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𝑵𝒂𝒎𝒆: 𝑶𝒍𝒊

𝑨𝒈𝒆:24

𝑭𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒐𝒎𝒔 𝑰 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕:

𝑪𝒐𝑫 & 𝑻𝑳𝑶𝑼 & 𝑹𝑫𝑹2

𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑫 𝑹𝑼𝑳𝑬𝑺!

𝑫𝒊𝒔𝒄𝒍𝒂𝒊𝒎𝒆𝒓: 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈 𝒊𝒔 𝒎𝒚 𝒐𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝒂𝒄𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕, 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝑰 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒐𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒇𝒂𝒏𝒇𝒊𝒄𝒔. 𝑰𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒍 𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒓 𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕𝒔, 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒅𝒐 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒐𝒎 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒇𝒐𝒍𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒅 𝒎𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓, 𝒃𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖, 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒍𝒚 𝒖𝒏𝒇𝒐𝒍𝒍𝒐𝒘 𝒎𝒆.

𝑰 𝒂𝒎 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒂𝒏 𝒆𝒙𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒅 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒔𝒐 𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒓 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒎𝒆 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒊𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒓𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒕 𝒕𝒂𝒌𝒆𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎 𝒂𝒔 𝑰 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒐𝒘𝒏 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑰 𝒕𝒓𝒚 𝒎𝒚 𝒃𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌 𝒃𝒆𝒕𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒘𝒐.

𝑹𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒍𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒏 𝒂𝒔 𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒘𝒂𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 <3

𝑹𝒖𝒍𝒆𝒔 𝒃𝒆𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈:

𝑰𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖'𝒅 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒓𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒅𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒔𝒐𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒓, 𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝒃𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒄𝒓𝒊𝒑𝒕𝒊𝒗𝒆. 𝑨𝒅𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒅𝒆𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒍𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒗𝒊𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒉𝒆𝒍𝒑 𝒎𝒆 𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒕 𝒂𝒔 𝒔𝒐𝒐𝒏 𝒂𝒔 𝑰 𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒃𝒍𝒚 𝒄𝒂𝒏-𝒂𝒅𝒅 𝒊𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒐𝒑 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕. 𝑵𝒐𝒕 𝒐𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝒊𝒕'𝒔 𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒊𝒆𝒓 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒎𝒆 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒊𝒕'𝒔 𝒂𝒍𝒔𝒐 𝒈𝒖𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒇𝒊𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒆𝒙𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔 𝒃𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓.

𝑷𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆, 𝒐𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝒓𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒐𝒎𝒔 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒖𝒏𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝑰 𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒇𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑰 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒂 𝒅𝒊𝒇𝒇𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒇𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒐𝒎. 𝑰𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖'𝒅 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒇𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒂 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒓, 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒅 𝒊𝒏 𝒂𝒏 𝒂𝒔𝒌 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑰'𝒍𝒍 𝒍𝒆𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒊𝒇 𝑰'𝒅 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒔𝒂𝒊𝒅 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒓.

𝑰 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝑵𝑶𝑵𝑪𝑶𝑵/𝑰𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒔𝒕/𝑴𝒊𝒏𝒐𝒓𝒔/𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒆 𝒂𝒈𝒆 𝒈𝒂𝒑𝒔/𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑𝒔/𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒑-𝒄𝒆𝒔𝒕, 𝒅𝒂𝒅𝒅𝒚/𝒎𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒚, 𝒂𝒈𝒆 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒚 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒑𝒆𝒕 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒚. 𝑷𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆, 𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕.

𝑰𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒎𝒚 𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔, 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒂𝒍𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝒂𝒔𝒌!!

(𝑾) 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝑵𝑺𝑭𝑾 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌. 𝑰𝒇 𝒔𝒂𝒊𝒅 𝒔𝒊𝒈𝒏 𝒊𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒏𝒆𝒙𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒂 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌 𝒑𝒊𝒆𝒄𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒊𝒕 𝒎𝒆𝒂𝒏𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒊𝒕'𝒔 𝒆𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒔𝒕 𝒐𝒓 𝒇𝒍𝒖𝒇𝒇. 𝑰'𝒅 𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒂𝒈𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒐 𝒂𝒍𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒇𝒊𝒄𝒔 𝒂𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒐𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒍𝒚 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒔𝒆𝒙𝒖𝒂𝒍 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕.

𝑨𝒍𝒍 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌 𝒊𝒔 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒏 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒂𝒏 𝑨𝑭𝑨𝑩/𝑭!𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒖𝒏𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒇𝒊𝒆𝒅 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖'𝒅 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒊𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒂 𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒏𝒆𝒖𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒍 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓.

𝑴𝒊𝒏𝒐𝒓𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑨𝒈𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒔, 𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝒅𝒐 𝑵𝑶𝑻 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕.

𝑪𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝑶𝒇 𝑫𝒖𝒕𝒚:

𝑫𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒄 𝑷𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒆

𝑷𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑷𝑫𝑨 (𝑾)

𝑲𝒊𝒏𝒌𝒔 (𝒎𝒖𝒍𝒕𝒊𝒑𝒍𝒆 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒔) (𝑾)

𝑺𝒑𝒊𝒄𝒚 𝑷𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒕𝒔 (𝑮𝒓𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒔,𝑮𝒂𝒛,𝑽𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒂,𝑷𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒆) (𝑾)

𝑱𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒐𝒖𝒔 𝑮𝒂𝒛 (𝑾)

𝑻𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝑮𝒂𝒛 (𝑾)

𝑺𝒆𝒎𝒊-𝑷𝒖𝒃𝒍𝒊𝒄 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝑮𝒂𝒛 (𝑾)

𝑹𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒐𝒏 𝑵𝑺𝑭𝑾 (𝒎𝒖𝒍𝒕𝒊𝒑𝒍𝒆 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒔) (𝑾)

𝑩𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅!𝑨𝒍𝒆𝒙 (𝑾)

𝑼𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒇𝒂𝒄𝒆 (𝑷𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒆, 𝑮𝒓𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑨𝒍𝒆𝒋𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒓𝒐)(𝑾)

𝑮𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒓 / 𝑹𝒆𝒄𝒆𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒓 (𝑨𝒍𝒍 𝑪𝒐𝑫 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒔) (𝑾)

𝑷𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒔𝒆 (𝑷𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒆, 𝑺𝒊𝒎𝒐𝒏, 𝑨𝒍𝒆𝒋𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒓𝒐 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑱𝒐𝒉𝒏𝒏𝒚) (𝑾)

𝑯𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝑺𝒆𝒙 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝑮𝒓𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒔 (𝑾)

𝑻𝑭𝑻141 + 𝑲𝒊𝒏𝒌𝒔 (𝑾)

𝑮𝒂𝒛 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒇𝒊𝒍𝒕𝒉𝒚 𝒎𝒐𝒖𝒕𝒉 (𝑾)

𝑮𝒂𝒛 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒋𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒚 (𝑾)

𝑮𝒂𝒛 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒗𝒐𝒚𝒆𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒎 (𝑾)

𝑮𝒂𝒛 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 (𝑾)

𝑺𝒆𝒓𝒈𝒆𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝑮𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒌 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑺𝒆𝒓𝒈𝒆𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝑴𝒂𝒄𝑻𝒂𝒗𝒊𝒔𝒉 𝒔𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒚𝒐𝒖 (𝑺𝑭𝑾)

𝑻𝑭141 + 𝑹𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒐𝒎 𝑵𝑺𝑭𝑾 𝑯𝑪𝒔 (𝑾)

𝑲𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝑳𝒂𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒍𝒍 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑽𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒂 𝑮𝒂𝒓𝒛𝒂 𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒐𝒖𝒕 (𝑾)

𝑨𝒍𝒆𝒙 𝑲𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒓 + 𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒐𝒖𝒕 (𝑾)

𝑫𝒐𝒎!𝑮𝒂𝒛 + 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 (𝑾)

𝑮𝒂𝒛 𝒊𝒔 𝒃𝒊𝒈, 𝒐𝒌𝒂𝒚? (𝑾)

𝑻𝑭141 + 𝑽𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒐 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒕𝒔: 𝑷𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒆, 𝑮𝒂𝒛, 𝑺𝒐𝒂𝒑, 𝑮𝒉𝒐𝒔𝒕

𝑷𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝑱𝒐𝒉𝒏 𝑷𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒆 (𝑾)

𝑯𝒐𝒘 𝑻𝒂𝒔𝒌 𝑭𝒐𝒓𝒄𝒆 141 𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒕 𝒊𝒏 𝒂 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍 𝒂𝒓𝒈𝒖𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒏𝒆𝒓.

𝑯𝒐𝒘 𝑻𝒂𝒔𝒌 𝑭𝒐𝒓𝒄𝒆 141 𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒖𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒈𝒉 𝒊𝒏 𝒑𝒖𝒃𝒍𝒊𝒄.

𝑯𝒐𝒘 𝑻𝒂𝒔𝒌 𝑭𝒐𝒓𝒄𝒆 141 𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒈𝒐𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒌 𝒕𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒕𝒐𝒙𝒊𝒄 𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒖𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑.

𝑭𝒊𝒓𝒆𝒇𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒆𝒓!𝑮𝒂𝒛 (𝑾)

𝑭𝒊𝒓𝒆 𝑪𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒏!𝑷𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒆 (𝑾)

𝑵𝒆𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒓!𝑮𝒂𝒛 (𝑾)

𝑺𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒌𝒆𝒓!𝑮𝒂𝒛

𝑺𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒌𝒆𝒓!𝑮𝒂𝒛 𝑷𝑨𝑹𝑻 2

𝑱𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒐𝒖𝒔 𝑮𝒓𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒔 (𝑾)

𝑯𝒐𝒘 𝑻𝒂𝒔𝒌 𝑭𝒐𝒓𝒄𝒆 141 𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒇𝒍𝒊𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒎𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒐𝒏 𝒑𝒖𝒓𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒆 (𝑾)

𝑯𝒐𝒘 𝑻𝒂𝒔𝒌 𝑭𝒐𝒓𝒄𝒆 141 𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒃𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒖𝒑 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎 𝒃𝒆𝒄𝒂𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒋𝒐𝒃:

𝑲𝒚𝒍𝒆 '𝑮𝒂𝒛' 𝑮𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒌:

𝑾𝒆𝒂𝒌𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔. (𝑾)

𝑴𝒊𝒓𝒓𝒐𝒓, 𝒎𝒊𝒓𝒓𝒐𝒓 𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒍𝒍. (𝑾)

𝑰𝒕'𝒔 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒔 𝒅𝒐. (𝑾)

𝑰𝒏𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒖𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔 (𝒇𝒕. 𝑷𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒆) (𝑾) *will be edited

𝑺𝒑𝒊𝒄𝒚 𝑷𝒉𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝑪𝒂𝒍𝒍. (𝑾)

𝑷𝒓𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒚 𝑩𝒐𝒚 (𝑾)

𝑾𝒊𝒄𝒌𝒆𝒅 𝑮𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒔 (𝑾)

𝑺𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒆𝒔 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒈𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒔.

𝑻𝒓𝒖𝒕𝒉 𝒐𝒓 𝑫𝒂𝒓𝒆, 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕 1.

𝑴𝒐𝒓𝒂𝒍 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒚: 𝑫𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒇𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒊𝒏 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒆𝒍𝒔𝒆'𝒔 𝒘𝒊𝒇𝒆. (𝑾)

𝑹𝒊𝒗𝒂𝒍𝒔. (𝑾)

𝑪𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝑷𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒆:

𝑰𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒕 𝑨𝒇𝒇𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒔. (𝑾)

𝑰𝒏𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒖𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔 (𝒇𝒕. 𝑮𝒂𝒛) (𝑾) *will be edited

𝑮𝒓𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒔/𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓/𝑷𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒆. (𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕 1, 𝑺𝑭𝑾) (𝑾)

𝑮𝒓𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒔/𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓/𝑷𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒆. (𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕 2, 𝑵𝑺𝑭𝑾) (𝑾)

𝑵𝒆𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒍𝒚 𝒂𝒅𝒗𝒊𝒄𝒆. (𝑾)

𝑪𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝑷𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒆 𝒙 141!𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 (𝒃𝒓𝒆𝒆𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒌) (𝑾)

𝑴𝒆𝒅𝒅𝒍𝒆 𝑨𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕, 𝑷𝑨𝑹𝑻 1.

𝑴𝒆𝒅𝒅𝒍𝒆 𝑨𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕, 𝑷𝑨𝑹𝑻 2. (𝑾)

𝑷𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒑 𝑮𝒓𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒔:

𝑰 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒈𝒖𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒆𝒔. (𝑾)

𝑮𝒓𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒔/𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓/𝑷𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒆. (𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕 1, 𝑺𝑭𝑾) (𝑾)

𝑮𝒓𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒔/𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓/𝑷𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒆. (𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕 2, 𝑵𝑺𝑭𝑾) (𝑾)

𝑰'𝒎 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖'𝒓𝒆 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒆. (𝑾)

𝑯𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝑺𝒆𝒙 (𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒔) (𝑾)

𝑩𝒊𝒈, 𝒃𝒂𝒅 𝑪𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓. (𝑾)

𝑾𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒂 𝑺𝒉𝒂𝒅𝒐𝒘 𝒇𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆.

𝑩𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑻𝒆𝒙𝒂𝒔 𝑺𝒌𝒚 .

𝑨𝒍𝒆𝒙 𝑲𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒓:

𝑭𝒂𝒗𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝑫𝒊𝒔𝒉 (𝑾)

𝑸𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔 (𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒔𝒕)

𝑺𝒊𝒎𝒐𝒏 '𝑮𝒉𝒐𝒔𝒕' 𝑹𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒚:

𝑨𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒈𝒍𝒐𝒘 (𝑾)

𝑱𝒐𝒉𝒏 '𝑺𝒐𝒂𝒑' 𝑴𝒂𝒄𝑻𝒂𝒗𝒊𝒔𝒉:

𝑰𝒏𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑳𝒂𝒔𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝑼𝒔:

𝑨𝒃𝒃𝒚 𝑨𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒏:

𝑨𝒘𝒂𝒌𝒆𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈. (𝑾)

𝑴𝒊𝒏𝒆. (𝑾)

𝑬𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒆 𝑾𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒎𝒔:

𝑻𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒊𝒆 𝑶𝒃𝒔𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒆𝒅. (𝑾)

𝑮𝒖𝒏 𝑷𝒍𝒂𝒚 (𝑨𝒃𝒃𝒚 𝑨𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒏). (𝑾)

𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒔. (𝑨𝒃𝒃𝒚 𝑨𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒏) (𝑾)

𝑻𝒓𝒊𝒃𝒃𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝑨𝒃𝒃𝒚 (𝑾)

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

𝑹𝑫𝑹2:

𝑫𝒓𝒖𝒏𝒌 𝑺𝒆𝒙: 𝑨𝒓𝒕𝒉𝒖𝒓, 𝑱𝒐𝒉𝒏, 𝑱𝒂𝒗𝒊𝒆𝒓, 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒆𝒔 (𝑾)

𝑯𝒐𝒘 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑩𝒊𝒈 𝑹𝒆𝒅 𝑫𝒆𝒂𝒅 𝑭𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒕 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒋𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒐𝒖𝒔 (𝑾)

𝑨𝒓𝒕𝒉𝒖𝒓 𝑴𝒐𝒓𝒈𝒂𝒏:

𝑹𝒊𝒅𝒆, 𝑪𝒐𝒘𝒈𝒊𝒓𝒍. (𝑾)

𝑱𝒐𝒉𝒏 𝑴𝒂𝒓𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒏:

𝑺𝒂𝒇𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑺𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅 (𝑾)

𝑱𝒂𝒗𝒊𝒆𝒓 𝑬𝒔𝒄𝒖𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒂:

𝑨𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒔𝒕'𝒔 𝑻𝒐𝒖𝒄𝒉 (𝑾)

𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒆𝒔 𝑺𝒎𝒊𝒕𝒉:

𝑪𝒍𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒚. (W)

got possessed. drew this. bon appetit

dont tag as ship!

“ur overthinking this” bro I have anxiety. I have no other type of thinking available

aaaaah I'm so glad your askbox is open!! Could I possibly request Gaz and some body worship please?

➸ battle ready (gaz x gn!reader)

a/n; drabble/short fic !! you didn’t specify who was getting worshipped, so i made this about gaz getting worshipped :p enjoy! — pudgy, muscular men agenda btw

[warnings; extremely suggestive, soft, fluffy.]

In all senses of it, you loved Kyle’s body. Starting from the top, you love his prominent nose, the way it dips into his philtrum and cupid’s bow, his full lips. His strong brow bone and his wrinkles along his forehead, the smile lines ingrained in his face. The two small atrophic scars below his eye is something you always adored. 

You love the way Kyle’s jaw curves, his big brown eyes. Fuck, everyone knew you couldn’t say no to the man when he would flash you a pretty smile paired with his eyes.

You trail your mouth down his neck—God, his neck. You’d never tell him in fear of him finding it stupid, but you love his throat and shoulders. Strong and full of power—his Adam’s apple jutting out against your lips. You love his throat because inside is his vocal cords—you could get drunk off of hearing him talk, hearing him laugh. Kyle’s joy means so much to you, so much more than he will ever know.

Kyle murmurs your name softly as your lips trail across his collarbone, nearing his chest. 

You love his chest, wide and muscular with a little bit of pudge (well, he has some pudge everywhere); enough muscle to overpower and destroy, enough pudge to know he’s eating right and taking care of himself. You let out a soft sigh as your lips brush against a nipple before you press soft kiss to the skin right below his left pec, following the random pattern of beauty marks and freckles across his torso.

Kyle’s hand comes up and rests on your bare back as you trail over to his arms. You love his arms—you love his everything, to be fair, but the pure power from his arms drives you out of your mind sometimes. The muscles, his strong bicep flexing and molding into his triceps—you wanna bite him, honestly. Bite him and never let go. Especially when he wears t-shirts that hug his arms.

Trailing down his upper arm, over his inner elbow to his thick forearms. The muscles and tendons underneath the skin you appreciate like they’re a fine instrument; aren’t they, for a man like Kyle? His fingers, his precision. You press kisses down his forearm, between his veins until you get to his wrist. Kyle looks at you and his eyebrows twitch as he watches your tongue and drag across his pulse point, against his wrist bone.

It sends a shudder down his spine as your lips move to his palm. Kyle’s hands are incredible; rough to the touch yet so gentle with his lover, you. His calluses scratch you gently when he rubs your back, but his palm is so careful with you. Kyle uses his hands to break so much, but he uses them to preserve you—you and your grown together home.

“What’re you doin’?”

Kyle’s voice breaks you out of your near hungry trance, your eyes flickering up to his. He isn’t upset in any sense; he’s nervous, really. Kyle adores attention, but.. you’re being so slow. Meticulous and careful. 

“Appreciating you.” You murmur against his palm, brushing your nose against it before moving over to right below his sternum. You’re met with a quiet yet sharp inhale from the man below you, the muscles tightening as you press slow, gentle kisses down his stomach. Kyle’s stomach is built yet a small layer of fat exists over his abs, the man built for force and survival instead of showing off like bodybuilders.

You catch his eyes and hold his gaze as you kiss down below his belly button before his head rolls back with his stomach tightening.

Kyle groans as you pepper kisses lower and lower. This isn’t the first time you’ve done this, and certainly will not be the last. Not by a long shot.

window pains | jason todd

Summary: He's got a habit of coming in through the window. You want him to start staying... and using the door. 

Pairing: Jason Todd x gn!reader 

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings/tags: injured Jason Todd (he's okay dw), angst, pining, mentions of Jason's death.

A/N: sooo.... i guess i'm a dc girlie now. just a reminder that every character i write will always be 18+!!! this is probably canon divergent but we make our own canon.

If you like this fic and want to see more, please let me know through reblogs ♡

the divider

"Can't you enter my apartment like a normal person?"

"You know who you're talking to, right?"

"You're getting blood on my carpet, Todd."

It doesn't really matter. He'll come back and scrub it out as soon as his ribs are whole. And fuck if he's not good at getting blood out of surfaces. Jason Todd ought to start a housekeeping column. 

You catch his limp as he climbs over the windowsill. It almost topples him, but he gets to the couch before it does. He doesn't make a sound. 

That had freaked you out the first few times he'd stumbled through your window. Once, he came with part of a windshield wiper impaled in his shoulder. He'd lain on your couch so still and so quiet, you'd thought Red Hood had croaked in your apartment. Which would not have been a good look for you. Or maybe it would. Depends on who you ask. 

Sometimes you want to tell him to make sounds. To hiss and grunt and complain. To grab your wrist so you'll slow down as you pull thread through flesh. 

But it's not your place to request such a thing. You don't know where you reside in Jason Todd's life, but it's not somewhere where you can request to hear him hurt. 

Outwardly, his injuries aren't bad-looking. He takes off his helmet and tosses it somewhere under the coffee table. You offer a hand to help him lie down on the couch—he doesn't take it. 

"Jesus Christ, Jay." You suck in a sharp breath and peel back his bloody suit. "What'd you do?"

"Took a midnight stroll in the Botanical Gardens. Why, what'd you do?"

You frown, eyebrows pinching in the center of your forehead. Jason's stomach is mottled with purple and red bruises. There's a sticky gash right above his hip. A knife. Or a sword, maybe. Apparently, swords are commonplace in Gotham. 

"How'd they get you?" you ask. 

It's a rule-break. Jason's number one policy: don't ask questions.

You always do. Even when it was new, this… thing between you two, you'd ask. Who were they? Why did they hurt you? Did you hurt them back?

The last one, you always know the answer to. 

"There were, like, ten of them," he says. "Cut me some slack, will ya?" 

He has a cut across his lips. A ringed finger that caught on his skin, you guess. You wonder if he'd wince if you kissed him. If he'd wince at the pain or the kiss itself. If you'd know the difference. 

Rage suddenly cuts through you. It makes your hands careless, cruel; you pull the bandage around his waist too tight. Jason coils up slightly. 

"Jesus—ever heard of bedside manner?" he asks, looking at you through his lashes. 

"Ever heard of not breaking into someone's apartment and making them patch you up?"

"I don't make you," Jason says easily. "You wouldn't do it if you didn't want to."

That only increases your rage. Because he's right. You wouldn't be here if you didn't want to be. You'd have kicked him out four first aid kits ago if you minded. 

You yank down his shirt and pack up the kit. Jason shifts on the couch. A sliver of skin above his waistband is still exposed. You have to turn your head to force your gaze away. 

"No bandaids?" he asks. "All my cuts'll be exposed to the elements."

"You can put them on yourself." 

His cheek could use one. And his eyebrow. You're not in the mood. 

Jason doesn't say anything in response to that. You get up to put the kit back under the sink. 

"Can I crash here?" 

"Do what you want," you say, suddenly exhausted. Like it's you who just went six rounds with Gotham's scumbags.

You peek over the kitchen counter when you hear rustling and the couch springs squeak. Jason leans heavily on the arm of the couch, reaching for the window. You walk over and stand in front of him. 

"What're you doing?" you ask. 

"You want me to go," he says flatly. "So I'm going."

"I didn't say that, I said—"

"I can read between the lines." 

"If you could read between the lines as well as you think you can, we wouldn't be in this situation," you say. 

"What situation?"

You turn your head. "Nothing."

Jason steps towards the window. You block him again. 

"What is the matter with you?" you ask. "You're injured. Lie down."

"I'm not your responsibility," he says, glaring. "I'm leaving."

"No, you're not. And since you're allergic to using the door, you don't have a choice."

Jason's eyebrow rises. "Are you saying you'd physically prevent me from leaving?"

You lift your chin. "If that's what it takes."

"Hm. Can't tell if your confidence is stupid or brave."

"Lie the fuck down, Todd."

His lip curls. "I don't stay where I'm not welcome."

Sometimes you forget how young he is. Not that you're not also young, but, well… you don't feel your youth as acutely as other people your age might. It's something you two have in common. 

Here, in the gritty glow of Gotham, you are reminded that Jason Todd died once. Before he finished school. Before he fell in love. 

Your stomach churns every time you see that Y-shaped scar on his torso, strapped over him like a chain. 

"I didn't say that you're not welcome," you say. 

"Yeah, well, you didn't have to."

He sags against the couch and it occurs to you that he's as exhausted as you feel. 

"Can you just—" You touch his bicep. He winces even though there's no injury there. "Can you just lie down?" 

You stare at each other for another minute. Slowly, Jason lays down. His eyes are alert instead of heavy with sleep. Instantly, you feel guilty for making him think he has to be cautious around you. His hand curls protectively over his stomach. 

"Do you want a blanket?" you ask. 

He squints. "It's August."

"I know, I… I thought maybe the blood loss made you cold." 

"'M fine. Perks of being risen from the dead." 

You watch him get settled for a minute. He shifts his weight to his uninjured side and meets your gaze. His eyes are gray in the weak light. 

"You're tired of me," he says. 

Your head snaps up. "No, I'm not."  

"You are."

"I'm not tired of you, Jay."

You see it. The fear. He thinks this is the last time you'll let him in. He doesn't know you can't lock him out. You won't. 

You get up and go to get the kit from the sink again. Jason follows your movement the whole time. His face scrunches in confusion when you sit in front of the couch and unzip the kit. 

You pull out the tiny red bandaids. You'd bought them as a joke, initially. It had made Jason laugh and that had been reason enough to keep buying them. And then he let you actually put them on.

You peel the adhesive off of one and gently stick it on his cheek. He blinks at you, thick, dark lashes kissing the corners of his eyes. 

"I'm not tired of you," you say softly. 

"I'd be tired of me." 

"You keep this city safe. How could I be tired of Gotham's defender?"

Jason scowls and turns his head into the cushion before you can put the second bandaid.  

"I'm not its defender. The others protect this city a hundred times better. Nightwing does it with a smile on his face."

"I like that you go out there even when it's hard, Jay," you say. 

He doesn't respond. You lean in, so close that you can count the freckles on his neck. 

"Can I finish putting the bandaids on?" you ask. 

"I don't need 'em."

"You do. You need another on your forehead."

"It'll heal fine without it."

Your shoulders bunch like a cat on defense. You grab his cheek (gently, always gently) and his head whips to yours in surprise. 

"Jason Todd, I am not tired of you. I'm tired of the fact that you only come by when you need fixing."

He scowls. "I never asked you to fix me. If you want me to leave, I'll leave."

"I don't want you to leave, I want you to stay!" you burst. 

Jason scoffs. "No, you don’t. I'll overstay my welcome real fast."

"Maybe I care about you on purpose!" you say, voice rising. "Maybe I didn't stumble through a window; maybe I walked through the door and bought the bandaids and learned how to stitch wounds because I wanted to."

He suddenly looks overcome by grief. The agony in his face startles you. 

"I don't know how to use the door anymore," he says quietly. "All I do is stumble through windows."

Your hand slips off of his cheek. Jason closes his eyes; they fly open when you stick the second bandaid above his eyebrow. 

"You can come in any way you want to," you say, face an inch away from his. "As long as you come back to me."

His gaze darts to your mouth. You don't kiss him hard. He breaks anyway.

You avoid the right side of his mouth entirely, not wanting to pull at his cut. Jason shudders into your mouth. You cup his pulse through his neck and it quickens.

His eyes are wet when you pull away. His chest heaves like he's been swinging through the city. 

"I wanna try to use the door," he says. 

You touch the bandaid on his cheek, humming. 

"Then I'll leave it unlocked." 

When somebody say your NOTP is canon

tsukki, contrary to popular belief, actually really likes being little spoon -- because it's hard to be big spoon all the time, hard to always be the one doing the holding -- and sometimes, even guys who act tough (especially guys who act tough) are the ones who want to be held the most.

so you hold him, your arms looped around his middle, pressing kisses to the nape of his neck, the place where his spine meets his skull, nuzzling your nose against the soft blond hairs there, and he curls in, presses his back against you till you're sure you can feel every ridge of his spine ribbed along your chest.

"you smell nice," you mumble into his skin. he shifts in your arms, grumbling slightly.

"i smell like me," he says, his voice muffled by the blankets tucked around his shoulders.

you smile, nuzzling in further, "yeah... and you smell nice."

he hums, reaching down to lace his fingers with yours over his stomach.

"what do i smell like?" he asks.

you burrow ever further in, breathing in his warm, musky scent.

"you smell... kinda like sourdough," you say, giggling as tsukki makes a strange, sleepy, indignant noise.

"i smell like bread?"

you giggle, "the best, most delicious kind of bread."

tsukki sighs, shifting as he twists in your arms to face you. like this, he can easily flip you over and pin you down, do whatever he pleased with you, and you'd be helpless to do anything to stop him. the thought makes you shiver, makes your skin pebble up with goosepimples.

instead, he leans down to press his forehead to yours.

"and you smell like butter, sometimes," he says.

you nod, letting your eyes flutter shut, "sounds like we were made for each other."

tsukki scoffs, turning back around, "cheesy."

"nope, just buttery," you grin, pressing your lips to the warm, bare skin of his back. you feel him relax against you.

"go to sleep."

you nod, settling in, "you first."

"i've been trying but someone keeps on saying that i smell like bread."

you crinkle your nose, "i just said you smell nice. you were the one who asked for details."

tsukki makes an aggrieved noise, but doesn't turn around again. instead, he tugs your hand up to press a soft kiss to your palm before bringing it back down to his stomach.

"sleep," he says.

you grin, nodding, leaning forward to press your forehead to the nape of his neck. you take a deep breath in, reveling in the warm scent of him.

finally, you agree, in a soft, satisfied voice, "yeah... sleep."

meow meow meow

Priority One

You come first for Jason ~800 words

At his core, Jason Todd puts himself last. He's the first to jump in front of a bullet, first charge into a burning fire, first to drop dead center into a group of thugs.

It's not that he doesn't care about his safety, it's just that he deems his safety as lesser. He's stronger, sturdier, and if he's the one that goes down instead of someone else? That's a good thing.

He knows people would worry. People would miss him. But they'd move on the same way they did before. They would fill the gaps in the spaces he leaves, and there wouldn't be a need to pick the pieces off the floor because nothing would break at his loss.

At least, that used to be the truth. It was the truth until you nestled your way into his heart, and he somehow became a fixture in your life. He didn't mean to do it, didn't mean to make you fall in love with him, and he certainly didn't mean to fall in love with you.

But he did.

And now he makes sure you sleep on the inside on the bed, safe between the wall and him. He walks between you and the road, always on guard for swerving cars and shady civilians. He checks your apartment during patrol, though it's more for his peace of mind than yours.

Jason Todd still puts himself last, but the thought of you comes first, when he dives into the line of fire. If he doesn't come home, who's going to fix the leaky faucet or take out the trash when it gets full?

You could do it, he knows you could, but he doesn't want you to have to. So, he upgrades his armor when he would normally put it off. He's quicker to stop the blood dripping from his wounds. He's more aware, when he's shifting through the shadows of an enemy base.

He never worried about what he would leave behind. Not until you started to kiss his jaw before his nightly patrol, not until you started to reach for him every time he came home, beckoning him to your side and under the waiting, warm blankets.

He worries now. He makes plans, sets aside money, and makes his closest allies promise to keep an eye on you if he ever can't. He becomes your shield, whether you're aware of it or not, he has you covered.

You're his priority, and in becoming so, he's slowly becoming a priority, too. You're happier when he's okay, so he steadies his reckless tendencies. He dismantles the bomb in his helmet. He turns on his tracker for Oracle to keep an eye on.

For all the times he looks after himself, it's with you on his mind. He double checks his gear because he needs to pick up paper towels on the way home for you. He cleans his grappling hook because you asked him if he wanted to go out to dinner and a movie tomorrow.

He waits for backup before breaking up Penguin's latest smuggling ring because you recommended a book for him to read, and he only has a handful of chapters left to finish.

It's you, and you, and you again, that gives him a reason to want to make it to sunrise. It's you, that makes him really want to live.

He wants to see coast cities and tiny forest towns outside of whatever crime he's hunting down. He wants to travel and explore and try everything and anything– as long as it's with you.

He'd give up the world, give up everything he knows, as long as he can give you what you want. But all you ever ask, even if it's not in so many words, is for him to come home. So he does. Every night. Every day. Every time. Jason Todd finds his way back to you because your wants are his first concern.

He sheds his armor and kicks off his boots and leaves everything but the thought of you at your windowsill. He smiles when you murmur your sleepy greetings because he knows you think his smiles are pretty. He checks the locks and changes into the pajama set that matches with yours because you giggle every time you see it.

And all these things are so little yet so big all in one. They fill the cracks beneath his skin, and when he finally has you in his arms again, Jason Todd knows that nothing will be greater than this, than you.

There is no adversary, no injury or mission, that would have his gaze from straying from his singular goal; making it back to your arms to fill your days with all you deserve. With joy. With love. And for as long as you desire it, with him.

Service Dog Johnny Headcanons:

Johnny is a service dog to Reader as well

Why Simon chose Reader

Why Simon only 🖐️ 🍆 with Johnny there

Johnny/Reader kink dynamic

Pre-sex briefing

Why Johnny thinks he’s unlovable

Why Johnny and Simon joke about sex with each other

Why Simon doesn’t touch himself with Reader

Simon/Johnny romantic differences

Johnny's Love

Johnny’s motivation and beliefs about the situation

The first time Simon told Reader about his trauma

Simon’s support system

Simon’s trauma makes it hard to keep up sometimes

Simon getting jealous

Johnny is okay

Who’s getting cast aside?

Missing piece of the pentagram

Simon’s house

What Simon whispered to Johnny

Rough sex between Simon and Reader

Catching feelings

Ghost is a war criminal

Service Dog Johnny Drabbles/Bonus Scenes

"First time she ever showed me--"

Being silly with Bob

Cigarettes

Simon therapy

Pet names

Girlfriend

Johnny POV Part 1 (Laney)

Johnny POV Part 2 (Falling for her)

Johnny POV Part 3 (Family Day)

Johnny POV Part 4 (Rehab)

Johnny POV Part 5 (You’re a good person)

Johnny POV Part 6 (Just a graze)

Johnny POV Part 7 (Ghost in the bedroom)

Johnny POV Part 8 (Crafts)

Johnny POV Part 9 (Baby)

Johnny POV part 10 - Johnny comes over

Johnny POV Part 11 (Tinder)

Johnny POV Part 12 (Rookie)

Simon POV Part 1 (No bra)

Simon POV Part 2 (butterfly in the garden)

Simon POV Part 3 (help me help you)

Simon POV Part 4 (BJ)

Simon POV Part 5 (Shoelace)

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