and saying the stupidest things, you decide to write a fan fiction as retaliation? No? Just me? Well, regardless, the entire premise of Pronouns comes from an ask I got on Astorinx basically questioning why I use “they/them” pronouns for Astro in my fan fictions. Now, this wasn’t the first time I got asked that. In fact, on Parental, I got asked about the queer elements written into the fic. And to be fair, it was probably petty of me to write an entire fic after getting such comments, but in my defense, I felt a little annoyed at the constant questioning. Especially as a “they/them” pronouns user myself, it just irritated me a bit. Why should I have to explain to you why I use “they/them” for Astro? Personally, I feel I should be left in peace in that regard. But nevertheless, this fic took me no less than 10 minutes to write, and basically says what’s on the tin, detailing why Astro uses “they/them” pronouns. The idea here was basically that I’d have something to link to whenever I get asked this, but thankfully I haven’t. I should also clarify that I’m not against criticism or receiving asks, comments, ETC. My only issue is getting asked things like “why did you do this?” regarding anything queer related in my works. Mostly because the answer is quite obvious: I’m queer, and I write fan fiction.

Contrary To Popular Belief

I guess you could say this is sort of a flip-side, or 3rd cousin twice removed relative to Tales From The Laboratory, but regardless, Contrary To Popular Belief, is probably the most “out there” (quite literally speaking, to be honest) fan fiction I have. Similar to TFTL, Contrary To Popular Belief is a one-shot compilation, but with a twist! What twist, you may ask? Well, every one-shot is a different AU! Pretty much, I wanted to use this as an opportunity to write about stuff I normally don’t, or to get some ideas I’ve had that wouldn’t work with the way the 03 series canon is set up out of my brain. There’s not much else to it, but if you are interested in reading it, the 2 first stories, Left Of The Spacecraft and 2-Star Yelp Review are out. And yes, the fic title is a joke.

You Might See These… In A Few Years

No, I am not joking, it really may be years until some of these fics make their big debut. But I still want to talk about them anyway, in case you’re interested. I also want this to serve as a way to make room in my brain for other ideas to hyper-fixate on for weeks at a time.

Paternal Amnesty

I suppose now’s a better time than ever to be frank: I lied to you all. You see… I did say that Vivid Insomnia was over with, and it is. But… I did manage to (sort of) bring it back, but with a big, giant catch.

One of the things I loved the most about VI was the dynamic between Astro and Tenma. It was heartfelt, but it was also stupidly hilarious. I mean, the number of times Astro would take a jab at Tenma only to get immediately read for filth was definitely something for the books. So, is it really a surprise I’d want to try and bring it back somehow? Well, I suppose not!

Don’t get it twisted, though, this is (unfortunately) not just straight up “yoinking their dynamic from VI and putting it in a new fic”. For that, you’ll have to (spoiler alert) check out Contrary To Popular Belief when ____ Of The Year comes out. What this is, though, is a sort of derivative of the VI fic Two Halves Of The Same Heart.

Now because of spoilers, I’m not going to say what happens in that fic, but seasoned VI fans will hopefully now have a better idea of what Paternal Amnesty has to offer.

Basically, this fic centers around an Astro who is very much aware that their mental health is not great. But unfortunately, O’shay is completely unwilling to provide the support necessary, so they can get the help they need.

To be clear: there are no OCs in this fic, and no, you will not be needed to have read VI to read this. I will say though that if O’shay being portrayed as an asshole is not your vibe, then this fic might not be for you. If you do, however, like Astro and Tenma’s dynamic, or perhaps wished they were on speaking terms, then this might be for you.

My Secret Project

No, that is not its actual title. Back then, I thought maybe if I spoke the least amount possible about what I was working on, I was more likely to follow through with it. Well, suffice to say, it’s been 3 years since I originally came up with the idea, and I haven’t even gotten a single chapter done.

So, why am I being so secretive about it still? Well, to be honest, I’m not sure. I guess now’s a better time than ever to let you all know….

Drum roll….

Ignorant Mischief

Sort of a flip side of Paternal Amnesty, Ignorant Mischief will probably be the biggest undertaking since Vivid Insomnia I will ever do. And this is actually the fic that made me decide to cancel VI.

Why exactly, you may ask? Well, it would help for me to explain (generally) what the plot of IM is (again, without spoilers!).

Basically, this fic is an AU that I’ve dubbed my “adult AU” (more on that later) where Astro is a twenty-something (21 at the start of the fic, to be exact!) who is… for all intents and purposes… a bit of a serial romantic. Where the actual plot is, lies in Astro entering yet another relationship, but this time around it’s with someone they genuinely have cared about for quite some time just as a friend (gee, I wonder who that could be.). Naturally, they don’t want it to go to shit like all of their past relationships have, so they decide to start therapy in hopes of learning how to keep it together. And the rest is, as they say, history! Or at least will not be mentioned here because again, spoilers spoilers spoilers.

So, when I finally figured out what I wanted IM to be about, I realized I was basically writing what VI had intended to be about: Astro’s road to recovery. But it was improved upon in ways I couldn’t have with VI without completely starting over. It felt a little redundant to have both VI, and it's much better in every single way relative up and active at the same time, so why bother?

Now, the difference between this fic and Paternal Amnesty is pretty much night and day. PA is mostly about Astro and Tenma, with less of an emphasis on the therapy they’re receiving. IM, on the other hand, is pretty much solely about Astro’s time in therapy. I mean, sure, there are moments of Astro in therapy in PA, just as much as there are moments of Astro’s life outside of therapy in IM, but neither is the focal point of their respective stories. Another big difference is that Astro in PA is about 13, whereas IM Astro is an adult. Also, O’shay isn’t an ass in IM, but the trade-off is that Tenma is pretty much out of the picture (and is intended to stay that way).

Why this fic has taken so long to come out, actually circles back to why I ended VI and the apology I made earlier. As I stated, this fic is about Astro’s time in therapy, so I, of course, need to know quite a bit about what going to therapy entails, but also have the psychology knowledge necessary to be able to write something accurate. The points and messages I want to have and make, hinge so much on being done well and by someone who is knowledgeable about the subject.

Now, I am aware that it might be a bit excessive to think I’d need to become a psych expert overnight to make this fic happen, but I’d argue against that. Again, it matters a lot to me now that what I write is accurate, and done in good taste. I couldn’t possibly bring myself to write something, fully knowing that I’m ill-informed, with good conscience. Also, as a newfound stickler for psychobabble, It’d also be a bit hypocritical for me to write something akin to a pop psychology piece. What I write has to be accurate, and again, respectful. So tl;dr, I need to do more psychology research, and that’s going to take a while.

Finally, I do want to talk a little about the universe itself. Even though this fic hasn’t come out yet, it has technically been made public in a sort of related way. You see, the foundation of which this fic is built upon is my adult AU. Which for the purposes of this post I won’t get into, but many of my newer works do take place in a version of said universe.

This doesn’t mean every fic I’ve written is connected to IM, though. They just all use the same base, kind of like different plants that use the same pot and soil. Where this is most prevalent is in Tales From The Laboratory, where I’ve pretty much moved on to writing about Retro exclusively as adults, so of course I use this universe as its foundation.

To explain why, I think when I became an adult, I immediately became distasteful of anything to do with minors. In fact, all of my OCs are adults now for this reason. It just doesn’t sit right with me and puts a sour taste in my mouth to write about kids. Of course, I’ll make exceptions, but only when I feel it’s absolutely necessary, or it would break the plot otherwise.

El Campo

Spanish for “the countryside” El Campo is an unofficial prequel to Ignorant Mischief. The intention here is to get a little peek into who Astro would become as an adult. But make no mistake, it’s not the focal point at all. What is the focal point, however, is it’s “actual” plot.

Basically, Yuko sends O’shay off on another vacation after it became apparent that he was up to here in work related stress, and needed to get away for the weekend. So, he decides to take his kids (+ Reno!) to a cabin-like place in the countryside.

There’s really not much else to it. Obviously, since this is much easier to write because it’s just a one-shot and doesn’t require profound psych knowledge, this’ll probably be out a lot sooner.

You’ll Never See Me Again… Except You Never Saw Me At All To Begin With

Even though September won’t cry for you, I will still extend my condolences to you for these fics that were meant to exist, but never did, and (maybe) never will. But hey, there’s a catch! You see, for just the fics in this category, I’m giving the ideas away for free! If I’m not going to make them, it’d be pretty gatekeep-y of me to hoard them. Especially if perhaps somebody else could take them and make them a reality. It just wouldn’t be very punk rock of me to do anything else.

Thespian Alloquy

Technically, my first-ever AU, Thespian Alloquy was supposed to be a fan fiction consisting of an ensemble cast that were all actors. Tezuka Star System jokes aside, what this basically was about is simple: Astro is a preteen (+ human because this was also a human AU for some reason???) that’s looking for something to do over the summer. They have a huge passion for acting, and so after asking many a friends and teachers for ideas, their drama teacher suggests they join Metro City’s local theatre, and they immediately agree.

Now, they also do bring Reno along for the ride, but you don’t have to include him. I just think Reno is definitely the Bonnie to Astro’s Clyde, so any chance I get to have them together and be BFFs, I’m going to take.

Key elements included Astro living with their (presumably divorced) mom. Changing their name to Astro after coming out as agender (besides acting, they’re a huge space/astronomy fan). And of course, being human (again for some unknown reason, I suppose you could make them a robot again if you can figure it out plot wise). Another major plot point takes us to where I get to discuss who went where, character speaking.

Sadly, most of my knowledge has been lost to time since again it is quite spotty. All you need to know though is that basically every main AB character is a part of this theatre. O’shay, for example, conducts the orchestra and has two daughters: Zoran and Uran. Tenma, is the head director of the theatre and basically runs and puts together most of the plays. This is where the big twist comes in because gasp! Tenma is Astro’s father??? Unbeknownst to them, it’s a lot to process and take in. And talk about the irony! Of all places and scenarios for Astro to find out who their long-lost dad was— it was during summer break at a local theatre.

Why this never came to fruition is actually one of the reasons I didn’t touch upon earlier when it came to fics from the future: writing chapters in bulk.

It’s kind of funny and ironic; in the novel world, you, of course, need to have the entire story done before it can be released. But in the fan fiction world, it’s pretty much par the course to write chapters one at a time and post each of them as soon as they’re finished. I however, wanted to at least have a couple ready at hand, so there was enough for people to sink into and not so long of a wait for new material.

This put a lot of pressure on me because I got so in my head and also clearly was not fit for writing in bulk. So, it stayed dormant for so long, and by the time I was finally ready to give it a shot, the hype for the story was basically all dried up, furthering my desire to just give it the boot and call it a day.

That One Time I Decided To Forgo Being A Robot

Based on the 80s episode I cannot remember currently (+ a manga plot if I remember correctly), this was a one shot that was supposed to be about Astro “getting rid” of their robot powers in order to “be human”.

The main reason I pulled the plug on this, was because it was meant to be a more humorous retelling/rewriting of the plot. Because In my opinion you can’t be a robot your whole life, get an operation to “become human”, and not proceed to do silly and idiotic shit thereafter.

Personally, I don’t consider myself to be that funny (at least in the context of writing fiction). And I think in order for this fic to be remotely good, it has to be eye crying, and stomach hurting hilarious.

So instead, I’m hoping maybe someone with a huge funny bone will take this on and give this idea the justice it needs, and make us all fall to the floor dying of laughter as a result.

Crossing The Ts, Dotting The Is, and Fixing The Typos

In closing, I will say this was a very interesting journey to look back on. Sure, I may not remember everything, but for what it’s worth, I’m proud of what I’ve made (minus the problematic elements in some of them, of course). What the future holds for me exactly regarding my fan fictions, is, and always will be, uncertain. But perhaps maybe like me, you’ve at least got to learn a bit more about what I’ve done then and now, what’s hopefully to be done, and finally… what I’ll never (personally) make done.

#astro boy #astro boy 2003 #tezuka #fan fiction #anime #blog post #anime blog post

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stephspurs · 3 years

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A Family Affair | Euro 2020 Football Fanfiction

Life is beautiful and life is cruel. A window into the souls of the victorious and the vanquished. In a way, football did come home during the summer of 2021. Follow along Amelia’s journey, navigating the football world as a tactical analyst for the italian football team, with a brother and father part of the three lions. Will Amelia leave Italy and come back to England? Will she leave the Serie A for the Prem? Will she set aside the bianconeri stripes for new colours, leaving behind friendship for love? Maybe she can have both...

Hello my lovelies!! Part 3 sees a whole lot Amelia's beautiful brain & you get your first slice of interaction with the british boys - leading up to an all important Mykonos adventure (part 4 - out friday). As usual, please let me know your thoughts and feelings, and let me know what you want to see happen with Amelia and her story! Updates have increased to 3/week! I hope you're enjoying it as much as I am!

Love always,

Steph xx

UPDATE as of 31/07: I've made some additional editing changes due to some feedback about the confusion between ben white (her brother) and ben chilwell (not her brother LOL). Nothing has been added to the story, just the addition of either surname has been added where i think it could be more straightforward - for future readers!

Part 3. | parte terza

warnings; none - just a whole lot of feels.

word count; 2081

writing tools; third person until dashed line, first person thereafter.

next update; Friday 30/07 5pm AEST. Updates are three times/week (Monday, Wednesday & Friday)!

Tags (as requested by users); @footballffbarbiex @obsesseds-world @abysshaven

link to fic masterlist here

It was the day after the final match and Amelia should be nursing a hangover due to the large amount of red wine she consumed with her Italian counterparts the night before. However, she finds herself at St. George’s Park before 9am, meeting one of her father’s colleagues who directs her to the recreation room that she remembers from a few days prior.

Standing outside the door, she assumed she was just waiting for her dad as agreed on the phone an hour earlier. As she was waiting, she could hear Gareth Southgate give a team talk to the players, praising them for their ability and pleading for them to bounce back from this defeat and use it to push on. The next voice she could hear was that of her father, giving them the tactical run through of the game. She listened to the points her father made, and both agreed and disagreed with some. Unexpectedly, the man sent to collect her opened the door and ushered her inside.

She stood at the back of the room, facing her dad and Gareth, whilst the team and other management staff had their backs to her. Making eye contact with her dad, he smiled slightly.

“Whilst I can offer you my opinion on the match last night, to better prepare you for the next time, there is no better opinion to learn from at this moment than that of your opponent. Amelia, would you please come up here” Dean really threw her into this situation, that again, she was not prepared for nor did she want to participate in. However, the 30+ sets of eyes that had currently turned around to stare at her didn’t exactly inspire a choice to be made here.

_____________________________________________________________

“Lads, this is my daughter. I taught her everything she knows, which was probably too much considering I can now recognise that it was her signature plays that the italian side used to their advantage last night. Treat her with respect, or I will let her at you. Which i’m sure you all saw a few nights ago in this very room” My dad spoke as I walked up to the front area, weaving in and around beanbags with players occupying them.

Standing in front of the Three Lions was more nerve wracking now than it had been when she was confronting her brother, maybe Fede did offer her protection as his bodyguard. Either way, she put her big girl pants on (figuratively speaking, literally she was wearing her official puma tights and Italian polo) and got on with it as if she was speaking to her team.

“Thanks Dad. Hey guys, I think the first thing I would like to say is that you’re allowed to feel exactly how you feel right now. There is no rush to ‘get over it’ or ‘push on and learn’. You need to feel this now, feel it throughout your body, understand the pain and then turn it into motivation.” I speak to the group, trying to accurately express how sincere I am to this group of heartbroken men.

“As for tactics, I can stand here and praise you for how good you really are but that's not how you are going to learn. You came into the game hard and fast.” I paused, understanding the innuendo just as it was flying out of my mouth. I pursed my lips and tried to hold my giggle in, however some of the boys seem to have the same sense of humour as I do. My brother, face of steel and eyes that burn into any man that tries to joke with me.

“Sorry, can’t help myself. So yeah, you took charge of the game from kick off and we were not ready. You had the aggression and desire to push from the start and that's what you did, Shaw, you really surprised me with that goal. Not because I didn't think you could do it but because I wasn’t anticipating you being someone we had to watch so closely.”

“Again, something you guys need to keep in mind is that it is literally my job to know everything about you and how you play the game, what foot you prefer, who you pass to, how long you hold the ball before you pass, do you like to assist or score...all of these things make a massive difference in each play we make.”

“The error you made came around the 25th minute of the game, we had settled into the game and did what we do best - we slowed you down. In Italy, in the Serie A, which is where most of my team play, the game is a lot slower. There is more skill and tactic used to ensure a favourable outcome. Again, i'm not saying you all don’t have skill, but the Prem favours pace over tactics and strategy. The only way we were going to be able to win was by making you play our game, but in your half of the pitch.”

At this point, all of their eyes are trained to me and the more senior players of the team, like Henderson, Walker, Coady, Kane, they understand what i’m trying to say. Gareth, my dad and other members of staff are sitting to one side, arms folded and a slight smile on their face at the simplicity of my approach to such an important game. I direct my next question to them.

“Can I ask - have you already selected your man of the match?”

“Off record, yes we have. Before I announce to the team who it is, can I direct the question back to you and find out who you would award it to?” Gareth poses back to me, interested to hear my opinion.

“While the obvious choices would be Kane, Sterling, Maguire - your players who perform week in week out and are consistent and no doubt deserve an award as such. I would recommend Declan Rice. Personally, he was the most instrumental in the match last night. Every time we turned to attack, he was there to stop it. He was a player I was confident that I knew the extent of his ability, when it was obvious that I didn't.”

The boys around him, Mason Mount & Ben Chilwell, offered him a gentle shove and ruffle of the hair, to show their encouragement to the bashful boy who seemed surprised at the praise he was receiving.

“The other player that I think deserves a bit of a shoutout, and not because of his hair, is Jack Grealish.” I spoke, looking around the room until we locked eyes. I wanted him to understand how serious i was about my next words.

“You are so dangerous on the ball, you are an asset as a team mate, you aren’t guilty with the ball, but you have the power behind you to score when the opportunity presents itself. The moment you were subbed on I pulled Jorginho to the side and told him to treat you like Chiellini and Bonnucci were handling Sterling and Kane. You were one of my players to watch, and for good reason”

At the end of the little session, I said thanks to the boys for listening and that I hope to see them again in a tournament. The only way to be the best is to beat the best. After a quick round of applause that made me feel more special than I am, I walked past my brother, gave him a quick ruffle of his hair and met my dad at the back. Gareth dismissed the boys and they all stood up, breaking away and grabbing some breakfast that was set up to the side of the room, for one last team meal.

“Mills!! I’ll get you an almond croissant and a coffee, come sit with me!” Walker shouted from across the room.

“Oi mate, she’s my sister not yours” Ben counters from the back of the line.

“Yeah she's your sister by blood, mine by choice.” Kyle firmly states and begins his way to one of the tables.

“I suppose i better join Kyle before he drowns everyone in his tears” i joked with the england officials i was standing with before walking over to Kyle and a few of his team mates.

“Sooo am I supposed to pretend I don’t know who you all are so you can introduce yourselves? Or do we just mutually agree that I know too much about each of you and not bring it up?” I question the boys, jokingly. They all laugh and I sit down in the space Kyle left between himself and John Stones. I sat there and got to know some of the boys on a less competitive level, working out who was a leader both on the pitch and off it. After listening to the boys joke around and just be mates, rather than teammates, I leaned over to Kyle.

“Hey, before I go, do you think you can introduce me to Bukayo? I want to speak with him for a moment.”

“Yeah sure, I'll take you over there. Why are you nervous? You've never been shy before” Kyle questioned back at me.

“I’m not nervous, I'm just hyper aware of the sensitivity of the moment. Last night would have been tough”

Saying goodbye to the boys, Kyle directed me over to a table that was sitting my brother Ben White, Kalvin, Ben Chilwell, Grealish, Saka, Sancho & Rashford.

“Hey boys, Ben, I just wanted to come say goodbye before I head off.” I directed towards my brother. He pulled up a chair and asked me to sit for 5 more minutes, claiming he deserved it after months of no contact.

“Ben here didn’t let us know he had a sister as smart as you...what happened to you Ben? Did you miss that gene?” Jack Grealish poked at my brother. With his signature scowl on his face, Ben White let his mates laugh at his expense.

“Oh don’t make fun of my brother Benny, that’s my job!” I joked back, setting the boys off again with my brother’s childhood nickname. It was nice to hear some laughter again from a side that looked so solemn the night before.

“No in all seriousness boys, I especially came over because I wanted to talk to you Bukayo - what you did was so impressive. In a final, as the last penalty taker, to take on the responsibility of the nation at the age of 19! Not many players would dare to do that. You have earned a lot of respect, particularly from the Italian camp.” I spoke with a smile on my face, directed at the young boy.

“The same goes for you two” Now looking at Sancho & Rashford.

Bukayo looked down at his hands & smiled, before getting up and walking to my side of the table. Anticipating what he was going to do next, I stood up and welcomed him with open arms. Grateful that he understood my message and was beginning to accept the praise he so deserved. Stepping back from the hug, I turned to address the group of lads one more time.

“If any of you fancy a change of pace and want to come over to the Serie A, just give me a call - Benny can give you my number!” I start to speak, before I'm cut off but my brother.

“Stop poaching my mates! I’ve already lost you to another country. I don't need to lose anyone else” He jokingly says while standing to walk me out of St. George’s Park. I know it was a joke but I can't help but think there was some truth to that.

It had been more than 3 years since I moved out of our family home to start my life in Turin, and not one moment had i regretted it or thought i made the wrong decision. Don’t get me wrong, there are times when I wished I was closer to my family, but I know I had to make that move to prove to myself I am just as successful as I hoped I would be. Not saying I have learnt everything there is to learn with the Serie A giants, Juventus, but maybe it's time for a new challenge? Maybe I can bring the strategic spin on the game to the fast paced action of the premier league?

Part 4. | quarta parte

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vexture · 2 years

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Yoinked from friend Carmen (@good-wine-and-cheese) - 5 songs we actually listen to, but I'm adding as many as I want to, because I can :> (there's probably some misspellings, I'm tired lol)

First off, if it's not obvious, some of these songs will have very iffy lyrics if you listen to them yourself, I just like making playlists for fics and some of this shit is what my headmates like, for legal reasons (tm) I don't condone any of the shit in these songs (I hope no one I know actually thinks that)

1. Stockholm Syndrome, Nostalghia

Man when we found this song it was like a punch to the gut, given the situation with my old partner at the time, plus one of my headmates really relates to this one (which, ouch) but just like, the instruments and the messy way she sings is really really cool :00

2. Carousel Waltz, Jack Conte

Headmate Jules listens to lots of stuff, and outside of his trigger song, this one in particular makes him tune into the fronting area. I vibe with the flowey composition so much man, the way this guy sings has such an uncanny feel, and raw

3. Ich tu dir weh, Rammstein

Woop woop Steiner listens to this one a shit ton, not surprised but like, damn lol. I love the guitar specifically in this one and whatever shit they did at the start (it sounds like pitched down piano keys), and when I have the volume up all the way the way Til growls vibrates my ears and man, that shit's awesome :0 gotta love bdsm tracks (also fun fact this song was taken off the original release because of the subject matter)

4. Hang, 8 Graves

I found this one for my jthm jimmy playlist and I really like the way everything is phrased. The way it sets up feels like one of those like, party anthems for asshole frats but like the lyrics give to something more open about these types of people and their friend groups, I really dig the instrumental too :>

5. Sacrilegium I, Zeal and Ardor

Another one of Jules' shit, man this one reminds me of like, Tron, anyone remember that movie? I played the game based on the movie :> not much for this type of electronic stuff but it's just got this type of pull to me personally, and it makes it a blessing when Jules stops playing Barracuda for the millionth time lol

6. Cocaine Jesus, Rainbow Kitten Surprise

Oh ouch, one from Wolfgang's playlist. I cannot unpack the absolute projection he does to this song here but what I will say, for myself, the line "..high as hell, feeling fine, nothing bad but nothing kind - not, not a word from me, at least nothing you would mind.." is what drew me in immediately, and is the line he focuses on the most except for the bit at the end of the song

7. Came as a Glow, Pile

The fucking guitar, and the borderline yelling this guy does is great. I was like "oh fuck I don't think I'm gonna like this one" but then the vocalist smacked me in the face with the whole screamish thing. Ever since then I've just had it in my master playlist and I listen to it more than I think probably

8. Reich mir die hand, Blutengel

Milosz's positive trigger song, and the only one of Blutengel's songs I remember liking back in 6th grade :> Milosz has listened to their entire discography and will fucking die by this shit lol. I wish the lady's back up vocals were more pronounced though, that is legit my only complaint about this song

9. Doing My Time, Pale

I found this when my YouTube recommendation was good (f in chat since it sucks now) and like, you have to listen to this like, at 10 pm- 3am full blast with headphones and just lay in your bed. The atmosphere is like, the fucking best for those late nights where you feel certain ways it's great

10. Doom Woods, Whitechapel

Headmate Josh makes everyone listen to this shit when he drives, and I'm not saying it sucks, but long term exposure to Josh(tm) can either make you hate shit like this or have brain rot, he showed Magnus and he's now a Whitechapel stan I guess. I can say the vocalist should sing more, in one of the other songs he sings and man it's awesome. 10/10 would learn screaming just to make a cover of this song

Anyone can do this too, btw this was really fun!

#sunny's game tag #music game #sunny's headmates

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miss-choco-chips · 4 years

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Bird Watchers

It was something like an open secret in Gotham, that even though all it’s heroes were open to help no matter the situation, each one of them had a special affinity to certain matters.

For example, children from all districts knew to yell for Nightwing if they found themselves lost and scared. Small business owners often painted little Oracle symbols on their doorsteps, to warn away possible thieves with the knowledge that Gotham’s cryptic hacker had their eye on them. Working girls would send a quick prayer to the Red Hood before seeing their seediest clients; and as such, knew who to call for if things took a turn for the worst.

And Red Robin… well. His was a very specific bunch.

---.---

Warnings: depression, suicide attempts, overdose comic-typical violence (discussed, not explicit). Hurt-comfort all the way, baby. There’s also one scene, with the redhead, that I copied from the comics.

(it’s almost 2 am, I wrote half of this in one go, don’t @ me for mistakes. I’ll edit tomorrow. Maybe.)

---.---

The first time he stopped a suicide, he had just turned thirteen. The suit still felt wrong, too loose in all the places where Jason’s bigger presence would have been a better fit. Too small, too brainy, not brash enough, not good enough.

He would never think himself worthy, but he was all Batman had. There were no other candidates, not ones he could have thrown the job at without risking Bruce’s identity, so he’d have to make do.

But even so, he had been gaining a little confidence over the past few months. His training with Shiva, and Dick’s and Bruce’s focus on making him as ready for the streets as humanly possible, had ensured he never encountered a situation where he couldn’t handle himself, or get back up in time to avoid any casualties.

Except for right now.

“Hey! Don’t do it, please!”

Yeah, maybe yelling at the man precariously balanced on the edge of a how many feet tall building wasn’t his wisest moment. He’d berate himself later. Now was freak out time.

Said man stumbled for a second before regaining his footing and turning to look at Tim. He couldn’t be more than forty, with a bit of an overgrown beard and tired eyes. He had something clutched in one hand, tanned and calloused from work, the other over his chest, probably due to the scare of having a bat suddenly appearing behind him.

“R-Robin…”, he gasped, shook out of whatever reverie he was going through for a second. “W-what… I mean, why are you…?”

‘Okay, Tim, breath. Can’t call B, he’ll notice, get startled and jump. Can I catch him if he does? My grappling hook is made to withstand more than my weight, but if I can’t handle the strain of swinging us both to safety…’

He couldn't risk it.

“Good evening, Mr…?”

Surprise and good manners made the man automatically answer, “Ed. Ed Harrinson.”

Encouraged, Tim took a tiny teeny step forward. Ed’s entire body shock and he leaned backwards. Tim froze, fear keeping his breathing and heartbeat hostages for the time being, stopping the first and kick starting the second.

“Mr Harrinson, I’d like to ask you to step away from the edge? I’ll call an ambulance for you, and…”

“No!”, the man screamed, suddenly over his surprise, a look of determination trying to masquerade his obvious exhaustion. “If you call an’one, I’ll jump.”

Tim wisely kept the ‘you were gonna do it anyway’ to himself. He nodded slowly, hands emerging from the confines of his cape to show Mr Harrinson the lack of a communication device.

“I won’t, then, but may I come closer? Please?”

It was on the last word, high pitched and wavering, that the man cracked. With wary demeanor, he waved him over, pointing to a patch of rooftop a little far but close enough for Tim to feel comfortable- or as comfortable as he’d get, in these circumstances.

As he approached, he could feel the man analyzing him. The little gasp when he stood by his side didn’t go unnoticed.

“You are… smaller than I imag’ned. Too small for a bat. My boy’s taller than you” he mused, likely to himself, but Tim grasped onto that bit of information and clutched at it with both hands, desperately.

“I’m short compared to my peers, so maybe I’m the same age as your son. How old is he?”, he asked, in his most conversational tone. Fear still had a grasp over both his lungs and heart.

Something in the man’s face shifted.

“He… he just turned fifteen.” Older than Tim, then. Ed continued, “He’s… ”, in a second, the sadness was replaced by pride, “he’s grown up p’tty well, if I say so m’self. A fine young man, that kid. He’ll go places.”

For a beat, Tim tried to imagine his own dad here. As much as he’d hate to see Jack in Mr Harrinson’s place, he couldn't help but wonder if he’d be talking about him the same way Ed spoke about his son.

He… didn’t think so. If on the verge of death, thoughts about his son would probably be the farthest from his dad’s mind.

“You sound like you love him very much. He’s a lucky guy” he said sincerely, a tendril of hopefulness still twisted around his stomach. His hands weren’t shaking any longer, finding solace in the fact that the man in front of him didn’t look like he was about to jump right that second.

Mr Harrinson’s face fell.

“Got served an’ unlucky hand, with an old man like me”, his eyes went back to the abyss, to the empty, poor litten streets below them. “Go ‘way, kid. Leave m’ be. Notta business what I do. Gotta do this f’r my kid.”

Fear came back, full force.

“I- Sorry, but I can’t help but think about your son”, he blurted out, the only bit of information he had about the man was his only tendril of hope. “Someone who loves his child as much as you seem to must be a good father. A father that… would be missed dearly, if lost so young.”

Mr Harrinson looked even more devastated. Tim was doing this all wrong, wasn’t he?

“There’s no other way t’ keep’im safe!'' he yelled, and for a minute Tim thought he had decided to jump then and there. Instead, he dropped to his knees, hands to his head, paper still clutched in one fist. “They’ll get to him if I don’t! Once I’m dead, they’ll just leave’im alone!”

Tim crouched next to him, tentative.

“Who is ‘they’, sir? Maybe I could help…”

Ed was already shaking his head.

“Nay, they said not to go to the bats. Kill my boy, they will, if I do. Seen them offing others for less, so I believe them.”

“Ah, but I’m too short to be a bat, am I not?” he smiled, wobbly at best but sincere. “Besides, who’s gonna tell them you spoke to me? I”, he gestured to his mask, “know how to keep a secret.”

He considered for a beat, before tired shoulders fell, defeated. He offered the slip of paper towards him, unseeing eyes on the street below.

Robin read the note carefully, noting the sloppy penmanship and cheap paper as well as the message itself.

“Mr Harrinson…”

“I know”, he whispered, “I know working for the Black Mask wasn’t my best idea. But m’boy needed to eat, and the landlord was gettin’ impatient. And now, for whatever reason, boss wants me dead. And if I make ‘im dirty his own hands, he’ll dirty ‘em twice and send me with my son for company to the other side. Felix is too young, and he’s good. Can’t let ‘im pay f’ his old man m’stakes, ya hear me?”

Tim thought his words over carefully.

“Mr Harrinson… I don’t think this comes from Black Mask himself”, for one, Blackie wasn’t one to avoid blood on his gloves, nor to send such a shitty note. The man lived for the drama, like most A-listers did, and he’d never forgo the aesthetic of an expensive peachment and beautifully worded threat. Also, if he wanted this man gone, he would have put a bullet in his head the second he clocked in; and if it were revenge he was after, he wouldn't have gotten a warning note but his son’s head sent to him instead.

He folded the paper and put it into one of his multiple pockets, free hand going to the man’s shoulder.

“I know Black Mask’s M.O, mister, and this is not it”, no need to spook him further by describing what it was, though. “Probably just a colleague who wanted your position, or has a grudge for whatever reason. And that, I can help you with. If you work with me on this one, we can both make sure Felix has his Dad making breakfast for him tomorrow morning, and all the days after that. After all”, he smiled, no longer uncertain now that he had firm ground to work with, “your son is going places, and he’ll have to be well fed to reach them, right?”

Mr Harrinson’s smile must have had magical properties, Tim thought. There was no other explanation for the way it returned his breath back to his body.

---.----

The next time he saw a jumper, a few months later, he was slightly more ready for it. Bruce had congratulated him on his work with Mr Harrinson, and the subsequent raid they could make on one of Black Mask’s warehouses thanks to the man’s information, but Tim hadn’t been satisfied until he had read every single mission report on the batcomputer about attempted suicides. And succeed ones, too. Need to know what went well and what didn’t, after all.

So when he saw the fifty-something woman crying on top of a tower in City Hall District, he didn’t almost-crash in his attempt to get there in time. He landed softly, making just enough noise to let her know she wasn’t alone, but careful to not startle her.

“It’s a little cold up here, Lady. If you’d like, I can walk you home?”, he tries for cheeky, despite the cold fear nesting in his stomach like a grumpy, spiteful bird.

The woman, sitting by the edge, turned her head to look at him. The movement called attention to her long, strawberry blonde hair, neatly braided, and her pretty diamond earrings. The face under her perfect make up was gaunt and pale, tear tracks cleaning paths of skin to his trained eye.

Despite him interrupting what probably were very private thoughts, she smiled at his approach, kind and polite. It didn’t reach her eyes, but the intent to put him at ease was generous enough.

“I may be a lady, but any adult worth their salt would insist on walking the young child home, instead of the opposite. Besides”, she patted the rooftop under her,” I live here, so it’s not a long walk at all.”

Tim stepped closer, carefully.

“May I sit?”

“I could use the company for a bit”, she accepted, head turning back to the city below.

They sat there for a few minutes in silence, before Tim’s soft voice broke it again.

“Is there anything I can do to help convince you not to do it? Please?”

The lady smiled. “You are a very sweet boy.”

“That’s… not an answer. Can I at least know why?”

“Won’t it torment you, in the future, if we speak now?”, she asked a question of her own, turning to face him again. Despite her words, there was nothing but kindness in those deep green eyes. “If you don’t know me, I’m just another one who jumped. If we talk, I’m afraid I might stay with you long after I’m gone. You are too young for that kind of weight.”

Tim swallowed.

“That’s easily solved, Miss;”, Dick’s rule of thumb; if unsure, always call a lady Miss before Mrs “don’t do it.”

She spared him a long, meaningful look, and he slumped over.

“Not my best, I know, but I’m kinda freaking out now?” She wasn’t like Mr Harrinson, no motive he could see, no strand to pull and unravel her pain. “Please, just… why?”

She patted one of the hands gripping his own knee. His other hand rushed over hers, sandwiching her cold, slim fingers between his gloved palms.

“There’s nothing left for me. I have a nice job, live in a pretty side of town, have friends, and still… it feels so empty. So… Meaningless. Why even bother?”

Tim chewed on her words silently. He was way out of his depth. A tangible, physical problem? He could solve those, no biggie.

Depression, though… that was a different giant to tackle. Was he even prepared enough to?

A strong gust of wind made the lady with braided hair shiver. Without thought, Tim unclasped his cape and draped it over her slim shoulders.

“Aren’t you cold?” she asked, head tilted like a curious woodland animal. Tim felt strongly protective of her, of this kind, sweet lady, who said she had it all, except the one thing that mattered to her.

“I’m used to it”, he shrugged. “This suit is very warm, but cold air often trickles down from the neckline and… well. Gigs of the job and all that.”

The lady tutted, frowning for the first time since Tim arrived.

“That won’t do, young man. You need a scarf. The nights will only get colder from now on.”

He shrugged again.

“I just… don’t have the time to buy one. And I had one, but… There’s these kids who often hang out by the park, and they were so cold, I just couldn't swing by and ignore them. So I gave them my scarf to share between them. I’m just kinda bummed that I don’t have more to make sure they all stay warm.”

The braided haired lady hummed for a second.

“Well… I knit”, she started, carefully. “I don’t have children or grandchildren to give my final products to, so they’ll go to waste after I’m gone. If you’d take them out of my hands, you’ll do me a favor.”

Tim wanted to say no, unwilling to make this any easier for her, but the chance of getting her away from the edge was enough to quell his voice.

She went and came back within minutes, a big cardboard box balanced over her shaky arms. He rose to help her, meeting the woman halfway through the roof, a good distance away from the abyss.

“This red one would look good with your suit… oh, and the green one, to keep with the theme! Or maybe the yellow one… Shame pink would be such a bad fit for your colors, because that wool is the best I worked with…”

Tim’s hand carefully took said carf out and looked it over. There were about six others in the box.

“I could take this to those kids I mentioned before… It’d still not be enough for all, but more to share between them means less cold.”

She hummed again, looking at the unfinished projects on the bottom of the box.

“If… If you give me a few days…” she muttered. “I mean, I’m in no rush”, a hand vaguely gestured towards the rooftop’s edge. “I could spare a few days finishing those, and you could take them to these kids you spoke about… and maybe, I can help make a few children less cold with this silly hobby of mine.”

Elated beyond words, Tim nodded vigorously, waxing poetry about her work and about just how excited little Ellie would be with this soft, pretty pink scarf.

His patrol route could use a few detours, after all, if that meant keeping Braided Hair Lady away from her roof.

---.----

He was just returning from a late supply run when he bumped into The Cats.

It was in an alleyway, a block off from Mrs Eloise Denvarow (formerly known as Braided Hair Lady). The older woman had caved after three months knowing each other, of Tim passing by her apartment once every other night to pick up her baked goods or knitted masterpieces, to distribute between street kids and working girls, and told him her name. It was said in passing (“Stop with that ‘Lady’ thing, honey. It’s Eloise”), as if lacking importance, when in reality it meant the world to him. Sure, he’d already known, having run a background check on her the minute he came back to the cave after stopping her from jumping, but there was that implicit vow between them, that she wouldn't tell him her name and jump, wouldn’t make him carry its weight on his shoulders forever, so it was… it was a promise, on her end, a reassurance, and Tim wasn’t even embarrassed that he cried in her arms like a baby for ten minutes.

So here he was, a month after that, still riding that high, when the desperate call from below caught his attention.

There were two teens on the dirty ground, nested among cracked bottles and old newspapers. The girl was lying in the boy’s arms, with him screaming for help.

“Robin! Thank fuck!”, he almost sobs, arms visibly tightening around the girl. Tim wants to ask how he knew to call for him, and if the proximity to Mrs Denvarow’s place was luck or not.

But it wasn’t the time to ask.

The girl was pale, which only highlighted the bruises on her face. Someone with a big fist punched her. It doesn't seem likely, considering just how distraught the other kid is, but he checks his hands just in case; fortunately, too small for that kind of damage.

She’s also breathing erratically and, when he puts a gloved hand to her neck, he realizes just how crazy her pulse is.

Fear Toxin? Except Scarecrow is still in Arkham as far as he knows, and even if he had gotten away recently, he needs time to develop his precious chemicals. Joker’s Venom and Mad’s Hatter drugs don’t have quite this results, and Ivy doesn’t usually attack street girls just for kicks; they are also too far from her usual turf for her to be a viable suspect.

So, that leaves very few choices.

“Overdose?”, he ventures a guess, hand already fumbling through the pockets on his belt.

The other boy sobs harder, nodding while looking down at the girl in his arms. Tim gently takes the girl from him to position her straighter, to help her down the vial he finally found in his belt. It was supposed to help flush out any chemical in a few minutes, tops; they usually used it when a new type of Crazy Criminal Drug made its way to the streets and they didn’t have the time to properly prepare an antidote. It was strong, and vicious in its path to devoid the body of any and all external agents, which was why it wasn’t a preferred method; who’s to say the civilian in need of a flush isn’t in some important medicine? The Big Flush, as Dick calls it, lacked any kind of finesse or discrimination.

But it was their best shot right now, so there goes nothing.

There’s silence while they watch the girl’s progress. He doesn’t bother asking if he called for an ambulance; they are obviously minors, probably homeless, and even if the Wayne Foundation takes care of children’s hospital fees, they’d avoid it to keep themselves out of the foster system.

But then, the kid kept talking.

“I… I found her near Grant Park. I… I didn’t know what to do, so I dragged her here. She/” and then he breaks again, hands grasping one of hers, as if letting go meant he was giving up on her and he couldn't bear it.

“Grant Park is only five blocks away,” Tim thinks out loud, mind already a mile away “and Moench’s Row illicit night clinic is about the same distance from there as this place. Why did you bring her here?”

“She… Alley… Oh, her name’s Allison, by the way. And I’m Thomas. Tom.” Introductions, miraculously, seem to do the trick here and calm him down. “Nice to meetcha.”

Tim’s not deterred by his toothy grin, but he has to admit he’s kinda cute. Like, stray cat cute.

Huh. Alley, Tom, cat… Yeah, that checks.

“What happened with Allison?” he presses softly, one arm still keeping Alley up and against his chest, the other hand on her pulse point, taking note of the way the heartbeat seems to be stabilizing. The puking fest was gonna start soon.

“She… It was on purpose.” Tom confesses, eyes going clouded for a while. “She tries to not be home, yknow? I met her in kindergarten, and even then she’d try to hide behind the teacher’s desk in hopes they’d forget about her and close the building with her inside. Anyway, we pretty much live on the streets these days, and Alley… she’s very depressed. I convinced her to see someone a while ago, even stol/ I mean, earned the money for it myself”, he’s quick to correct, eyes glancing up to see if he was smooth enough to cover it; which he wasn’t, but Tim was in favor of letting that small one go, “and they gave her a prescription for antidepressants. She’s been kicking it down the road, but she’s gotten a lot worse and I wouldn't lay off her case about it, so she sneaked back home to get some money from her folks to pay for it.”

By the way the kid looks at her bruised face with unmeasurable guilt, Tim knows she didn’t go unnoticed.

“And… I don’t know. We were supposed to meet up by the Commerce Street Highway, but she was late, so I walked around for a bit and… I saw her there, on a bench. She was/ she was still conscious then, and she told me… she said ‘these aren’t what the doc gave me, but they took the pain away all the same’.” Again, Tom chokes on his own emotions. If he had any free hands, he’d try to put one on his shoulder for comfort. “I don’t even know what she took, or where did she get it from!”

Tim has heard whispers of loan sharks and drug dealres camping toghter by the Fashion Distric, just north of Grant Park, so he can make an informed guess as to how that happened. Also, he now knows what he’ll do the rest of the night, once these kids are safe.

When Tom has gotten a grasp of himself, he pushes again.

“So, why did you bring her here?”

He shrugs, a bit abashed.

“Well… I mean, everyone knows about how Mrs Denvarow is the one giving clothes and food away, and that you help her distribute it. Well, not everyone, but… you know, the street kids. We flagged her building with a yellow skull and everything.”

A yellow skull grafitti, Tim’s mind translates, is the street equivalent of a ‘don’t fuck with this place’ sing. A sort of protective sigil. He wonders how he missed it.

“And… This is kind of your thing, right? So I figured you’d be better prepared to deal with it than some overworked clinic that might even not have enough free equipment to help us. Good think I did, too” he gestures at his friend, whose face is now looking flushed; a sign both of growing health, and of the upcoming puke. Tim’s quick to turn her so her back is to his chest, head tilted down just in case.

As if rehearsed, Alley chose that exact second to empty the contents of her now flushed stomach. Tim would need a sample of that, to catch the responsible dealer.

Tom held her hair away from her face while Tim kept her steady, and she blinked bearily at them after it was done, still not completely lucid but a world away from the girl she was ten minutes ago.

“She’ll still need a hospital.'' Tim informs Tom sternly. The boy had taken his friend in his arms again, softly rubbing her back to help with the uncomfortable ache leftover after puking your guts out. “The Moench’s Row clinic should be able to help with any side effect, but she’s safe for now.”

He nods, thanks Tim again and again and politely refuses his help to take her to the clinic. They part ways, both parties probably thinking this would be the last time they saw each other.

Still, their situation sticks with Tim during the rest of his patrol, and he decides to stop by the clinic, just to check on them. His knuckles still ache from the absolute beating he delivered to the ones who gave Alley the money and sold her the drugs, so he’s in better spirits and hopes to spread it to the kids.

Alley is awake when he visits, and her shy, little smile is enough for the rage inside of Tim to die down. The bad guys dealt with, the civilians safe, everything in its proper place.

He sleeps a bit better that night.

---.----

He almost doesn’t see him.

Actually, he probably wouldn't have, deeply lost into his own head, had the guy been anything other than a redhead. That exact shade of orangy-brown auburn, that he would have to pick up from his workbench at Titan’s tower after Bart had decided to ‘keep him company’ during his all-nighters.

It was ironic, how now he would give anything in the world to have those same strands of hair fucking up his experiments, if only for the impish, ‘please-don’t-kill-me-I’m-an-angel’ smile he would receive in exchange.

“Hey”, he greets, landing softly at the man’s right, sitting a few feet away from him, too tired to even stand up on common ground. “What’s happening?”

He shouldn’t be doing this. He really, really shouldn’t. His own mental health was less than stellar, and even thinking about it made him feel worse. He didn’t deserve to feel bad, not when civilians were in the hospital after his latest fuck up, Cass was missing, Cassie barely hanging in there, the family a mess with Damian’s lovely introduction, and… well. Every other person he knew…

Point being, there must be someone else, in a better inner place, that could speak to this guy. But since no one seemed to be patrolling this route, Tim could only hope to stall him long enough for a more capable vigilante to show up.

The guy looks startled, then angry. He has green eyes, he notices, under the glasses. Not sure why that sticks to him.

“What are you doing here? You’re not going to try to stop me, are you? You’re not going to swing down and catch me in mid air or something, are you?”

He seems defensive, but Tim notices a bit of hesitancy. He has worked with less.

(He wishes he had more energy to do more with what little he has)

“No. If I did, what’s to stop you from doing it again later, or tomorrow? I can’t be with you every second. If you want to do this, you are going to, no matter how much I don’t want you to. And I don’t want you to, just so we are clear.”

The guy still looks suspicious, but he hasn’t taken that last step forward, so… a win?

“I just needed to sit down for a minute. ‘been thinking about all the ways I’ve screwed up lately, and…”

Auburn-hair deflates a little, turning away from Tim to examine the night sky. “Well, that makes two of us.”

The bat signal lights up the night. His newfound companion looks at it, then him. “Do you need to get that?”

“Nah. Batman will, and if he needs help he’ll call me.” Tim shrugs. He needs a coffee-power-up. He needs to sleep. He needs for his loved ones to not be dead.

He needs to see if there’s anything he can do for this guy.

“So, do you want to tell me why you’re doing this? So someone can go to your family and friends to let them know?”

After all, if it was him who did it (and… wasn’t that food for thought?), he’d like Bruce and Dick to know why. To not… to not blame themselves.

Redhead looks annoyed again. Uh. A short fuse, this one.

“Don’t try any psychology, or try to make me feel guilty about hurting anyone… this isn't about anyone but me.”

He shouldn’t say it, but… “That’s pretty naive, but whatever. Tell me anyway.” He smirks a bit, then “Unless you’re in a hurry or something.”

He hears the guy (he really should ask his name) as he tells his story. A cold, clinical part of his mind recognizes the symptoms described almost unconsciously by the guy as depression. He would know, after all. The other part of him, the part that made him Robin, that made him human, discarded the label; there was much more to this guy than his illness, and he would treat him like it.

“So here I am,” he finishes, now sitting side by side with Tim, both their legs hanging above the bustling city. “Now’s when you tell me how stupid this is. That other people have much bigger problems, there’s hunger and war, and I’m weak because my problems are nothing next to stuff like that.”

Tim thinks of a father, desperately thinking his death would save his son’s life, when in fact it would have only made it worse. He thinks of a woman, so full of love and warmth, looking into the abyss and feeling empty inside. He thinks of a couple of kids, one hanging to life with nails and teeth, the other hanging to her just as fiercely.

He thinks about himself. About looking at a future version of himself, hating what he sees, and deciding to drown the bud before it can even flower. He thinks of sickly green water, of cloning equipment in a laboratory, of a phone falling to the ground after delivering him with more bad news.

He’s still in a bad place, still probably not the most capable person to be doing this, but a part of him is sure this is the right answer. The only answer.

“No. Your problems are worse than anyone else’s, because they are yours. I’ve... felt bad like you have, and some pretty bad things have happened to me.”

Red hair looks as tired as Tim feels, so it’s a surprise that he has enough energy to glance at him worriedly, hand stretching a bit in his direction in a half-formed attempt to comfort.

“You guys make it look so easy, swinging around, having fun… Things get bad for you, too?”

Tim looks down, and smiles. It’s a sad, bitter thing. He thinks about parents lost before ever connecting to them, about a girlfriend going away, a sister lost to the madness of their lives, about two best friends gone, one even dying in his arms.

He gives no details. Doesn’t talk about it all, just shares a little bit of himself. It’s only fair, after hearing about this guy’s demons. Misery loves company, doesn’t it?

“So what do you do? How do you deal with it?” the guy asks when he’s done, looking at Tim by the corner of his not-very-dry eyes.

Tim forces himself to remember. “One of the things I’ve learned is that it gets bad for everyone sometimes, Superman, Batman… everyone. I remember that I’m not alone, that things do get better. Sometimes on their own, most times when you work at them. And when I have trouble remembering those things, I find people to talk to.”

Most of those were dead, but Tim is hit with the epiphany that not all of them are. He still has people. He still…

“And you’ve got people like that? That you can talk to?” asks the guy, tone both worried and hopeful. Tim stands up, does his best to look calm.

“Yeah. Your folks, and old friend, even a trained counselor you’ve never met before… someone who has a totally different perspective because they’re not as close to your problems as you are. Maybe they give you advice, and that’s great… or maybe they just listen. Sometimes, that’s all you need. Anyway, that’s how I deal with it when things suck. And it works. Want to come down from there and give it a try?”

The guy gets back to his feet, as Tim watches from behind. Having been in this situation before, the fear grabbing a hold of him isn’t new, but it's different. He thinks he's too worn down. It takes the edge off of any emotion.

Except hope. Hope still hurts like a sharp knife when it’s snatched away. He prays it won’t be, right now.

Green eyes (Jason- that’s who they reminded him of) look down, deep in thought. Then he turns, smiles at Tim. There’s hope in him too.

“Yeah, why not?”

They get down together. He gives him a few numbers and they have breakfast together. The guy promises to call his English teacher, at least. Tim promises himself to call his brother.

At least, he still has Dick.

---.----

He’s been putting off doing his rounds since he came back, he knows. But…

It changed him, a bit. Going around the world, dealing with his grief while staying on his toes, ready to break down one second and having to field off attacks from all sides the next, with the Demon’s honeyed whispers echoing in his ear and mind.

He’ll never tell anyone, just how tempting it had been. How much he had wanted to reach for that offered hand. To lay his head on someone’s shoulder and let the responsibility bleed from his.

Tim will never tell anyone, but he’ll always know. And it’ll always make him hate himself a little bit more.

So, he’s different now. And he’s scared- that the people he gave hope to, that he talked with, that he could never stop thinking about, even halfway across the world- that they won’t like this new, worn down him.

That Mr Harrinson the Good Father, Braided Hair Lady and her sweaters, the inseparable Stray Cats, the girl with the bright yellow cardigan, the kid with the scarred wrists, the woman with beautiful star-like freckles that she’ll hopefully pass on to her baby, the gentle giant man with calloused hands, the petite but fierce young teen with defiant eyes and dead name, the soft spoken girl with the loudest laugh, auburn-haired boy and his hopeful and sympathetic green eyes… and so, so many more. They all knew him, maybe not at his best, but certainly better than now. The boy that kept them from jumping had been a bright, magical Robin. The teen that came back to their city was dark, weary Red Robin. It felt kinda like he had cheated them, returning this broken version of himself to their doorsteps.

But he had to go check on all of them. Even if Cass (and it was such a relief, that even after he lost everything else, the return of his sister could at least be a speck of light in the mist of misery surrounding him) had promised to do so, there were so many of them… and she couldn't possibly remember everyone, all the time. And if anyone had fallen through the gaps… if anyone had stood on a rooftop, waiting for their Robin to save them, only to think ‘nobody cares’ as he didn’t show up…

Tim gets sick only thinking about it. If it did happen, then he needs to know. He has to carry their names with him, that’s the least he can do for failing them.

So he’ll go check on them… anytime now. Soon. The moment he gathers enough energy to climb back to his feet and get his grapple hook out.

...The city looks full of life, beneath him. Like it feels the return of its Knight. The end of the internal quarrel among it’s vigilantes, that almost tore it all apart. The relief in Nightwing, the hesitant peace in Red Hood, the mellowing of Robin.

(He was feeling poetic tonight, in the worst ways)

Maybe it also feels Red Robin’s emptiness. Maybe that’s why it's so lively down there, like the ground is calling to him, just as it did when Ra’s broke the window with his body.

He thinks... he won’t have to check on anyone, if he jumps. And that way, there will be no name to carry with him to his grave.

“Robin!”

“Stop!”

“Don’t do it, please!”

He startles. Hadn’t even noticed when he got to his feet, nor that one of them was hanging over the abyss. The fact that he wasn’t alone on that rooftop any longer hadn’t even breached his usually perfect spatial awareness.

They didn’t call for him, but the voices sounded distraught, they were close, and he was a former Robin, so he turned around, tired, but with obedience and service too ingrained in him to consider denying help to whoever it was.

It turned out, he wouldn't need to go make his rounds any longer. His rounds had come to him.

There were… too many people on this roof. It was way too crowded.

“Robin!”

It was one voice now, not a mixture of them, so he could identify the one yelling his former alias. Allison broke from the mob of people (and there were more still, filling in from the open rooftop door, like a never-ending stream…) to run to him, looking like she might have just jumped into his arms, if not for Tom clutching her hoodie to stop her a few feet from him. Good move, considering he was still balancing precariously on the edge.

“Alleycat?” he whispered, a little blown. She looked so different (magenta looked amazing on the tips of her hair, and she totally pulled off that lip piercing), but he’d recognize those eyes anywhere. He’d been so relieved, when she first opened them after that dangerous overdose.

“We were so fucking worried, dude”, came from Tomcat just behind her, still gripping her hoodie (still keeping her safe; some things never change).

“I…”

“Where were you?” Maddie, not longer yellow but still wearing a cute cardigan, stepped up too.

“I’m… I’m not Robin”, he blurts out. They… knew it was him? It… like, obviously there was a new Robin, Damian was (still, but probably not for much longer) smaller than him, but to immediately know that he was…

“Yeah, no shit. I’d know that long hair and noodle limbs of yours anywhere, kid. Known you too long to be fooled. And the new kid’s really trigger happy with that lon’nife of his... You’re still the Robin I prefer, and fuck if I understand the name passing you heroes do” Mr Harrinson spoke from the back of the crowd, one hand clutching his kid’s shoulder, the other arm around…

“Braided Hair Lady?”

Eloise smiles at him, soft and warm as ever, a little shy when his eyes go to the arm hugging her close and back to her. He recognizes some of her handmade scarfs around the necks of plenty of people on the roof.

“I… wasn’t aware you all knew each other.”

A petite young teen steps forward, walking until they were shoulder-to-shoulder with the Strays.

“Most of us met through the app, and then introduced the others. There’s more, of course, but not everyone could meet here. Samantha’s baby was born just two months ago, so she chose to stay home, but we promised her pictures, so you’ll have to say cheese soon birdboy. Also, I found my name. I’m Cal.”

Allison’s smile broadened and she sneaked an arm around Cal’s waist.

“They are the new Straycat. Calico cat’s are the cutest shit ever, aren’t they?”

Well… Having someone as badass as Cal watching Tom and Alley’s back would sure make Tim feel a lot better about both kids being out in the streets.

Were they still on the streets? He’d need to find out and fix that, soon.

Then it hit him. “What app?”

Auburn-hair smiled from his place, at the front of the crowd just behind the Cats.

“Felix over there,” he pointed over his shoulder at Mr Harrinson’s son, who smiled shyly at Tim, eyes shining in gratitude and admiration like they always did when Tim did his rounds and checked on his dad, “defended you in a GothamHeroes forum once. Some bratty douchebag was complaining about you landing over his car or something and this kid went for his fucking troath.”

“I was in that chat too,” spoke Tom, smiling a little too savagely for a kid that sweet. “He tore the idiot to shreds, speaking about how you saved his dad’s life and took it upon yourself to make sure he was still okay even weeks after you met. I mentioned how you saved Alley and Mrs Denvarow, we exchanged numbers… then we met Cal during one of our rounds handing out Mrs D’s scarfs and food. They were weary of everyone else, but trusted us because they heard you talk about the clothes and baked goods... And Cal’s friend Gina worked with Samantha on the streets and told them about her story...”

“Soon, it seemed like people personally saved by you were just… popping out of the snow like daisies” Blair laughed, and it was still the loudest, brightest noise. The night seemed a little clearer, the air a little fresher for it. “Felix made his own private chat and added us, and we added everyone else we knew… The word went around about it, and more and more people joined in…”

“It’s really a wonder how you had any time to fight crime, seeing how often you were apparently comforting jumpers on the roofs” Ailbert, still as gigantic and gentle as always, raised a hand from the middle of the group. He had a little girl on his shoulders, probably the baby niece he had taken in after his sister’s death.

“Then the new kid appeared and Gotham went to hell on a basket, and no one saw you around any longer”, Elijah, wrists no more scarred than the last time he saw him, his arm tangled with Maddie’s, went on. “We were… well, we were a bit confused.”

“Speak for yourself, Cal jumped Red Hood one night, held him at knife point and demanded to know what the fuck happened to our Robin. We were like, zero chill.”

“Sorry, they did what?” Tim was definitely in the twilight zone now.

“No thoughts, head empty, only murder”

...Tim needed to give Jason a quick call. Also sign Cal up for anger management. And probably, judging by the way both Alley and Tom were looking at them, get one of the adults to give them the talk.

Mrs Eloise smiled at him, and like always it served to calm his nerves. That woman was a different kind of magic than Alfred, but magic indeed. “Anyway, dear, what matters is that we were worried about you. And then this incredible young man, Aaron,” she waved at him, and he winked one of his green eyes in response, “suggested we kept in closer contact with one another, so anyone who spotted you could inform the others.”

Aaron shrugged, his auburn mane of hair bobbing with the movement. “It just seemed like it’d be easier to have an alarm set up, since messaging everyone would take so long… and then someone suggested making a map of Gotham so we could have clearer routes for the kids handing out Mrs Denvarow’s stuff… and someone wanted a shared blackboard to write theories on where the fuck you were with others… and a few demanded a space to share photos, possible sightings or old selfies with you… It kinda spiralled and I thought it’d be less of a chaotic mess if I made an app that could do all of that, instead of all of us using multiple apps for the different fixtures everyone asked for… Since this is Gotham, we also added some Rouge Alarm for whenever a criminal was set loose. It helped keep us safe, and if we knew when crime was happening, we could pay attention to which heroes answered the call…”

“And then, you fought that firefly guy the other day”, Felix said, still by his dad’s side, still looking as awed as ever when looking at tim. “I was in the crowd, and I recognized you within a minute.”

“I don’t really understand technology that well, and the group chat was such a mess that day” Ailbert lamented, but he was still smiling. They all were.

That hit Tim then, hard.

They all looked so happy to see him. To have him back. They had been waiting for him to be back, banded together to make sure they’d all know when he did.

“You looked so sad the last time we saw you” Blair added softly, sadly. “And… when you saved Aaron, you told him about such sad things…”

Elijah winced “And I heard the Midnighter fell from Wayne Tower a few weeks ago, but then he was never seen around again, and your suit looks kinda similar, so that was probably really you… and, that fall…”

“We were very worried” repeated Eloise, but her eyes didn’t lose their warmth. “But you’re back now, and we can keep track of you and each other now, so it’s all good. It’s wonderful to have you back, love.”

This was an out of body experience.

Something must have shown on his face, because Cal snorted.

“We adore you, you dumbass. You are our hero.”

Alley smiled. “You are our Robin.”

Tim fell into her arms, and away from the roof’s edge. The rest of the crowd was upon them in seconds, all eager to pat his back or joke about the cowl hiding his hair from their hands.

He met eyes with Aaron, over Alley’s shoulder. He looked like the hope Tim had helped plant in his heart all those months ago had flowered, and the petals filled his heart.

(He was feeling poetic tonight, in the best ways)

“You should download the app too, so you always have someone to talk to. Look it up. It’s called BirdWatchers, because we’ll always look up and out for you. Because when we wanted to jump, you lended us your wings to fly instead.”

It was like this fucker wanted Tim to cry.

“Welcome home, Red Robin.”

#My writing #Tim drake #batman fanfic #red robin #trigger warning:#depression #suicide attempts #discussion of suicide #overdose #mental illness #hurt comfort #Tim doing the comfort and being the hurt #until he gets the comfort #happy ending #wholesome #I swear the tags are scary but it IS wholesome #Tim drake centric #my writting

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jwritesandrambles · 3 years

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“Supposed to Be”

Hi there! Yeah I still barely use tumblr but hey lookit I did the wrote thing down!!!!

I would like to give a bit thank you to @schweeeppess and @dragonsworn05 for editing my messy dyslexic rambles. @noroomforcream and @just-a-little-in-over-my-head did some really cool art for this!

(if I missed tagging someone, it’s not personal I appreciate you so much, I’m just posting in a rush mwauh)

Jason was back in Gotham. For the second time since he died, actually.

The last time hadn’t gone well. Technically, it had gone according to plan--for the most part--but Jason was still shambling together the broken pieces of his mind. Back then in December, all that was left of Jason were the shards of hurt and anger. He had been living for nothing but the idea of someone else’s death. Coming back to the real world, away from the sheltered and hidden places of the League of Shadows and the All-Caste, seemed to bring a bit of him back. Seeing Bruce, talking to him…everything that went down, and the reminder that he cared about him--loved him, even--it woke something up in Jason. Something that he thought had died along with him and never came back.

He had spent a year by himself, taking any mercenary jobs he could get, trying to find something other than the all consuming anger that had fuelled him for the past few years, but his travels didn’t matter now, as he stood in a back alley of Gotham, the protective red helmet tucked under his arm. He wished his replacement, Tim Drake, hadn’t chosen this particular alley to meet up in.

The balcony and rickety old fire escape were unforgettable to Jason. It was where he had met the Bat, after trying to jack the tires off one of those many damn expensive cars that Bruce had. Not only where it began, but where he once thought it would end. It was only a year ago he had stood, gun trained on Bruce, the man he had, for a time, called father. His voice shook and tears rolled down his cheeks, “it would be so easy to kill you.”

Jason was ripped from his reminiscing as a soft thud signaled that Red Robin had landed behind him. Jason flinched more than he’d like to admit, but fought the urge to draw his weapon. Quick reflexes was a nice way of saying jumpy.

“Hood,” The teen greeted.

“Replacement,” Jason said with a nod, echoing Tim’s tone back at him, relaxing.

“Weren’t you a replacement too?” Tim pointed out, seeming to take no offence.

Jason shrugged, “True. I’m not denying it. Just as long as you know that’s probably what B expects. Another Grayson,” he mumbled.

Sure, he was less angry than before, but that didn’t mean Jason wasn’t a bitter son of a bitch.

Tim bit the inside of his lip, an awkward and slightly uncomfortable look on the visible part of his face. It flickered away and was replaced with a more professional, neutral expression as he cleared his throat.

“Yes... well... We’re here for a job so let’s focus. You got all the information B sent you?” He was honestly trying his best, but he was hesitant about this mission. Could anyone blame him? Jason Todd had proven himself to be... volatile. The memories of Jason’s violence were all too fresh in Tim’s mind.

“Yeah, I got it. I read the file over,” he mumbled. He puffed out a weak breath, “Scarecrow set up a chemical mixing shop by the docks, at least one shipment has come in, but we can expect more, right? Anything I missed?” Jason asked, rummaging through his coat pockets.

He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He had been trying to quit, but he didn’t want to be getting distracted with cravings while trying to focus on the mission.

Tim watched him quietly as he lit off, smelling the tobacco from up on his perch.

“Um... yes, that’s all,” the teen dragged his teeth along the edge of his lip. The skin felt slightly raw and sore from his empty minded nibbling.

Jason started walking off down the alley, leaving a slight trail of lingering smoke in damp air. Tim followed.

“So,” Jason pulled the cigarette from his lips, careful not to let his helmet slip from under his arm. He held it between his first and second fingers, “Uh.. Why’d you have us meet here instead of anywhere closer to the docks?” He asked, trying to break the awkwardly growing silence.

“Scarecrow has patrols circulating around the docks. We’re less likely to be spotted if we’re not waiting around there to meet up,” Tim explains with a little shrug.

Jason hummed a brief note of understanding, “Oh yeah, that makes sense. I’m, uh, I haven’t worked with anyone in... years,” Jason paused, taking another drag from the smouldering cigarette, “Y’know, really nothing team oriented since working with B. Even then I was a shitty teammate,” he laughed hollowly.

Tim nodded, thinking about what Jason’d just said. Had it really been that long? Maybe… maybe the fact that Jason was even admitting to being a bad teammate didn’t bode well. It could mean trouble for them later. If it was so obvious that even Jason could admit it, perhaps Tim shouldn’t have done this team-up.

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, Tim ran to catch up to Jason quickly, “Wait... how old are you?” He asked upon reaching him.

“I’m t- uh... hold on, well... how long was I gone?” He asked Tim in return.

“You were thought to be dead for five years,” Tim told him, in a tone like he was reciting a Wikipedia page written about the formally deceased, wayward Wayne boy. Now that Jason thought of it, he was certain Bruce had a file written up on him now. Bruce had written up for every major criminal in Gotham city.

Jason let out a low whistle and soft huff, “I must be… twenty one now? Weird.”

“So... you didn't know how old you were till now?” Tim raised a brow, causing the mask to shift.

“Yeaahh,” Jason drew the word out sarcastically, pretending to took him deep thought to reconcile. “Somethin’ about the severe head trauma, dying, comin’ back, and being isolated from the normal world for years, all while being a wreck the whole time seems to have made my memory a lil’ fuzzy,” Jason said with a wry, sarcastic smile.

Tim seethed silently, letting out a series of apologetic mumbles, eyes dropping to ground ahead of him- it was a tactless and rude thing to ask, and Tim should’ve known that!

Jason laughed weakly, hand quickly coming up towards him and... ruffled Tim’s hair? The boy hadn’t even had a chance to recoil. He was just confused; that was the last thing he’d expect from Jason.

The man stubbed out his cigarette and lumbered on ahead of Tim, dropping it in the trash, “Don’t worry about it, kid. I was just being a bitch, you’re fine.”

Tim opened and closed his mouth, eyes wide like a deer in headlights. A man who tried to kill him only a year ago had just ruffled his hair?! He decided not to comment on it, because-- after all--what the hell could he even say?

Tim cleared his throat again, “We should get into position, we’re almost there. Maybe get your, uh, helmet-thingy on?” He suggested.

Jason glanced at the helmet- he’d almost forgotten he had it tucked under his arm.

“Yeah, of course,” Jason said, lifting his helmet and plunking it on his head, “good reminder, Timbers.” His voice became modulated the second the helmet covered his head. His low, gravely, smokers growl of a voice, was nowhere near and deep and gravely as Bruce’s--but sounded like it took a step closer with every box of cigarettes--became a pitch lower still. An odd robotic twang edged his words, giving him a metallic, cyber sound.

Tim adjusted his own mask, making sure it was firmly in place before nodding to Jason. The two silently started up again, approaching a warehouse that was supposed to be locked until the next morning’s shipment. “Supposed to be” being the operative words. Instead, there was muted huffing and shuffling as two of Scarecrow’s workers uncomfortably hauled a large crate into the building.

Both Jason and Tim seemed to shrink into the shadows at the same instant; each becoming one with the wall. Jason drew his weapon quietly, earning a disapproving frown from Tim. “I’m not gonna kill them. Chill,” Jason whispered in that odd robotic voice.

Tim seemed satisfied enough to quit pouting at Jason. They crept closer, making little dashes between hiding spots when the coast was clear.

Jason let out a breath of curse as his eyes fell about the giant, glass, canister. It was filled with a bubbling, sickly, arsenic green substance.

“No way, that shit is all fear toxin? Fuck! He’s got enough to blast the entire downtown!” His voice came through in a synthesized hiss.

“Worse.” Tim whispered, spying the large pressurizer on top of the glass container. “That’s just the liquid form. When he releases it, it’ll be gaseous. If it’s released from the container from a high vantage point, a small breeze could cover the entire city in minutes.”

The severity of the situation washed over what little of Tim’s features were visible from beneath the mask.

This wasn’t just a quick little in and out operation anymore. One wrong move and there could have a small, yet very messy, catastrophic outcome.

Tim had to plan this carefully, because there was no way they could afford to mess this up.

He turned to Jason...or, rather, where Jason had just been seconds before.

Jason had evidently had a similar train of thought to Tim’s. He’d realized this was a serious situation, though, instead of drawing the conclusion to re-evaluate, re-plan, and carry on with caution, or something sensible-- he seemingly forgot any sense of subtlety he had. Oh, God forbid carefully thinking his actions out, like any sane rational person would do. Or calling for backup, like anyone with a vague semblance of self-preservation. No no, instead, Jason had decided it was best to act now and not waste a second with plans or any ideas of safety. He jumped into action.

Jason was already leaping over the crate the two vigilantes had been hiding behind seconds ago, as Tim let out a quiet imploring hiss of “Wait--oh no-”“ but it was too late.

Jason already had his gun drawn.

“Scarecrow!” he yelled, “this ends now!” He fired at the box the two workers were carrying, sending it out of their hands and clattering to the floor. A series of shattering followed the initial crash as the contents shattered. Whatever chemicals that had been inside hissed loudly, a faint smoke rising from between the boards of the wooden box.

“Hood!?” The Scarecrow rounded to face who he knew as the ex-criminal, ‘The Red Hood.’

“In the flesh.” Jason kept his gun trained on Scarecrow, while a third worker who had been off to the side started to shuffle his way towards him.

“Thought you moved your little operation away from Gotham when the Bats got the better of you,” Scarecrow commented, not seeming pleased about the interruption at all.

Scarecrow’s worker lunged at Jason. Tim kicked himself mentally and left hiding, kicking the worker --physically, not mentally this time-- back away from Jason. The third worker scuttled back, apparently deciding this altercation was above his pay grade.

Jason felt something he hadn’t really felt in a long time; it was a feeling akin to camaraderie. He had someone watching his back for once. If the circumstances hadn’t been so dire, he might have even cracked a smile. Or, rather, he might have felt a slight tug at the corner of his lips, at least.

“Well, yeah, the bats did get the best of me. Now I’m tryna give them my best. And that involves bootin’ your sorry ass out of here.”

“Quick witted, aren’t you?” Scarecrow tensed slightly. His eyes darted away from behind his mask for a moment. He was glancing to the side. Tim followed his gaze over to the-

Shit! The canister! If the bullet missed Scarecrow it would-

Tim knew what scarecrow was thinking, but it was too late.

“NO!” Tim shouted, helplessly watching as Scarecrow dove.

As expected, Jason pulled the trigger reflexively, but the Scarecrow had already ducked. The bullet made a resounding bang as it fired, hitting the large gas canister.

Tim seized up, every nerve buzzing, every muscle tensed, every fibre of his being filled with an awful sinking sensation. The room was deadly-still. It was like something written by the hand of a fool-hardy novelist, who was paid far too much for over-the-top paperbacks; The bullet had embedded itself in the glass, acting like a stopper. A sickening series of cracks emanated from the canisters, as a thin spidery web formed across the glass. All tendrils originating from where the bullet hit.

Jason let out a low whistle, “Well. That coulda been disastrous.”

Tim couldn’t help but feel relieved, a stressed laugh escaping his lips.

Scarecrow was scampering away, his workers already having pulled a quick disappearing act themselves, because, this wasn’t what he’d planned.

“Don’t even think about it, Crane,” Jason said as he turned, taking a heavy step.

Said heavy step was apparently too much. The glass gave a shuttering groan, followed by a small hiss as gas began to leak.

Tim made an involuntary distressed sound. Something akin to an exhausted sigh mixed with a whimper.

The one word that ever so eloquently graced Jason’s lips was, “Fuck.”

And the canister...

Burst.

The pressure placed on the glass had built up and could no longer hold.

Jason’s final step had been the breaking point, the spider work of cracks along the glass giving way with a great shatter.

Shards of the canister flung themselves across the room. The liquid that had been held within instantly began vaporizing into a thick, sickening gas. To anyone that had the misfortune of inhaling it, it felt as though the gas was trying --with every atom of its existence-- to choke the life out of its victim. It reached into their lungs, clawed at their insides, grabbing at their desperately beating hearts, and squeezed. It forced their brain to fill their body with adrenaline and hallucinogens. Tim knew this.

He’d studied the Scarecrow’s fear toxin many times. He’d been exposed to it before, too. Tim knew this fear and knew he was helpless to do anything about it.

Tim was helpless to stop this. He had failed. He’d failed Bruce. He’d failed this mission. Because he was weak. He was weak, helpless, hopeless, a failure, a burden, unwanted. He was nothing more than a replaceable replacement. No one would care if he was gone, God, it’s not like anyone would ever notice! He was a forgettable nothing. Tim coughed and wheezed. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe!

Tim staggered. He tripped over his feet trying to get away from the intense fear that gripped his throat. Tim realized something physical was gripping his neck. The thing dragged him back roughly, towards what he could only assume was something horrid. Tim clawed at the thing gripping his throat. As he gasped for shuddering breath, he couldn’t help but begin to sob. He was going to die. He would die and no one would care. No one would even try to find him when he didn’t come home, they wouldn’t even notice because he was worthless, replaceable, weak, failure, helpless!

A new level of fear washed over Tim as he felt something cover his face, it encased his head. Tim could feel it squeeze his skull, he swore the pressure felt tight enough to crush his cranium like a tin can. It was claustrophobic. He felt his own shallow breath bounce back against his lips, because it had nowhere else to go. He was trapped and suffocating.

He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t BREATHE! OH--oh, oh no... no? Wait a moment... he COULD breathe.

Tim took a moment to try to get his bearings. He needed to remember how his lungs worked. He awkwardly sucked in a breath of filtered, recycled air. It tasted tinny on his tongue. Tim blinked the tears from his eyes. They rolled down his cheeks, and he became aware of the taste of salt too. There was the faint scent of stale tobacco and smoke. His mind was reeling as he processed each detail. He dragged tongue over his lips nervously, and began to chew at his bottom lip. Tim’s heart was still pounding and his hands were shaking. He raised his hands to feel his head, glancing at his twitching fingers as they passed in front of his face, confusedly. Everything had a red tinge to it. He pressed his hands to his head, feeling a hard smooth surface.

Tim’s brain felt slow and groggy, taking a moment to clue into what was on his head. Was it Jason’s helmet? Yes, yes it was Jason’s helmet, that was certain, but where was Jason?

The thick gas still hung in a green fog, but the helmet seemed to be filtering the worst of it out. Tim swept his arm though the air, watching the gas clear slightly, before swooping in to fill the gaps. Tim knew he needed to thin this stuff out if he wanted to have any hope in finding Jason before tripping over him. He rushed through the room, feeling his way over to the door. Scarecrow’s men had closed it, containing them --and more importantly the gas-- inside. Small mercy the fear toxin wasn’t being released on the city though.

Tim dragged his fingers along the wall. His senses were so heightened that it was almost overstimulating. It was likely due to the toxin, Tim guessed. He could still feel the rough brick as he scraped along, even through the tips of his gloves. It was oddly reassuring. A steady constant he could focus on until -thunk- His hand bumped into a smooth metallic protrusion from the wall. Exactly what Tim had been looking for.

“Bingo.”

Tim swept his other arm through the air again, doing his best to fan the gass away for him to get a bit of a better view of what he was hoping to see. A metal switch box, old and slightly rusted around the edges. Tim had been counting on any wearhouse by the docks having a ventilation system to keep the products safe from humidity. Of course, he was right. With some difficulty, Tim wrenched the switch box open. After straining to read faded, dusty labels through the gas in the air, he flipped what he hoped was the right switch.

There was a small whine of aching metal that hadn’t moved in a long time and Tim cracked into a grin underneath the helmet.

He’d done it!

The fans kicked into a regular pace. The smooth ‘whoomp whoomp whoomp’ of turning blades filled Tim with a sense of muted triumph. The foggy haze of fear gas began to thin as the building began to filter it out, mixing it with the humid air. Tim figured it would be condensed and drip out to puddle with the dirty water in the alley behind the warehouse. If Tim was right, which he usually was, it wouldn’t harm anyone unless they decided to drink from the puddle water. Which was unlikely, but not impossible. It was Gotham after all.

Tim looked around the room as the gas dissipated. His gaze found its way to a shaking heap on the floor next to the shattered remains of the canister he had been standing before. The proud grin faded from Tim’s lips.

That... that wasn’t a good sign at all.

“Hey, um, hood? Red hood, status?” He asked, the words felt strange as they left his mouth. Hearing his own modulated voice echo slightly in the room felt vaguely surreal.

The heap of muscle and leather known as Jason didn’t reply.

Seeing Jason’s twitching body on the floor emptied a hollow pit in Tim’s stomach. Jason had never seemed like he was even capable of fear. Capable of rage, capable of hurt, and capable of pain, sure, but fear seemed like something Tim would’ve assumed Jason was beyond. Something so... innate, that the unnatural nature of Jason’s second life would’ve swept it away.

Tim made his way over, hesitantly rolling the helmet forward off his head. The fear toxin seemed to be thin enough now that it wasn’t harming him.

“Ja-er, Jason?” Tim’s soft voice seemed thunderously loud in the quiet room. The only other sounds around were the fans quietly whirring away and, far more disturbingly in his opinion, the even quieter shaking breaths and distressed whimpering tumbling from Jason’s lips.

Jason was not in good shape. He was shaking violently, hands over his head. His whimpers were punctuated by violent spasms that racked his body every few seconds, accompanied with a louder more pronounced cry.

Tim felt the colour drain from his face. He quickly kneeled down, setting the helmet on the concrete floor next to them both with a slight clink. Tim grabbed Jason’s arm, trying to turn him on to his back. Jason heftily flailed the arm Tim pulled, unintentionally hitting Tim in the face. Tim yelped in surprise as a sharp pain sprung from his nose, warm liquid leaking down his face. The blood pouring down his face didn’t deter Tim much, the blood coursing through him seeming to do the opposite for pain as it did the rest of his senses. The pain was slightly numbed--or, rather, it had become easy to ignore. He fought to wrangle both of Jason’s arms, quickly scrambling to sit on Jason’s torso, struggling to pin Jason’s arms down with his legs.

Tim took off his mask. He knew it was against protocol, but an un-obscured face was easier to recognize when the toxin took hold, in Tim’s experience.

“Jason? Jason, look at me. Can you hear me?” he asked quickly, holding on to Jason’s shoulders. He desperately hoped Jason wouldn’t throw him off. Jason’s eyes were unfocused, spinning around wildly all over the room.

Tim tried to process Jason’s words, “No, not again, ple--I can’t I--it hurts! Fuck! It hurts,” Jason’s words became incomprehensible for a moment, then his fists clenched tightly. “I don’t want to die! Not again. Not again not again not again! He’s gotta come save me, take me home, he’s gotta! Shit, not again!“ he choked and broke off with a shout and another full body jerk.

Tim was jostled but didn’t fall off, by some miracle. “Jason!” he tried. “Listen to me!” Tim put his hands on either of Jason’s face. Jason flinched away from Tim’s touch with a sob of “It hurts, it hurts, I can hear all my bones snapping, I’m dying, it’s crushing me, I can’t--I can’t--”

“I know,” Tim cut him off gently, “I know it hurts and--and you’re scared, but you’re not alone, I’m right here. I’m going to help you,” Tim tried to catch Jason’s focus.

Jason’s roaming eyes stopped dodging around the room, and turned towards Tim. He kept looking from Tim’s shoulders, Tim’s chest, back up to his face and then to his eyes and back to his chest again. Perhaps not the ideal image of calming down but it was a first step.

“Good,” Tim praised softly in relief. He ran his thumbs over Jason’s cheeks gently. Now more so than ever did Tim take notice of the scars on either side of Jason’s face. On Jason’s left cheek, there was a jagged line that traced from his cheek bone down to his jaw. A similar yet smaller one was mirrored on Jason’s right. Tim could understand why Jason flinched from him. He shook the thought from his mind, “See? We’re okay. Just try to breathe, in and out. You can do that, right, Jason?”

“No! No! I c-can’t, I’m crushed, I can’t. My--my lungs, they’re all full of blood, and mud, and dirt, and fuckin’ I dunno what!” Another violent thrash went through Jason’s body, almost toppling Tim off this time. “I can’t breathe, it hurts! I want it to stop hurting! How do I make it stop!?”

“Uah--yeah, I know it hurts, but I promise nothing is crushing you. It’s just me, I’m light, and I’m here and I--I know it hurts I’m going to try to make it stop but I need to--” Jason thrashed, but Tim didn’t relinquish his hold on him, “--but I NEED you to stay still!”

Jason’s eyes finally locked on to Tim’s, “M-make it s-stop?” he echoed back to the smaller vigilante.

“Yeah, yeah I’m going to try to make it stop.” Tim slowly pulled his hands away from Jason, sitting back slightly, starting to fish through the many pockets and pouches attached to the strap around his waist.

He almost always had the antidote on hand. Bruce had trained him and prepared him meticulously, making certain that Tim would be ready with everything they had at all costs. The only issue was it was enough antidote for him; almost seventeen, about a head shorter and ninety pounds lighter--nowhere near enough antitoxin for the two hundred and forty pounds of murder that was the shaking mass of Jason Todd slumped before him.

Jason dropped his head back against the concrete floor, beginning to mutter once again.

“My fault. All my fault. I can’t--all dead.”

“No one is dead, Jason, everyone is okay,” Tim said, soon after feeling a small surge of triumph as he located his field fear toxin antidote kit. He opened it, quickly pulling out a small vial, and a syringe.

Jason’s eyes snapped to the syringe in Tim’s hand as he filled with antidote. Jason grew quiet for a second before starting to try to fight Tim off of him, “No, no no no no no no! Don’t go! don’t go! Not again, I can’t be alone, can’t be asleep he’s gonna kill us. Dad said he’ll get rid’f his mistakes!”

Tim knew Bruce wouldn’t have ever threatened Jason like that. He could only assume Jason meant his biological father.

“Said he would--don’t, don’t! It’s crushing me I can’t be alone!” Jason couldn’t keep hold of his own fears. They ran together, all mixed in to become some dread filled nightmare he couldn’t wake up from.

Tim was lucky Jason was so sloppy in this state. If he’d had a bit more of his wits about him, Tim figured Jason would’ve easily shaken him off already.

“You aren’t alone!” Tim reminded Jason, struggling to inject Jason without hurting him. “This is going to make it stop, I promise!” Well, that wasn’t fully true. But the dose would reduce it.

When Jason wouldn’t hold still enough for him to properly gauge where the vein he needed was, Tim unceremoniously jabbed at where he hoped it was instead.

Jason shouted, thrashing around like a heavy shark in a net being lifted out of water.

Tim pulled the empty syringe away quickly, letting Jason throw him off. He stumbled and crashed back down, landing on the concrete floor a few feet away. Tim only now realized how heavy his breath was as he watched Jason writhe freely on the floor before him. As Tim caught his breath, Jason’s movements gradually began to slow. The mutterings of fear faded into soft whimpers, then into deep breaths like Tim’s. Tim bit at his lip again. “Jason?” he asked, leaning forward slightly.

Jason groaned in response. He took a moment to collect himself as he grew conscious of reality again. Really, reality was a shit hole too, but it was a better shit hole. He shifted slightly, cussing under his breath.

Tim felt an invisible weight lift from his shoulders; swearing like a sailor was promising in Jason’s case.

He quickly scooted across the floor to him.

“Hey,” Tim said in a hushed voice. “Jason? How you feeling?”

Jason--with what felt like the struggle of Sisyphus rolling his boulder for the millionth time--rolled over to face him. The white shock of hair stuck to Jason’s forehead with panic induced sweat. He puffed out a lungful of air in a feeble attempt to blow the hair from his face. Jason swiftly gave up on that and swallowed heavily.

“I-I... yeah, yeah, I uh... I--okay. I’m feeling okay,” Jason rambled, looking dazed. He took up scanning the room again, hyper-vigilant to any danger.

Tim nodded slowly. He grabbed a water bottle that was shoved in one of his many pouches. He helped Jason sit up, just enough so he could sip at the water, and forced the bottle into Jason’s hands.

“Drink,” Tim ordered, quietly.

Jason’s hands still shook lightly, causing him to fumble with the cap in his hands.

Now that the danger had passed, Tim finally had time to process what had happened; he often found himself acting and only having time to absorb the details afterwards. Details like that Jason had traded his safety and immunity for Tim’s.

Why did Jason do that?

“Not... that I’m ungrateful,” Tim began hesitantly, “but that was a stupid thing to do, just… now- today,” he stumbled out awkwardly.

“I know,” gasped Jason after a long chug of water, a weak smile on his lips.

“I mean--it’s like in those before flight messages on planes. Put your mask on before the baby’s or whatever,” Tim joked slightly. Tim’s nose wrinkled slightly, cringing just the tiniest bit as he realized he implied he was the baby in this situation, “Well, you know what I’m getting at…”

Jason seemed to only take even more amusement out of the teen’s regret. Tim never thought he’d see the day where he felt tension draining at the sigh of Jason Todd, a man that tried to kill him and about eighty other people, smiling.

Jason laughed weakly, though it came out a little haltingly, as the shivering shakes hadn’t yet subsided. “Yeah, well, I d-did have my mask on. I just... gave it to the k-kid before the plane went down,” he mused. He didn’t really believe in his own point, and shook his head.

“No, no you’re right. It was stupid and I know that.”

They fell into a slightly awkward silence for a second, the burning question still gnawing at Tim’s mind.

“Why?” Tim said, abruptly. “Er, why did you do that? If you knew it was stupid?”

Jason didn’t answer for a long moment. Instead stalling by taking another swig of water. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand before answering.

“I don’t know,” Jason admitted, with a little smile.

Jason was breathing heavily, but seemed more focused, “I didn’t... really think. Maybe I was just makin’ up for other stuff I f-fucked up or... dunno. I guess I j-just... I knew if one of us was gonna be safe, it had to be y-ou.”

Jason swore he could practically see the little loading sign twirl in Tim’s nerd-brain as the teen processed what he’d said. The mental loading bar filled, and Jason’s words seemed to click. Tim’s eyes dropped away, and he smiled a little shyly. Not an awkward or uncomfortable smile. Just complimented.

“Thanks,” Tim’s voice was just above a whisper, “ that was... really nice of you.”

“It’s okay, don’t men-ention it. Like literally ever. It’ll ruin my rep,” Jason cracked a teasing smirk once again and Tim got to his feet laughing lightly.

“Annnnddd he’s back to normal,” Tim chuckled and offered Jason a hand. Tim yanked him, not without obvious difficulty, up to stand tall. Jason leaned on him for a moment before straightening, keeping a hand on Tim’s shoulder to steady himself. Tim quickly bent down and scooped up their masks from the floor where he’d set them down.

“Let’s get you home,” Tim hummed, putting Jason’s arm around his shoulders again when he stood.

“Hey, I’m fin-ne, you don’t have to take me back,” Jason argued, but Tim was already starting to lead him away.

“Too bad, I decided I am.”

“Rep-placement Robin number whatever you are--I am fine!”

“Sure you are, that’s why you can’t stand up right by yourself?”

“Shut up!”

“I speak only truth.”

The two bickered all the way back through away from the docks. All the way back through the city. All the way until they reached Jason’s apartment complex. Then they bickered some more. Though neither knew it yet, what had begun forming was the beginning of a close bond. One that nothing would be able to break.

#batman #robin #jason todd #redhood #red hood #Tim Drake #red robin #batfam big bang 2021 #Just for Fun #idk how tumblr works

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