⠀⠀⟢ welcome to mallielune ✦ where stories rise like bread in the morning, golden and warm. here we knead words into something soft enough to sink your teeth into. pull up a chair, the oven's always on and there's always something baking! (๑>◡<๑)
⠀⠀» ៹ 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗎 ׅ ੭
✴︎ all of the writings i have made𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 my masterlist!
⠀⠀» ៹ 𝗋𝗎𝗅𝖾𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝖼𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗇 𝗈𝗋𝖽𝖾𝗋 ׅ ੭
✴︎ before placing an order, please check the rules! or the order will (unfortunately) be shredded!
⠀⠀» ៹ 𝗂𝗇𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗆𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗆𝖾 ׅ ੭
✴︎ some information about the girl who owns this bakery𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 me!
⋆.˚ᨒ do not copy, translate, or plagiarize my work in anyway including the use of ai onto any other social media platforms or it will permit an instant block on all platforms.
ᰋ ˓ warnings: alcohol consumption, intoxication, references to past character death/trauma, brief mention of violence
ᰋ ˓ a/n: this idea was a request from someone :]
ᰋ ˓ credits to whoever made the bow dividers (i can’t find the original creator)
the bass thrummed through your chest like a second heartbeat as you leaned against the bar, watching the crowd pulse and sway under strobing lights. roy had chosen the place—some new club in the diamond district that was supposedly "low-key enough that we won't run into any of your bat-buddies." you'd laughed at that, at the way he'd said it, like the bat-family was some kind of overbearing relatives you were trying to avoid at thanksgiving.
which, knowing jason, wasn't far from the truth.
"another round!" artemis called over the music, already sliding back onto her barstool with the kind of grace that came from years of being an amazon warrior. she'd traded her usual armor for leather pants and a dark green top that somehow still managed to look tactical. "we're celebrating."
"celebrating what?" you asked, accepting the drink she pushed toward you—something fruity and deceptively sweet.
"does it matter?" roy grinned, his hair slightly damp with sweat from the dance floor. "we're alive, we're not currently bleeding, and nobody's tried to kill us in at least—" he checked his watch, "—six hours. that's worth celebrating."
you couldn't argue with that logic, not when you ran with the outlaws. not when "normal" meant something completely different in your world.
jason materialized beside you, seemingly from nowhere, though you'd learned to recognize the subtle displacement of air that announced his presence. he moved like a shadow when he wanted to—old habits from his robin days, sharpened by his time with the league of assassins, honed by years of survival.
"having fun?" his voice was low, pitched just for you beneath the music. there was something in his tone—not quite concern, but awareness. jason todd was always aware.
"tons," you said, meaning it. you lifted your glass. "artemis is trying to get me drunk."
"artemis is succeeding," she corrected, raising her own drink in salute. "you're on your third."
jason's eyes flicked to your glass, then to your face, reading something there. you saw the moment of calculation, brief as a heartbeat. but then roy was pulling him into an argument about the titans—something about dick and old missions and whether or not jason had actually meant to blow up that warehouse in blüdhaven—and his attention shifted.
you should have said something then. reminded him that you were, in fact, a lightweight. that three drinks for you was like six for normal people, and probably like ten for someone with his tolerance and metabolism. but the music was good and artemis was telling a story about themyscira that had roy clutching his sides with laughter, and you didn't want to be the responsible one tonight.
tonight, you just wanted to be normal.
the fourth drink arrived courtesy of roy, who was apparently feeling generous with his mercenary earnings. the fifth came from somewhere you couldn't quite track—maybe artemis again? the club had gotten warmer, or maybe that was just you. the lights seemed softer, the music somehow both louder and more distant.
"i love this song," you announced to no one in particular, which was how you ended up on the dance floor with artemis, roy, and a crowd of strangers who definitely didn't know they were dancing next to some of gotham's most dangerous vigilantes.
jason stayed at the bar. you could feel his eyes on you, that particular quality of attention that made your skin prickle with awareness. he was nursing the same beer he'd had for the past hour—you'd noticed that about him, how he never let himself get truly drunk, never let his guard drop completely. there was something sad about that, something that spoke to the kinds of betrayals and failures he'd lived through.
you'd asked him about it once, early on. he'd just shrugged and said, "when you've died before, you get cautious about losing control."
he'd said it like a joke, but you both knew it wasn't.
the song changed, something with a heavier beat, and you spun with the rhythm, feeling the alcohol singing through your veins, warm and electric. artemis was laughing at something, her head thrown back, and roy was attempting dance moves that would probably make dick grayson weep with secondhand embarrassment.
you didn't notice when the room started tilting slightly, when your movements became less coordinated and more enthusiastic. didn't notice until you stumbled—just a little—and suddenly jason was there, his hand steady on your elbow.
"okay, that's enough," he said, and his voice had that particular tone that meant he wasn't asking.
"'m fine," you protested, but your tongue felt thick, the words slightly slurred. when had that happened?
jason's expression shifted into something you recognized—exasperation mixed with fondness, concern wrapped in irritation. mostly at himself, if you knew him at all. "yeah, you're fine. that's why you just tried to walk in three different directions at once."
"the floor moved."
"the floor didn't move, sweetheart." the endearment slipped out unconsciously, the way it sometimes did when he was worried. "how many drinks did you have?"
you tried to count on your fingers, got confused somewhere around four. "some?"
"christ." he looked over at roy and artemis, jerked his head toward the exit. they both nodded, understanding immediately—they'd worked together long enough to have their own shorthand. "we're heading out."
"but—" you started to protest, but the room chose that moment to do a slow, lazy spin, and you grabbed onto jason's arm for stability. he was solid, unmovable, warm under your hands.
"yeah, that's what i thought." his voice had gone soft, the sharp edges worn smooth with concern. one arm slipped around your waist, steady and sure, taking most of your weight without making it obvious. "come on, lightweight. let's get you home."
the next few minutes were a blur of cool night air, of jason's patient guidance as he steered you toward where he'd parked his motorcycle. gotham after midnight was a different creature—all shadow and neon, the kind of city that ate people alive if they weren't careful.
but you weren't worried. jason todd had died in this city and clawed his way back to life. a few muggers didn't stand a chance.
"can't take the bike," you mumbled against his shoulder. "i'll fall off."
"i know. called a car." he was texting one-handed, the other still wrapped around you, keeping you upright. "should be here in two minutes."
"you're good at this," you observed, your filter completely dissolved by alcohol. "taking care of people. even though you pretend you're not."
you felt him tense slightly, the way he always did when someone got too close to the soft parts he tried to keep hidden. "i'm not pretending anything."
"you are though." you poked his chest, maybe harder than intended. "you act all tough and mean, but you're—you're like. you're like a marshmallow. a really angry marshmallow with guns."
despite himself, jason laughed—a real one, rough and surprised. "you're drunk."
"doesn't make it not true."
the car arrived—a nondescript sedan that jason had apparently summoned through some app. he guided you into the backseat with the kind of care that made your chest ache, making sure you didn't hit your head, buckling you in like you were something precious.
he slid in beside you, gave the driver your address in that clipped, no-nonsense tone that discouraged conversation. then his attention was back on you, assessing.
"gonna be sick?" he asked bluntly.
you considered the question seriously, taking inventory of your stomach. "no?"
"that didn't sound convincing." but he relaxed slightly, his arm coming to rest along the back of the seat behind you. not quite touching, but close enough that you could lean into him if you needed to.
you did need to, as it turned out. your head found his shoulder with the inevitability of gravity, and after a moment's hesitation, his arm came down around you properly, holding you close.
"sorry," you mumbled. "forgot how much of a lightweight i am."
"i should've been paying attention." there was something in his voice—guilt, maybe, or self-recrimination. "i know you can't handle your alcohol. should've kept count."
"not your job to babysit me."
"no," he agreed, but his arm tightened fractionally. "but you're my—" he paused, seemed to struggle with the word, finally settled on, "—responsibility. when we're out together. the others, they can handle themselves. you..."
"need protecting?" you meant it to sound offended, but it came out sleepy instead.
"no." he was quiet for a moment, and when he spoke again, his voice was careful, like he was handling something fragile. "you deserve protecting. there's a difference."
your alcohol-soaked brain tried to parse that, found it too complicated, gave up. "you're being philosophical. you never get philosophical."
"i get philosophical."
"you get violent and sarcastic. sometimes simultaneously."
"those aren't mutually exclusive with philosophy." but you could hear the smile in his voice, small and private. "the great philosophers were all pretty violent, actually. have you read what they said about their contemporaries?"
you hummed noncommittally, the motion of the car and the warmth of jason's body combining into something soporific. gotham passed by outside the windows in streaks of light and shadow, familiar and foreign at once.
"did you have fun?" jason asked quietly. "before the room started spinning?"
"yeah." you smiled against his shoulder. "i like your friends. our friends."
"they like you too." a pause. "roy said you're good for me."
"am i?"
another pause, longer this time. jason todd had never been good with words, not the emotional ones. he was better with action, with the things he did rather than the things he said. but sometimes, late at night or in quiet moments like this, he tried.
"yeah," he said finally, rough and honest. "you are."
the car pulled up outside your building—a decent place in a decent neighborhood, the kind of area that jason had probably vetted for security and escape routes before you'd even signed the lease. he paid the driver, then came around to your door, helping you out with steady hands.
"can you walk, or do i need to carry you?"
you tested your legs, found them more cooperative than they'd been at the club but still not entirely trustworthy. "walk. probably. maybe."
"that's convincing." but he kept his arm around your waist, patient as you made your way into the building, into the elevator, down the hall to your door. he had your keys—you weren't sure when he'd acquired them, but jason was good at that kind of thing. sleight of hand, pickpocketing, making things appear and disappear. old skills from his street days, before bruce, before robin, before everything else.
your apartment was dark and quiet, exactly as you'd left it. jason guided you inside, kicked the door shut behind him with practiced ease, steered you toward the couch.
"drink this," he ordered, pressing a glass of water into your hands that he'd somehow acquired while you were blinking. "all of it. then i'm making you eat something."
"not hungry," you protested, but you drank the water because jason's disappointed face was more than you could handle right now.
he disappeared into your kitchen, making himself at home with the ease of someone who'd been here dozens of times. you heard cabinets opening, the beep of the microwave, running water. when he returned, he had more water, crackers, and a container of leftover pizza that he must have deemed still edible.
"eat," he commanded, sitting beside you, close enough that your knees touched.
you ate, mostly to make him happy, but also because the crackers helped settle your spinning head. jason watched you with those sharp eyes that missed nothing, cataloging every movement, every expression.
"you're staring," you mumbled around a mouthful of pizza.
"making sure you don't choke. you're not exactly at peak coordination right now."
"romantic."
something flickered across his face—too quick to read, gone before you could analyze it. "yeah, well. romance is overrated. keeping you alive is more important."
"you do that a lot, you know. deflect."
"and you talk a lot when you're drunk." but there was no heat in it, just that same fond exasperation. "come on, finish up. you need to sleep this off."
you managed a few more bites before your eyelids started drooping, exhaustion and alcohol finally catching up with you completely. jason took the plate away, returned with a blanket that he draped over you with surprising gentleness.
"sleep," he said, and it wasn't a command this time, just a suggestion. "i'll be here."
"you don't have to stay," you mumbled, already half-asleep.
"i know." his hand found your hair, smoothing it back from your forehead in a gesture that was almost tender. "but i'm going to anyway."
that was jason, you thought dimly. always staying when he didn't have to, always protecting people even when he pretended he didn't care. always trying to save everyone because no one had saved him, not when it mattered, not until it was too late.
"jason?" your voice was barely a whisper.
"yeah?"
"thank you."
silence for a moment. then: "always, sweetheart. always."
you wanted to say more, wanted to tell him all the things that were easier to think when alcohol had dissolved your inhibitions—how safe you felt with him, how much you appreciated the way he cared even through his armor of sarcasm and violence, how you were maybe definitely falling for him despite or because of all his sharp edges.
but sleep was pulling you under, warm and irresistible, and the last thing you felt was jason's hand still gentle in your hair, keeping watch the way he always did.
when you woke up the next morning with a pounding headache and a mouth like cotton, there was more water on your coffee table, pain medication, and a note in jason's angular handwriting:
went on patrol. there's food in the fridge. text me when you're alive again.and next time, i'm counting your drinks.
- j
you smiled despite the headache, despite the way the morning light felt like knives in your eyes. tucked the note into your pocket and reached for your phone to text him, to tell him you were alive, to say all the things you'd been too drunk to say last night.
but you had time. jason wasn't going anywhere.
he'd stay, even when he didn't have to.
he always did.
⠀✦ REQUESTS/ASKS ARE OPEN (FOR NOW)
⠀⋆.˚ᨒ do not copy, translate, or plagiarize my work in anyway including the use of ai onto any other social media platforms or it will permit an instant block on all platforms.
ᰋ ˓ warnings: angst, mentions of torture, emotional distress, mild violence references, fluff a bit at the end? (you can decide)
ᰋ ˓ a/n: i thought of this idea while re-watching gameplay of batman: arkham knight and..yeah. that’s it (also I saw someone asking for more so..)
ᰋ ˓ credits to whoever made the bow dividers (i can’t find the original creator)
the rain hammered against your apartment windows like bullets, each drop a staccato reminder of gotham's perpetual misery. you'd been watching the news for hours—the city was tearing itself apart. scarecrow's fear toxin, militia soldiers everywhere, and batman... fighting someone new. someone dangerous.
someone you knew intimately.
your phone had been silent for six hours. that wasn't unusual when jason was on a mission, but tonight felt different. tonight, the arkham knight was supposed to end batman once and for all. tonight was supposed to be his victory.
the sharp rap at your fire escape window made you jump, tea sloshing over the rim of your mug.
he was there.
even in the darkness, the angular silhouette of his armor was unmistakable—but something was wrong. he wasn't standing with that confident, aggressive posture you'd grown accustomed to. he was slumped against the frame, one arm pressed to his side, his helmet reflecting the neon glow from the street below.
you rushed to unlock the window, shoving it open. rain immediately sprayed into your apartment.
"jason—"
"don't." his voice came out distorted through the helmet's modulator, sharp and cutting. "just... let me in."
you stepped back, and he half-climbed, half-fell through the window. the weight of his armor made the floor groan as he landed heavily, water pooling around his boots. for a moment, he just stood there, breathing hard—you could hear it even through the helmet's filters, ragged and uneven.
"let me see—"
his hand shot up, stopping you. "i'm fine."
"you're bleeding through your armor."
"i said i'm fine."
you'd learned to navigate jason's moods over the months since he'd first shown up at your door—back when he was still new to the armor, still raw with rage and purpose. you'd been together before everything went to hell, before the joker, before arkham asylum. before bruce left him to die in that hell.
you knew when to push and when to wait.
so you waited.
after a long moment, jason's hands moved to his helmet. the pneumatic hiss of the locks disengaging seemed too loud in your small apartment. he pulled it off, and your heart clenched.
his face was a mess of bruises, blood trickling from a cut above his eyebrow. but worse than the physical damage was the look in his eyes—that particular shade of devastation you'd only seen a handful of times. the kind that came from having old wounds ripped open and rubbed raw.
"he knows," jason said flatly. "bruce knows who i am now."
you moved slowly, setting the helmet on your kitchen counter. "come sit down. let me patch you up, and you can tell me what happened."
"i don't need—"
"jason." you turned to look at him fully, letting him see the concern you weren't trying to hide. "please."
something in your voice—or maybe just exhaustion—made him comply. he moved to your couch, each step careful, controlled. the armor had taken most of the damage, but you could see places where it had cracked, where bruce had gotten through his defenses.
of course he had. bruce always found a way.
you grabbed your first aid kit—significantly more stocked than the average civilian's, for obvious reasons—and knelt beside the couch. jason had already started removing pieces of armor, the chest plate coming away to reveal the tactical suit underneath, soaked with rain and spotted with blood.
"talk to me," you said softly, cleaning the cut on his face.
for a moment, you didn't think he would. jason had spent so long building walls, fortifying himself behind rage and revenge. but then, quietly, he started speaking.
"the mall on founders' island. that's where he cornered me." his jaw tightened as you worked. "i had him. i had him right where i wanted him, and he... he just kept trying to talk. kept saying he didn't know, that he searched for me, that the joker made him believe i was dead."
your hands stilled. "what did you say?"
"i told him the truth. that he left me in that abandoned hall. that joker tortured me for months, and batman—the great batman—never came. never even looked hard enough." his voice cracked, and he sucked in a sharp breath. "he didn't even know. can you believe that? i was dying in that asylum, screaming, and he didn't know to look for me."
"jason..."
"he should have known," jason continued, his voice taking on a bitter edge. "i was his partner. his…protégé. and he just... he let the joker convince him i was dead. didn't question it. didn't dig deeper."
"stop." you cupped his face gently, forcing him to look at you. "i know you're angry. you have every right to be. but that's not the full story, and you know it."
his eyes flashed dangerously. "don't defend him."
"i'm not defending him. i'm just saying... the joker is a master manipulator. if he made bruce think you were dead—"
"bruce should have known!" jason jerked away from you, standing abruptly. he paced across your small living room like a caged animal. "he trained me! he was supposed to protect me! and when it mattered most, he failed. he chose to fail."
"is that what you really believe? or is that what you need to believe to justify all of this?"
the look he shot you could have cut glass. "you think i want to hate him? you think i want to feel like this?"
"no," you said, standing to face him. "i think you're hurt. i think you're traumatized. and i think you've spent so long planning this revenge that you don't know what to do now that it's falling apart."
"it's not falling apart—"
"he asked you to help him, didn't he?"
jason went still. that was answer enough.
you moved closer, carefully, like approaching a wounded animal. "what exactly did he say?"
"that scarecrow was the real threat. that gotham needed us to work together. that he..." jason's voice dropped to barely a whisper. "that he never stopped being my mentor. that he never stopped caring."
"and you ran."
"i didn't run. i made a tactical retreat."
despite everything, you almost smiled. "you came here instead of finishing the mission. instead of proving that the arkham knight is better than batman. you came to me."
jason was quiet for a long moment, staring at the floor. when he finally spoke, his voice was raw. "i didn't know where else to go. the militia's scattered. my entire operation is compromised. and i just... i couldn't..."
you closed the distance between you and wrapped your arms around him, careful of his injuries. for a second, he stood rigid, unyielding. then, slowly, his arms came around you, and he buried his face in your shoulder.
"i wanted him to hurt," jason admitted, muffled against you. "i wanted him to feel a fraction of what i felt. and he just... he looked at me like i was still that kid. still robin. like he still..."
"loved you?"
jason's grip tightened. "i can't forgive him."
"i'm not asking you to." you pulled back enough to meet his eyes. "but jason, gotham is falling apart out there. scarecrow has the entire city hostage, and whether you like it or not, bruce can't stop him alone."
"that's not my problem."
"isn't it? you told me once that you became the arkham knight to save gotham from batman's failed methods. to prove you could do what he couldn't. but right now, the city is burning, and you're hiding in my apartment."
his eyes narrowed. "i'm not hiding."
"then what are you doing?"
the question hung between you, heavy and unavoidable. you could see the war in jason's expression—rage battling with something else, something that looked suspiciously like the hero he used to be.
"he doesn't deserve my help," jason said finally.
"maybe not. but gotham does. all those people out there, terrified, watching their city tear itself apart—they deserve better than being caught in the crossfire of your vendetta."
"this isn't just a vendetta—"
"i know." you took his hands, squeezing gently. "i know what he took from you. i know what the joker did, what bruce failed to prevent. but jason, at some point, you have to decide who you want to be. the arkham knight? or something more?"
"i can't go back to being robin."
"i'm not asking you to. robin died in arkham asylum. but jason todd... he's still here. still fighting. the question is what he's fighting for."
jason pulled away, moving to the window. rain still streaked down the glass, distorting the city lights beyond. "you make it sound simple."
"it's not simple. it's the hardest thing i'll ever ask you to do." you moved to stand beside him. "but i know you, jason. behind all that armor, all that anger... you still care. you still want to save people. that's why you came here instead of disappearing. that's why you haven't destroyed your communicator."
his hand moved unconsciously to his belt, where you knew he kept the secure line to batman.
"if i do this," he said slowly, "it doesn't mean i forgive him. it doesn't mean we're family again."
"i know."
"and after scarecrow is done... i'm gone. no more gotham. no more batman."
your heart clenched, but you nodded. "if that's what you need."
jason was quiet for a long time, staring out at the city he'd tried so hard to save—first as robin, then as the arkham knight. finally, he turned to you.
"help me with the armor. if i'm doing this, i'm doing it right."
you spent the next twenty minutes helping him patch the damaged sections, reinforcing the cracked plates. he winced as you wrapped his ribs—definitely bruised, possibly cracked—but didn't complain. that was jason: push through the pain, show no weakness.
as you worked, he was quiet, but you could practically hear his thoughts churning.
"what if it's not enough?" he asked suddenly. "what if i help him and people still die?"
"then you'll know you tried. that you were there when it mattered." you sealed the last repair on his chest plate. "that's all anyone can do."
he caught your hand before you could pull away, his fingers rough and calloused against yours. "when this is over... will you come with me? away from gotham?"
the question surprised you. "you want me to?"
"you're the only person who knows all of me. the only one who didn't look at me different when i came back wrong." his thumb traced over your knuckles. "i can't promise i'll ever be okay. i can't promise i won't wake up screaming or seeing joker's face everywhere. but i—"
"yes," you interrupted. "wherever you go, i'll go."
something in his expression softened, just for a moment. then he was pulling on his helmet, becoming the arkham knight once more. but before he activated the voice modulator, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead—gentle, careful, human.
"thank you," he said quietly. "for not giving up on me."
"never."
he activated the helmet, and the distorted voice returned. "i should go. scarecrow's still out there, and bruce... he'll need help, even if he doesn't know it yet."
you nodded, watching as he moved to your window. before he could leave, you called out: "jason?"
he turned back.
"come back to me when it's done. promise me that."
through the helmet's visor, you could hear him exhale softly. "i promise."
then he was gone, disappearing into gotham's rain-soaked night.
you stood at the window long after he'd vanished, watching the city burn and hoping—praying—that you'd said the right things. that jason would find some kind of peace in this, even if it wasn't forgiveness.
hours passed. the news showed footage of batman fighting scarecrow's forces, but no sign of the arkham knight. you tried not to think about what that meant—whether jason had changed his mind, whether he was hurt, whether he'd decided revenge was more important after all.
then, just as dawn started breaking over gotham's skyline, your phone buzzed. a text from an unknown number: it's done. scarecrow's finished. leaving gotham now.
you smiled despite yourself, typing back: i'll be ready. where are we going?
the response came quickly: anywhere but here.
you set the phone down and finally allowed yourself to sink onto the couch, exhausted. the first aid kit was still open, bloodied gauze and antiseptic scattered across your coffee table. evidence of the night's events, of jason's transformation from vengeful arkham knight to reluctant ally.
outside, thunder rolled across gotham's skyline. somewhere out there, jason todd was fighting alongside the man who'd failed him, trying to save the city that had taken everything from him.
and tomorrow, if you were both lucky, you'd leave this cursed city behind and find something resembling peace.
but tonight, gotham needed its heroes—all of them, broken and bitter as they were.
tonight, the arkham knight would prove he was more than his pain.
you just hoped batman—bruce—was worthy of the second chance jason was giving him.
⠀✦ REQUESTS/ASKS ARE OPEN (FOR NOW)
⠀⋆.˚ᨒ do not copy, translate, or plagiarize my work in anyway including the use of ai onto any other social media platforms or it will permit an instant block on all platforms.
ᰋ ˓ includes fluff, reader is a anti-hero
ᰋ ˓ a/n: someone requested me to do a AK game version so here you go :] (btw i love Batman: Arkham Knight that game is FIRE)
ᰋ ˓ credits to whoever made the bow dividers (i can’t find the original creator)
゛FIRST TIME MEETING : ⸝⸝⋆
𓆩𓆪 you two meet during the arkham knight's siege on gotham alongside scarecrow’s alliance with him. you're not with the militia but you're definitely not helping batman either (you’re more of a freelancer that does stuff when you want too like catwoman), and that catches his attention immediately
𓆩𓆪 he finds you taking out a group of his soldiers and instead of being mad.. he's intrigued? you're efficient, brutal when you need to be, super cool, and you don't hesitate to show your true emotions. he watches from the shadows before revealing himself in full armor
𓆩𓆪 the voice modulator makes him sound terrifying but you don't even flinch. just look at this new armored vigilante and go "nice suit, compensating for something?" he nearly shoots you on the spot (he's lying, he thought it was funny on the inside)
𓆩𓆪 he offers you a position in his militia. good pay, full armor, get to kill batman. you turn him down because you don't work for anyone, but you're not against working WITHsomeone if the goals align. he respects that more than he'd like to admit
𓆩𓆪 you end up in this weird alliance where you're both going after batman's allies but for different reasons. he wants revenge, you want gotham to change its ways. close enough?
𓆩𓆪 he's paranoid and controlling at first. needs to know your real name, your backstory, your motives. but, you give him nothing. it drives him insane
𓆩𓆪 the militia soldiers are (lowkey) scared of both of you. the arkham knight is their terrifying boss but you're the wild card who doesn't follow orders and somehow… he allows it?!
゛HIM CATCHING FEELINGS : ⸝⸝⋆
𓆩𓆪 with feelings, jason todd under the arkham knight persona is obvious. plain obvious. that everybody knows is obvious except him (and you, of course).
𓆩𓆪 it starts when you question one of his orders. he's about to do something that would kill civilians and you straight up tell him that's not happening. everyone thinks you're about to die but he just... pauses. recalculates. changes the plan. the militia is shook
𓆩𓆪 he starts requesting you specifically for missions. "i need someone competent" he says through the modulator. slade wilson is literally right there but sure jan
𓆩𓆪 you're the only person allowed in his personal command center. the militia has orders to let you through any checkpoint, any time. you don't realize this is a big deal until a soldier looks at you like you're some kind of cryptid
𓆩𓆪 he gets tense when you're out on missions without him. watching your tracker on his screen, monitoring your comms, ready to send his entire militia if you need backup. it's definitely just tactical he tells himself while having a mild panic attack
𓆩𓆪 I feel like the crush really hits him when you see him without the helmet by accident. he's in his private quarters and you walk in without knocking and he spins around, face bare, scars visible, and you just... don't react with pity or horror. you just say "you good?" and it breaks something in him
𓆩𓆪 starts leaving supplies in your room at the militia base. new armor, better weapons, medical supplies. no notes, no explanation. you know it's him
𓆩𓆪 gets unreasonably jealous when deathstroke talks to you. slade thinks it's hilarious and definitely does it more just to mess with the knight. "your guard dog is growling again" he tells you. you're starting to suspect it's not about loyalty to the cause
𓆩𓆪 the crushing phase is him trying to maintain a scary militant persona while also making sure you ate today. "you're useless to me if you're not in peak condition" he says while handing you food. sir this is a wendy’s
゛”FEELINGS” TURNS TO DATING : ⸝⸝⋆
𓆩𓆪 dating the arkham knight is intense. he's so damaged and angry and he's got an actual vendetta going on. but you're the one person who sees jason, not just the knight
𓆩𓆪 he takes off the helmet around you now. not all the time because it's his security blanket, but enough that you get to see his face, his expressions, the way his jaw clenches when he's stressed (which is always)
𓆩𓆪 the voice modulator stays on during militia business but in private it's just his voice. rough, tired, and most importantly, real. he whispers things to you he'd never say in front of anyone else
𓆩𓆪 his room becomes your room. you'll be going over plans at 3am, sitting in his lap while he monitors the siege, and he's got one arm around your waist while the other works the computer. multitasking king
𓆩𓆪 you're the only one who can talk him down when the anger gets too much. when he's about to make a decision based purely on revenge, you're there to remind him of the actual goal. he listens to you when he won't listen to anyone else
𓆩𓆪 trains with you personally. hand to hand combat that definitely gets a little too close to be professional. he's pushed you against the training room wall more than once, both of you breathing hard, and the militia knows to NEVER interrupt those sessions
𓆩𓆪 possessive on a whole different level. you're HIS partner, his equal, his weakness that he pretends isn't a weakness. anyone who disrespects you answers to him and the arkham knight is not known for mercy
𓆩𓆪 the batfamily would be horrified if they knew batman's worst enemy had a partner who made him even more dangerous. you balance his rage with strategy, his hatred with purpose. you're the only reason he hasn't completely lost himself
𓆩𓆪 soft moments are rare but they hit different. he'll trace your face with his gloved hand, or rest his forehead against yours, or just hold you when the weight of everything gets too heavy. no words needed
𓆩𓆪 you patch him up after fights with batman. (he's always worse after those), the personal history making every hit sting more. you clean his wounds and don't ask questions when his hands shake
𓆩𓆪 he's secretly terrified you'll leave when you find out the full truth about him and bruce. when it all comes out, you just look at him and say "i chose you before i knew, i choose you after knowing." he has to turn away because the helmet's off and you're not supposed to see him cry
𓆩𓆪 you are both the ride or die for each other. literally. if the plan goes wrong and one of you doesn't make it, the other is taking everyone down with them. it's unhealthy and codependent, but perfect for two anti-heroes who've got nothing left to lose except each other
⠀✦ REQUESTS/ASKS ARE OPEN (FOR NOW)
⠀⋆.˚ᨒ do not copy, translate, or plagiarize my work in anyway including the use of ai onto any other social media platforms or it will permit an instant block on all platforms.
happy new years to all my mutuals + all of my followers!!!! you’ve all helped me so much to be the person i am today since I started posting earlier this year. tysm <3
ᰋ ˓ includes fluff, reader is a vigilante
ᰋ ˓ a/n: i’m actually doing DC content? wowzers..also new theme (yay)…
ᰋ ˓ credits to whoever made the bow dividers (i can’t find the original creator)
゛FIRST TIME MEETING : ⸝⸝⋆
𓆩𓆪 okay so…you two (randomly) meet during a drug bust gone wrong. you're already mid-fight with some of black mask's guys when red hood shows up and just starts shooting. no warning, no introduction, just bullets flying past your head while you're trying not to die
𓆩𓆪 he's immediately annoyed that you're there because "this is my territory" and you're like ??? since when do vigilantes have territories. the audacity of this man!
𓆩𓆪 you end up having to work together to get out alive and he's the most reluctant team player ever. lots of sarcastic comments through the comms you hacked into his channel (which he's impressed by but will never admit)
𓆩𓆪 after the fight he tries to intimidate you into staying out of crime alley. stands there with his arms crossed, all 6 feet and 200 pounds of him, guns still holstered on his thighs. you just stare at him and say "no ♡"
𓆩𓆪 he doesn't know whether to be pissed or impressed when you grapple away without waiting for a response. probably both
𓆩𓆪 you keep running into each other after that and it becomes this unspoken thing where you both show up to the same jobs and pretend you're not working together. he'll cover your six and you'll patch him up when he gets stabbed and neither of you acknowledge it
𓆩𓆪 the other members of the “bat-family” eventually notice there's another new vigilante in gotham and jason "forgets" to mention that he already knows you. when dick tries to recruit you for some titan thing jason gets weirdly possessive like "they work alone" (like okay goddamn they aren’t yours yet)
゛HIM CATCHING FEELINGS : ⸝⸝⋆
𓆩𓆪 jason todd does NOT do crushes…except apparently, he does. and he's terrible at being sneaky about it (i mean, duh, he’s been trained since he was young to be a weapon, not a love-sick puppy).
𓆩𓆪 it starts when you make him laugh during a stakeout. like actually laugh, not just a huff of amusement. you said something stupid about the goon's haircut and he laughed so hard he almost blew your cover. he was genuinely mad at himself for weeks
𓆩𓆪 suddenly he's "accidentally" patrolling your area more often. oh you're tracking a weapons shipment? crazy, so is he. you're staking out a warehouse? what a coincidence, he was doing the same thing. you call him out on it once and he gets so defensive (˘∀˘)
𓆩𓆪 he brings you coffee after patrol sometimes (maybe like once or twice, not very often). claims he "just happened" to be at the 24-hour place and got an extra. it's made exactly how you like it because he's observant like that but he'll die before admitting he memorized your order
𓆩𓆪 starts getting really protective but tries to play it cool. you jump off a building a little too recklessly and he lectures you about safety while actively bleeding from three different places. "that's different" he says. it's not different
𓆩𓆪 I feel like he'd get so jealous if other vigilantes tried to team up with you. tim asks you for help on a case once and jason suddenly has all this intel he's willing to share. with you. only you. tim is confused but you're starting to connect the dots
𓆩𓆪 the crushing phase is just him being an absolute disaster and trying to act like he's not. he shows off during fights, makes excuses to touch you (adjusting your armor, checking injuries, helping you up to rooftops), and gets flustered when you exist too close to him
𓆩𓆪 you catch him staring at you all the time. when you're cleaning your weapons, when you're texting on your phone, when you take your mask off to breathe. he always looks away and pretends he wasn't
゛”FEELINGS” TURNS TO DATING : ⸝⸝⋆
𓆩𓆪 dating jason todd is like having the world's most heavily armed guard dog who also happens to be a literature nerd with abandonment issues. (yay for you?)
𓆩𓆪 he's so touch starved it's actually ridiculous. constantly has a hand on you when you're together. on your back, holding your hand, arm around your shoulders. he's like a cat that finally found a warm spot
𓆩𓆪 patrol together becomes couple's therapy except you're both beating up criminals. you work perfectly in sync now, covering each other's blind spots without communicating. the goons hate when you both show up
𓆩𓆪 his safe houses become your safe houses. you'll show up bleeding and he's already got the med kit out, patching you up while muttering about how you need to be more careful. hypocrite.
𓆩𓆪 he reads to you a lot. you'll be lying in his bed at some random safe house and he'll just start reading poetry or classic literature out loud. his voice gets all soft and it's the most peaceful you ever feel in gotham (just ignore that shooting and screaming outside the apartment please.)
𓆩𓆪 fights are intense because you're both stubborn vigilantes with trust issues. but he never walks away, never leaves without resolving it. he'll cool off for an hour and come back ready to actually talk. character growth ( ◜‿◝ )
𓆩𓆪 he's secretly so soft with you though. leaves you notes when he has to leave before you wake up, keeps your favorite snacks in all his safe houses, patches your suit when it gets damaged. acts of service king
𓆩𓆪 gets you custom weapons as gifts. "saw this and thought of you" except it's like a customized grappling gun or a set of perfectly balanced knives. romance isn't dead it's just armed
𓆩𓆪 the “bat-family” is shocked when they find out because jason is DIFFERENT with you. still sarcastic and rough around the edges but there's this softness that wasn't there before. dick cries about it probably
𓆩𓆪 protective doesn't even begin to cover it. someone threatens you and jason goes full red hood, no mercy. you have to literally pull him back sometimes. "they're not worth it" you say. "you are though" he responds
𓆩𓆪 you're the only one who sees him without the mask, without the armor, without the walls. just jason. just a boy who died too young and came back different but is trying so hard to be good for you
𓆩𓆪 he tells you he loves you for the first time after you take a bullet for him. you're loopy on pain meds and he's holding your hand so tight it hurts and he just says it. "i love you, you reckless idiot." you smile and pass out. very…romantic?
⠀✦ REQUESTS/ASKS ARE OPEN (FOR NOW)
⠀⋆.˚ᨒ do not copy, translate, or plagiarize my work in anyway including the use of ai onto any other social media platforms or it will permit an instant block on all platforms.
ཐིཋྀ ⠀subject: you and jax have been distant from each other (which pomni notices), so, she tries to mend your relationship.
⠀⟢ pairing: jax (the amazing digital circus) × gender neutral! reader
⟢ notes from author: i’ve been procrastinating so hard on posting i’m so sorry (this is an old request). I might remake my whole theme again so..…
the hallway stretched endlessly before you, sterile white walls punctuated by doors that seemed to multiply the longer you stared. your footsteps echoed in tandem with the others—pomni's anxious shuffling, ragatha's steady gait, gangle nervously trailing behind, zooble's mechanical joints clicking, and kinger muttering something about "fortresses" under his breath.
and then there was jax.
he walked ahead of the group, hands shoved in his overalls pockets, those purple ears of his twitching occasionally. you watched the back of his head, that familiar slouch in his shoulders, and felt that same hollow ache that had been growing in your chest for weeks now.
it hadn't always been like this.
when jax first arrived at the circus—god, how long ago was that now? time was weird…here—you'd been the one to help him adjust. while others kept their distance from his sharp tongue and sharper grin, you'd seen past it. or maybe you'd just been stubborn enough not to care. either way, you two had clicked. late-night conversations when the others were asleep, shared eye-rolls during caine's more ridiculous adventures, inside jokes that made ragatha shake her head fondly.
you'd been friends. real friends. the kind that made this digital hell almost bearable.
but then ribbit abstracted.
you still remembered jax's face when it happened—that brief crack in his usual mask before he smoothed it over with a cruel joke. you'd tried to reach out, but he'd pulled away, just slightly. enough that you noticed.
and then kaufmo.
finding him abstracted with ragatha, pomni, and jax had been... you couldn't even describe it. kaufmo, who'd been trying so hard to find an exit, who'd told terrible jokes that made jax groan, who'd been there. and then he wasn't. he was just another monster locked in the cellar.
jax had gotten worse after that. more distant. more cruel. he still threw his usual barbs around, still played his pranks, but with you? it was like a wall had gone up. he barely looked at you anymore. barely spoke to you unless he had to. and when he did, it was with that same detached sarcasm he used with everyone else.
like you weren't special anymore. like you'd never been special at all.
"so, uh," pomni's voice cut through your thoughts. she'd slowed down to walk beside you, her wide eyes darting between you and jax's retreating form. "how long have you known jax?"
you blinked, pulled from your spiral. "since he got here. why?"
"oh." pomni fidgeted with her hands, that nervous energy radiating off her in waves. she'd only been here a few days, and already she looked exhausted. "it's just... ragatha mentioned you two were close. but you seem... not close? now? i mean, if that makes sense?"
ahead, abel—the mannequin with the painted smile that caine had apparently created to lead you all to his "real" office—turned a corner. the group followed, and you lowered your voice.
"we were close," you admitted quietly. "things changed."
"because of...?" pomni trailed off, uncertain.
you didn't answer immediately. how did you explain it? how did you tell this newcomer about the people who'd been lost, about watching someone you cared about slowly pull away because getting close to people here meant risking another abstraction, another loss?
"stuff happens here," you finally said. "people deal with it differently."
pomni nodded slowly, like she understood more than she wanted to. given what she'd been through in just a few days—finding kaufmo, nearly abstracting herself, the whole puppet interrogation nightmare—she probably did.
"ragatha said you've been really patient with him," pomni continued, her voice soft. "even though he's been... you know. jax."
you couldn't help the bitter laugh that escaped. "patient. yeah. that's one word for it."
"hey, you two gonna keep gossiping or are we actually trying to escape?" jax's voice called back, sharp and mocking. he'd stopped at another intersection, arms crossed, one ear cocked in your direction. "because i'm thrilled to stand around in creepy hallways all day, but some of us have better things to do."
"like what, jax? annoying zooble?" ragatha shot back, but there was less bite than usual in her tone. she'd been watching you and jax too, you'd noticed. everyone had.
"it's on my schedule, actually," jax replied with that infuriating grin. "right after 'avoid emotional conversations' and before 'literally anything else.'"
he turned and kept walking, following abel's stilted movements deeper into the corridor.
pomni looked at you sympathetically. "he's... really good at deflecting, huh?"
"olympic level," you muttered.
the group continued forward, passing door after door. some had nameplates you didn't recognize—performers long gone, abstracted, forgotten. the weight of it all pressed down on your shoulders.
"can i ask you something?" pomni said after a moment of silence.
"sure."
"why do you still care?" she asked, and there was genuine curiosity in her voice, not judgment. "i mean, he's been pushing you away, acting like a jerk—more than usual, i mean. why not just... let him?"
you were quiet for a long moment, watching jax's ears bob ahead of you as he walked. one of them was slightly bent at the tip—you'd noticed that the first day you met him, had almost mentioned it before deciding against it. it was such a small, stupid detail, but you'd catalogued it anyway, along with a hundred other little things. the way he tapped his foot when he was bored. how his grin got wider when he was actually amused versus when he was faking it. the fact that he always checked to make sure everyone was accounted for after an adventure, even though he pretended not to care.
"because he's my friend," you said simply. "even if he's forgotten that."
pomni looked like she wanted to say something else, but kinger suddenly shouted, "ABEL STOPPED!"
indeed, the mannequin had halted in front of a large door, different from all the others. this one was ornate, with golden fixtures and a nameplate that read "caine" in elaborate script.
"this is it," ragatha said, a mixture of hope and anxiety in her voice. "his… office."
"the one with all the memories of past adventures," gangle added nervously, her comedy mask firmly in place despite her worried tone.
zooble pushed forward. "finally. let's see what that tooth-headed weirdo's been hiding."
the group crowded around the door, and you found yourself standing next to jax. this close, you could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw was clenched despite his casual posture. he must have felt your gaze because he glanced at you, just for a second, and something flickered in his eyes—something vulnerable and quickly buried.
"what?" he said, defensive.
"nothing," you replied.
"good. keep it that way."
abel reached for the door handle with his rigid, mannequin fingers.
"wait," pomni said suddenly. she was looking between you and jax again, that determined expression settling on her face—the same one she'd had when she'd convinced the group to try finding the exit in the first place. "before we go in there and potentially find something that changes everything... can we just—can you two talk? please?"
the hallway went silent.
"excuse me?" jax said, his voice dangerously flat.
"pomni," ragatha started, "maybe now isn't—"
"no, i know it's not the best timing," pomni interrupted, wringing her hands. "but if there's a chance we actually find an exit in there, if there's a chance we might... i don't know, escape or something goes wrong, don't you want to fix this first?"
"there's nothing to fix," jax said coldly. "we're fine."
"you're not fine!" pomni's voice cracked slightly. "i've been here less than a week and even i can see you're not fine! you barely talk to each other, you avoid them, and they look at you like—" she stopped herself, seeming to realize she was overstepping.
"like what?" jax challenged, but he wasn't looking at pomni. he was looking at you.
you met his gaze, and suddenly you were tired. tired of the distance, tired of pretending it didn't hurt, tired of watching him slip further and further away while you stood helplessly by.
"like i miss my friend," you said quietly.
jax's expression flickered—anger, pain, something else you couldn't name. "yeah, well. people change."
"people abstract," you corrected, and watched him flinch. "and you're so scared of that happening again that you're abstracting yourself in a different way. you're disappearing, jax. on purpose."
"that's not—" he started, but the words seemed to stick in his throat.
"ribbit," you said, and his ears flattened against his head. "and kaufmo. you were close to both of them. and when they abstracted, you decided it was easier to not be close to anyone anymore. including me."
"i'm doing you a favor," jax snapped, his voice sharp enough to cut. "everyone i—everyone who sticks around me ends up abstracted. it's a pattern. so yeah, maybe i am keeping my distance. maybe that's the smart thing to do."
"that's the scared thing to do," you shot back. "and it's hurting both of us."
"i don't—" his voice cracked, and he seemed to surprise himself. he looked away quickly, jaw working like he was chewing on words he didn't want to say. "i can't do it again. okay? i can't watch another person i..." he trailed off.
"another person you what?" you pressed gently.
the others had gone quiet, tactfully pretending to examine the walls or whispering among themselves to give you privacy. pomni watched with anxious hope.
jax's hands clenched into fists in his pockets. when he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. "another person i care about. i can't watch another person i care about turn into one of those things."
your heart ached. "so you thought pushing me away would hurt less?"
"i thought it would hurt you less," he admitted, still not looking at you. "when i inevitably screw up or when you... when something happens. because it always does here. everyone leaves eventually, one way or another."
you stepped closer to him, close enough that you could see the digital pixels that made up his purple fur. "jax. look at me."
slowly, reluctantly, he did. his eyes were guarded, but there was something raw underneath—fear and loneliness and something that looked an awful lot like the way you felt when you looked at him.
"we're in a digital circus," you said softly. "trapped in a game with an ai that makes us go on adventures while we slowly lose our minds. everything about this is terrible. but you know what made it bearable? you. having you as my friend. and yeah, maybe something will happen to one of us. maybe we don't have happy endings here. but pushing me away doesn't protect either of us—it just makes us both miserable now instead of later."
jax's expression cracked, just a little. "i'm not good at this," he said quietly. "the... feelings thing. the caring thing. i'm much better at being a jerk."
"you're good at both, actually," you said with a small smile. "you're just scared to do the first one."
he laughed, bitter and short. "yeah, well. being scared doesn't exactly fit my brand."
"your brand is being a purple rabbit in overalls. i think you can add 'has emotions' to the list."
that got a real laugh out of him, small but genuine. some of the tension bled from his shoulders. "you're annoying, you know that?"
"learned from the best."
he shook his head, but he was almost smiling. then the smile faded, and he looked at you seriously. "i'm…sorry," he said, and it sounded like the words were dragged out of him. "for pushing you away. for being a coward. for... all of it."
"i'm sorry too," you replied. "for not pushing harder to talk to you. for letting you suffer alone."
"you couldn't have—"
"we're supposed to be a team," you interrupted. "that means dealing with the bad stuff together. even when it's scary. especially when it's scary."
jax was quiet for a moment, then slowly pulled one hand from his pocket and held it out to you. "so... friends again? like before?"
you looked at his outstretched hand, at the vulnerability in his eyes, at the careful hope in his expression. and you realized that pomni was right—if you were about to walk into caine's office and potentially change everything, you needed to do this. you needed him to know.
"jax," you said carefully, not taking his hand yet. "i need to tell you something first."
his ears perked up slightly, wary. "okay...?"
"we were never just friends," you admitted, your heart hammering. "i mean, we were, but... for me, it was always more than that. i just never said anything because i didn't want to ruin what we had. but now we're about to walk through that door and who knows what happens after, and i can't—i can't not tell you."
jax stared at you, his hand still outstretched between you, his expression cycling through surprise, confusion, and something that might have been hope. "you... what?"
"i have feelings for you," you said more firmly. "the kind that aren't just friendship. and i know you might not feel the same way, and that's okay, but i needed you to know before—"
"are you kidding me?" jax interrupted, and your heart sank until you saw his expression. he looked exasperated and fond and something else that made your chest tight. "you think i pushed you away because i was casually worried about a friend? you think i've been losing my mind for weeks because i was platonically concerned?"
you blinked. "i... what?"
"i'm crazy about you, you idiot," he said, and now he was definitely smiling, that genuine smile that crinkled his eyes. "i have been since probably week two of being here. why do you think losing you scared me so much?"
"you—wait, really?"
"yes, really," he laughed, and grabbed your hand, pulling you closer. "i'm in love with you. have been. probably will be. which is terrifying and stupid and i tried to stop but turns out you can't just logic your way out of feelings. believe me, i tried."
you couldn't help but laugh, slightly hysterical with relief. "you could have said something!"
"so could you!"
"i didn't want to ruin our friendship!"
"same!"
from behind you, ragatha cleared her throat loudly. "this is very sweet, really, but we do still have an office to break into."
"oh my gosh, i'm so happy this worked," pomni said, practically bouncing. "ragatha said they were hopeless but i thought maybe—"
"you planned this?" you and jax said simultaneously, turning to look at her.
pomni shrugged sheepishly. "ragatha told me about you two yesterday. and i just thought... i don't know. life here is already terrible. seemed dumb for you both to be miserable when you clearly care about each other."
"i'm starting to understand why caine likes you," jax said, but there was no malice in it. "you're weirdly optimistic for someone who almost abstracted three days ago."
"trauma response," pomni replied cheerfully.
zooble groaned. "can we please get on with this? i did not trek through endless hallways to watch a romcom."
jax squeezed your hand, and when you looked at him, his expression was soft in a way you'd never seen before. "we're okay?" he asked quietly, just for you.
"we're okay," you confirmed. then, more carefully, "we're... more than okay?"
"way more than okay," he agreed. then, with that familiar mischievous glint returning to his eyes, "though i'm still going to be a jerk to everyone else. that's non-negotiable."
"i wouldn't have it any other way."
"good. now come on." he tugged you toward the door where abel waited patiently, still smiling that…painted smile. "let's go see what kind of weird memories our tooth-headed overlord has been hoarding."
the group gathered around the entrance to caine's office, and you felt jax's hand warm in yours—or as warm as digital avatars could feel. it was strange how something so simple could make such a difference, but the weight that had been sitting on your chest for weeks was finally gone.
whatever was behind that door, whatever they found in caine's office, whatever happened next in this bizarre digital prison—you'd face it together.
"ready?" ragatha asked, her hand on the door handle.
you looked at jax, who looked back at you with that crooked grin you'd fallen for in the first place.
"ready," you both said.
ragatha opened the door, and the group stepped forward into whatever came next—together, the way it should have been all along.
⠀✦ REQUESTS ARE OPEN (FOR NOW)
⠀⋆.˚ᨒ do not copy, translate, or plagiarize my work in anyway including the use of ai onto any other social media platforms or it will permit an instant block on all platforms.
