#BUT NEVER THOUGHT TOO MUCH ABOUT JT

[fobnsfwdoodlesbackup]

Hi y'all, I just wanted to talk a little about the behind the scenes of what I've been up to, to give y'all a little transparency and to open myself up for any tips or input! 🙏 Thank you for your continued support and for taking the time to look at my art 🫶

First and foremost I wanted to give some transparency about my art capacity.

As og followers may remember, I started this blog when I was doing art full time. Eventually my living expenses grew and I had to go back to work. I find myself in a cycle of "I'll make more art soon, once I get a job!" And "I'll make more art soon, once I am done with this job!" I lost my most recent job suddenly, having had an extension waved over my head until the last day(October 7th). Now I'm excited to have more time for art, but I am also feeling a rush to get a new job ASAP as I've been living paycheck to paycheck. I dream of doing this work full time, I'm just scared it's not quite there yet and I worry that I come off as scammy or dishonest when I anticipate more stability around the corner.

Second, I've been struggling with the Patreon. It's taken me a while to come to terms with this, but from what I've seen Patreon is not intuitive at all from the creator end. It doesn't do a good job of organizing addresses, emails, showing who or who isn't subscribed to me, or organizing and displaying the work I put on there. I've been really shocked by this experience, since lots of big names use Patreon. It's been a great way to streamline support, but it's been unhelpful in every other regard. I would like to continue using it, but I will most likely post more wips or process videos there in the future.

Which brings me to my third point, zines. I love making zines so much, it feels personal and fulfilling and fun! However the Patreon issues make it harder to keep information in order about where to send zines, or even where to message folks about them. In addition to this, the post office has been a big barrier to me, oftentimes only being open at the same time as my dayjob. Making zines can take days, then sending them out is a whole other monster.

This work is so important to me. Drawing peoples fantasies, representing body types, creating work around sexuality and the human experience feels like what I'm meant to do. I've made comics since I was a kid. This is the dream to me. The friends I've been able to make through this work are so important to me, and the conversations have been invaluable. Not to mention fun! I wanna doodle, I wanna draw hot stuff, I wanna thirst over these dudes! I want to play!

But I also just want to be transparent about the barriers I'm working around to share that experience. I'm completely self taught, both in art AND in running shops, building websites, running 8 accounts, etc. I take a lot of time to learn the logistics of these things, and try to make them make sense for my relationship with y'all (I do not want to paywall my art!! I don't want to!!!). This year my desktop broke down (the main one I use for all paintings and digital art). I've paused my Etsy shops and my Patreon to try to catch up with things. Trying to learn to paint in a completely different program. Then lost my job with no savings.

At the end of the day I don't want anything to come between me sharing my art with you. I wish I could doodle a thing, take a picture, and post it here. No third party site, no shop, no subscription. Just sharing my art with you. I promise I'm trying to figure out how to stay as close to that as possible, and I want to thank y'all for sticking with me as I untangle all of that.

So, what can you expect in the near future?

I'm working on a couple of painting commissions right now, which you should be able to see in the next couple of days! I want to catch up on kinktober and get those posted as well. There's a comic commission in progress which I'm very eager to work on, and which I think y'all will be excited for! To ease the weight of the Patreon I think I may do less zines/polls there and more wips and process videos! If possible, I want to do more full colored work too.

Thank you again for enjoying my work, and if you have any input or tips my inbox is always open 🙏🫶💕

[raybeetle]

#neckpain

[nbclover]

teehee

[its-time-to-write]

chapter 1

I’ve decided to give you the first two chapters at once, and then (theoretically) the rest daily. I’ve written through chapter 6 and idk where I’m going with it, which sounds about right, so not a clue when it’ll be done. Hopefully it isn’t too long.

table of contents bedroom eyes

It’s late, which is why you’re surprised your phone is lighting up. The initials JT are on the screen, and you wonder if you should just let it ring. But you reach for it at the last second and say, “Hello?”

“Hey,” comes Jamie’s voice from the other end. “You up?”

You roll your eyes and push yourself out of your chair in the kitchen. You’re working late yet again, trying to get ahead on a project while the world is asleep. You reach up into the cupboard for a mug as you reply, “Obviously I’m up. Wouldn’t have answered if I were asleep.”

Jamie snorts at that, but doesn’t say anything else. You’re irritated, which is to be expected, but you haven’t hung up the phone. You can hear him breathing on the other end, so you just wait.

“Can I come over?”

“No,” you say as forcefully as you can, but you’re already reaching for a second cup. 

Jamie says, “I’m not trying anything,” but you know he is, he always is; and it doesn’t matter that you know. You’ll always let him come over, you’ll always let him back in.

“Fine,” you say. “One cup of tea. Then you’re going home.”

—

Jamie sits on the edge of the counter, watching you type. You’re pointedly ignoring him and his teal trackies, but it’s hard. 

“I don’t got training tomorrow,” he says conversationally, and you refuse to acknowledge him even a little bit.

He slurps his tea and you sigh. You don’t have the energy to glare at him so you close your laptop and take a good look at his face.

You haven’t seen him in a few months, not since the breakup, but you’ve certainly thought about him. It’s hard not to when his face is plastered all around Richmond, and it would be hard anyway because your brain likes to replay every moment of your time together every single day.

You’d run into his teammates a few times but they never said anything about it. In a strange way, that made it feel like it never happened. 

And it did.

It did fucking happen, otherwise Jamie wouldn’t be in your kitchen right now most definitely making bedroom eyes because why else would he be here? Why else would you have let him come over?

So. You push out of your chair (again) and slot yourself in between his legs. “This didn’t happen,” you murmur, but Jamie’s too busy kissing a line up your neck. You grab him by his hair and pull his head back, forcing eye contact. “Say it. This didn’t happen.”

“This didn’t fuckin’ happen,” he groans and satisfied, you let go. He hops down and grabs your hand, pulling you upstairs. 

You’re not a particular fan of the way his feet skip steps, still familiar with your floorplan despite the separation. But you don’t complain when he’s undressed and in your bed, letting you release your frustrations with your work and with him.

When you’re done, you run a shower. Jamie joins, but everything has become strangely formal now. He doesn’t say much, doesn’t tease, and no sooner is he out and re-dressed than he’s headed out the door. It shuts behind him, you turn the lock, and freeze.

Is this what it’s come to? You miss him so much that you’ll let him into your house, your house, and then fuck him without a second thought?

No, you decide, enough is enough.

—

In hindsight, you should have known Keeley would be at the Prada show. It’s the exact sort of place she’d be, and exactly the sort of place you shouldn’t be. But you’re here with your friend Madeline sitting one row behind Keeley and desperately praying she won’t turn around. 

Except she does, and she’s thrilled to see you (because when isn’t Keeley thrilled?) and she’s chattering on as if she isn’t dating your ex-boyfriend.

Madeline digs her nails into your thigh, reminding you that this isn’t the place to lose it. There are too many cameras. And anyway, Keeley doesn’t mean anything by it. She’s not trying to flaunt her relationship and chances are she doesn’t even realize Jamie’s your ex.

But he is, so the second it’s polite Madeline drags you by the hand to the nearest glass of champagne, which you can only take two sips of before you run to the toilets to throw up.

“What the actual fuck is happening to you right now?” Madeline asks, all concern.

You try to shrug but the room’s spinning a little too much.

“You better not be fucking pregnant,” she jokes in an effort to lighten the mood.

Your head shoots up. “Shit,” you say. “I better fucking not be.”

Madeline freezes. “I beg your finest fucking pardon? That is not how you are meant to respond. This is the part where you laugh and say, ‘very funny Madeline, there’s no possible way I’m having a child because I’ve been celibate for the past seven months.”

You don’t respond and she shrieks. “What the actual hell? When did you do that? Why didn’t you tell me? I’ve been telling you for ages you need to get under someone new to get over that absolute tart of a man and when you do, you don’t even call me? Why-” she stops. “Oh fuck me. You did not.”

“I did,” you groan. “I shouldn’t have, but I did. Shit, Mads. This cannot be happening.”

 She pats your back. “Children are disgusting,” she says conversationally. “But I bet yours would be cute as shit. Come on, let’s get you some tests.”

—

Every single one comes up positive. You’re half laughing and half crying on the floor of your bathroom at the sheer absurdity of the situation. 

Madeline sits on the counter next to the sink in her sequined black dress, hair sleek and makeup perfect except a smudge on her lips where she carelessly wiped away a spilled drink. There’s a rip in her stockings and her heels are haphazardly kicked to the floor.

You’re kneeling by the toilet, grateful that it’s clean; hair in the messiest bun Madeline could make. Your shoes haven’t been on since getting into the car to leave Prada, and your skirt is rumpled. Your jacket is in a pile on the floor and your mascara has run a bit. And Madeline is taking pictures.

“This is the day I become an aunt,” she says. “I need the bean to know how hot we look.”

You shoot her a look. “What makes you think I’m keeping it?”

She shoots one right back. “Are you fucking insane? Why wouldn’t you of all people keep it? I know you want to. You’re fucking brilliant with kids. And…” she hesitates, “well, it’s Tartt’s kid.”

You’re silent at that. She’s right. It’s Jamie’s and despite what you’ve said or will continue to say, you- well. You don’t know what you feel. Something stranger than love, that’s for certain. He’s gone and you don’t even want him back, but there’s a niggling thought at the back of your mind that things aren’t quite over. 

Or maybe it’s delusion.

Whatever the case, Madeline’s right.

“Well, shit,” you say. “I’m so fucking glad I’m young, hot, and rich.”

Madeline laughs, the deep, genuine, infectious one, and you can’t help but join in.

You’ve never been more acutely grateful for your job in talent management, for clients who love you and let you charge exorbitantly, for your house that you own, and for Madeline.

“Me too, girl,” she says through hiccuping giggles. “Me fucking too.”

next chapter

[nevadancitizen]

-> TO LIVE ANOTHER DAY (I KNOW I NEVER WILL)

synopsis: you've always known that you're a throwaway -- another friendly kill. but when you're brought to ghost's world, you discover that there's so much more to life than defending democracy.

word count: 5.1k

characters: player! simon "ghost" riley, self-aware helldiver! reader

trigger warnings: mentions of canon-typical violence, reader is obsessed with and idolizes ghost, nudity (but not in a sexual/suggestive context)

notes: wanted to try my hand at a reverse version of the self-aware cod au. also if you're not aquantinced with helldivers 2, it's okay! it has easy-to-understand lore but i recommend watching this lore video (it's just under twelve minutes and gives a pretty good run-down on what's going on). also inspired by "to liberty and beyond" by jt music, which is inspired by helldivers 2 in turn (✿˵•́ ૩•̀˵)৴♡*

You always knew something was… off. 

Numerous ads and training modules state that every Helldiver is valuable to the continued reign of Managed Democracy and Super Earth. And yes, you’ve seen more than enough shock soldiers die for the cause – mostly freshly eighteen-year-olds that didn’t read the fine print that states that the minimum enlistment for a Helldiver is ten years. 

But that’s the thing. They died. You watched their bodies be ripped apart by bullets or torn to shreds by terminids. 

You never… died. Not really, anyway. 

It was always a split second of hot-white, searing pain, then a moment of darkness, then you were strapped into a hellpod, being sent down for another wave. Mentions of gods or other types of divine beings weren’t really heard of or taught about, so you didn’t know who to thank – or to blame – for this phenomenon. 

(You tried to mention this to your assigned Democracy Officer, but she just dismissed it with a threat of being sent to a Reeducation Camp.)

So you kept it to yourself. You have a habit of taking your helmet off and bowing your head (In prayer? You’re not so sure) and just breathing, taking in the cool thrum of your heart. You never thought you’d relate to the fascism-fueled automatons, but you only feel the warmth of… your God? your savior? when in the heat of battle.

You always think like this in between being sent down – wandering thoughts while wandering the halls of the ship. There’s not a lot of this type of time, so you make sure to savor it.

You’re in this position right now, looking down at your helmet and thumbing over the imperfections picked up from battle. The void-black visor shows a reflection of you, warped and stretched-out. Above the visor is a skull etched into the titanium – the lines are all jagged edges and uneven depths. You don’t remember doing this, but it’s there anyway. You don’t remember a lot, actually, but you’re, once again, told by your Democracy Officer not to worry about that.

You pick yourself up from that train of thought before you go too far. Instead, you put your helmet back on and start to walk the halls of the ship. 

Once you’re past the armory and terminal, you start down the steps to the sleeping quarters. (Because yes, despite being supersoldiers, Helldivers need their rest, too.) 

But then, you snipe something out of the corner of your eye. There’s… a door. A door you don’t remember being there. Light seeps through the small gap where the bottom of the door and the floor don’t meet. The sight causes the ashes in your belly that have gone cold to stir once more.

Your boots clunk on the ground as you walk over to it. It creaks open, as if inviting you. Again, you never remember having wooden doors that creak on the ship – they’re all automatic sliding metal doors, and open with faint hisses.

You push it open the rest of the way and die.

It’s that all-consuming pain that feels worse than any other time you’ve died – like your skin is being torn off the same time you’re being tarred and feathered. The black isn’t just a flash this time, but a few seconds you can actually count – twelve seconds. Twelve whole seconds. 

Twelve seconds doesn’t sound like a lot, but for you, it was fucking terrifying. 

You thought you actually died. It was almost laughable – you’ve survived automatons and terminids and being in cryo, but you couldn’t survive some mystery door? And all that effort without meeting your… you don’t even know what to call it. Guardian angel? Tormentor?

You wake up and, for the first time, aren’t in a hellpod – instead, you’re in a bed. You can move your arms and legs freely, but they feel… numb. Disconnected. 

When you start to look around, you notice everything is white and sterile. There’s a distinct sharp scent of disinfectant in the air, contrasting the musky gun oil and sweat that you know well. 

(You haven’t ever been in a real hospital – the closest is a small supply closet on-ship that was converted into a first aid station – but you’re pretty sure this is an actual hospital, like the ones back home on Super Earth.)

Your uniform is set on a chair nearby, your black-and-yellow cape draped over the back of it. Your helmet is on the cushion of the seat, facing you. Every piece is… oddly clean. There’s no dark brown dried bloodstains or sickly green bug oil.

With shaky hands (which have never trembled before – at least, not to this degree) you rip out the IV and brace yourself on the railing of the bed before standing. Your legs wobble a bit, but straighten themselves out after a moment. 

You take off the paper hospital gown and dress yourself in proper clothing. All the metal parts of your uniform click into place, and your under-armor fits like it always does – perfectly flush to your skin. 

Just as you’re about to push open the door, a man opens it. You’re stunned for a second before taking him in. He’s tall with a beard that looks like walrus tusks, and is wearing military fatigues you’ve seen in history modules. 

Looking at him causes a dull thrum in your chest, like your heart is picking up again. But it’s not him – he’s not your savior.

“Civilian,” you greet before pushing past him. You wave over your shoulder politely. “Praise be Democracy.”

The man makes a stunned noise before grabbing your shoulder and spinning you to face him. He opens his mouth to talk, but you interrupt him by holding a hand up. 

“Please, no touching the armor, civilian,” you say. “This is the property of the Ministry of Defense, as am I. If you wish to enlist, don’t talk to me, but the nearest Democracy Officer available.”

The man pauses for a moment before barking, “What in the bloody fuck are you on about, muppet?”

You huff out a laugh and lean closer to him. He’s tall, but with your armor, you’re taller. 

“Okay, civilian.” You smile underneath your helmet and speak in a lower tone. “I understand that you don’t see a lot of us, so if you want a signature, just ask, okay? I can make it out to your kid who wants to be a Helldiver, or whatever. Tell them to put that M2016 Constitution bolt-action rifle to good use.”

The man stares at you as if you’ve just admitted to secretly being an automaton and are planning to undermine Democracy to institute socialism. He slowly brings his hand away from your shoulder and walks past you. 

“Come with me,” he says simply. 

You follow him after a moment of contemplation. He causes a faint mimic of the warmth, so that’s good, right? And he can’t be dangerous. Maybe a danger to others, but not to you – not with all the armor you’ve got. You keep your hands clasped behind your back to keep from fidgeting as you walk.

“Firstly.” The man holds up a hand, his index finger raised. He doesn’t glance over his shoulder to look at you. “I am not a civilian. I’m a captain – Captain John Price of the SAS.”

“Nonsense,” you scoff. “A captain should always be wearing their armor. A Helldiver is always ready to fight for Democracy.”

You walk a little faster so that you’re not walking behind him, but next to him instead. “And besides, what is the SAS? I’ve never heard of that division, or that ship – whatever it is. I reside on the Dawn of Destruction.”

Price looks at you out of the corner of his eye, his thick brows furrowing. “It’s the Special Air Service. And I’ve never heard of these… Helldivers you’ve been going on about.”

“Good Liberty, that’s nonsense again!” You look over at Price, your eyes trained on him instead of in front of you. “Helldivers are all over the news, the radio sets, the televisions… surely you’re not that shut off? Every colony has some way to communicate with Super Earth.”

“Super Earth?” Price repeats back to you. He then holds up his hand and stops walking. “Nevermind. I don’t want to hear it.”

He gestures to the door he’s stopped in front of. “Go on.”

You glance at Price before opening the door. It’s an interrogation room, like the ones you’ve seen in old-timey movies. 

“Oh, I get it.” You look over your shoulder at Price. “This is like one of those war reenactments, right? You’ve recreated a military base from the original Earth… very impressive!”

Price shoves you into the room (with a surprising amount of strength), leaving you stumbling. You quickly correct yourself and spin around to confront him, but by the time you’re able to do that, he’s closed and locked the door. 

“Ah…” you sigh as you look around the room. It’s all concrete grey with a steel table and two steel chairs in the middle. There’s a mirror taking up the majority of one wall, one which you know is double-sided.

You walk up to it and try to talk to the people on the other side – you know there’s got to be someone there. “This is fun! Which training module is this? I thought I completed every one… is it new? Because I’ve never heard of something like this.”

After half a minute, there’s no response. You wander over to one of the chairs at the table and sit in it. You laugh a little as you rest your hands in the handcuffs chained to the steel.

“I am ready for interrogation!” you announce. “I sure hope no filthy fascist comes in and tries to cleanse me of the beauty of freedom! Because I surely won’t give them a cup of Liber-tea, and I of course won’t deliver it with my fist…!”

You tap your fingers on the table for a minute before slumping back in the chair. This is boring. Most training modules are the type where you’re run-and-gun-ing throughout the whole thing, but interrogation is boring. 

You’re sat like that for a good half hour before you hear the lock click. Your eyes dart to the door as it opens, revealing a man. 

He’s dressed in all black, with a balaclava covering his face. His russet-brown eyes meet yours through your helmet and it’s like you’ve died all over again. 

Heat explodes your chest like you’ve just got a shotgun slug blasted through your belly. The ashes have been blown away, and in its place, a raging bonfire! It roars like a dragon, and it reeks of reverence and prayer.

The man closes the door behind him and someone locks it from the outside. He barely makes it two steps before you stand from the chair, the legs shrieking against the floor.

“My God,” you say softly. 

“Helldiver,” the man greets.

“No, I…” You make your way around the table and stand as close as you can be without feeling like you’re about to catch fire. “Are you…?”

The man nods. “Ghost.”

“That’s it, that’s what you are!” you exclaim. You take a step forward and feel sweat drip down your back. “You’re the… the Ghost. The…”

The one who kept you from experiencing a permanent death? The one who kept you alive just to torment you? The guardian angel who watches your every move? The devil who prods at your ass with a pitchfork? You’re not sure what to say.

You settle on reaching out to him and saying, “You’re my savior.”

Ghost takes a step back. “Savior? I’m not so sure about that.”

“No, but – you are!” You breathe out a laugh and step forward, mirroring his actions. You bend at the knee and the back to make yourself shorter, as if trying to be smaller than him. “I am… I’m a throwaway. Another friendly kill. But you kept me alive! You brought me back after death, I remember dying so many times – y-you don’t get it, you’re my God!”

You strike, quick as a viper, and take his hand. Even though both your gloves and his act as barriers, it feels like your entire arm is engulfed in flame. Still, you keep holding on. 

“You chose me, right? You chose me to fight!” You clutch his hand tighter. “You chose me to spread Democracy, to smite the fascists and… I – I was taught that we are Democracy, not individuals, but you proved me wrong, because you chose me. 

“God chose me.”

A silence engulfs the interrogation room. You’re both frozen in time, living, breathing statues. It’s too hot. Every bone in your hand, wrist, and arm are turning to charcoal. It’s burning. It’s euphoric. 

Ghost starts to pull his hand away, but you bring your free hand to hold it in place, holding yours. “No, please.”

Ghost forcefully yanks his hand away. He drags you forward with the force, and you fall to your knees. The metal kneepads on your legs clang loudly against the concrete floor. 

You can do nothing but look up at Ghost from where you’re kneeling. There’s nothing sexual about it – it’s more like a believer kneeling at the feet of a statue of Christ. Ghost is your God, after all. 

There’s another minute of silence before you bow your head and reach up with shaky hands to remove your helmet. It clanks loudly against the floor as you drop it. 

You can feel Ghost staring at you. The fire burns hotter – the bonfire caught wind and is reaching up into the trees. The branches above are catching, aching to burn.

Tears rim your eyes as you bring your head up to look at him. His stare hardens.

It’s a sight you’ve seen in the mirror many times before. Your face is a mess of unloaded textures, a checkerboard of black and bright purple, with the exception of your eyes and the surrounding skin. But seeing yourself through Ghost’s eyes… 

It’s Rapture. It’s only you and him. A God and his only believer.

“Ghost, please.” A tear slips down your cheek. You don’t think you’ve ever cried before. It’s cool against your too-hot, burning skin. “Let me stay. I want to stay in Heaven, stay with you.”

“This isn’t Heaven,” Ghost says coldly. “And I’m not God.”

“But you are!” you snap. “This is peace and this is comfort and this is you. Don’t send me back to Malevelon Creek, don’t send me back to those godforsaken ion storms and automatons.”

Your voice grows quieter as tears run down your face and drip off your chin. “Don’t send me back to Hell.”

Ghost sighs and casts his gaze to the side. He’s thinking, and it’s plain on the parts of his face you can see. 

You bow your head and wipe your tears away to give him some semblance of privacy. 

“Fine,” he finally decides. “But stop calling me God. You’re starting to seriously piss me off.”

Your head snaps up and you fight back a fresh wave of tears as you nod. “Yes! I’ll – I’ll call you Ghost. No more God-talk, I promise.”

You huff out a wet laugh as you pick up your helmet and fasten it back on your head. “I mean, I’ll try. I promise I’ll try.”

And so it’s like that for a month. Ghost explains the concept of video games (and how you’re from one – but you figured out that much already), introduces you to his team (and forces you to apologize to Price for calling him a civvy), and gives you his blessing to be his guard (even though he doesn’t need one). 

He allows you to tail him around when he’s in a good mood. When he’s not up for it, you sit outside his door like the good soldier you are.

You’re not allowed to have weapons, on account of being… well. Your entire being. The flying spark that could cause a wildfire. The free radical that could split an atom. It’s just better to give you the bare minimum and keep you there.

And you’re more than happy with the bare minimum. You survive on scraps from the mess hall and the moments when Ghost can tolerate you being a little too close. 

But the week-long missions are nothing but pain for you. And yet, every time you meet him on the tarmac, he greets you with a pat on the side of your bicep and asks how you were while he was gone. Maybe he’s doing it to be polite, maybe he actually cares – you don’t know, and you’re willing to keep it that way. 

(In this instance, you’re blissful with your ignorance. Revel in it, actually.)

There’s a faint part of you that thinks that he views you as an abandoned puppy he found on the side of the road that just followed him home. You’re okay with that if it means you can keep being close to him and keep getting away with everything you’ve done so far. 

So you wait, ever so patient, outside his door. You don’t lean against the wall next to it – you’re always standing at attention, even when your back starts to ache from standing so rigid. You don’t know what to do with your hands (on account of having no rifle to hold) so you let them idly hang at your sides, fighting the reflex to fidget. 

There’s a knock from the other side of the door. A sign from Ghost, telling you that you’re welcome to come in.

You knock back with a soft, “Ghost?”

After a few seconds, there’s no response, but you can hear the lock click and unlock. 

You wait for a minute before you open the door and make sure to duck as you enter. (These doors are shorter than the ones back on your ship – they’re not built to accommodate someone wearing Helldiver armor.)

You shut the door behind you and take in Ghost’s room. It’s bare, like yours. Just a desk with a chair, a bed with military-issued bedding, and a closet with a dresser and clothes rod.

As if on instinct, you take your helmet off, leaving yourself vulnerable yet safe. As your time passed here, your skin has become less black-and-purple and more like a normal skin tone – like the color around your eyes has started to seep into the surrounding area. So far, it’s taken over your face and the column of your throat, just barely brushing past your collarbone.

Ghost moves away from where he’s facing his desk in his swivel chair. He takes you in. Takes your new skin in.

You’ve kept your armor clean, just how you both like it. But the upkeep of yourself, as a person, your new hair and new skin, your new nose and lips and beauty marks and imperfections…

Ghost points at you. “Your hair is greasy as hell.”

You comb a hand through your hair and your glove comes away with a bit of grease, just like he mentioned.

“It is.” You look up from your glove to meet his gaze. “What should I do about it?”

“Fucking hell.” Ghost rolls his eyes. “You’re asking me what you should do about it? Take a shower, knobhead.”

“Ah.” You look down at your boots. 

“Have you seriously not been bathing?” Ghost asks. 

“It, um…” You glance up at him, then back down at the floor. “It never occurred to me. Usually I don’t have to.”

“You’ve been here for a bloody month and you haven’t showered once?” he scoffs. 

You shrink into yourself, an embarrassed blush creeping across your face. 

“Christ…” Ghost mumbles. He stands from his chair and points you up-and-down. “Get out of your armor.”

“Excuse me?” A hand flies to the middle of your breastplate, as if cradling it to you like it’s the only thing keeping you decent. 

“You heard me.” Ghost moves over to the door to his bathroom and opens it, then glances over his shoulder at you. “I’m drawing a bath. And you’re going in it.”

You look down at your glove, at the thin sheen of grease covering it. “I… okay.”

Ghost goes into the bathroom to give you some semblance of privacy. You take a breath to calm yourself and exhale with a soft “Sweet Liberty…” 

You carefully lay out your metal armor on Ghost’s bed, leaving yourself in just your under-armor. It’s durable but thin, causing you to shiver as the air conditioning kicks on.

With light steps, you make your way over to the bathroom. Ghost is hunched over the side of the tub, his hands ungloved and sleeves bunched up to his elbows. One of his hands is under the running water, checking the temperature. 

You lean into the doorway and call his name softly. You only lean in a bit, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible.

Ghost glances over his shoulder at you, then nods at the tub. “Come on. Haven’t got all day.”

You slowly make your way in the bathroom and close the door behind you. It’s a small space, and it just makes everything all the more awkward.

“Well?” Ghost prompts. “Will you be good by yourself?”

“I mean…” You look down at the tile. “I guess.”

Ghost shuts off the faucet, then stands and wipes his hand off on a towel hanging by the bathtub. “I’m off, then.”

“But – wait,” you say softly. “How am I supposed to bathe? It’s not full yet.”

“It’s not meant to be full up,” Ghost says. “You’re acting like you’ve never taken a bath before.”

You shift on your feet, your almost-bare soles making a soft sound against the tile. Your silence tells Ghost all he needs to know.

“Come on then.” He sighs and leans back against the counter, his hands on the lip of the sink. “Strip.”

You shuffle out of your under-armor, fold it neatly, and put it on the counter. You’re nearly shaking from embarrassment, but at least it isn’t as awkward as it would be if your body wasn’t just unloaded textures. Your body below your collarbone is built well, but it’s more like a jacked doll that a kid scribbled a black and purple checkerboard on than an actual human soldier. 

Your eyes meet Ghost’s before you duck your head away in shame. 

“Come on,” he repeats. “Let’s get you washed up, yeah?”

You keep your gaze low as you tentatively dip a few fingers in the water. It’s warm, but not too hot. You slowly hook a leg over the edge of the tub and step in. It feels good – not that you have any prior bathing experiences to compare it to. 

Your knees practically buckle as you lower yourself into the water. You sit with your knees pressed up against your chest, not wanting to take up too much space even though the tub isn’t all that small. 

“Good?” Ghost asks. 

“Good,” you parrot back. 

Ghost kneels by the side of the tub. “How’s it feel? Too hot?”

“Okay.” You raise your eyes to meet his. “Feels like… when I’m near you.”

He just hums, monotone, in response. He shifts to sit more comfortably, then pats the surface of the water, sending ripples. “Lean forward.”

You do as he asks, bowing your head so that your face is close to the water. “This good?”

“Yes. I’m gonna get some water on you now.” 

You nod. Ghost cups his hand and dips it in the water before running it down your back. You gasp softly at the feeling – it’s unlike anything you’ve experienced before. It’s like Ghost’s molten touch is seeping into your skin, but instead of fire, it’s a pleasant version of sunburn. 

Maybe it feels duller and better because you’ve been so exposed to Ghost over the past month that you’ve gotten used to it, like exposure therapy? And the feeling when you first touched him was just too much, too fast…

You quickly divert your thoughts away from the theoretical and into the now. Because right now, Ghost is doting on you unlike any other. 

Water runs through your hair, and Ghost threads his fingers through the strands to make sure it gets properly wet. Droplets run down your forehead and drip off your nose.

You turn your head just a little and look up at Ghost sideways. “Is this it?”

“No.” He huffs out a laugh. “There’s shampoo, then conditioner. Then you gotta wash your actual body.”

“Oh.”

There’s a moment where the only sound is Ghost gathering a bit of shampoo in his hands and rubbing them together to create a lather. He scrubs it into your hair for about a half minute before washing it out.

You break the silence as he starts to work the conditioner into your hair. “I never got to ask – the engraving on my helmet… what’s that about? I don’t remember doing it.”

“Hm?” Ghost hums. “The skull? Dead daft, ain’t you?”

“I’m… I could only parse parts of that sentence,” you say softly. “But I can tell you’re calling me an idiot.”

“Yes. I am. You’re learning.” Ghost huffs out another laugh. “Go on, guess.”

“If I have to…” You close your eyes and lean into Ghost’s touch. “It’s a representation of your control over me? As a player, I mean. Not in… anything else.” 

You let out a nervous laugh and hope Ghost doesn’t pick up on your double meaning. But of course he does – you can tell in the way his hands pause for a fraction of a second before continuing their work. He’s too observant for his own good.

With an awkward ahem, you continue. “But that’s the same reason my callsign is Deathshead, right? Because you’re Ghost. You – you gave me your insignia.”

(You had to stop yourself from saying ‘Blessed me with your insignia’, because you promised you’d stop with the God-talk.)

“Dead on.” Ghost turns and rubs a bar of soap on a sponge, then hands it to you. “Scrub yourself. I’m not doing it for you.”

“Where?” you ask. “Like, all over?”

Ghost washes the conditioner from his hands in the bathwater and nods. “Mhm.”

You carefully scrub yourself from top to bottom. The sponge is a bit abrasive, but nice. 

(You’d much rather have Ghost wash you up, to cause the fire you’ve contained in a little wooden stove to flare out of the firebox and through the grill… but you keep that to yourself.)

Once you’re done, you wring the sponge out under the bathwater, then above water. You set it on the side of the tub and look up at Ghost, waiting for instructions. 

He meets your gaze and shifts where he’s sitting on the toilet lid. “Just relax, Helldiver.”

“Not used to this.” You pull your knees up to your chest. “Not used to having… downtime. I was always being sent down, or preparing to be sent down. Democracy was always my guide, but…”

You tilt your head towards Ghost, and he understands. 

“You are, now,” you voice the unsaid thought.

“That’s concerning.” Ghost rests his hands on his knees and leans back against the tank. 

“I know.” You look down at the bathwater and the bubbles floating on the surface. “It’s just… I’ve never felt the peace that we preach. I’ve only known fighting, only violence and blood.”

You look up and meet his eyes. “Have you ever had your legs blown apart by an Eagle Cluster Bomb? Ever been burned alive by friendly napalm? Because I have. I’ve felt my spine split because of an Orbital Railcannon Strike. I’ve been mowed down by friendly Gatling Sentries.

“But the worst thing I’ve experienced here is name-calling and weird looks,” you say. “I’ve been sick to my stomach with worry once or twice, but then I remember you’re a soldier, just like me. You’re trained, and you’re okay, and you’ll return fine. 

“I am…” You lean your head back against the tile wall and close your eyes. “I’m at peace here.”

“I get that,” Ghost says. His voice is the softest you’ve ever heard it. “How long were you deployed?”

“As long as I can remember,” you say. 

“Bloody long time, then, yeah?” Ghost says.

“Yes.” You bring your hand up and rub your collarbone, where skin meets undefined polygons. “But you’re making me human. Less Helldiver, less of an expendable piece of resurrected meat. You’re making me softer. More civilian.”

You open your eyes and look up at Ghost. The expression on his face is… conflicted. Like he didn’t know he could bring this out in someone. 

“They always said that when united under the beautiful Liberty flag of Super Earth, nothing will be able to stop or split its glorious peoples,” you say. “But you showed me that it’s better out here. That it’s… fascism, is what it is. But that’s a secret we keep from ourselves.”

You reach your hand out and lay it over where his lays on his knee. You just barely brush your fingertips over the back of his hand before grabbing it. 

(Another log has been added to the fire, and it’s covered in lichen and dried mosses. It crackles and pops, but you make sure to keep it still contained.)

“Would you believe me if I said that I hate Managed Democracy?” You laugh breathlessly. Even saying it causes a sick feeling in your stomach, like you’ll be found out and promptly dismissed. (Read: put up against a wall and executed via firing squad.)

“Yes.” Ghost glances down at where your hand lays on top of his. “A lot of people hate the government, all ‘cross the world. Don’t you know that?”

“And they’re… allowed to?” You bite the inside of your bottom lip to subdue a smile. “Like, openly?”

Ghost laughs. “Yes.”

“This really is Heaven.” You sigh out the words, an unbelieving smile crossing your face. 

“Not Heaven,” Ghost says. “Just Earth.”

He moves his hand slightly, and you take it as a cue to move away. You bring your hand back, dipping it back in the bathwater. 

“Well,” you say softly. “I think I like just Earth.”

“On just Earth, we bathe regularly.” Ghost dips a hand in the water and splashes your knees. “Now, come on. Let’s get you rinsed off.”

[kibblbread]

This is completely aimless and scattered, like more than usual but whatever. Either way it’s just relationship dynamic stuff~ btw pls read the fucking pizza gorl fic —>>> 🍕✨

Random thought but i think exposure therapy might be the best option in aiding Jason to recovery, well, that and gentle coaxing! Jason is very responsive to praise because he’s definitely a people pleaser. I know it might be hard to tell looking at him from a glance; but let’s not be shallow, he gives chance after chance to his loved ones no matter how much they screw him over. He’s simply a lover boy. So I conclude that Jason is a huge people pleaser, and he’s privy to it but ignores himself. He hates digging into his psyche.. it just hurts, poor guy has too many painful memories.

But it’s necessary for healing unfortunately 😔

AK!Jason is extremely.. emotionally.. wrecked. He doesn’t act outside his redhood persona often unless it’s completely necessary— like getting food and supplies, or even to possibly get intel.

At least for a while.

Meeting PG turns his entire world on its head! He’s pretty out of his element as it is while trying to define his persona, the redhood. But PG! Hoo boy— he did not anticipate a partner in crime. A sidekick if you will lol. So essentially his healing process is expedited(just a tad bit); since Jason interacts with his family at a much faster pace than otherwise on his own terms. Dick is very eager to give his younger brother the much needed affection and support that JT deserves but doesn’t want to scare Jason away. So early in the rekindling process, Dick takes a backseat and lets Barbara lead— she’s the voice for not only herself, but Dick & Tim even Alfred for a bit too. Babs knows just what to say and how to say it more often than not! Jason is more relaxed around her than any of his family for a time.

JT’s attitude is still pretty rotten though, he’s suffering so there’s still so much happening within him that slows them down in regaining his trust.

He’ll still snap & even become aggressive toward Barbara if she isn’t cautious and calculated in her approach, which she is, but she’s not a mind reader and can trigger the worst in Jason. However, on the other side of the spectrum, we have pizza. PG seems to never catch any lip, and if she does it doesn’t seem intentional most times— genuine underestimation is the biggest culprit. PG can be reckless, it’s the largest pain point in the fic between these two imo! But you’re not from gotham, you’re truly ignorant, you’re like a second chance to him almost. You don’t know of his sins, not really anyway… A slate as clean as yourself, he’s gotta prove to you he’s not a useless, unworthy, sorry excuse for a person right? He’s gotta prove it to you.

To his family.

To gotham.

No, he doesn’t. But if we are gonna play this game he proved it when he put on his life on the line once as robin, and a second time the moment he decided to become redhood. He’s no less worthy than anyone in reality. Hopefully he’ll see it in this lifetime, but even if he doesn’t, it doesn’t change how you see him and continue to see him. It most definitely doesn’t change how you make him feel either. 🥰 PG is a protective person at heart. She’ll do what she can to help just about any decent human being but especially her loved ones.

Jason sees it. He can feel it too, subconsciously he wants what she wants for him. So he’ll allow her to poke and prod him where he needs to be directed. JT allows a lot from PG actually, from her quick gentle touches to her quips and questioning. He doesn’t take it the same from any of the other bats, when it’s from family it’s nothing short of condescending. Humiliation and anger rises bubbles from his gut straight into his heart. But from you? It’s not something he can quite name.. sometimes it’s annoying, yes, but with you he doesn’t mind feeling insecure as much. You don’t know what insecurity looks like on him just yet so naturally he allows you to suggest things he wouldn’t otherwise acknowledge. The dialogue between you two is allowed to flow freely. To not know Jason’s trigger’s is to not know his anger; which is arguably both a pro and a con.

The closer PG gets to JT the more she sees what he’s capable of.. and how. The why is what she’ll inevitably get to, but how she gets to his truth is much more important. I think PG not being afraid of how Jason will react is her biggest advantage in being so close to him. On the reverse side of things, Jason is more calm because to him, she not antagonistic in his mind. She doesn’t know his past or the extent of JT’s capabilities so why would she, and even if she did, could she? Again I feel JT genuinely underestimates PG as she is a civilian and not held to his impossible self imposed standards. It’s not malicious, he just wants to protect her, his guard is lower than usual which isn’t saying a lot because it’s still extremely high. JT is still distrustful don’t get me wrong, but it’s not personal like it is with his family.

When you tell J he did good, that he’s accomplished something, he’s on the moon. PG’s acknowledgment goes such a long way in the never ending void that is his insecurity and self loathing!

On a less abstract level, when it comes to doing, Jason unintentionally gives PG the go ahead to start pushing his buttons when he inevitably begins clinging to her presence for comfort. For better or for worse, you push many buttons. lol.

“Stay here a bit longer?” Fine, what’s a bit longer?

“Call for back up! We need help!” Im good enough for the job, but maybe some help would be better than none in this instance…

*looks around Jason’s safe house* “Damn bitch you live like this??? Sleepover at my place😝” *complies but serves the most bombastic of side eyes*

The batfam get to see parts of him they haven’t seen before, or at least in a very long time when you two interact in front of them. Jason is still largely argumentative, but thats how it stays surprisingly, he doesn’t boil over and actually backs down or bites his tongue. Which is.. shocking to say the least. Dick & Babs take note of the more true extent of his patience and how willingly he’ll hear your suggestions. They’ll take note of how freely you grab his hand and drag him along. They even notice him suspiciously looking in your direction for prolonged periods while your back is turned. Hmmm very note worthy indeed. Jason is all too aware but doesn’t know what he can do about without you noticing his clear change in demeanor. But quite a few of his new habits fly under his own radar when it comes to being around PG!

He’s less jumpy for one.

Jason isn’t at all more confident in his abilities since he’s still crippled with anxiety and a lot of self doubt but, he’s really focusing on monitoring and guiding you. JT is teaching you to work smarter, teaching you how the streets of gotham work. And above all else making sure PG can keep herself safe! He’s firm and direct, sometimes even sounding like the commander of a militia 🤭 I like to think sometimes he reverts accidentally. Jason also tends to stay close to PG. Most times it’s unintentional but others he’s just watching out for you. You give him a lot of good vibes and reassurance and JT just naturally finds himself hovering over to where you are. Like him and D are side by side on a rooftop, then all the sudden he’s breathing down your neck because you decided sitting on the ledge of a building was cool like a dumbass. But the most notable of all these habits is how much he allows your touch; JT doesn’t squirm away from you either, he stays put. PG will touch his shoulder in gentle support or give his hand a quick tap to pull his attention.

Barbara finds this behavior interesting, Dick thinks it’s adorable but is lowkey in his feelings about it.

Lol

I think thats it for now…

thank u for reading my post bestie 🍕🤪

[hughesybear]

“Elliotte talks about the struggling Elias Pettersson.” (21/10/2024)

transcript of 32 Thoughts segment below cut

Elliotte: I have a theory on Pettersson. I think number one, he’s wired a little differently than guys like Miller and Hughes, which is okay. Not everybody can be the same, so I think that sometimes the way he reacts to tough or challenging moments, or when things aren’t going that well, it’s not as emotional as them. We’re going to be interviewing Mats Sundin this week, and I always thought that was a thing that hurt Sundin a little bit in Toronto - it took people a lot of time to understand that just because you’re more of a stoic, as opposed to emotional, person, it doesn’t mean you don’t care or that you don’t want to win just as badly as anyone else. But I think people who are like that in sports sometimes get penalized for it, Kyle. And I think a little bit that happens with him.

You know, you’ve got to produce (…) but you know what the other thing is, and I’ve really thought about this and I think it’s true more and more, I think Pettersson is one of those guys that reads everything or he’s aware of everything that’s said about him. And honestly Kyle, I think that’s one thing that he’s going to move past. Because I think in moments like this, when you’re struggling (…) I always say about markets like Vancouver, the rewards are high but the risks are high.

Jamie Baker, the former NHLer, told me a great story of when he got treaded to the Toronto Maple Leafs, Wendell Clark pulled him aside and said “Understand this: you’re never as good as they say you are, and you’re never as bad as they say you are. You’ve got to ride a flat line as much as you can. You can’t go up and down, it can’t be peaks and valleys, you’ve got to ride the flat line.” And I suspect, this is my opinion, because I think Pettersson is well aware of everything that is said about him, I think he rides the peaks and valleys, and I think that is the thing that he has to get out of his system.

(…) I think Hughes is excellent at riding the line. I think he’s captain for a reason, because he knows what matters and what doesn’t. And I think the key thing for Vancouver is that I think they have players who weren’t like that before, but have gotten there. Like I think JT Miller, over the last year or so, has gotten a lot better at riding the line. Now I think it helps because they’re successful, I think when they’re losing it’s extremely hard for him, but I think he’s gotten better at riding the line. I think Brock Boeser is a guy who’s gotten a lot better at riding the line, keeping it calm. I think you can develop it, I think you can learn it.

But I think one of the things, and this is my theory on Pettersson too, is that when he’s struggling and it’s not going well, I think it really - it’s something he’s really aware of, what’s being said about him, and he has to stop that. And that’s my constructive criticism for Pettersson (…) You have to learn to weed it out. There’s a difference between constructive criticism, which we all need, and just pure savagery. So I think that’s one thing Pettersson’s going to have to get better at, is blocking that out, and I think it’ll really help him.

Kyle: I think back to a couple years ago, I remember asking a question about like “when you’re going through tough stretches, who do you lean on to help get you through?” And he said “you know, I’m a little bit of a lone wolf.” And that really stuck with me. This is a guy who’s - I mean, he’s only gonna be 26 next month, just over 400 career games in the NHL, so this is a guy who’s still very much figuring out life as a person.

I mean, I grew up [in Vancouver] when the Sedins went through “they’re too small, they’re too soft, they can’t survive in the NHL,” to being one of the great dynamic duos in the league for an extended period of time. And seeing how that market can be with players who really learn to thrive amidst the chaos that market can provide. So I hope he does find joy in where he wants to get to, because it can be a really great ride out there when you can find that balance.

Elliotte: If I was good enough to play, and we all know I’m not, but if I was good enough to play I would be all over a Canadian market (…) I really do love it. And you can see this, like a guy like Miller, who’s signed long-term, he sees that. He’s been through the wringer, and he’s grinded his way through, and now you see the videos that his family is putting out like when he scored the other day, last year in the playoffs when Natalie Miller put on Instagram the video of their daughter hearing them chant his name, like that’s what I mean about the rewards are high.

If you succeed in hockey in a Canadian market, your ticket is booked for ever. Forever and ever, amen.

[ladybelladonna76]

Voila, Dakota's Misty Summer, Part I

Dakota Harding, Ms Harding to her pupils was an okay teacher, not the best but certainly not the worst. A fourth year teacher she was starting to become jaded with how little she could achieve within in her classroom. Sure she helped the students she could and cajoled those that she couldn't. She was loved by some of her class and hated by others, but for the most part she was just another obstacle to be overcome for these young adults about to head out into the world.

It was the end of another year and one more class was graduating ready to start the next step on leaving their own paths into adulthood. As always she recieved a bunch of presents from those graduating and she gathered them up and put them in a bag to take home and look at later. 

Getting home Dakota settled down for a quiet evening, she started with the main event, the unpacking of her class's gifts.

"Nice! Target, Starbucks, Macy's", the middle class parents always defaulted to gift cards, "a couple of mugs to be put in the cupboard with the dozen others ages been given over the years", she snickered, "Best teacher ever! Wow Stacey's parents do not know their daughter at all!", she continued to sort through them until the various knickknacks and gift cards were all sorted, laid out haphazardly on her coffee table. "Nice haul" she smiled, "better than last year" and started tidying up, she folded up the bag she'd used when one more unnoticed card fell out, she opened it up, reading the front,  "Hmmm, what's this, Voila, a gift card for $200", she was impressed, flattered, "wow that's a lot, I wonder what Voila sells, and who'd give me a gift like this", she looked inside the card and read the inscription, "from JT" she was incredulous, "this must be a mistake, he hates me, I had him in detention most weeks and almost got him expelled a couple of times", reading on, "I know I wasn't your favourite student Ms D, heck I'm pretty sure I was your arch nemesis at times but you've been my teacher since I was a freshman and you were the best teacher I had, so I hope this makes up for it. I guess I was trouble mostly because I wanted to get your attention, and spend more time with you whilst we were still together at school, you were always my favorite Ms D.", 

Dakota was taken aback, flustered even. She would never have expected this from Jack. Jack Taylor was always trouble.

He came from a wealthy family and he knew no matter what he did he always had Daddy's money to back him up. As she thought about it even though he was rich and spoilt his life must be hard, he never saw his Dad, he was always traveling and his mom was too busy being the wife of a wealthy man to pay much attention to her son. The only place he must get any attention must be here at school, of course his behavior was a cry for help and she'd missed it. She got misty eyed and a little choked up, "I'm sorry Jack I never knew" she mouthed almost silently to no one.

The rest of the night went as planned, the gifts sat on the coffee table mostly forgotten, except for a single box of candy that she picked at periodically. Dakota later ate some microwaved noodles and binged three episodes of Stranger Things, she was watching it for the fifth time, it was comfort TV. Eventually the day caught up with her and she felt her eyes growing heavy, rather than sleep on the couch again Dakota turned off her TV before crawling to her cold lonely bed in her quiet empty one bedroom apartment.

The next few weeks were what she'd come to expect from the long summer months, they were boring with nothing to do and no where to go, Dakota drifted, she went out a couple of times with friends, saw family, read a couple of books but really she did nothing of consequence. Finally cleaning her house in a burst of energy to block out the overpowering monotony she came across Jack's forgotten gift card again and decided on the spur of the moment to find out what exactly Voila did.

Grabbing her laptop she did a quick internet search and discovered that Voila was a beauty salon on the wealthy side of town! She smiled and laughed in exasperation, "Oh it could have been such a nice thought Jack, it was so expensive, but it was just a way for you to get one more dig in about my appearance", memories of Jack poking fun of her in front of the rest of the class about how she should act like a young woman not an old crone ready to go to nursing home flashed in her mind. She thought about giving the card to someone or just throwing it away but instead Dakota laughed in defiance, "Fuck you JT, I'm using this and then I'll never have to think about or see you ever again!"

She called the salon's number on the card the next day and arranged for an appointment through the rather rude and impatient receptionist, she was given an appointment for the next week, apparently she was lucky, there's been an opening, appointments were normally scheduled months in advance. Dakota was eager to use the gift card and forget Jack or the present had ever existed, move on with the rest of her life.

Walking up to the salon on the day of her appointment Dakota felt instant regret at not giving the card away.

Voila was a bustling high end salon in an exclusive part of town. Dakota stood watching the entrance from across the street trying to summon up the courage to enter, she watched the numerous clientele coming and going she knew this wasn't her kind of place at all, they were all glamorous women, some young, some old, all ostentatiously wealthy. Dakota didn't want to judge but they all looked like high maintenance trophy wives, she most certainly did not belong in a decadent place like this.

Dakota normally got her hair cut at a local salon. They did good straightforward work, she didn't need anything fancy, most importantly they were cheap and familiar. She'd been visiting her normal hairdresser ever since settling here after college, she was comfortable there. 

Taking one final deep breath and steeling herself Dakota walked quickly towards the salon door, she could see there was a gap in people coming and going, she decided, it was now or never. Looking around the salon as she walked through the door she knew immediately this really was an alien world. She could hear some kind of chart music playing in the background, it sounded familiar, she'd heard her students listening to it but she couldn't fully make out what it was. People were bustling around, there was so much happening, her senses were bombarded, disoriented. In this state of sensual overload she approached the front desk apologetically.

"Err, excuse me, I have an, um appointment", she tried to catch the receptionists attention

The intimidating receptionist looked her up and down making an obviously negative assessment.

"Name?"

The tone in this beautiful Amazon of a woman's voice and her withering stare unsettled Dakota even more, she gulped, "it's errm..."

"Oh spit it out, can't you see we're busy here?", her eyes narrowed, it felt like they were burrowing a hole in Dakota's head. 

"Ms D. Harding"

"Okay Misty I've got a Harding here, your stylist Raven will be out in a minute, take a seat"

Dakota tried to correct the receptionist but her words died in her throat as she was dismissed with a wave and a roll of the eyes. Dakota went over to the waiting area and flopped down into a big chair. She didn't belong in a place like this, she knew it, the receptionist knew it, everyone here knew it, she felt like the eyes of everyone were looking at her, judging her. She slouched back desperately hoping the soft chair would swallow her up so she could disappear from this horror show.

After what seemed like a long time Dakota heard a voice calling out insistently.

"Misty.....Misty.....", Dakota heard a brief exchange of words punctuated by a snicker, "her? Okay....there you are....Misty?", the voice was directed at her..."are you deaf darling or just catatonic..." realizing the voice has been calling for her she sat up straight and saw the intimidatingly perfect woman looking down at her questioningly.

Dakota couldn't get out her words she just sat up and stared

"So not deaf then, are you mute Misty or just stupid?"

Stunned Dakota bit her lip, "no", she gulped, she thought she should correct Raven's mistake,  "just a little nervous, sorry, the receptionist she err..."

"No need to be sorry," Raven cut her off before she could correct the error, "looking at you it's obviously your first time" her hands waved at Dakota to follow, "I do love a Voila virgin, come on Misty hurry up,  we've got a lot to do today", with that Raven marched back towards the back room, Dakota hurrying behind in her wake. She was so defeated and in a daze she decided that today she'd just have to be Misty, she didn't want to go through the rigmarole of trying to explain the mistake and be ignored again.

"Okay bitch, get in the chair and we'll get you started"

"I'm sorry" Dakota said outwardly offended by Raven's language. 

"Stop being so sorry, all my clients are Bitch to me, it's a sign of affection sweetie, you'll get used to it, you'll soon think of yourself as a Bitch too"

"I'm sure I won't, I can't afford this  extravagance regularly, this was a gift"

"Don't worry Misty you'll be back, my clients always become regulars, I have a certain magic about me, now let's get you started"

"Okay well I was thinking a trim and perhap some low li...."

"It's okay sweetie, the instructions were all on file with the gift card, just sit back and relax, I'll take it from here, I know what you need"

"Errm......okay Raven", Dakota wanted to protest but she knew it would have no effect, this woman was a force of nature. 

As Raven went to work Dakota felt a daze coming over her. Watching Raven's movements whilst working her magic was almost hypnotic, Raven chatted away and Dakota would respond and hold simple conversations with her but she couldn't seem to remember what they talked about only moments later. After what seemed like just a few minutes, but was in fact several hours, Raven span her to the look at her new hairstyle in the mirror.

"Some of my best work", Raven announced proudly to her, "So what do you think Bitch?"

Not even registering the word bitch, Dakota was transfixed by the beautiful woman staring across the salon at her.

Dakota's jaw relaxed and her mouth opened ever so slightly in awe of this baddie, she held up her hands to touch her hair in anxiety and the woman in the across the way did the same. The realization slowly dawned on her, this stunningly hot woman looking at her was her... she was looking at a reflection, this couldn't be real, this was some kind of a trick. There was no way she that young woman staring seductively from the mirror.

She registered the glasses and oversize jacket, she'd put them in this morning, they were definitely hers, but this must be an elaborate prank after all looking at this vision the clothes were where the similarities ended. This woman, this perfect vision of sexuality, looked like some kind of seductive trophy woman. Her lips painted in perfectly applied lipstick, makeup accentuating her seductive eyes, even her blouse was gone, she could see the top of the woman's bare chest and what looked like two incredible tits...no not tits, nice looking breasts, peeking out. Dakota's hand trembled as her hand moved to her chest, mirrored by the image opposite her, she found only skin and the woman in mirror's face dropped in shock. 

"The first time is shocking isn't it?" Raven observed, this wasn't the worst reaction she'd ever seen by far. 

"Oh my God, what have you done to me, I look like some 20 year old party bitch"

"You're welcome and it's 21 year old actually, and I told you at the beginning Misty, I have a certain magic about me", she winked, "so do you like the look?...I know your boyfriend will"

"I don't have a boyfriend you witch", a harsh tone crept in to Dakota's voice, "and my name is fucking Misty, not Misty"

"Okay, fucking Misty it is and as a 'witch' talking to my client I'll just let you know that I was just doing what it said on the order Bitch, take it up with Mr Taylor if you've got any complaints"

"I want a full refund" Dakota called after Raven who was walking obliviously towards the reception, "no can do sweetcheeks, Mr Taylor paid in advance and the $200 was my special fee, take it up with him", Dakota felt a sudden burning at the mention of Jack's name, her whole body flushed with anger?

Infuriated and defeated Dakota impotently stormed out of the salon, "Fuck you all" she cried causing a scene and slamming the door in a full on tantrum as she left. She could see people looking at her shocked by her behavior, ashamed a tear rolled down her cheek. Dakota didn't know what to do or where to go, she breathed slowly composing herself and made sure to straighten herself up, making sure her makeup wasn't smudged she examined herself in a shop window, "yep still looking good Bitch!", she paused momentarily wondering where that had came from. Just because she looked like trophy bitch didn't mean she was any different inside, she was still Dakota. Finding herself calm for a moment Dakota decided she needed somewhere to think, to plan out her next move, she wandered in to a nearby coffee shop she'd spotted deciding a hot drink would help calm her nerves. 

She walked in to the coffee shop and automatically without thinking walked straight up to the barista, jumping past a couple of people patiently waiting in line. Her resting bitch face glared at the other customers almost instinctually, as if she was challenging them to say anything, they looked away quietly. 

'They know their place', she thought. 

She walked up to the counter and without being asked just barked out her order at the meek pathetic looking barista 

"I'll have a venti 7 pump vanilla soy 12 scoop matcha 180 degree NO FOAM green tea latte", where had that come from she normally ordered a flat white, "make sure that temperature is right" she demanded, 'what's wrong with me? I must still be in shock she reasoned to herself'

"Name?", the barista asked

Dakota felt a momentary anxiety trigger inside her remembering the confusion earlier. 

"Misty", Dakota said automatically despite herself,  "M-I-S-T-Y!", she spelled out as if assuming the girl was dumb or would deliberately write it incorrectly to spite her, inwardly she was screaming, 'why am I being such a bitch and why can't I seem to dump that bitch moniker, although Misty does seems like more of a name for a bitch than Dakota and that is how I'm behaving right now. Get a hold of yourself, this is not who you are, be nice Dakota, it costs nothing.'

As she stood waiting for her drink the time seemed to be dragging, it seemed like it that little bitch was taking forever deliberately. Dakota, found herself tapping on the counter with her elegantly painted nails impatiently. Dakota looked up at the clock to see it had only actually been three minutes, she dismissed that, the clock must be broken, this wait felt like forever, impatience darkened her already irritated mind further. The drink finally arrived, Dakota took it before paying and took a tiny sip, she sighed and with dark stormy eyes she turned sardonically to the poor slight barista, a young girl of barely college age, 

"Really....you took all that time, making me wait and this is what you give me", her irritation was fast turning to anger, her voice gaining a strained tone,  "do I need to get someone more competent, perhaps not a fucking trainee to make this for me, this, whatever this you think this is, is disgusting" she passed it back dismissively, "make it again, but properly this time!", the barista intimidated by the forcefulness of Misty took the drink back sheepishly.

"I'm sorry, I'll make it again, I...", she started to apologize

"Don't tell me you're sorry," Misty snapped, "just do your fucking job properly, it's not hard, ugh idiots"

Dakota couldn't believe what she was doing or just how satisfying it felt doing it. After the fourth attempt, with the barista looking more and more upset the drink was finally to Dakota's exasperated satisfaction

"About time, I assume this will be free"

The barista meekly nodded and retreated into the back room, Dakota thought she could hear muffled sobbing, she smirked as she strutted away from the counter pridefully.

"I'll be sure to leave a review", she called back maliciously, reveling in the pain she was causing the girl. 

"That was uncalled for and just mean", a woman's voice murmured from the expanding line, Dakota spun on her heel glaring accusingly at the line of people.

She started laughing at the sight of these pathetic examples of humanity, "Look sheeple if that moron did her job properly she wouldn't have caused that to happen to her, we all have to learn", she smirked hoping the voice would identify themselves, "in fact if that pathetic serf had any real sense about her she wouldn't be working at this awful job, she'd have someone to take of her and not end up serving me and you fucking robots, she gets what she deserves and what she deserves certainly doesn't include respect or compassion from me just because she can't do the simple job she's paid what she's worth to do".

'Wow', she felt her eyes roll a little backwards in pleasure, 'that was a rush, why does being mean make me feel so fucking horny',  Dakota thought biting her lip a little, 'is this what being Misty would feel like, this is terrible, I'm being so fucking bitchy, this is so wrong, I'm being a horrible person, but mmmmmm it feels so good', a damp patch started to form in her panties. 

She walked elegantly away from the murmuring line of people and sat down at a table by the window looking outside so she wouldn't have to remember she was in a room full of pathetic worthless bags of skin.  Looking out the window she started examining the people that passed by on the busy street. Dakota found herself openly sneering in disgust as each and every person she saw was found lacking in her mind in almost every criteria she now found found important.

Look at her rat's nest hair, why is he wearing a suit like that, where did she get those clothes, a garbage dump? Dakota was fast realizing that there was not one person in here worthy of Misty's precious time.

'Why did I come to this dump', she thought, "this isn't me at all" She shook her head trying to clear mind of cobwebs, to think clearly, '..or is it, I've always loved coffee shops" Dakota was fighting for her identity, 'No this bitchiness it isn't me, none of this is me, this is just an uncharacteristic moment, shock from my appointment' she held herself tightly, her hands feeling her soft delicate skin, the brush of her nails comforting her , 'maybe that wicked slut Raven drugged me and I'm still just sat hallucinating in her chair', of course that must be the answer. That made sense, this must just be some lucid fever dream, a momentary hallucination. Dakota rationalized if it's a just a dream then there's no guilt, this isn't me, there's no consequences to this. My subconscious is just running free let loose of my normal inhibitions, I should just play along and let go. A thought intruded, let's see where my subconscious is going with this, let Misty out, then we can enjoy this dream fully together, if it's just a dream let the bad girl play, she's always been just below the surface just waiting for you to let her out and have fun, that would be the nice supportive thing to do', she bit her lip seductively at the titillating idea of freedom swirling in her mind, 'Misty you want to come out and play a while whilst I dream?', she asked to only herself in her mind. 

With that mental choice Dakota's personality was suddenly overwhelmed by a new fully formed identity erupting out, finally freed from inside her. A raw passion awakened, a realization of power cascaded throughout her being, a tantalizing shiver of possibility shot up her spine and her nipples hardened against the fabric of her cheap jacket.

A perfect smile crept over her face,  'I'm over this place, where too now?', Misty wondered sipping her coffee, seeing the sleeve of her jacket as she raised the cup gave her a spark of inspiration, 'I'm done with this cheap costume, it's served it's purpose now I need a more appropriate outfit", Misty adjusted her jacket making sure her breasts were still on on display looking perfect so all these pigs would be aware of their inferiority. With a flourish she stood knocking over her barely touched drink to spill all over the table and floor, she actively ignored the mess leaving it for some peon to clean up.

Misty seemed to head on autopilot strutting along the street like a model on her own personal catwalk, her face daring anyone to get in the way of her parade of perfection. She could see the stares and hear the intakes of breath she was attracting as she seductively strutted towards her goal. 

She walked in to the fanciest boutique like she belonged there, this was a place Dakota didn't know existed, let alone would ever have considered shopping at. 

"I'm going to need some help" she announced upon entering the store looking coldly at the sales staff.

She looked at the three people who had stopped working and now stood staring up at her like startled deer. Her mind quickly sizing them up she selected by pointing at the most attractive girl, she knew the other two girls would be equally jealous of their colleague but a little relieved too, "You'll do for now", she subtly let the girl know she was replaceable, "I need a new wardrobe,  go get me somethings to try on, clothes that will dream me perfectly, you know what I want?"

"Yes of course, Miss erm?"

 "Misty darling", she looked in the mirror adjusting her hair and touching up her lip gloss.

"And I'm..", Misty immediately cut her off

"No thank you, I could not care less", superior bitchiness was so delicious, "now run along little girl and bring me something more", she waved down at her old oversized jacket, "suitable for a bad bitch like me out on the town", Misty loved ordering this peon around it made her nipples hard as diamonds, I'll be in the changing rooms, please don't make me wait too long, I hate to wait, I get so terribly impatient and bored"

The girl ran off frantically to bring Misty the stores hottest looks.

Misty walked towards the changing area and started stripping her clothes off as she went. The two remaining assistants scurried after her in a panic picking up what she dropped, the glasses, shoes, her skirt, and finally her jacket.

"Miss Misty what should we do with these?", the oldest of the assistants called after her, gasping at the customer's beautiful round ass.

"Throw them away or keep them, I don't really care, they're just not me anymore", Misty said with a dismissive tone.

The assistant followed behind Misty gathering up her discarded clothing as she went, when she came to Dakota's granny panties she looked around furtively to make sure she wasn't being watched then stuffed them in her dress for safe keeping.

Now competently naked in the changing area Misty took in her whole body's magnificence in the full length mirror for the first time. 

'Jack what have you done to me', she thought remembering her student who's gift has brought her to this moment, 'if you could see boring Dakota now you you wouldn't think she's some ugly crone anymore, mmm, I think I may need to go visit JT and apologize to him personally for not giving him the attention he needed when he was in Dakota's class'

She'd had an inkling when she first changed whilst boring Dakota was still in control that she was sexy, but fuck Misty could she that she was a magnificent sexy bitch who knew it. Her pride an arrogance pumped wicked nasty thoughts in to her mind, her hands massaged herself roaming around her naked body, exploring every inch, her plump soft lips, her graceful neck. Every light touch was a rhapsody in sensitivity sending tingles shooting throughout her consciousness. Her arms and legs were strong but elegantly sculpted like a dancer's, her ass full and round, she'd perfectly fill out any pants or leggings now. oh her beautiful breasts, her glorious fucking tits, they were at least a full C Cup, they were pert and firm to her touch, she accidentally grazed her erect nipple and it send a shock of pure pleasure to her beautiful glistening pussy, she could feel the heart emanating from her sex, she wanted so desperately to touch it to feel her pussy's lips, she could feel her then moistening with every naughty moment, before today she'd never have used the word pussy to describe her vagina, but it was undeniable, she had a pussy and it was a fucking gorgeous succulent one. Her finger edged closer towards her dripping eager cunt, feeling the heat she knew that she had to...

The retail assistant burst in to the dressing room carrying an armful of clothes desperate not to disappoint Misty. 

"Miss Misty, I got everyth...", the young girl stopped struck mute at the sight of the goddess before her.

"You really should have knocked", Misty said menacingly, "you left me waiting so long I got bored and needed to distract myself"

Misty looked the girl up and down assessing her coldly. She was a moderately good looking woman, after all, that's why she'd chosen her. 

"It seems to me that you that you took forever getting what I asked for, and then you rudely barged in here without knocking, you really are awful at this job, aren't you?"

"I'm so sorry Miss Misty, I can leave and come back when you're ready"

She pursed her lips in mock irritation, "My name is just Misty, I told you that already", Misty closed the space between them,  "that's your third offense", she smiled wickedly taking the girl's hand and squeezing, "How do  you propose making all this up to me?"

She placed the young woman's hand on her soft thigh, she felt the girl tense up, "I can either talk to your manager about this and tell them what you've done and probably get you fired, or you can help me relieve my frustration at your poor attention to customer satisfaction"

"Please Misty, I'd do anything", the girl has said the magic words and opened the door Misty smirked taking the girl's head in her hand and leaning in. Misty heard the girl's breath hitch involuntarily and she kissed her, Misty felt the girl's skin heat and her mouth open just enough to allow her tongue room to explore. 

Her tongue massaged and toyed with the girl, her hand explored the girls body finding a hardened nipple, she broke off and looked at the girls eyes noting her flushed cheeks and dilated pupils, 

"I like you", she saw the young woman beaming with pride at her approval, "now I could care less...tell me your name"

The girl eagerly blurted, "It's Vicki, Misty", her hands nervously massaged Misty's thigh, "I've never kissed..."

"There's lots of things you haven't done Vicki, let's get rid of one more of those today shall we", Misty rose and walked to the door, opening it fully exposing her glorious body to the store, "I'm going to be commandeering Vicki for a little while", she smirked, "she's going to be helping me, I do not want us to be disturbed", not waiting for a response she slammed the door and turned the lock.

Turning back she looked at her new pupil, "Now where were we Vicki?"

This was based on a prompt by David Bikerbat that struck me. This is the beginning of Dakota's summer break from school, I suspect she will have to confront JT and Raven and address what they did to her, Misty has unfinished business

[sergeifyodorov]

hmm i was scrolling through Twitter earlier and as the designated leafs blog in my mind, what are your thoughts on fraser minten? like he’s so interesting to me because in the narrative i’ve created of him he was tavares’ fifth child but then was our balanced by knies being better, but then wjc happened and he still couldn’t crack it. now he’s on the blades (one of the best whl teams i think??) very interesting

NARRATIVELY he's definitely The Tavares Child -- okayyyy so. Sew. this New Generation of leafs (imho starting at Knies and including Easton Cowan as well as minten) kind of... each parallel a member of the Core: Knies is Auston's child (Arizona boy, big strong forward), Cowan is Mitch's child (London Knight, small winger with endless energy) and Minten is JT's child (Captain anywhere he goes, known for maturity and intelligence)... william child + morgan child ->

anyHWAY the real life scouting report under the cut (not too long i don't think)

Minten's a high second-rounder, which is the type of player that's generally designated as an "upper maybe" NHLer -- by which I mean odds-on he'll get NHL games (as Mints has) but it's less likely he'll become a serious full-time player (although many a second-rounder can and does do so!) The most interesting thing about his draft position was that the Leafs, under Kyle Dubas, traded DOWN to get him -- we had a low first-rounder, then traded it to Chicago to get rid of the Mrazek contract and got the pick that would become Mints in return. Many a source says that Kyle wanted Mints anyway and would have taken him with the first-round pick.

The general consensus is that Mints tops out as a middle-six centre, a 3C on a good team or a 2C on a worse one (or a 1C on the Boston Bruins.) His ceiling is probably about 40 or 50 points, maybe more depending on how much power-play usage he gets.

However, it's also noted (and was pretty obvious to me, even watching him at the WJC -- which I'll get to in a second!) that his real value is not and will likely never be in point production. He's a natural centre, good-to-great at faceoffs (a skill that he learned in part from JT!!) and very good defensively. Because he's still a kid, plays a bit physically and tends to be involved in the play at both ends, he probably takes a few too many undisciplined stick infractions, but these things of course can be straightened out with time and wisdom. Also, he's a touch of a personality hire: he was the youngest A on the all-timer Kamloops Blazers last year and was pretty much immediately named C after the Leafs sent him home this year; he was named captain of the CANADIAN WORLD JUNIORS team with zero other experience playing for Canada on the national level. He plays the piano! He's smart, polite, doesn't cause a fuss, wise beyond his years. Takes a guy far.

Anyway, the WJC: just an absolute hackjob by the coach and one of those years that really demonstrates that Hockey Canada still thinks it can get ahead by being Canada (the ol' throw bodies at the wall shtick) and not, like, because of its actual quality of development. I think bowing out when they did was a bit unlucky, but they absolutely were NOT primed to win it all -- especially because the coach basically seemed to have no concept of... line construction? or anything of the sort? Like he just tossed players together from a hat once (1) and decided they were just going to play out the tourney like that -- no real concept of "x is the playmaker, y is the shooter, z is the forechecker" or "these three are the transition line that take d-zone draws and use their speed to create rush chances/o-zone draws" or even something so simple as "this defensively-minded, slower centre is perhaps not the best match for the winger notorious for being opportunistic and shooty." Also, not to put too fine a point on it but a player can have a bad WJC and it doesn't mean anything, or a good WJC and it also doesn't mean anything -- Jesse Puljujarvi rose his draft stock by a good chunk in 2016 by having a FANTASTIC WJC, and he's currently on an AHL tryout. It's a small sample size, mostly played with teammates they barely know and against competition about a half-step up from what they're used to. Weird statlines happen.

Back to MINTS because we're still talking about him. Yess currently he's on the Blades -- traded from the Blazers because the Blazers are garbage and they want to Do Right By The Player and put him on a competitive team (done for two reasons: one, because it can be demoralizing to be the best player on a bad team, and two, because being on a good team in juniors often means you get actually good-for-your-development linemates and usage). He was generally not expected to make the Leafs at ALL this season (I mean, 20-year-old second-rounder, right?) and cracking the roster out of camp, even though he only got three games and has a rather blank statline is SUPER impressive. I'm pretty sure this is his last year of CHL eligibility, after which he'll probably either get put on the Marlies for a year to keep cooking or he'll make the Leafs again and stick around. Either way, he's slid twice I think so we burn a year of his ELC.

and my opinion of the boy? I love him. Let's go baby leafs baby leafs forevar

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

i adore reading your analytical posts abt soc so much jts not even funny; stumbling upon your account was like a coming across a goldmine 🙏 ALSO I RLLY WANT TO ONOW ABT THE SHE TREATS US LJKE MARKS ESSAY IVE NEVER THOIGHT ABT THAT RLLY also i loved the mr crimson post anw im sorry i’ll shut up now

Thank you so much, I’m so glad you like them!!

This is the first time someone’s submitted a question so bare with me because if there’s any way to do this wrong I’ll probably manage it, but here are my thoughts on the red herrings :)

She’s treating us like marks - an analysis of Leigh Bardugo’s use of red herrings in Six of Crows and Crooked Kingdom

*warning: CONSTANT SPOILERS AHEAD!*

I happen to be an absolute sucker for a good bit of foreshadowing, I think if it’s done well it’s one of the best literary techniques out there, so it’s something I always like to try and be on the look out for when I read. With books that I go back and reread, in this case many many times (seriously I’ve never specifically counted but I’m pretty sure I’m at over ten times each for the duology, it’s ridiculous), I like to find the things I didn’t realise were foreshadowing the first time round. When rereading six of crows and crooked kingdom, I realised that a lot of the things I expected to be foreshadowing didn’t actually come to fruition whilst other, seemingly less important, details were the actual foreshadowing. I LOVE IT! It’s genius, because it leaves the reader worrying about one thing so they’re too distracted to realise the groundwork is being laid for something else. But you know what that makes me think of? Kaz’s ideology of “What’s the easiest way to steal a man’s wallet? […] Tell him you’re going to steal his watch,” and “you have to let the mark feel like he’s won”. Leigh Bardugo literally cons us, and she tells us that she’s doing it in Crooked Kingdom when the group are certain that they know where Inej is being kept, but Kaz says “Too obvious. He’s treating us like marks”. GENIUS

So I compiled a few of my favourite examples (in no particular order), if you know of any I’ve missed please add more I would love to see them!!

The cannon at the Ice Court. When the Crows first arrive in Djerholm they see a cannon built into the the cliff face, a defence mechanism for the Court, and Kaz says what might be one of my favourite underrated lines of his: “I’ve broken into banks, warehouses, mansions, museums, vaults, a rare book library, and once the bedchamber of a visiting Kaelish diplomat whose wife had a passion for emeralds. But I’ve never had a cannon shot at me”. Jesper jokes that “there’s something to be said for novelty” but then continues to say that a cannon would be useless against a ship as small as theirs and that it’s designed for “invading armadas”. They don’t mention the cannon again, but it stuck in my mind when I first read it as a looming threat, a reminder that the danger wouldn’t end when they left the court. So when they arrived in the harbour was I expecting soldiers, or a heartrender, or for Nina to take parem? Nope, I was too busy worrying about the schooner being blown to pieces - especially when the Crows all have such specific painful and/or traumatic experiences linking to water, with 4 out of 6 of them being drowning related. But that isn’t to say that the waiting soldiers at the dock weren’t foreshadowed. All the way through Leigh Bardugo constantly reminds us that Matthias had never seen black protocol in action, and that his time in the prison sector had been brief, but she lulls us into a false sense of security by letting us believe that the secret bridge onto the White Island was all Matthias was hiding. We trust him by this point, so we don’t expect anything to be different to what he’s told us, even though this is an aspect he couldn’t possibly have predicted. Bonus points for the fact that Nina’s poor well-being in the aftermath of the drug is foreshadowed by a joke at the awful Inn they go to before the job; the food is disgusting and she says “when I don’t want to eat, you know there’s a problem”, and in Crooked Kingdom it’s many times emphasised that she’s unhealthily losing weight and her appetite has vastly decreased, with Matthias buying her chocolate biscuits “in the hopes she’d eat something”.

The poison pill. Leigh Bardugo worked very hard in Crooked Kingdom to make us think that Nina might die. We went into that book knowing there was a strong possibility that she wouldn’t come out the other side; we knew very little about how she was coping with parem withdrawal at the end of soc, but we had seen around a minimum of five grisha being destroyed by the drug so far. (That’s a guess I haven’t actually counted). So we went in with the idea that she was already in a precarious situation, and even though we begin to see her regain herself she struggles throughout the novel both physically and mentally in the aftermath of the drug. Matthias begins to dream of being lost on the ice in the worst storms known to Fjerda, knowing that she was out there somewhere and that he could not reach her. This sounds like it’s foreshadowing her death. Then when the pair go to the Ravkan embassy, Tamar gives Nina a small yellow pill that Genya made; she explains that it kills instantly and painlessly, saying “we all have them” to make sure they cannot be drugged and enslaved by the Shu government, who are hunting for grisha with the Khergud at the time. Matthias is terrified by this, but Nina just slips it into her pocket without a second thought. At that moment I thought that Nina would almost take the pill only to be stopped by someone else, because it felt too obvious that it would kill her, but I did wonder if the Khergud would be the ones to stop her and so she would still be lost. But the pill never gets mentioned again, except when the Dime Lions come for Nina at Sweet Reef and she briefly remembers that it’s still in her pocket. Then never again. And Matthias’ dreams were, of course, actually foreshadowing the FESTIVAL OF PAIN AND TORTURE that is chapter 40.

Mr Crimson. I’m so glad you like my Mr Crimson idea! Basically I posted saying I think that he represents death in the novels and I’ve also talked before about how I think the Komedie Brute costumes that the characters usually adopt are representative of their character; Kaz the Madman, Nina the Lost Bride, Inej and Wylan the Grey Imp, and Jesper and Matthias Mr Crimson. I won’t go into detail about all of them but if you’re interested the post is on my page, but with the idea that Mr Crimson represents death it’s very important to me that, although all of them wear his cloak at least once, he is the only Komedie Brute character taken on by Jesper and Matthias (at least to my recollection, feel free to correct me if I’m wrong). So of course I would argue that Matthias taking on the image in Crooked Kingdom foreshadows his death, but in that case what does Jesper’s represent? I came up with two options but I actually think you could combine them into one: it’s a red herring to make us align him with the literal death of Matthias, whilst actually foreshadowing the metaphorical death that his addiction and mental well-being are driving him towards as he tries desperately to stop them - in his own words to Colm “I’m dying anyway, Da, I’m just doing it slow”

Oh god sorry that this is yet another long post I hope y’all enjoyed this enough for it to be worth the time it takes for you to read all my ramblings 😭

Tagging people who asked for this one in the replies to my essay titles post - @the-magnificunt @flerkenkiddingme @luridorangeandviolentviolet @snowblack-charcoalwhite

[deztryx]

I mean since you're taking asks... :)

How is Penny doing in your AU and how does she feel knowing her two trio members were brutally killed? :D

SHES DOING FANGTASTIC!!!!(lie)

After Penny found out her crew mates have died IN FRONT of her, she went rogue for a bit and kill and stole from anyone she saw, she was angry at the whole world but she was angry at herself, she couldn't save her crewmates let alone her family, months of savaging and killing and going wild, she started to go numb and didn't care about anything or anyone, she thought everyone she knew/loved was dead, even with all the treasure and caps she has collected and stole from, she felt so empty.

As she's wandering around the wastelands she hears a familiar voice/cursing from a distance, Jacky who looked she had just left her vault/shelter all bruised up and looks like she's arguing with a... mutant? Hard to tell since it kept moving around too much, and it seemed to be holding some sort of dynamite, she immediately knew jt was dynamike. Penny swoops in to help Jacky and shoots but misses on purpose at the old geezer to scare him, she intented to kill him but that will only make things worse between her and Jacky (she knew how much that stupid geezer meant to her even tho they have never talked, she also saw her with him and that Carl robot, she wonders what happened to them both)

Dynamikr runs off leaving behind a trail of dynamite

"What an idiot" Penny said, she asks Jacky if she was alright, but knowing her she'll be okay, Penny asks how did she manage to survive the wastelands in a week (usually vaulties don't last 5 days she thought lol) Jacky explains her whole story (ill explain it when someone in the ask box brings Jacky up) Penny didn't seem to care when she said she was looking for a place to settle down, she wasn't really the kind of person to let people travel with her, especially what happened to her crew mates still effected her, but for some reason she let her come travel along until they found some sanctuary, time skip she ends up finding pam but they departure mid way after Penny heard the news about her dead best friend aka Jessie (oooo Pam and Penny fight, Jacky stops it tho)

Penny couldn't help but cry after pam left, Jacky walks over and tries to comfort her amd basically becomes like a older sister to Penny (ik it's a weird pairing but this is an au, there's gonna be a bunch of weird pairings/dynamics in this au)

Theres more but it's a surprise so hopefully all this was good enough 😭

[spaceytoxinz]

saw your gideon edit and the comment you made saying you associate him with industrial music (iirc) and I think thats really unique.. what genres or artists do you associate with the other exes + if you have any more for gideon him too im really interested in these playlists...

JOYOUS OCCASION.

I do have a gideon playlist though, pretty short but i feel like it gets his general vibe across [imo]. I made it like last year i think. Its the only one i have besides the 2 playlists i have for my oc

continuing with Gideon though, he reminds me of industrial because in different medias he’s associated with either Indie/pop rock or techno. So i just slapped industrial onto him because it sits pretty well in the middle of the two. because im cringe like that]. Industrial, some electropunk [not rlly msi ripoff bands, more like Elias and the Error], general EBM, new wave and ofc the obvious techno/pop rock. I also chose industrial because of the raw, edgier themes songs usually tend to revolve around. His main artists would be like, NIN, Death Spells, KMFDM probably, Depeche Mode, etc. Though ik he bumps Hamburger Lady once in a while /j [also some songs by Romeo Santos cause bros kinda insane about his relationships]

Matthew Patel is musicals [i wasn’t much of a theatre kid i only sang my parts when my friends would randomly perform Heathers outside of class in midde school. I was never super invested in musicals though.] and emo music. He honestly kinda reminds me of the entire 2016 emo revival with the “Holy Emo Trinity” or whatever. Though ofc this shit takes place in like 2005 so its not the same. He reminds me more of Midwest Emo than Post-hardcore emo. Maybe he would listen to shit like Sleeping with Sirens but for some reason its hard for me to imagine. To be fair its also because i grew up with second wave emo [i think its second wave. mostly the end of it but jt altered my life and ive seen shit that would occur in the scene thanks to my older sister] so i have a specific idea of the different types of emos at the time. He’s much more emotional and theatrical to me which is why i choose midwest emo over post-harcore/emocore. Also hes zesty so brittany spears.

I usually associate Lucas Lee with old school Reggaeton. Just based on personal headcanon about how he looks like a specific genre of Latino in the early 2000s idk to describe it, im also from the west coast so theres that. But ofc the anime gave me a reality check and i realized this mf is still a skater. so of course you have punk rock/pop punk. so the range goes from Daddy yankee and Don Omar to mf The Offspring and Anti-Flag. I’ve thought about making a playlist for him, i just gotta figure out how to organize it the same way i did for Gideon and how his playlist has both bachata and industrial.

Todd would stray more away from electronic heavy music unlike Lucas and Gideon. In my head I also associate him with pop punk, basic bands like Fall Out Boy, The Offspring, Bowling for Soup whatever. Indie Rock like The Killers, The Strokes, Queens of the Stone Age probably. Honestly basic level radio rock that people argue the genre of. Though another headcanon is that most of the music he grew up with was like, basic level metal. Shit like Metallica and AC/DC. I also do think about him while listening to Los Infieles by Aventura because hes a cheating ass mf.

quick note for todd, i also have a headmate based off of a specific way an artist depicted him in fanart, who wouldn’t stop listening to skrillex a while back for almost a month straight so yeah. theres that.

As for Roxy, she reminds me a little more of Post-Hardcore and RIOT GRRRL. Shes not rlly emo but some of her aesthetics overlap so why not lol. I don’t know enough RIOT GRRRL bands other than Le Tigre [also the the Empty>>>>> that song is peak]. But bands like Kittie, Jack off Jill, Saosin, etc. Since my music taste mostly revolves around Rock/EDM and because various soundtracks having a theme song for her, she also reminds me of trance or eurodance. Can’t name any specific artists for those two genres i only know a handful of songs. I can’t rlly put her into one genre of music like the others, i feel like a lot suits her. Fuck it she listens to Lady gaga too. I only know for sure that she reminds me of Devi McCallion and the artists mentioned above. She would be okay with me playing my cringe ass music on the aux cord i think /j

For the Twins. The obvious answer is basic EDM. But i feel like one of them is a little more experimental than the other while one of them would focus on being more melodic. They both remind me of Aphex Twin and Venetian Snares. Ngl though they kinda remind me of 2000s/2010s hip-hop/rap in a way that i can’t fully explain. I have no specific artists nor subgenres to describe it unfortunately because i have a very basic level examples i heard on the radio growing up. i think its cause theyre always at some party/event depending on which media. They remind me of the instrumental to Black and Yellow by Wiz Khalifa tho.

yeah uh, most of my music taste revolves around rock and EDM plus the various genres i grew up with so honestly there’s probably more out there i haven’t listened to yet that could be better fits for them. i like music lol. I also gotta reread the comics to get a better understanding other than what i remember.

[mpsansy]

Kibosh visits. Not only to monitor the whole McFadden family as they’re a liability to Kibosh, a disrespectful bunch of ectoplasmic idiots that barely listen to him, but what they’re sitting on is a potential time bomb. Kibosh had to feel the sudden ripping of the fabric of well, literally the line between life and death itself. The machine is cobbled together by a man’s desire that lead to his entire family line being cursed to death. It’s probably filled with everything JT found on dark magic, alchemy, and a whole bunch of random practices tossed with no respect as an affront to God and the natural progression of the afterlife. Casper’s lucky it scrambled his manifestation the first time, and there’s no telling what side effects Doc may have from the machine finally doing its purpose, And it’s still there. Sitting under the McFadden Mansion like a beacon to The Dark itself. Even if they had lost the schematics for how to make the potion, even the parts of the machine could end up to be disastrous. And it sits, frustratingly out of Kibosh’s control. Kibosh may be the king of ghosts, but the McFadden Mansion belongs to no one else but the McFaddens (And the Harvey’s, honorary McFaddens).

You… you just opened my eyes to something I failed to analyze. 😳

The potential side effects that the machine may have had on Dr. James Harvey himself. Now that I’m thinking about it, there had to be some kind of consequence for it being used. The consequences of which none of them are aware of in the slightest in the beginning. Why would they, anyways? They didn’t build the thing. But my thoughts now all center around James being very aware of other spirits due to this (may not sound as profound, but it’s supposed to be :0 ).

Ignoring the current ghosts of the estate for a second, there’s not a doubt in my mind that he’d sense another from time to time. Watching with such intent. Such aggression & bitterness that it doesn’t dare hide itself to him. As a matter of fact, he can feel it even from inside the house. Looming like a dark cloud when it comes.

May even strike a little bit of fear into him if he were to confess his true feelings. Don’t get me wrong, the trio also feel this too. But it just doesn’t affect them as it does the many that have unfortunately encountered Kibosh. Why? Best thing to say is that they got guts as they did before their untimely death.

In all the years that the trio were ghosts, they saw all things bizarre and cryptic. Seeing a wide variety of dangers taught these three something very important.

“Better to be the wiser and learn all the tricks so we don’t get played for fools.”

All the things they know about ghosts, witches, werewolves, vampires, etc. They all obtained for protection. It was for themselves initially, but once Casper came into the picture? It was more of an obligation to teach him. They didn’t need to, but they all felt it necessary. They cared. That’s something they wouldn’t have admitted to Casper back then. But perhaps it is now.

In summary:

These four are annoyingly defiant, stubborn, and persistent. Just to list a few. You wonder why Kibosh hates them so much. In life they were all this, and now in death it’s as if the characteristics of all of them have amplified.

And that machine. It's a disgusting thing that should have never existed. He can only be slightly relieved that it's no longer functional.

[soaps-mohawk]

hi!! It’s been sad seeing u have to deal with so much recently :(( both irl and anons being assholes on here so here are some musings that will hopefully cheer u up!!!

I know u said no pregnancy was gonna happen in the doc BUT when I first got into this doc (binged it in like 1 day btw) I also went thru and looked at almost ALLLL of your extra posts, lore, FQA, etc. And one that stuck with me a lot was explaining what would happen if reader was to accidentally get pregnant and who would retire and I. I have not been able to forget this fic is literally my Roman Empire on my mind literally 24/7 let me tell u

I just feel like there are so many good opportunities for it to be sweet but also angsty as hell. I imagine after some time Price actually becomes rather suited to being a father. He never really thought he had much going for him besides the military but now he has this little bundle who looks up to him for everything and it all just sort of clicked for him. I imagine after some time too, Gaz wants a little one of his own……one from the alpha and one from the beta y’know……now u just have another little carbon copy of Gaz running around

also ofc Simon and Johnny are there to visit at any and all times they can. Holidays, week-long breaks between deployment, etc. the pups love them so much and all their attention is stolen by their two uncles where they’re here. I feel like when they come to visit the pack might sort of be how it used to? They’re definitely still very affectionate like they were in the old days and it’s just easy for everyone to slip into the habit of kissing each other or scenting.

But I feel like after some time, Johnny would definitely yearn to have a similar lifestyle to what price and gaz retired to. He sees you as a family so happy (they get PLENTY of pics and videos too ofc) and he kind of wishes he’d retired and got you to have another little MacTavish himself. He doesn’t regret staying with Simon by any means, but he misses his pack the way it used to be, and he’s getting older, after all. It’s only natural.

AAA I DIDNF MEAN FOR JT TO BE THIS LONG KM SK SORRY BUT I HAD TO FET THIS OUT LFMSOO hope ur feeling better soon!!! Don’t listen to stupid anons >:00 drink water eat food and sleep we love u!!!!! 🫶🫶

— 🌘 !

Aww it's okay anon!!! I love seeing people's thoughts and ideas about my fic!! One of my favorite things, actually. So share away!! I don't mind 💚 I am feeling a bit better. Taking it easy and taking care of myself too. Don't forget to take care of yourself too!!

Price definitely has the most potential for picking up fatherhood easily. He might be the most nervous at first, but he said in the fic he had considered settling down with an omega at one point, so his sudden fatherhood wouldn't be that big of a shock for him. He's definitely the most experienced, perhaps not with actual children, but he can lead a squad of soldiers through what are essentially suicide missions. He can handle a baby.

Gaz definitely is the most excited out of everyone for the baby. Reader definitely has to give him looks sometimes because he's reading the parenting books and looking up which furniture is the best and researching milestones. He's the most prepared out of all of them, or at least as prepared as one can be for a baby. And of course as soon as he sees the baby he's going to want one of his own. That's a given lol.

Johnny is definitely the fun uncle. The pups all love when he comes to visit. Gets them riled up and wears them out so they finally sleep 😂 That's definitely the only reason they don't complain about him getting them too excited. He'd definitely yearn for the quiet life after a while. He'd want to be there and be with his pack. He loves Simon, but he'd get tired after a while. He'd be welcomed back with open arms, just as Simon will when he eventually retires too.

[abbatoirablaze]

Criminal Minds, Season 1, Episode 16

Word Count:  1.8k

Warnings: sexual situations, angst, misunderstandings, mentions of death.

Vanessa Jareau

“I can’t believe you didn’t realize that it was from him the second that you saw the book in your door pocket.”

“JJ...it’s not like-“

“Do you know how many bookstores he went to in order to get you that exact edition?”

“Jennifer...”

Your sister frowned, shaking her head at you, “Ness...he was going to ask you out...he bought the book, and an arrangement of daisies because he wanted to surprise you when we got back from the Keystone Killer case...”

You felt your stomach turning, “I-“

“But then he saw some guy hugging and kissing you?” she asked, “Ness, I didn’t even know you were seeing anyone.  If you I’d known that you were, I wouldn’t have encouraged him asking you out.  I-“

“I’m not seeing anyone, Jen!” you said quickly, cutting your sister off, “the guy that he saw hugging me was JT.”

“JT?” she asked, slightly sneering at the name, “the guy from cyber crimes that’s been trying to get a second date for like a year?”

You frowned, nodding your head, “yeah...the same JT that I purposefully ignored and then informed I wasn’t interested so I’ve been dodging.”

JJ’s frown mirrored your own, “oh...”

“Spencer saw him hugging me?”

“And kiss you!” she exclaimed, “when he came to my office he was heartbroken, Vanessa.  You don’t know how much courage it took for him in order to ask you out.”

“Noo...no...I do!” you sighed. You rubbed at your temples, the memory of another of your conversations coming into mind, when he’d openly admitted to you that he didn’t really bother with dating.

“So you doing anything this weekend?” Penelope asked while she typed in the parameters for whatever it was that Reid had asked her to search.

“No...no...but I was thinking about going to see this symposium on-“

“Boring!” she said quickly, cutting you off, while giving you a playful look, “why don’t you ever do anything fun, Ness?”

“Oh, a symposium?” the voice on the other side of the line crackled, “is it the one on-“

“God will you two just go on a date and get it over with? Garcia laughed, cutting Reid off, “you two are too alike!”

“Oh, I don’t date!” he said quickly.

Your brow rose while your heart fell into your stomach, “y-you don’t?”

“The good doctor doesn’t date?” Garcia teased.

“I haven’t really done much in the way of dating,” Reid admitted plainly, “I was in high school before I was a teenager, and finished two of my doctorates before I could legally drink or vote so I didn’t really see much point in dating.”

“Oh, come on, I bet you beat girls off with a stick!”

You could hear his melodic laugh as he tried to stifle it.  Garcia playfully rolled her eyes at you.

“Yeah...that definitely didn’t happen.”

“The good doctor didn’t date!” Penelope repeated, “that’s hard to believe.”

“Things have just never gone well!” he admitted dryly, “most women in my peer group were too old for me, and the girls my age, never interested me.  And those that did, weren’t ever truly interested in me.”

“If he would have stuck around, he would have seen me tell JT to leave me alone!” you admitted softly.

Your sister softened and gave you a sad look, “he thought you had some secret boyfriend that even I didn’t know about...”

“Is-is it lame that I bought him a book too?” you asked. 

Your sister’s brow quirked upwards, “what?”

“I-that morning, I had bought a book for him too...because I was going to ask him out,” you admitted shyly, “we had a conversation about favorite books and authors a while ago...and he’d told me that his favorite was actually a book by an author named Margery Kempe, because his mother would read it to  him all the time when he was a child...in the inside cover, I’d put an envelope with two tickets to another symposium that is coming to town...because, well, I hoped that he’d ask me to go with him.”

Your sister smiled and shook her head at you, “so you bought him a book...and two tickets to a symposium so that he could ask you out?”

Your cheeks warmed, “I-I did get a little tired of waiting for him to do it...and I figured, maybe...that would be the push that he needed.”

“Garcia stopped being your wingman with him, didn’t she?”

You nodded, your blush deepening, “she did.”

“I’ll talk to him, Ness...I’ll let him know that it was  a misunderstanding.”

“Y-you would?”

“Of course I would,” she smiled, pulling you into a hug, “you’re my baby sister.”

Anastasia Garcia

“Everything okay Pen?”

Penelope shrugged as she looked at you, “Fine...”

You raised your brow and set the coffee down in front of her, “you’re not fine...tell me what’s going on, Pen...”

“What are you doing here?” she asked, changing her subject, “I thought that you would be busy with-“

“It’s our off-week,” she reminded her younger sister as she nudged her, “so spill the beans.  You’ve got a look on your face.”

“It’s the case we have.”

“Well spill!” you insisted.

“There’s this girl...and she was kidnaped...only, she wasn’t kidnapped.  Her father paid for her to be ‘kidnapped’ because she was part of some creepy Mason-like cult.  When Morgan and Reid had visited her, she was acting like some POW, so they clearly did a number on her...”

“Oh...”

“Do-do you think girls like that-do you think that they ever find their way back to a normal life, Ana?”

You bit the inside of your cheek, “what do you mean, Pen?”

“Well...I mean, you’ve told me about when you worked in Ireland for that task force with Interpol a few years back...you don’t talk about what happened, but I mean-“

“Pen-“

“Are there ever days that you wake up and wonder what life was like before it?” she asked, “do you ever think that you could be like how you were before you saw things?”

“How do you know that I saw things?”

“Ana...”

“What?”

Your sister gave you a very pointed look, “Derek told me about the other night.”

You frowned, “what?”

“Why the two of you haven’t been ‘connected at the hip,’ for the week before they went on assignment.”

Your frown deepened.

“You’re so beautiful, baby girl!”

You watched through hooded eyes as he kissed up your legs, his large hands moving with determination up your calves and the back of your thighs while his lips worked up your skin.  With every kiss you felt like you were losing your breath as your flesh felt warm under the softness of his lips. 

“Derek...”

“Everything about you,” he moaned, kissing a scar from a bullet on your  thigh, and a longer one on the opposite leg that was from a knife-fight from when you were a detective and chasing down a suspect.  His fingers hooked over your panties and your hands reached down to his, stopping him from his movements.  His chocolate eyes looked up into yours and your breathing went shallow, “I’ll be gentle, Anastasia.”

You felt the tears working their way up to the corners of your eyes.  His index finger reached up and grazed the small scar over another bullet wound right near your belly button and the remnants of a car from Brent.

“C-can we stop?” you asked him softly, sniffling, “I-I thought that I was ready, but-“

“We don’t have to keep going,” he answered just as softly in response.  His hands slipped away from your underwear and he pressed a soft kiss to each of your scars before laying on the bed beside you.  His hand reached for yours and you bit back the tears as he stroked the back of your hand, “hey...it’s okay, baby girl.”

“I-it’s not anything that you’re doing!” you said quickly as you looked at him.  He reached up and swiped away at the tear that was slipping down the side of your face, “you know that, right?”

“I know baby.”

“No...Derek...I want to do this with you, but I-“

“I know...you have a lot of hangups from the time you spent with Brent.”

“Derek...it-it’s not from Brent...” you whimpered, “the last time...the last time that I felt this strongly about someone...things don’t go well, Derek...”

“Baby...you know that I’m here for you.”

“I know.”

“We have to be able to talk through these things though.”

“I know.”

“So let me in!” he urged, “Talk to me, Anastasia.  Let me be there for you!”

You hadn’t realize the tears were running down your cheeks until your sister was reaching out and touching your hand, “Ana...”

You jumped, and quickly reached up to push away the tears, “h-how much did he tell you?”

“Just that you two talked...and that you needed a break.”

You bit your lip, “Pen-“

“That’s not all though...” she frowned, “I’m not the only one who’s got something they’re keeping to themselves...”

“What do you know, Penelope?”

“I know that something is wrong with my sister, but she won’t tell her boyfriend the whole story...and I don’t know any of it, because he said that it’s not his place to tell me.”

“Well, he’s right.”

“So when are you going to tell me then?”

“Penelope...”

“Anastasia.”

You couldn’t help it.

The tears came out faster than you could process it, and you broke down into the spare chair that your sister kept in her office. 

“Talk to me, Ana...”

“I don’t know!”

“What?” she asked, “What don’t you know?”

“I don’t know what it’s like,” you admitted, “the person that I was when I was a detective...before the FBI, before joining that task force in Ireland...I-I don’t remember the person I was...because there was so much trauma...and pain...and-“

“What happened, Ana?”

“I had a child in Ireland, Pen...when I was in the taskforce, I wasn’t just in a taskforce.  I was in a black op.  I got married.  I had a little boy...but I-“

“You what?” she asked, cutting you off, “you had a child?  You got married?”

“My son...h-his name was Declan...” you whimpered, pulling your shirt over to the side to expose the tattoos with a Celtic heart that had the names Ian and Declan woven into it, “and-my husband...his name was Ian...I fell in love overseas, Pen...I was going to go AWOL and-“

“Wh-what happened to them?  Where are-“

“They’re gone, Penelope!” you sobbed, trying to get through the story.  But everything came up too quickly, “they’re gone, and I messed up.  I had to pretend like it never happened so I got back together with Brent when I came home, and-“

“The trips to Ireland twice a year...” she said with a slow realization, “I-you...”

“I visited them, Penelope...”

“Oh, Ana!” she whimpered, pulling you into a hug, “I’m so sorry...”

S1, E 17

[002yb]

Jaybin putting J 🖤 D and Jason Grayson in the margins of his school books like every love struck teenager and hiding them in his draws where no one can find them.

Only years later when Dick can finally bring himself to enter pass the threshold of a room that has been sitting untouched does he come across them. Dozens of little drawings and hearts hidden in plain sight. At first it’s like a game for Dick, trying to find as many of these little mementos of Jason’s love for him left, he’s filled with so much love and the cuteness of it might just make him explode.

He looks up, a tease on the tip of his tongue before he remembers. And then suddenly it’s the usually guilt and grief but this time he’s also mourning what could’ve been.

- - -

Anyway Jason coming across them at the back of their wardrobe in a box and being found by Dick surrounded by evidence of his puppy crush. Face red and head in his hands and omg Dick why did you keep these get rid of them this so humiliating.

Dick finally getting to tease Jason just to see what shade of red he’ll turn and how far it’ll travel.

Oh, but Dick seeing the little J 🖤 D scribbled into the margins of Jason's notes even before Jason was taken from them. And Dick teases him then and there because there's nothing more darling than puppy love.

Dick wouldn't know it's him though. So he would badger Jason about it. Relentless with his teasing and questions as Jason blushes, spitting and sputtering as he complains at Dick.

The reaction only spurs Dick on though. He adores it, so he persists with it regardless of how Bruce and even Babs tell him to go easy on the poor kid.

The little affections persist for years. For Jason's entire tenure as Robin before he's taken away from them. And it doesn't take Dick by surprise that Jason is the sort to fall so hard and stay so devoted, but at the same time it does. Whoever this 'D' is - they're a lucky little bastard. Or they would have been.

The above being a thought that occurs to him when Dick comes across those notebooks years after the fact. And it's as he's flipping through the pages that he stumbles across those more telling affections: DG 🖤 JT & Jason Grayson and - oh.

It's him. Dick is the lucky bastard. It's him.

And it takes his breath away. It wrecks him, leaving him staggering to kneel on the ground beside Jason's desk, notebook in hand. Ink bleeding as Dick cries over all this youthful, innocent love meant for him.

It's a mournful thing at first, but then Dick remembers how he'd make Jason blush all the time and he laughs because there's more context for that now and it's silly. It's sweet.

But Dick regrets that Jason wasted his time on Dick. Then again, Jason was only fifteen - still so young; a child - maybe being taken from them while still having such a pure love untainted by expectations or heartbreak is a small mercy.

And yes. Jason comes back and that puppy crush hasn't gone away. Dick recognizes it if only because he's in the know now and it never fails to make him smile because Jason might have changed to the point he's unrecognizable, but with this - he's the same. It's a catalyst for recognizing a lot of Jason's other qualities, too. Just Dick being very aware of Jason and subconsciously smitten.

Then they get together and it's nice, but Jason finds those notebooks and he doesn't screech, necessarily - but it's a near thing because wtf are these, Dick? Omfg burn them what the hell when did he find out???! Then Dick cheekily says, 'Well, Mr. Grayson - ' and Jason takes Dick down and out because no no nope. Meanwhile Dick cackles and it's sweet and ahhhhhhh. Precious.