#I just want to note also that Nine also calls the deal off because the other variants become aggressors in this situation. He told Sonic in

[hadesknockedupintheunderworld]

I know this may sound crazy but remember how in No Way Out, Sonic told Nine that he still considered him to be a friend while getting down on one knee and Nine calmed down? Later in Nine’s Lives, Nine says “Typical” when seeing Sonic run to the others and accused Sonic of betraying him when Sonic called the others his friends.

Nine was sort of acting like Sonic proposed to him and then cheated on him by being friends with the others.

Okay so first of all, I don't think you're crazy. During S3 there's actually plenty of evidence that Nine is jealous, both of the Tails variants and Sonic considering everyone else his friends.

One example that presents his specific kind of jealousy is during Episode 2 of Season 3, when Nine first appears to Sonic in New Yoke.

"Everything is collapsing... This is terrible!"

"Is it? That seems odd coming from you. As far as I can tell you only care about your own home."

Essentially what I'm getting at is this. I do believe that pre betrayal, Nine admittedly considered Sonic to be the most important person to him, and thought Sonic may have felt the same way. And the "betrayal" at the end of S2 hurt Nine very deeply. He had this image of Sonic in his head that was shattered by the finale, so he sort of instinctively switches to thinking the worst about Sonic because he can't trust that anything he thought before wasn't a lie. This is one of the reasons that he can't fathom Sonic caring about shatterspaces other than his own home.

But it's not just that he can't fathom it, it's that due to this deep hurt, Nine cannot allow himself to believe it.

Because if Sonic genuinely cares about the shatterverse as a whole, if he genuinely cares about saving all of these people, then to Nine, what made him the exception?

Sure, we the audience can see Sonic’s journey in Prime. We can see that by the end of S2, Sonic wanted to keep the shatterverse safe just as much as he wanted to bring back Green Hill. He wanted everyone to be alive and happy. But from Nine's pov here, he's just learned that Sonic lied to him, spoke honeyed words and manipulated him just to get to the prism. None of that is true, but he doesn't feel like Sonic actually cares for him or wants him. So at this point, for Sonic to put saving all of these people over saving his own home or genuinely worrying about their home makes Nine feel like the exception or that his feelings about Sonic must be wrong. Either one of those ideas he'd understandably like to avoid (because one means that Sonic is genuine with everyone except for him, and the other would mean to him that his feeling of betrayal and hurt feelings post S2 finale are misplaced and not allowed to be had, though he feels justified feeling hurt)

And that scene in S3 E3 No Escape is actually another big exemplifier of Nine's brand of jealousy and just how hurt he is.

"Don't worry. Beneath the surface, my new friends are far simpler than the flawed creatures you knew and loved. And all the more loyal for it."

Starting out strong, Nine takes a not so subtle shot at Sonic's friends while taking subtler shot at Sonic's loyalty, since Sonic had been his first and only friend.

"Ever wonder where we'd be if things had gone differently between us?"

"...Not anymore."

"I do. All the time."

"Not anymore." Implying that post the S2 finale he really had dwelled (at least for a time) on thoughts of how things could have been different. How he wished things could have gone differently.

And Nine gets visibly angry/frustrated when Sonic confesses he's always thinking about how things could have been different. Perhaps because it feels like a slap to the face, or feels hard to believe.

"Tch. You had your chance."

"...Right back at ya, bud."

And then, despite his anger, despite how he's been trying to get Sonic all along so he can drain his energy and save his home, Nine ignores Sonic's "should we get this over with". He puts on another one of those faces, similar to earlier when Sonic arrived and Nine talked about his "new friends". Perhaps to cover up exactly the way he's feeling in this moment with a veneer of superiority (he always did something similar when talking up Sonic to the Chaos Council).

"You know...after all this time...I think I finally understand you, Sonic."

...

"You wanna save everyone. Friends. Foes. Total strangers! You say it's because you're a hero and that's what heroes do, but deep down... After what you did—destroying your own home—it's the only way you can ever live with yourself. Even if that means you won't live at all."

And while I think Nine isn't incorrect—that there is a part of Prime!Sonic who's been acting out of selfishness, caring more about feeling like a good person than actually being one—these are still words from someone who feels betrayed by Sonic. I think there's a level to which Nine is seeing a part of Sonic no one else did, and also to a level which Nine is trying to recontextualize Sonic's more heroic/selfless seeming actions so he can reconcile them with how he feels about Sonic and sees him at this moment. In other words, while he's seeing a facet of Sonic he didn't see before, this is not all encompassing of who Prime Sonic is. It's just that perhaps by believing that Sonic's every seemingly selfless action is disingenuine, that all those nice words and intent to save people is just so Sonic can feel good rather that actually caring about anyone, then Nine doesn’t have to feel like the exception. Then he can see Sonic as someone who is pretending to care about all of this, and Sonic's other friends as fools who don't see what he (Nine) has seen.

But as I said, it's more complicated than that. Perhaps Nine is seeing a facet of Sonic that other people don't see or don't want to see, but Prime!Sonic is multifaceted. Perhaps he does want to hurry up and sacrifice himself in this scene because then he can finally feel like he's atoned for what he's done and he's absolved of/paid for his crimes, but that also doesn't mean he doesn't genuinely care about the lives of people in the shatterverse.

"If I don't make it, and you do, how do I know you'll keep your promise."

"Don't worry. Your 'friends' are safe. Once I have your energy, I can restore everything. They can have their silly lives in their silly spaces, as long as they leave me alone."

"Fair enough."

...

"And for what it's worth...I wouldda done the same for you."

"Don't lie to me..."

"I'm not–"

"DON'T!"

"Think whatever you want, but it's true. Even after everything you've done, everything we've been through. Together. Against each other. You're still my friend, Nine."

I really couldn't express more just how hurt Nine feels. That he doesn't believe Sonic would give anything up for him, even if he were to accept that Sonic would do that for everyone else. When he tells Sonic not to lie to him, frustrated, angry, voice wavering, I think it's because he can't take this again. If Sonic is lying just to manipulate him, if this isn't genuine, if he's just using him again, he can't take it again.

This is an incredibly intimate scene. With Sonic, standing face to face to Nine, inside Nine's safe space, his home that no one else has been into, behind the physical representation of the walls surrounding Nine's heart post betrayal, this is his first time all season really being allowed to speak to Nine directly. Here there's no one to perform to aside from each other.

But you can see that despite everything, Sonic still reaches Nine in this scene. It's not easy, but he reaches Nine's heart, leading Nine to start to believe in him again.

And that's why it's a pity the other variants show up when they do, using Sonic to breach Nine's walls. With the way Nine reacts after this happens, Sonic may as well have made Nine believe in that image of him again. Sonic may as well have made Nine believe that Sonic does care about him, that he'd do anything for him (or, at least, would give his life for him like he would for the others if it meant they could live), only to be the trojan horse that allowed the enemy™ to breach his safe space. The pretty lie.

At the beginning of S3 E4 Nine's Lives, Nine says "Predictable" when Sonic runs over to his friends. And, as anon mentioned, Nine says that Sonic has betrayed him for the last time, calling the deal off.

I wouldn't necessarily say here that Nine feels as if Sonic had cheated on him so to speak, but I would say that even if Nine doesn't see Sonic as a willing "trojan horse" here, Nine still feels like a fool for "falling for it again", for believing in Sonic. I think it's enough betrayal to Nine that Sonic would convince him that he cares about him and wants him to have a future too, only to then side with a bunch of people who want to beat Nine down and who would not let Nine be happy if Nine surrendered to them (from Nine's pov at least).

So in short, anon, I think you are seeing Nine's jealousy here. Even if he also has to believe Sonic is secretly fooling the others, to him this is a scene where Sonic is not only choosing them over him, but another example of Sonic (from Nine's pov) proving that he's a liar who doesn't care for Nine or his future/safety at all.

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ how long does it take to fuck your brother's best friend? (four whole days)

synopsis. suguru comes home to visit from college at the same time you do—except he brings satoru along. this is going to be a long break

word count. 8.5k (i am tired of this tomfoolery)

contents. college! au, brother's best friend! satoru, fem! reader, minors do not interact, three-year age gap (you're both early twenties), slightly mean satoru (when you’re kids), slight enemies to lovers, jealous! satoru, mentions of reader having an ex-bf, male masturbation, satoru is taller + carries reader, cunnilingus, fingering, handjobs, unprotected sex, brief mentions of alcohol (satoru), creampie, pet names (baby + sweetheart), not proofread i could not be bothered i’m sorry

notes. this was not supposed to be this long bye i am embarrassingly down bad for the blue-eyed freak

everyone knows that where there is satoru, there is suguru—and likewise, where there is suguru, there is satoru.

they’re a bit of a packaged deal, really. satoru befriends your brother in what you think must be some twisted stroke of luck—there is no way suguru would lower his standards for some rich bastard who’s had life made for him since the day he was born. but apparently, he does, and you’re stuck with a white-haired nuisance in your house at least once a week. for years.

you’ve known satoru since he was a whiny, snot-faced, and spoiled little brat. back then, he used to call you toothless—you were six, it’s normal for children at the age of six to lose a few teeth. just because satoru is nine and has grown his teeth back doesn’t mean he escaped the toothless phase himself—but satoru is just a jerk like that, pushes your buttons, and calls out your insecurities to get a good laugh.

you don’t smile with your mouth open even once around him that summer, not until suguru assures you that regardless of how many teeth you have, you have a lovely smile.

when you’re twelve, puberty does its thing, and now you’re stuck with acne-prone skin—also a normal occurrence for people your age, but satoru makes sure to point out the giant pimple on your forehead every time he sees you. you make sure to let him know his haircut is as awful as his sense of style, and suguru tries his best not to choke himself with his charger as you both bicker.

satoru is gone that entire summer for a family cruise that you’re sure costs double your house—he comes back frighteningly taller than you remember him within the span of just a few weeks.

it’s been like that since you were kids. he comes over, finds a new thing to pick on through his smug grins and smooth chuckles, and you fume as you bite back with just as snarky rebuttals. he makes sure to never cross the line of going too far—it’s more for suguru’s sake, you’re fairly sure—but stays right on the dot of getting just under your skin.

he’s annoying. a jerk. a rich snob. a privileged dickhead. he’s rude and disrespectful, with no tact, let alone any semblance of respect. you don’t understand what could possibly make suguru want to hang around such a douchebag, but suguru cares about satoru—and satoru has always been there for your brother.

you don’t understand it, but you respect it. as long as he doesn’t wet your entire bathroom sink and mirror in the mornings after he stays over, you suppose you can coexist.

but you haven’t seen him in ages—not outside of suguru’s instagram stories and posts. it’s been a long few years since the two of them have left for college, and by the time you leave too, life has its funny way of working, and, well…you don’t bump into him anymore. it doesn’t occur to you that satoru is not the same guy you used to know until you come back home to visit after your second year of college.

“suguru,” you call, “i borrowed your hoodie. but you can have it back—”

you cut yourself off when you open the door to your brother’s room, and lo and behold, stands a very shirtless gojo satoru, the white-haired and blue-eyed asshole you’ve had to deal with since childhood. except he’s way taller than you remember him—just how much does this guy grow, exactly? his shoulders are broader and….and since when did he have abs? there’s a small tattoo just under his collarbone—when did he even get that? his hair is also longer, just enough to fall over his forehead and curtain those striking blue eyes of his.

he looks…well, handsome. very handsome, in fact. dangerously handsome that it catches you by surprise as you blink.

he’s still shirtless, holding his t-shirt in his hands as he grins.

“hey, toothless,” he greets, voice deeper than the last time you heard it—but it still sounds relatively the same. you think you’d always recognize satoru’s voice, whether you’d like to or not. and, of course, he just has to still use that ridiculous nickname after all these years. “long time no see.”

“i have all my teeth now—i have for a long time, y’know. and put a shirt on, you freak,” you huff, rolling your eyes, “where’s suguru?”

“what, you don’t enjoy the view?” he motions at his bare torso, like the shameless bastard he is, “most girls love this view—”

“and yet, you’re still single,” you cut him off, staring at him pointedly.

he grins impossibly wider, tugging his shirt over his body swiftly—you have to exercise all ounces of control not to gulp as you watch his biceps flex.

“keepin’ track of my love life?” he wiggles his brows, “i know older men can be appealing but have a little class. your poor brother would lose his shit if you went after his best friend—”

“satoru,” you sigh, pinching your nose, “do you age backward or something? how are you still this obnoxious after so long?”

“i practice in the mirror,” he winks, “it’s my charm.”

“that’s hardly charming,” you roll your eyes, “anyway, whenever suguru comes back, let him know i left his hoodie, yeah?”

“sure,” he chuckles.

and then you close the door as you leave—right before you stop, pause, and open it up again as you’re sticking your head back in when you make a shocking realization.

“wait, how long are you here for?” you ask, eyes wide.

he has the audacity to look smug as he taps his chin and pretends to think—“oh, y’know. just the rest of break. my old man took my mom on some trip, so i’m killing time here,” he shrugs.

great. lovely. wonderful. just what you needed.

you wish he’d drop dead—maybe suguru will finally be forced to go outside of his one-man circle and actually befriend some respectable people.

“you can’t just stay at your place?” you hiss, “it’s certainly big enough.”

“well, why be lonely in an empty home when we can have fun here?” he hums, “consider yourself lucky—you get to be housemates with me for a—”

“keep to yourself,” you warn, cutting him off again through narrowed eyes and a dangerous glare—satoru only looks more amused, raising his hands up in surrender.

with that, you turn again and almost shut the door when he calls for you—“hey, toothless,” he says lowly, making you pause before turning to him with a raised brow. he smiles—it’s so unlike that usual smirk of his…somehow this one is a bit gentler as he murmurs, “you look good. grew up well, y’know.”

you blink. you’re not ready for that…didn’t expect a compliment from gojo satoru himself—especially not after all this time of throwing mediocre insults your way.

you decide he must be messing with you, so you purse your lips as you click your teeth in irritation. “yeah, sure,” you say dryly.

you can hear his chuckles as you close the door again—this is going to be a long break.

—————

just as expected, the house is simply not big enough for you and satoru.

the first time you run into him happens to be first thing after waking up—you’re walking up to the door just as he twists the knob and opens it, walking out shirtless. again.

this time, however, he’s got beads of water rolling down his skin from his shower, right between his pecs, as a towel hangs around his shoulders. you can see his tattoo from up close now, a small infinity sign right under his collarbone that contrasts against his pale skin.

how tacky, you think—just as you’d expect, even his choice of tattoos is questionable.

his hair is wet—it’s sticking to his forehead instead of the multiple directions it usually scatters around in that messy way it always does. you’ve only felt satoru’s hair once—when you were fifteen, and you’d hit him in the back of the head as you walked past him at the breakfast table. he’d made a jab at your dark circles. tests were around the corner, and unlike satoru, your grades actually mattered. you didn’t expect his hair to be so soft, but it is, and you almost itch to twirl the strands around your fingers for a quick feel.

instead, you scowl and stomp off to your room as soon as your dishes are washed.

his hair is probably just as soft now—maybe even softer now that he actually probably cares to look after it. you’ve heard suguru grumble about using two-in-one shampoo too many times when he comes back from spending the night at satoru’s. for a second, your fingers twitch to reach up and brush through a few strands on his forehead—just to feel them because they look soft. nothing else.

the urge is quickly killed as soon as he opens his mouth, however.

“oh, hey there, roomie,” he grins, “you’re really doing all you can to catch me half naked, huh?”

“don’t flatter yourself,” you grumble.

“i’m just sayin’,” he chuckles, “that’s twice now. if you ask nicely, i might walk around like this just for you.”

it’s way too early for this.

by early, it’s actually late noon. now that finals aren’t killing your free time, you stay up until ungodly hours to catch up with your social life—and it doesn’t help that you can hear satoru and suguru stay up playing video games the next room over, either. suguru is probably still sleeping.

that’s a bit of a shocker, in fact—usually, it’s satoru that has to be dragged out of your brother’s room to have breakfast (or brunch, really) before the kitchen is cleared up. why satoru is up first is beyond you.

maybe it’s just a cruel way for the universe to enjoy watching more of your veins pop.

“does that apply to asking you to leave? because then i suppose i can ask rather politely.”

he grins, eyes sparkling with amusement as he shoots you that smile with those pearly whites that irritate you to no end. you’re not sure why, but something about his smile looks so much different nowadays—something about it just seems so….mature.

that’s a word you didn’t think you’d ever use to describe satoru.

“mm, not quite,” he hums, “you’re still stuck with me.”

“whatever,” you mutter, rolling your eyes. “move, i want to shower before suguru wakes up.”

“you have time,” he steps to the side, letting you enter the bathroom, “he’s probably not waking up anytime soon—woah.”

satoru’s shirt is on the floor—why, you may ask? because he’s an annoying idiot who doesn’t have to clean up after himself when people have always been around to do it for him. he never has to care to aim and toss his clothes into the hamper because the maids will pick up after him anyway. old habits die hard, you suppose—you’ve listened to suguru complain about satoru’s messiness not improving even after being his roommate for the last few years. it’s never been your problem, but you don’t appreciate it now that you’re slipping over the fabric on the tiled floor, falling backwards with a squeal.

but satoru’s quick—he catches you with those strong arms of his and wraps them tightly around you, keeping you securely in place as he steadies you against his chest.

his bare chest, in fact.

you can feel the slight dampness seeping into your shirt, and you can feel his hot breath on your neck as he exhales in relief once he makes sure you’re safe. you almost shiver—almost, but you manage to scrape together enough self-control to stay painfully still in his grasp.

“you okay?” he murmurs gently, voice a low whisper against your skin. there’s no bite to his words. no amusement or teasing or even smugness. it’s genuine, the way he checks on you.

this is…new. very, very new.

“yeah,” you breathe, letting out a sharp breath. and then—“maybe keep your clothes in the fucking hamper next time, though.”

“sorry,” the smile in his voice is almost audible—you can’t see it from where you are, but you can hear it in his voice. you roll your eyes, and satoru makes no move to loosen his arms around you. for some reason, you don’t move.

you’re not sure why, but you just don’t.

“you’re still just as messy, huh?” you roll your eyes—he laughs, and it’s a smooth, boyish chuckle that almost makes you wonder for a moment if this is why girls seem to love satoru so much despite his god-awful personality.

it’s a pretty beautiful sound—you hate that you have to admit that to yourself.

“yeah,” he admits, “it drives suguru nuts.”

“yeah, i can’t imagine why,” you snort. it’s like that for a moment—satoru’s muscled arms around you and hard chest pressed against your back. finally, you clear your throat. “you can let go now, you know.”

“right,” he mumbles, slowly pulling away—and when you turn to face him….is that disappointment? on his face? you don’t get a chance to be sure because then he’s bending down to pick up his shirt before he’s standing—he’s already wiped the expression from his features completely by then. “sorry about that, toothless. i’ll keep my shirts off the floor next time.”

“that would be so kind of you,” you smile sarcastically.

and then you shut the door in his face and exhale as you lean against the wall.

this is going to be a longer break than you thought.

—————

the next time you run into him, it’s late at night. everyone is asleep—even your brother and his headache of a best friend, if the silence tells you anything. you can’t sleep, though, so you make your way to the kitchen to hunt for snacks. you’re skimming through the pantry before your eyes land on a surprise—a box of strawberry pocky sits nice and enticingly, right there for you to open and devour.

you grin, reaching over when—

“those are mine,” satoru calls, stepping into the kitchen, “brought them over myself. you should ask before touching people’s things.”

“you literally ate my leftovers the other night,” you say incredulously.

“those were yours? i thought they were suguru’s.” he raises a brow in surprise, making you click your teeth in irritation.

“the principle of asking still applies,” you purse your lips. and then defiantly, you open the box and grab a pack right before his eyes.

he scowls—but you know he doesn’t actually mind because he waits for you to finish grabbing yours before taking the box and grabbing his own pack and a coke from the fridge. you both take a seat at the kitchen table, across from each other, as you open the packaging and silently eat your newfound snack.

it’s satoru who breaks the silence first.

“do you still throw away the ends of these?”

you huff indignantly, not meeting his eyes as you take a bite off the strawberry-covered end, stopping at just where the cookie portion is uncoated. “yes. i’m eating these for the coating—not the bland biscuit part.”

“what’re you, five?” he snickers, earning a glare from you. defiantly, you pop the end of the pocky stick into your mouth just to prove a point—and then the look of distaste makes him cackle louder. 

“shut up,” you hiss, “you talk too much.”

“the ladies love it when i do,” he bats his lashes—you stare at him blankly, unimpressed.

“yeah, as if.”

“hey, my ex-girlfriend totally did,” he defends.

ex-girlfriend? that’s a bit of a shocker—you didn’t know satoru dated anyone in the last few years, you haven’t seen or heard anything of it through suguru’s end. in all realness, you didn’t even think satoru was the boyfriend type…but then again, he’s not really the anything type. he just kind of exists to take up space and be the bane of your existence. 

“i hope the poor girl is recovering well after dating you,” you shake your head, feigning a concerned look on your face that makes him roll his eyes—they’re still disturbingly bright even in the dark kitchen, dimly lit by the slightest bit of moonlight pouring in through the small window.

“i dated her freshman and sophomore year,” he says casually. you also didn’t expect that—that it lasted that long. something about satoru doesn’t strike you as the long-term relationship kind of guy. something about him doesn’t seem like the relationship kind of guy at all. not because he’s the type to mess around casually, but because he seems the type to seem disinterested all around—he’s snobby like that. “she was…alright, i guess.”

yeah. very snobby.

“you are such a sick bastard,” you spit.

he snorts, taking a bite of his pocky as he shakes his head in amusement. you’re as feisty as ever—it’s always fun riling you up, even if unintentionally.

“hey, it’s not like she was bad. she was just…well, she wasn’t interested in me like that either,” he shrugs, “i think it was just the sex. it was good, can’t lie there.”

“you’re so gross,” you roll your eyes, “have some decorum.”

“what, you’re still sixteen?” he raises a brow, lips curling into a smirk as he reaches for another pocky, “can’t say the word s-e-x?”

“i don’t broadcast my sexual activities out in the open,” you shrug.

satoru chuckles, taking a bite that more or less finishes the entire stick in one go before he presses a finger to his lips, “shh. don’t say that too loud—suguru will come chase you from his room if he hears.”

“suguru,” you groan, “he’s such a pain to have around sometimes. y’know i dated this one guy last year. i think suguru might’ve paid him to dump me.”

“i know. he definitely thought about it,” satoru hums, “he used to go off about it all the time. he was right, though—that guy was a total prick.”

something about you is mildly shocked that satoru knows about your private life—sure, it’s not outrageous or even the slightest bit unlikely that suguru mentions you. satoru and suguru are best friends, and you happen to be suguru’s sister—of course, suguru is bound to mention you here and there. it’s just the fact that satoru even pays attention to anything to do with you that surprises you—although you suppose it would be a good way for him to find his next source to push your buttons.

“i’m not surprised you think he’s a prick,” you nod, “it takes one to know one, after all.”

“oh yeah?” he snorts, waving you off, “i do, in fact remember anniversaries, y’know.”

“okay,” you sigh, defeated—your ex-boyfriend is admittedly not at the top of the list of your brightest choices. not even up halfway on the list. in fact, he’s so low on the list of good choices you’ve made, that willingly choosing to interact with satoru feels like an exceptional decision in comparison. and that’s saying something. “he was pretty bad. but he was really hot. when a guy looks like that, his values are the least of my worries.”

it’s a joke—you’re sure he knows that. but satoru takes a long sip from his coke, silent for a moment. you don’t think you’ve ever seen him so serious, especially so suddenly.

“he can’t be that hot,” he mutters.

“oh he was really hot. probably the hottest guy i’ve ever talked to—” satoru bites his pocky a bit aggressively at that, “and he was so tall. maybe taller than you—how tall are you again? anyway, he was pretty enough to overlook his shortcomings.”

“he’s probably not taller than me,” he grumbles, frowning. you snort—men and their fragile little egos, you think in amusement.

“he was,” you tease, “he was so tall, i’d let him do whatever he wanted.”

“that’s a terrible way to look at it,” he scrunches his brows, “you shouldn’t let some guy walk all over you because he’s tall and his face is a bit easy on the eyes—”

“i know you’re not talking—”

“i’m serious,” he cuts you off. something about him reminds you of suguru for a moment—like he cares who you’re with because he has a reason to. as if you mean something to him, as if knowing someone who doesn’t deserve you has you in their palms is upsetting.

but then you shake the thought out of your head—satoru doesn’t care. he’s never had a reason to, and you don’t exactly plan to give him one, either.

“okay, dad,” you roll your eyes, “i learned my lesson. i have standards now.”

“good,” he nods—and then, as if to keep himself in character, he adds, “because i don’t want to help suguru kill someone, and it’s over something lame like forgetting his little sister’s anniversary. i’d like to go to jail for something more badass.”

“you and badass don’t belong in the same sentence,” you raise a brow. “let’s be realistic.”

“oh yeah? that’s rich coming from—”

“guys, it is five in the morning,” suguru grumbles, throwing a water bottle at satoru’s head. you glance at the kitchen entrance, eyeing a half-asleep and very irritable suguru as he crosses his arms, “can’t you idiots fight over who’s more of a loser at reasonable hours? some of us like to sleep.”

“want one?” you offer your pack of pocky, holding it out to him.

suguru blinks, contemplating for a second before sighing and trudging over.

“yeah,” he mutters, flicking your forehead. “gimme that.”

you watch woefully as suguru takes the entirety of your pack, swiftly sitting next to satoru and leaving you empty-handed. satoru snickers obnoxiously at the deflated look on your face—and then he holds out his pack to you.

you look between him and the pack for a moment before giving him a genuine smile. it’s a rare sight—he drinks it in as you carefully take one and bicker over something with suguru.

you’re pretty when you smile, he thinks—pretty enough that if you had horrible values (which you don’t), he might feel inclined to understand your (awful) reasoning for a moment.

and then he blinks and shakes the thoughts out of his head—it’s going to be a long break.

—————

satoru meets you when you’re six. 

he’s nine at the time, and he feels on top of the world knowing he’s three whole years older than you—in hindsight, three years is not a very large gap, but to nine-year-old him, it feels like centuries. he’s remembered you as the fun little drama queen that’s too easy to poke fun at for years—that’s all you’ve always been: suguru’s younger sister who puffs her cheeks out and scowls way too often to be normal, the girl that’s way too easy to tease than should be standard. 

somehow, he wasn’t expecting for you to come back so grown…and so hot. suddenly, it really hits him that you’re not a kid—have not really been for a long time now. he’s always treated you like you’re way younger than he is, way too little to be in his presence and be worthy of it—but you’ve really become a fine young woman.

a magnetizing one, in fact.

it’s now his third night at your house—your parents are as lovely and welcoming as ever, and suguru is always a good time to be around. but somehow, satoru is not satisfied. not anywhere near sated by the few, minimal moments of contact with you. 

when did you get so pretty? although, as much as satoru has always liked to poke fun at you, you’ve never been ugly. not even a little—but you’ve grown into your features better, outgrown the awkward teenage era of your life, and now present yourself with a newfound confidence that just looks…so good. satoru doesn’t see his best friend's kid sister anymore—no, there’s something so alluring about you now.

the nail on the coffin that solidifies he’s officially screwed is when you mention your ex-boyfriend—why would your dating life make him this irrationally angry? why is the thought of someone being on the receiving end of your praise (and shameless heart-eyes) so aggravating for him? 

he doesn’t know—but what he does know is that the raging boner has been killing him all morning ever since he woke up from…well, less than proper dreams about you.

so now he’s here, forehead pressed against your shower wall as the hot water hits his back, swollen cock in his fist as he thumbs at the tip, teasing the slit just the way he likes. he thinks about you—how he’d show you what makes him feel good, how you’d probably learn fast and take care of him just the way he needs. 

your hand would look so much daintier compared to his—smaller, but he’s sure it would still feel infinitely better. 

he bites his lip, fighting back a moan as he strokes himself slowly, pre cum smeared along the length of his hard, aching cock—red and angry at the tip, leaking with more pre cum no matter how many times his thumb collects every drop. 

“f-fuck—” he breathes, and his voice lets out a shaky, breathy little call of your name—he’s screwed if anyone hears it. he’s sure you and suguru will both band together to kill him, but thankfully, the words are lost in the sound of the shower running. “fuck baby,” he says hoarsely, voice cracking ever so slightly as he whines. 

it’s soft and quiet, the noises he makes—careful and deliberately hushed to make sure no one hears the improper way he’s thinking of you right now. but fuck, your tits are so pretty when you walk out of your room in a t-shirt in the mornings—he can just tell you’re not wearing a bra. he can’t stop thinking about it, can’t stop trying to picture what they’d look like uncovered and bouncing.

“jus’ like that, baby,” he pants, whimpering softly as he squeezes around his tip, teasing himself with that slow, painful pace of his. 

satoru is sure that if it were you, that if the hand stroking his cock right now was yours, you would never let him cum so easily—you’d drag it out just like this, pump him slowly and twist your hand around him in a pace that’s painfully not enough before ever thinking about letting him come undone. 

it’s just the way that you are—never ready to back down from a challenge, unwilling to go down without a fight. but he loves it, he thinks—lives for the way you keep him on his toes and work for the satisfaction. 

“more,” he gasps, “n-need more—gimme more, sweetheart.”

he imagines it—the way you’d kiss his jaw, maybe even the corner of his mouth, as you hum. say please, toru, you’d probably say—and fuck, he’d kill to hear you say toru. 

“please,” he rasps, “please, baby. d-don’t tease.”

he can practically hear your light giggles, the sweet, okay, baby. no more teasing, that you might whisper. he’d also kill to hear you call him baby—he’s almost nauseous at the idea that some other guy must’ve heard the pet name from your lips before him. and then he lets himself pump his erection faster, squeezing tighter as his thighs quiver while he stands in the shower. 

fuck—you feel so good. you’re not even here, but he’s sure you do, and he’s desperate to envision it. it practically hurts—the way he’s so hard and swollen and ready to release. just for you, he wants to tell you, he’s going to cum all for you. 

“baby,” he whimpers, “‘m so, so close—fuck ‘m gonna cum. ‘s for you—gonna cum for you—ngh, sh-shit.”

and then there’s cum on the tile walls, on his hands, on his abs as they flex with every labored breath. satoru cums—hard. his eyes are squeezed shut, lips parted with a silent cry as he pants and strokes himself through his high. you’d kiss him, he likes to think, on his jaw and cheeks and maybe the tip of his nose as you sit on his lap and work him through his orgasm. you’d watch him closely, take in the way he comes undone for you, maybe even call him your pretty boy as he paints your hand white with his seed.

would you praise him? murmur softly into his ear and seal the gentle words with a kiss to his skin? would you stroke his hair from his face as you admire his blissful, fucked out little expression? maybe he’d ask you then—maybe he’d ask you to admit he’s way more handsome than that douchebag you dated as your hand holds his softening cock, sticky with his release.

god, what he wouldn’t do to see your hands coated with his cum—did you do this for your ex? did he look as hot as you claim he was when he came for you? the thought makes him sour—he grits his teeth and clenches his jaw at the idea, panting and catching his breath as he stares down at the mess he’s made.

he should feel bad—this is wrong. so, so wrong—suguru would kill him if he was aware satoru was lusting over his little sister. but it felt so fucking good—he’s never cum as hard as when he’s pictured cumming for you. 

it can’t be that wrong, if that’s the case—can it?

——

“suguru,” your voice is shrill, deadly—like you’re out for blood. “next time you jack off in the shower, maybe clean the fucking wall? are you joking?”

“wha—i definitely cleaned that,” suguru defends. 

oh, fuck, satoru thinks—he forgot to clean that. so he makes himself very scarce and stays within the confinements of suguru’s bedroom—his messy habits are starting to really catch up to him. if his defense, he really would clean that up…it’s just that he was a bit distracted. 

“so you admit you jack off in our shower? our shower?” you sound inconsolable, downright devastated, and borderline hysterical. having siblings seems like a lot of trouble, he thinks—but then again, sometimes satoru is jealous of your bond with suguru. it’d be nice to have someone in his family he can actually depend on. “keep that shit for your bedroom, you jackass!”

“well, how am i supposed to do that when satoru is there? you tell me.”

“i don’t know! figure it the fuck out—you guys probably jack off together anyway.”

“what?” suguru sounds appalled, “we do not—that’s outrageous.”

“whatever,” you say—you sound almost murderous as you warn, “next time you better clean up your fucking mess, you asshole.”

satoru can’t help but smile a little—your pointer finger is definitely held up as you scold suguru—you’re so cute when you’re mad, he thinks. he almost wants to step out and catch a glimpse, but he decides against it for now.

silently, satoru thanks his best friend for taking one for the team—even if it was unknowingly.

—————

it’s night four. 

satoru has surprisingly kept to himself—he even promptly looked away after meeting your eyes in the kitchen yesterday morning as you walked in for breakfast. that’s…new. a lot about satoru is new. 

he’s taller and more muscular now—at one point, suguru used to tower over his scrawny little form. now he’s seemed to grow into his body, seemed to learn how to style himself better, and actually do his hair a bit. it’s still messy now that he’s just lazing around in your home—but it’s oddly handsome. 

scarily handsome, in fact. 

you don’t enjoy the idea of thinking about the jerk of your childhood like that—but ever since you felt the hard press of his chest against your back, sometimes you wonder what it’s like to know satoru outside of just your older brother’s obnoxious friend. 

maybe, somewhere along the line, had you put your pride aside and actually tried to get to know him, maybe you both could at least be friendly. but then again, there’s never been any real animosity between you two—you can share a lighthearted talk from time to time, like that night in the kitchen. 

you decide not to dwell on it too much, decide that he’s not really worth your thoughts when he’s just a guy who’s always been a bit too spoiled to learn how to be humble. instead, you go down to the kitchen to grab another pack of strawberry pocky—satoru will just have to deal with it. if he doesn’t want his snacks eaten, he shouldn’t keep them in the pantry where anyone could stumble across them.

you walk into the kitchen until—oh. it’s satoru. again.

“oh, hey,” he grins cheekily, taking a sip of his coke—he needs to break the habit of having so much sugar this late at night…but then again, why would it matter to you? “stalkin’ me?”

“for an unwelcomed guest, you sure do talk a lot,” you roll your eyes, making his lips curl into a smug little smirk. 

“i don’t know—your parents seem to love having me over. what if i become their newest son?”

“i doubt my parents are looking to adopt you,” you raise a brow, slightly amused. 

he hums, sipping his coke before blinking at you through those long, perfect lashes of his. “well, there are other ways to blend into a family. marriage, for example, is a great way.”

“you and my brother might as well marry each other,” you snort, “no one else will do it.”

“who said anything about suguru?” he winks, chuckling when your face twists into an exaggerated look of horror—always as dramatic as ever, you are. he can’t help but find an endearing side to it now.

satoru stands, walks over to where you are and stands in front of you as you scoff, shaking your head as you huff out a disbelieving chuckle. 

“that’s pushing it,” you muse, “marrying you would be the last open option i’d have left—and even then i doubt i’d ever take it.”

“yeah?” he raises a brow, leaning in so close, you can practically feel his breath fan over you. he smells like expensive cologne and your shampoo—why is he using yours instead of suguru’s? before you can even ask him what he’s doing, he throws away the empty can of coke in the trash can behind you, eyes bright with amusement as your breath hitches.

it’s like he knows—the fucking asshole.

“yeah,” you breathe, “you don’t deserve me,” you try to say matter-of-factly. it comes off a bit more breathless than you intended—the air feels suffocating. maybe because satoru is so close, maybe because his breath is on your face, maybe because all you can smell and feel and hear is him. 

you can’t find it in yourself to pull away—why aren’t you pulling away? it’s just like that day he caught you, when his arms wrapped around you and all you felt like doing was lean into his chest. what about satoru and you has shifted so quickly to make you want to do that? what makes him so easy to fall into when all you’ve always known was to shove at him?

he hums, leaning in closer and closer until his forehead touches yours. “you know who didn’t deserve you?” he asks, “that shitty ex of yours.”

you look up at him with wide eyes, speechless as his hands find purchase of your hips, grabbing them and pulling you closer—and against better judgment, your hands lay themselves across his chest. it’s as firm as you remember it. 

“how would you know—”

“heard suguru rant about it all the time,” he murmurs, “how he forgot your dates. got you a shitty birthday present. didn’t show up to your anniversary. made you hang out with his friends and didn’t even meet half of yours. you’re tellin’ me he deserves you more than me?”

“he was hot—”

“yeah? and i’m not?”

he’s cocky—you hate that about him. always did. but he’s so close, so intoxicating, so irresistible, and fuck, he is hot—so incredibly hot, you’ve been losing sleep over it the last four nights no matter how hard you try to deny it. 

“satoru, what are you—”

“y’know, i’ve been helping suguru pick your birthday presents since you were twelve. i’d pick you the best gifts,” his nose is brushing against yours now, lips just millimeters away from his as he speaks—“and i never forget an important date. i’m very punctual too, believe it or not. i’d meet your little friends—show ‘em what a catch i am when you introduce me.”

“and what am i supposed to do with this information?” you ask defiantly.

it’s a last-ditch effort—you both know this. you know exactly what he wants you to do with this information. 

“i don’t know, sweetheart,” he chuckles, “what do you think?”

and then you’re kissing him—because fuck, satoru is right there, and how could you not? his chest is under your palms, his lips are right against yours, and you can feel his thumb rub circles into your hips. 

so you kiss him—loop your arms around his neck and tug him closer and press your lips to his. he groans, responds almost instantly as his mouth molds against yours, kissing you deeper as his hand moves to cup your cheek.

your lips are softer than he thought, and his hair is silky against your fingers. you tug at the strands, grab a handful, and feel them against your fingers like you’ve wanted to for so long. and when he nips at your bottom lip, who are you to deny him? your lips part, letting his tongue slide in and taste you with a breathy sigh that makes your knees wobble. 

“s-satoru,” you stutter, whispering between kisses, “suguru might come in like last time—”

“god,” he groans, head burying into your neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against the skin, “don’t fucking talk about your brother right now. please.”

“my room,” you say urgently—it’s all he needs to hear before his hands are on your ass, grabbing you as you wrap your legs around his hips. it’s urgent, the way his mouth is back on yours—he doesn’t pull away even once the entire walk to your room, not even when he lets your back fall onto the mattress as he hovers over you, pressing kisses along your collarbone. 

no bra, he notes happily, his hand sneaking under your shirt to toy with your pert nipples. 

“god, you’ve been driving me fuckin’ crazy,” he mumbles, tugging the hem of your shirt over your arms and tossing it over his shoulder. he stares, takes in the sight of the same tits he’s been fantasizing over for the last few days in awe. “you know that? been thinkin’ about these for days,” he says lowly, cupping your tit and massaging as he presses a kiss to your jaw. 

“you’re shameless,” you mutter, snorting before you cut yourself off with a gasp as he squeezes your nipple, pinching and rolling it between his fingers and pulling a soft whine from you.

“shhh,” he chuckles, tilting his head toward the wall next to you, “don’t want suguru to hear, do you? that wouldn’t be nice, would it?”

“it’ll be worse for you than me,” you grin, tugging at the hem of his own shirt, indicating you want it off. he grins widely, wiggling his brows and making you purse your lips.

“wanna see me shirtless again, huh? third times the charm, as they say,” he winks. you would retort with something as witty, but then your eyes fall on that tattoo again—right under his collarbone, making your hand reach out to trace it with your thumb. 

“what compelled you to get this corny little tattoo of yours,” you grin, giggling as you trace over the small infinity sign. 

for the first time, you think you witness satoru shy, blushing as he rubs the back of his neck and chuckles awkwardly. “that…that was an accident. when i got drunk for the first time.”

“oh,” you snort, “you’re so weak, satoru—”

“do me a favor, sweetheart,” he hums, cutting you off, “as much as i love when you say my name, say toru for me, yeah? i wanna hear it.”

you roll your eyes, huffing as your hand finds the back of his head and pulls him into another kiss, moaning into his mouth as he grinds the throbbing erection in his sweats over your heated core. 

“toru,” you say breathlessly, “more.”

that’s all he needs to hear—satoru doesn’t waste a second before he’s crawling between your legs, sliding your cute little pajama pants down your legs before meeting your dripping pussy.

it’s wet—so wet, he almost wants to chuckle and tease you a bit. just for old-time's sake. but the ache that shoots down to his cock reminds him that he’s in no position to tease you when he’s not faring any better himself. so he spreads your legs, kisses lightly at your clit in a feather-like touch that has you whimpering and clutching the sheets in anticipation.

“how pretty,” he mumbles, “been hiding this pretty little thing all this time. what a perfect pussy.”

“satoru,” you gasp in embarrassment, hands reaching for his hair and tugging him closer to where you need him most—equal parts because you really need his mouth on your cunt and equal parts because you really need him to shut up. 

but he chuckles, takes his time to spread your folds open with his thumbs, and watches in wonder as you flutter around nothing, arousal dripping and leaving a mess. it’s perfect—you’re perfect, and he wants to take his time with you. 

“god, you’re soaked,” he groans, chuckling as he murmurs, “that’s fuckin’ cute.”

before you can even whine at the way his words are shameless, his mouth is back to kissing your clit, lips wrapping around it as he sucks and rolls his tongue along the sensitive bud. his fingers sink deep into you, pushing past your folds and slowly bullying into you until the tips of his fingers curl and brush against a spot that makes you squeal. 

you gasp a breathy, “fuck, toru—” before he hums around your clit, vibrations making you whimper as he thrusts his fingers back in to hit that spot again. it’s sensitive, the way he makes you feel—your nerves are on fire, and your head is light, and fuck, it feels so good you can’t help but sob brokenly and squeeze your thighs around his head. he moans against your cunt, pulling his fingers out before letting his tongue lick a stripe along your slit, tasting you with a sharp inhale. 

“f-feels good,” you whimper, biting your lip as your eyes crinkle at the corners from squeezing shut.

“yeah?” he hums, kissing your inner thigh, leaving a wet little sheen of his spit and your arousal on the skin, “that’s a good girl—just keep telling me how good i make you feel, kay?”

he could stay buried nose-deep into your pussy for as long as you let him—tongue alternating between fucking into you and rolling over your swollen clit, hearing the broken little gasps and whines of his name as you repeat toru over and over again like a prayer. his hand grips at your thigh, sinking his fingertips into the plush skin and rubbing soothingly with his thumb as you rut your hips and grind against his face. 

satoru has half a mind to watch it again—to lick and suck at your core again and again just so he could burn into his mind what you look like when you cum. it’s divine—like he’s halfway to stepping into heaven and has to pause just to admire the sight before him. 

your hips leave the mattress as your back arches, and your fingers tug relentlessly at his roots as your walls quiver, letting satoru taste every drop of your release as you press a palm to your hand and try to keep yourself from squealing at the pleasure.

suguru is right next door. you can’t wake him—can’t let him know this is what you and his best friend get up to in the late hours of the night. 

it’s not until satoru pulls away, catching his breath as he wipes the wet trail on his chin does he realize how hard he is—how badly he’s aching as his cock strains against his sweats. he hisses as he frees himself; ridding his sweats and boxers and wrapping a large hand around the tip of his erection and smearing the leaking pre cum along his length. 

you watch in awe, reaching over and replacing his hand with yours. satoru was right—your hand is infinitely smaller than his, and yet, it feels a great deal better. so much better, in fact, that his arms shake as he hovers over you, burying his head into your neck and groaning as you slowly stroke him, squeezing at the tip and rolling your thumb through the slit.

he didn’t even have to show you what he wanted, what makes him feel good, what makes his mind fog with pleasure and burn through every nerve. no, you figure it all out on your own, pulling strangled moans and hushed gasps from him that make your clit ache once more. 

“fuck, baby,” he pants, “can’t last long like this—c’mon, g-gotta feel you.” gently, he pries your hand from his thick, pulsing cock, laying it against your stomach as he peers down in fascination. “i’ll be right here,” he hums, drawing a line on your skin right where his tip ends, “see that? that’s where you’ll feel me, sweetheart.”

“then let me feel you,” you murmur, cupping his cheeks and brushing a thumb over the skin, “fuck me, toru—wan’ it so bad.”

so he does—drags his tip along your folds and collects the slick pooling at your entrance before pushing his tip past your folds, splitting you in half as he slowly buries himself to the hilt. his jaw is clenched, breath labored as he waits for you to adjust, lets you kiss his cheeks and nose as you murmur how handsome he is, how perfect he feels, how good is to you. 

“that asshole ever make you cum?” he asks lowly, “he ever eat your pussy like that? make you cum hard enough you had to cover your mouth so you’re not screaming his name?”

“no,” you breathe, quivering as his thumb rolls over your clit in slow circles, still painfully still as he stares down at you, “n-no, never. just you—only you—”

“good,” he grins, “that’s what i like to hear. and when i make you cum on my cock, make sure to tell me he’s never done that either, yeah?”

“you’re full of it,” you scoff, “always have been.”

“and you’re full of me,” he says cheekily, chuckling as you glare half-heartedly. “can i move, baby? please? need more, ‘s not enough. n-need more—”

“yeah,” you whimper, pulling him closer, chests brushing against each other as your lips meet in a sloppy kiss, “yeah—need more too, toru.”

satoru, in all his years of knowing you, has never seen the side of you that could be this gentle. the side that glides your hands over his back, feeling every flex and every pull of his muscles, gently caressing the skin like it’s holy, like it’s not worthy of marks—instead to be worshipped and revered with thoughtful touches. your lips sear into every part of him they can find—his lips, his forehead, his nose, his hair as his face digs into your neck. even your voice is a gentle whisper of his name, so soft and careful, it’s like saying it wrong could break him. 

your hips buck up in tandem with his, meeting his rhythm as he slams into you, his balls slapping against your skin as he buries his cock into you as deep as it’ll go with every harsh thrust. you can feel his tip kissing against that sweet spot in the back of your walls, your abused cunt sucking him in and hugging around him as he groans. 

the friction feels sickening, like he’ll pass out any second, like he’s floating between the precipice of pleasure and the edge of consciousness. 

you do that to him—he doesn’t know how or when or why, but you make him feel like he doesn’t have a grip on his own senses. he doesn’t mind it so much, he thinks—doesn’t hate the idea of letting himself fall into your palm and wrap around him. it feels nicer that way, like it’s where he belongs.

“fuck, ‘s so tight,” he rasps, whining into your neck as your hand cups the back of his head, holding him in place. his hips are rutting into you sloppily now, barely maintaining the rhythm from before as he nears his high—but that doesn't stop him from angling into you perfectly, slamming into your sensitive spot every time without fail. “c-cum—’m gonna cum. cum with me, sweetheart.”

“‘m so close, toru,” you sob—and then, just as his thumb finds your clit again, rubbing harsh, desperate little circles to get you over the edge, you cum again—harder than the last time, spasming around his cock and pulling him in as you squeeze around him. “t-toru,” you gasp brokenly, “fuck, ‘s good—so good.”

“baby,” he moans lowly, “fuck, you’re so perfect. prettiest thing ever—prettiest pussy ever. i, sh-shit—” your orgasm quickly has him falling into his own, hot, thick ropes of cum spilling into you with every twitch of his cock, sweet little noises pulled from his throat that he sings into your neck, fucking his load into you. 

it’s messy, the way cum spills out of you and coats his cock—but it’s perfect and feels so, so right. you can’t help but think how perfectly satoru fits against you as his body slumps on top of yours, panting and spent as he cages you in his arms.

your hand doesn’t leave his hair—now that you know how it feels, you don’t think you can stop threading your fingers through it, ever. 

“wow, toothless,” he chuckles after a bit, “you’re seriously obsessed with me, huh? i mean, how long have you been nursing this crush on me, hmm? thinking about your brother’s best friend, you naughty little thing—”

“satoru, would you shut that mouth for once,” you hiss, rolling your eyes—still, there’s an affectionate grin on your lips this time as he chuckles into your skin. 

“oh baby, i’m afraid this mouth never shuts, so you should get used—”

suddenly, you both freeze as you hear suguru’s voice through the door. “you two better not be fucking doing what i think you’re doing,” he seethes, making your jaw drop and satoru’s eyes widen.

fuck—that was never supposed to happen. suguru was never supposed to hear, let alone know.

“hey,” satoru starts, “if suguru kicks me out of our place, i can come be your new permanent housemate, right?”

do not comment about a part 2

but yeah he can come live with me any time and as long as he pays by sucking my tiddies i shall provide all food and utilities and everything

[panickedscribbles]

I've been thinking about Star Wars discourse lately, and I think a lot of the reason so much of the fandom is constant back and forth arguments is because a lot of the time, two characters can be right simultaneously while also disagreeing completely with each other.

Take the whole "Too old, he is" thing.

On one hand, obviously wrong. Anakin is nine, he's at most a few years behind, and textually managed to catch up pretty well. Like, if Palpatine and the Sith Plan weren't constantly messing him up, there is every possibility that Anakin could have become a well adjusted Jedi. Nine is by no means too old to learn a skill.

On the other hand, the council demonstrates perfectly in that scene that they are completely unequipped to deal with a nine year old who hasn't been raised in their culture, especially one from a heavily traumatized background. The pop-quiz they ask him would be perfectly acceptable for a nine-year-old youngling, but Anakin literally just walked in. They are giving an end-of-year exam to a kid who has never even seen a school. And they assume this is fine, because that's just what you do with nine-year-olds.

More to the point, they are completely failing to take into account the previous nine years of his life. They ask a kid, who up until all of about 18 hours ago had been enslaved since birth, to be open and honest about his emotions, in a room full of complete strangers, most of whom answer to "Master"! They have somehow engineered a situation so psychologically damaging that Palpatine is taking notes in the corner, entirely without realizing. When the council says they shouldn't take him in, they are one hundred percent right. Nine is WAY too old when you've spent that time as a slave, and are being entrusted into the care of people who have never had to raise a nine year old who wasn't raised like they were.

Or how about Anakin not being made a master. Was he right to insist he get the title, or was the council.

Well, Anakin should be made a master, you see, because,

He's one of the main Generals fighting and coordinating the war

And he's one of their most successful warriors. Like, he's the guy they call in whenever they need an impossible mission completed

He's more or less the face of the war effort, as "The Hero Without Fear"

As an ex-slave, obtaining the title of Master would be a huge psychological weight lifted off his shoulders.

Since they're making him part of the council for espionage purposes, making him a master as well serves as better cover

Giving him more reason to stay loyal to the Jedi after they just asked him to betray the trust of one of his oldest and closest friends wouldn't be the worst idea

Like, if ever there was a reason to give someone a promotion, those are some pretty good ones.

However, on the opposite side of the issue, literally none of that has any bearing on "Mastery" as the Jedi define it. Being a Jedi Master is all about mastery over oneself, having a deep understanding of the force, and a certain level of inner peace.

You'll notice that at no point does being really good at large-scale violence, being well known for being really good at large-scale violence, or wanting it a lot factor into being made a Jedi Master. Everything Anakin is good at, Everything Palpatine, and the war, and the council have pushed Anakin into being good at, do nothing to bring him any closer to Mastery, and in fact often push him further away from it.

In both of these examples, you can make a very compelling argument in either direction. Hell, you can make a compelling argument in both directions at the same time. And I think that's really neat.

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Not A Verstappen: A New World {6}

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!driver!reader x Lando Norris Summary: Last race before summer break begins. Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, team friction, bad language, fluff WC: 2k F1 Masterlist NAV: Sibling Rivalry One || Two || Three NAV: Gridlocked One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight || Nine NAV: A New World One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven

Belgium Grand Prix Doctor Turner didn’t know where to look. She had started off looking at you but once Charles started to speak her attention was turned and then Lando chimed in too. Her poor neck was straining with flitting back and forth between the three of you sitting across from her desk.

“I think it is the stress,” Lando said as he squeezed your hand.

“I think it is the medication,” Charles countered, a familiar argument brewing. “Things started to change after she started taking it.”

Dr Turner hummed as she made her notes and prompted him for more as he fell silent. “Changes such as?”

You zoned out of the conversation. The whole appointment was a result of the family meeting they had called and the information was nothing new to you. You were moody, you were tired, you were hungry. Charles had been the one to suggest it was the hormones from the contraception. He had even gone so far as to unfold the very, very large sheet of side effect information hidden in the box. 

“-and her weight.”

“Thanks, Charles. Love you too,” you muttered.

“Not like that, chérie,” he said as he turned to face you, cupping your cheek gently. “You are beautiful and I love your body, but you are training a lot harder with Kristian to maintain your race weight and you didn’t have to do that before.”

That much was true. The team had even stopped putting sandbags in the car for testing since the car was no longer underweight. You had thought your fireproofs had shrunk in the wash when you pulled them on in Hungary last weekend and the sleeves had cut into your wrists. There’s skintight and then there’s skintight.

​​”Those were all possibilities we discussed at the time,” Dr Turner said with a nod. “They are quite common with hormonal contraceptives so you likely wouldn’t find any change with the alternative options like the injection or the rods.”

“See, told you this was pointless. I just have to deal with it.”

“Or you could stop taking them,” Lando suggested. 

“Given the choice…you want to go back to condoms?”

“As much as we enjoy the benefits, it’s not worth it if this is the cost,” Charles answered for the both of them. “Just stop taking the pills for a while and see how you feel.”

You sighed with defeat but you accepted the plan with a nod. “At least I’m stressed enough that there’ll still be no periods. Yay for me.”

Lando snorted a laugh at your sarcasm but Charles didn’t find the humour as he shook his head and thanked Dr Turner for fitting us into her busy schedule. It wasn’t as busy as yours since you needed to get to Côte d'Azur Airport to catch a ride with Max to Belgium, you and half the grid apparently.

“Well that was a waste of time, and now we need to go shopping for condoms,” you muttered as you left her office and got in your car. “Do you think Costco sells them in bulk boxes?”

“I am not buying cheap Kirkland branded condoms,” Lando said with a cringe. “Fuck that.”

“You also said you would never do dry July but here we are,” you pointed out.

“Except for that one night after Silverstone,” Charles added as he started the car.

“Doesn’t matter, I’m not risking anything less than Durex. I’d rather trust myself to pull out.”

You looked at Charles in the rearview mirror before you both broke out in a fit of laughter as you shook your heads at the idea. 

Lando was offended.

“Hey,” he called as he turned in his seat to look at you. “I could pull out if I wanted to.”

“You’re lucky you’re handsome, because you can’t lie to save your life.”

“We both know how it is when you hit that sweet spot, mon cher,” Charles said as he reached across the gearbox and rested his hand on Lando’s thigh. “It’s too good to resist staying buried in her.”

“I said I could if I wanted to, not that I would or want to.”

By the time you arrived at the airport, and hustled your way through security, you found Max, Daniel and Pierre already seated on the plane and pointed to other empty seats. “Are you expecting the rest of the grid or what?”

“At the rate you're collecting them, maybe,” Max joked. 

You laughed and dropped into the seat opposite your brother, kicking your feet up on his armrest. “You can’t say shit like that in front of Pierre, he gets far too excited. He might even wet your carpet.”

Pierre looked up from his phone and you could tell from the smile on his face that he had been busy texting Kika before he realised what you had said and his lips pouted. “You make me sound like a puppy.”

“Nawww, I wish you had that level of obedience, Gasly.” Your feet were roughly shoved off the seat and you narrowed your eyes at the culprit as the plane began to taxi to the runway. 

“Safety first, zusje, haven’t you read the pamphlet?”

“Why would I do that?” you scoffed as you buckled the belt in. Charles was doing the same where he sat across from Pierre and Lando was next to Daniel. “If something happens at 36,000 feet, bracing isn’t going to save me. Now, are there any stroopwafels on board this thing or do I have to wait another two hours? I'm starving.”

“The last two races have seen a big drop in performance for both you and Lance, and only a few points added to the tally, and now - failing to finish the sprint with that crash. Is this something the team is looking into?”

You wanted to ask if the Sky Sports reporter had a brain cell but took a steadying breath instead and nodded. “Mhmm.”

“So what is Aston Martin doing to get back up where you were competing earlier in the season and what are your hopes for the race tomorrow starting 9th on the grid?”

“We are doing what is always done: look at the data, continue the upgrades, and keep pushing. Same goes for the race, I’ll try my hardest to make up some places and avoid the gravel. I’m usually good at getting off the start line, the car is great for short acceleration so if I see a gap I’ll be going for it. Plus, you know how turn one goes - that might make my job easier if the boys up ahead get greedy.”

“Speaking of boys, this time last year you were heading into the summer break looking for love. What’s the plan this year?”

“I don’t know, maybe I’ll take Max’s advice and adopt a couple of cats this time.” You laughed as Lando and Charles turned to you from their spots in the media pen. “Is that a yes…no…maybe? Oh, that’s their ‘we will talk about this later’ face. I’m going to go now before I get into trouble.”

The smile you had been holding onto fell away as you stepped into the Aston Martin hospitality building and you grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge before you navigated your way to your room. You almost made it there with no interactions, until your fellow driver caught up and clipped your shoulder as he passed by to his room.

Still annoyed at the reporter, you dropped your hand from the doorknob and turned to him. “What’s your problem?”

“You almost had points and you threw them away. That’s what.”

“I spun out, Lance,” you sighed, already exhausted with where the conversation was heading. “It’s wet and it’s Spa, it's easy to have an accident. It’s not like I saw you up there earning any of them.”

“It’s not my seat that’s on the line though,” he stated. 

“Is that a threat?”

“No, it’s just the truth.” His lips curved into the pretentious smile you hadn’t noticed when you joined the team, but it had become irksome to see grow over time. ��My seat is secure.”

“If that were true you wouldn’t be wasting your time hassling me over whatever issue you’ve made up in your head.” You enjoyed watching that smile fade. 

“I don’t have an issue with you.”

“Then you feel threatened by me,” you said with a casual shrug. “It’s basic biology, animals attack when they feel in danger.”

“You should do something about that big ego of yours.”

“It’s big like my dick,” you said as you turned the door handle and shoved it open, “so choke on it.”

“Bitch.”

You gasped theatrically as you paused in the doorway. “Lance Strulovitch, do you kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“Did I offend you?” 

Your laugh started as a tickle in your throat before your lips peeled back and bared your teeth at him. “Sticks and stones, baby, I kind of like it.”

Realising he wasn't going to get the reaction he wanted from you, he shook his head and stepped away. “You’re all kinds of messed up.”

“Thanks for the assessment, Freud.” You slammed the door shut before he could give a response and screamed as you threw your bottle at the body that suddenly appeared. “Jesus, fuck.”

“Nope, just me,” Max chuckled as he rose from the chair that had been hidden by the door. “Nice to see you get along with your team mate too.”

“Oh that, that was just a friendly sparring match. Nothing to worry about.”

“I did warn you, zusje.”

“Yeah, yeah, you love to say I told you so,” you drawled as you grabbed your drink bottle from the floor and cracked it open. “Anyway, what are you doing, hiding in here acting like the godfather?”

“Our mothers have been conspiring again,” he said with a fond smile. “Family dinner tomorrow night after the race.”

“Won’t you have a winner’s after party planned?”

“I don’t think my liver could handle another one so soon.”

“Serves you right,” you snickered as he opened the door. “Wait, can Pascale, Adam and Cisca come too?”

“I said family dinner, didn’t I? They’re pretty much your in-laws.” He pointed to your table and you followed his finger to see a box overflowing with stroopwafels. “Is that enough or should I get some more for the flight home?”

You grinned as you grabbed one and tore through the packaging, talking with a mouthful. “I thought I was walking?”

“With those manners, you should be.” He started to close the door but changed his mind and stepped back in to pull you into a hug. “I’m glad you didn’t hit the barriers, zusje. Drive safe tomorrow.”

You nodded against his shoulder as you hugged him back.

It was only two days earlier that you ran the track with Pierre in memory of his friend, Anthione, and only five weeks before that another driver had lost his life on the track too. You hadn’t been thinking about that when you spun out, it wasn’t like it was anything close to what Lando did two years ago. 

But your brother would always worry about you.

“You too, Maxy.”

Fifth was the best you could do in the end but for once you weren’t weighed down by the result.

You sat beside Max, sipping from a glass of lemonade that should have been a gin and tonic, and smiled at the story he animatedly recalled from the race. On your other side was Charles, his dimples deepening as Max praised him for the perfect overtake he had made on Lewis to clench third place. Beside him, Lando was grinning proudly and draped his arm over Charles’ shoulder, his fingertips teasing your collarbone.

Your parents lined the other side of the table and you scanned their faces while they were engrossed with the story, not as accustomed to Maxsplaining as you and the other drivers were. No one would have ever thought that the parents of a Red Bull, a McLaren, a Ferrari and an Aston Martin driver would all come together and support them all equally. But there they were. One big happy family.

Click here for the next part.

[trippinsorrows]

with me + part nine

authors note: ya'll had me rolling in the comments on the last update. calling this man big dick joe. lololol. i hope this one is okay. i'm not very good at writing those scenes, but i tried!! angst is def more my bread and butter.

song inspo: "with me" by destiny's child

status: in progress // masterlist

warnings: language, suggestive themes, smut

words: 8k

taglist: @pixiedust4000 @southerngirl41 @yolobloggers @msbigredmachine @wanderingreigns

“You look so damn good. If you don’t get ate out tonight, come back home early, and I’ll do the honors.”

It’s a miracle that you’re able to keep a straight face as Alexis does the finishing touches on your makeup. “Well, that’s not gonna happen, period, because this is just a date.”

Alexis pauses and gives you a look. “I know you’ve been out of the game for a while, but you do know what typically happens on dates, right?”

Rolling your eyes, you retort, “Lex, not everyone fucks on the first date.”

She sucks her teeth and swaps out the eyeliner for mascara. “Bitch, this is not a first date. He’s painted your walls too many times for you to say anything between ya’ll is a first.” 

As much as you hate it, she has somewhat of a point. You and Joe have checked so many boxes already that it does seem kinda silly to call this a first date. But, in many ways, it is. He’s never before asked you to go anywhere outside of the couple of times he invited you to his show, since you were already in town because he'd flown you out. 

But never anything beyond that. 

So, in that way, it is a first date.

And maybe that’s why you’re nervous. It’s a first too. Not a lot of things make you nervous. Even when you cheered, there was some level of anxiety before competitions, but even that was minimal compared to some of the panicked expressions you’d see on your teammates faces. When it comes to Callie, there are definitely a lot of things that make you nervous, but that’s just regular parental anxiety. 

So this butterflies shit is unfamiliar and annoying. 

It’s also just Joe. You know him, you know him better than almost anyone else in your life outside of Mariah and Callie. 

Thinking of Mariah, you grab your phone and hit the side button to see if you have any notifications. Instead, you’re just met with Callie’s smiling face.

Alexis sees this and comments casually, “still nothing?”

You don’t respond, because it’s not necessary. She already knows the answer. 

“Well, whatever she’s got going on, let her deal with it the way she wants,” Alexis advises, grabbing the powder brush to brush off some excessive powder on your cheeks. “You’ve got too many good things going on in your life for you to be stressed out over her fake ass.” 

She’s not entirely wrong. There’s definitely not a shortage of topics you still need to sort through, many of which should take precedent over you wondering what the hell is going on with your best friend since kindergarten. Still, it’s hard for you not to worry about her and feel confused about what’s shifted between the two of you.

You haven’t heard from her since you text her when Callie was in the hospital, and she replied back that she was praying for you and Callie and asked if you wanted her to come to the hospital. You thanked her but let her know that Joe was with you, so you were okay.

You haven’t heard from her since then. 

It’s not that difficult to put two and two together. There’s something about Joe that makes Mariah stay away and keep her distance. You just can’t figure out why.

“Okay, enough of your overthinking. Time to see my masterpiece.” She gloats and claps her hand, removing the towel she’d put around your chest area to prevent anything from spilling on your outfit. Alexis sighs, “you seriously look amazing, Y/N.”

Standing and stretching your back, you walk over to the full body mirror against the opposite wall of your bedroom. “Oh….”

The last time you actually dressed up was at the town’s annual Christmas party two years back. You’d always gone growing up and wanted Callie to experience it for herself, even though Callie ended up utterly disinterested, hence that being your last appearance. It was hard to justify dragging her to something she was too young to enjoy and even understand. 

So, seeing yourself done up like this is a shock. Alexis absolutely slayed your makeup, perfect wingliner and all. The white, ruched, off shoulder dress is form-fitting, hugging every curve you’ve had since a teenager that's only improved since having Callie. It’s a beautiful contrast against your melanin. You’ve always thought white on black women looked so classy. 

Your curls are styled and pinned into an almost pineapple atop your head. The jewelry is simple and basic: necklace and hoops. No bracelet considering the dress is long-sleeved.

All of this creates the absolutely stunning reflection staring back at you. It brings a smile to your face. You’d forgotten how nice it feels to actually get done up.

Alexis appears in the mirror and rests her chin on your shoulder, smiling broadly. “Told you. Boss bitch.”

Matching her smile, you turn to hug her. You really couldn’t have done this without her, even her offering to take Callie for the night as it was a nighttime date, and you doubted you’d be home before bedtime. “Thank you.” 

“You’re my best friend. You never have to thank me.” She wiggles her brow. “Just give me a rundown of the pounding that’s bound to commence tonight. A video will do as well.”

Your mouth drops open. “Alexis, you—”

“Mommy! I need you.”

You’ve never in your life felt so grateful to be needed by anyone. Maneuvering through the avalanche of clothes that make up most of your bedroom right now, the result of the two of you trying to figure out what the hell you were going to wear, you’re more than happy to saunter over to Callie’s playroom to see what she needs.

“What’s up, sis?”

You see she’s sitting at her little table, surrounded by crayons, markers, colored paper, and other art supplies. Her eyes fall on you with glee as she gasps loudly.

“Mommy, you look so pretty!”

There’s something about a heartfelt compliment from your child that provides such a level of joy.  

“Thank you, baby.” Moving closer to the table, you sit down on the chair opposite her, ignoring how goddamn uncomfortable it is. “What you got for me?”

She shuffles through a couple of pages and lifts one to show you. “Do you think Joe will like this?”

Your eyes study the colorful drawing she’s created against bright yellow—her favorite color—construction paper. It’s the average sun in the corner, green grass, and blue clouds drawing one would expect from a young child, but that’s not what immediately catches your attention. What draws your attention is the fact that there are two people she’s drawn, a heart between the two of them. 

Her and Joe.

Eyes watering, you do your best not to cry. You’re pretty sure everything on your face is waterproof, but you’re not trying to find out right now. Not when Joe should be arriving at your place any minute. “He’s gonna love it, Callie.”

Her face lights up with excitement at your approval. “Yay!” Taking it from you and tucking it underneath some other papers, she offers you another one. “I made this one too!”

You definitely can’t hold back the tears this time around. It’s the same backdrop, outside scenery but with a big house drawn behind the three of you: Callie, Joe, and yourself. With a heart over everyone’s head.

“Callie…..”

Callie, being young, sees your tears and automatically mistakens them for something else. Smile dropping and frown appearing, she moves up from the table and comes to hug you. “Don’t cry, mommy. I can make a new one!”

Wiping at your eyes, you shake your head, accepting her hug. “No, baby. Mommy’s crying because she’s happy, because she loves it.”

Instantly, her smile is back. “Really?”

“It’s beautiful. Is this one for your d—Joe too?”

Christmas can’t come soon enough, because this is at least the third time you’ve almost unintentionally given away Joe’s true identity. And that’s something you swore to him and yourself you’d allow him to reveal to Callie. It’s so hard though when moments like this occur, moments where you just want her to know the man she already loves is the same man who helped bring her into this world. 

She surprises you by shaking her head no. “I wanna put it in my room.” 

Sniffling, you nod, agreeing. “I think that’s a great idea.” 

Callie takes your hand and brings you into her room, the two of you taking a few minutes to decide where her photo should go. Eventually, she decides on right above her bed and you post it up using a thumbtack. 

Alexis walks into the bedroom to see what’s happening and gasps when she sees Callie’s drawing. “Callie, did you draw that? Sweetie, it’s so amazing!”

The compliment makes Callie smile harder as she says, “thank you!”

“We’re gonna have so much fun tonight, kiddo.”

Her eyes light up, premature excitement brewing. “Can we watch Disney movies?”

“Not only can we watch Disney movies, but we can dance and sing with Disney movies.”

Oh Lord. You have a feeling Callie won’t be in bed by 7:30pm, but it’s not worth pushing back on. You’re just grateful she’s agreed to stay around in town long enough for your date to stay with Callie. You know you could always ask your mom, but she’s already helped out so much in the past couple weeks, you figured she could use a break. 

“Yay!” 

You and Alexis work to clean up the disaster that is your room as Callie busies herself in her playroom. Nearly finished, Alexis suddenly shares, “oh, I got something for you!”

Closing up your drawer, you place your hands on your hips. “Lex, you’ve already done so much for—-” you’re silenced by the box she’s suddenly reaching your way. “---me.” A headache is coming, migraine even. “Alexis, seriously?”

“What? It’s obvious ya’ll don’t use condoms.” Moving over to the side of your bed, she slides open the drawer of your nightstand and secures the box of Plan B.

“How many times do I have to say—”

Your 937589th time defending yourself that day is interrupted by the doorbell followed by Callie excitedly yelling “Joe!”

“I’ll get it,” Alexis offers, rushing over to you to give some quick, last minute advice. “You got this okay? It’s Joe. You know him like you know the back of your hand. You’re just hanging out with a muscular, 6’3 wrestler who also happens to be your baby daddy. No pressure.”

“Lex, sometimes you really do suck.”

“No, that’s going to be you tonight.” She laughs, ducking as you toss a decorative pillow in her direction. 

Blowing through your mouth, you attempt a mini pep talk, digging deep for the shitload you had and utilized as cheer captain what feels like so long ago.

“It’s just a date. Just a date.”

That’s the mantra, the ideal that you have to live by, have to pocket and keep with you at all times. 

Just a date. 

Grabbing your purse off the dresser, you slide on your heels and head out to the living room. What you’re met with is both expected and unexpected. Joe is holding Callie who’s clearly catching him up on everything he’s missed since he was last in town, minute by minute play, of course. But, Alexis is in the kitchen surrounded by three separate bouquets of flowers, one of red roses, one yellow, and one pink. 

Joe’s gaze is on you as soon as you enter the space, but your attention is focused on the breathtaking roses. 

“Have I told you he’s my top choice for you?” Alexis asks, explaining and pointing. “The pinks are for me, yellows are for Cal Gal, and the reds are, obviously for you.” A warm smile grows on your face. He’s so damn thoughtful. 

Walking over to him, you cross your arms. “Red roses are my favorites.”

“I remember.” Of course he does. He sweeps his eyes over you, slowly, meticulously. “You look beautiful.”

Bashful would never ever be a word you’d use to describe yourself, but it’s definitely how you feel in this moment. “Thank you.”

He looks good too, but that’s not surprising. Joe always looks good, even in his otherwise basic outfit of dark jeans, long sleeved black fitted shirt, and simple gold chain around his neck. The man could wear an orange jumpsuit, and you’d still want to fuck him silly. 

“Okay, Cal Gal, we better let them get going, so you and I can head out too.”

Alexis' words catch Joe’s attention, as he asks, protectively, “where are you taking her?”

Callie answers, “Auntie Lex and I are gonna have a sleepover at the hotel!”

Joe looks at you, quizzically. “I told her they can just stay here.”

“Just in case,” she winks at Joe and reminds you, quietly. “Nightstand, babes.”

Heading out is as expected. Callie asks once again if she can come with you guys, and Joe promises that the three of you will do something together at a later time. You remind Alexis to not allow Callie to pig out on junk food and go to bed on time, or at least, a decent time. 

Not that it means much. You know she’s gonna do what she wants, because that’s who Alexis is. 

That doesn’t bother you as much as Joe not telling you shit about this date other than that you probably won’t get back until late. Which isn’t much of anything. 

“What about a—”

He glances at you only for a second, then focuses back on the road. “The answer gon’ be the same as it was the last ten times you asked.”

Glaring at him, you cross your arms. “You know I hate surprises.”

“I’m aware.”

“But, you’re surprising me anyway?”

“Sure am.” Sucking your teeth and looking out the window, you cross your arms, turning your body away from him. “Watch the attitude, sweetheart, or I’ll fix it for you at the end of the night.”

His words shouldn’t make your thighs clench together.

“Whatever.” Pulling out your phone, you start to connect it to the car’s bluetooth. 

“What are you doing?”

“I’m not gonna sit here in silence, but I have nothing to say to you, so we need some music.” You’re certain he’s rolling his eyes but doesn’t say anything. Hardheaded ass. He definitely does speak up though when the iconic opening guitar from Smells Like Teen Spirit fills the SUV. 

“Oh my god.”

“I don’t want to hear it. You leave me and my musical tastes alone.”

It seems like a rite of passage for every preteen or teenager to have some type of emo phase where they blast and rock out to Paramore like it’s a religious experience. Emphasis on phase. You never really grew out of yours. A love for rock music was something that stemmed from your love of paramore and morphed to the overall genre in general over the years. It was also something you and Alexis had in common, attending Warped your junior year of college. Joe always roasted you for this, because it was so unexpected.

You just liked your Breaking Benjamin just as much as you liked your Megan Thee Stallion.

“You know Callie likes it too,” you inform. One of your personal goals in life is to pass on your eclectic taste in music to your mini me. The appropriate music, of course. You never listen to anything provocative around her, even the clean versions. 

“You got her listening to this shit, too?”

Challenging him, you counter. “Would you rather her listen to Pound Town?” He shakes his head, running his hand over his beard. “That’s what I thought.”

Joe doesn’t ask you anything else, just lets you rock out to your music to help you avoid asking him the same damn question over and over again. But, you definitely do have questions that you’re absolutely asking when you see where he’s taken you. “Why the hell are we at the airport?” The bastard doesn’t say anything, and you start to repeat your question when he pulls around and you see it. 

“Joe, is that a fucking jet? You have a jet? We’re getting on a jet?” The questions keep rolling out as you find yourself unable to rip your eyes away from it. You’ve been on a plane before, but never a private jet. 

“No, we’re going to stare at it.” 

Your mind is a million and one places. Just what does this man have planned?

Jumping, you realize he’s not only parked, exited the vehicle, but is standing at your side of the car, door open. “Come on.” 

Angrily unbuckling your seatbelt, you jump out the car and continue to press him for answers. 

“Don’t get smart with me when I’m panicking. An actual jet? Where the hell are you taking us? Siberia?” He doesn’t say anything, just moves closer to you and places a hand behind your neck. 

“Do you trust me?”

You’re not sure if you’ve ever actually asked yourself that question, but interestingly enough, the answer is a no-brainer. 

“Of course.”

“Then shut up and come on.”

________

“We could have just gone to a local restaurant.”

Joe finally caved a bit and informed you that he was taking you to a restaurant out of town but within the same state. That was it. But, it was something, and it made you feel a little bit better about sitting here with him on a jet without a clue as to what’s going on.

“Why? So our waiter can be your ex-fiance?” You roll your eyes and decide against telling him the best restaurant in town is owned by your high school coach’s brother. “I’m tired of sharing you.” His strong arms are around you as he nuzzles his face into your neck. Because of course you’re sitting on his lap, the only “seat” he allowed you to use. “Want you to myself….”

Hands on his forearms, your eyes shut as you try to allow yourself to enjoy this. To enjoy him. He’s obviously gone to great lengths to make tonight special for the both of you, so the least you can do is be appreciative and try to enjoy the ride. A small smile on your lip, you taunt, “Callie might have something else to say about that.”

Just the mention of his daughter brings a smile to Joe’s face and yours too. Seeing how much he loves her gives you such peace and satisfaction. “What does she want for Christmas, by the way?”

Scoffing, you answer, smartly, “well, considering you’ve already bought her half of Toys-r-Us inventory, I’m not sure if there’s anything left for her to want.”

He’s unconvinced. “There has to be something. What did you get her?”

“Just random stuff, dolls, more art supplies.” To be honest, you’ve been so busy with everything else that much of your Christmas shopping still hasn’t happened. A rarity since you’re usually meticulous with these things, needing to know what paycheck they’re going to come out of, really. “I mean, the big thing is obviously Disney. That’s on every list: Christmas, birthday, Easter, Chinese new year.”

“Disney world?” He clarifies.

Nodding, you explain, “yup, but of course, because she’s our kid and too smart for her own good, she learned about the different parts like animal kingdom, epcot, and now she wants to see them all.” You’ll never forget the day she came running into your room, jumping on your bed, screaming, “there’s more, mommy! Lots more!”

“I’ve tried to explain I have to save for that, especially since I would want to take my mom with me, but she’s so young, she doesn’t understand it's either Disney, or we have a place to live.” Truth be told, you’ve always wanted to go to Disney too. So did your grandma. And the plan was to go for your high school graduation. Obviously….that never happened.

Your grandma passed away before you all had the chance. 

“I’ll take her. I’ll take all of you.” 

Sitting up, your brows furrow as you clarify, “shit, no. Joe, I didn’t—I wasn’t trying to ask you—”

“I know you weren’t. You’re too stubborn for that.” He’s not wrong, his finger moving up and down your side as he continues. “She wants to go. I’m sure you do too and your mom. I can make it happen, so let me make it happen.”

You hear what he’s saying, you really do, but considering you’ve sat down and cranked out the numbers for what this would cost, just for one person, it makes you almost nauseous to think how much he’d have to fork up.

Joe’s exceptionally well at reading you, speaking again. “I’m gonna say something, and I know you’re gonna push back, because like I said,  you’re stubborn as hell, but I’m gonna say it anyway because that don’t change shit.”

You eye him, skeptically. “I’m already annoyed,”

“Money is something you never have to worry about, especially if it’s for Callie.” You open your mouth to protest, but he lifts his hand to silence you. “I’ve got you, and I’ve got her. Whether you want me to or not.”

It’s such a strange shift, traveling from this mindset where you are the sole financial provider for your child to having a partner who has more money than he knows what to do with and doesn’t mind spending it to make your child happy. To make you happy. 

“Let me do something for my daughter.”

He’s got you there, even if he’s done so much already. You’ve already denied him so much more. Why add to the list? “Okay.” There’s no support for an argument. Who are you to try to get in the way of a father fulfilling his daughter’s lifelong dream? Sure, you could probably make it happen eventually, but time waits for no one. And you can’t really fault Joe. He just wants to do something nice for her daughter. “But….but not Christmas. Her birthday, maybe?”

This seems to work for him as well as he nods in agreement, probably thinking of the benefit to having more time to arrange being away from work.

Joe does an excellent job distracting you for the rest of the ride, which ends up being relatively short, definitely not as long as you expected. Granted, nothing so far has been what you expected, especially when a driver picks you up from the airport and transports you to this top secret location.

Hand in his, Joe leads you inside the building that’s revealed to be a restaurant of some sort. Gracefully decorated and almost entirely empty. 

Touched, you ask in a soft voice, “you rented out a restaurant for us?” 

He glides his thumb over your knuckles and brings your hand to his mouth, kissing it gently. “Not exactly.” 

“Joe, is that you?” 

A voice calls out, and he answers back with a yes.

Confused, you watch an older black woman with salt and pepper hair emerge from the back of the restaurant, wearing one of the friendliest smiles you’ve ever seen. You study her, wondering why she looks so familiar. 

“There you are,” she greets, clapping her hands on her apron. “I was wondering when you’d get here.”

“Sorry, we’re late,” he apologies and releases your hand to bend down and hug this woman. Separating, he looks at you, introducing, “Joyce, this is Y/N.” Taking your hand again, he explains, “baby, this is—”

“Joyce Green,” you finish for him. “Oh my goodness, my mom and I watch your show.” 

Joyce and Dennis Green.

Known as the culinary king and queen throughout your state. They have a chain of restaurants that stretch over the south, a successful cookware line, and television show that’s been atop the charts for years. Arguably, the most successful, African-American couple in this part of the culinary world. 

Suddenly a bit starstruck, you offer your hand. “It’s so nice to meet you.”

She looks at you and waves off your offer. “Baby, I’m a hugger.” Laughing, you accept her warm hug as she pulls back and assesses you. “You just a pretty little thing, ain’t you?” She compliments, and you’ve never felt so validated in your life. There’s just something about compliments from older black women that heal the soul. Her eyes shift to Joe. “And you….my Lord, he took his time with this one.”

Biting your lip, you agree, “sure did.” 

Joe chuckles and says, “thank you for agreeing to this again.” 

“Of course. My grandbaby still talks about your make-a-wish visit. It’s our honor to have you here.” You say nothing but realize this is how he knows them, how he arranged for whatever this is. She claps her hands together and asks, “now what would you say is your level of experience with cooking?”

It’s directed to both of you, but you answer first, “I can cook a little bit.”

Joe looks at you, brow raised before telling Joyce. “That’s not what her mom or our daughter says.”

“Ya’ll have a baby?” Her eyes light up. “Could I see a picture? If you don’t mind, that is.” Joe shakes his head and pulls out his phone, unlocking the screen which reveals not only a picture of Callie, but you as well, the two of you smiling together. 

She gasps. “Oh, she’s beautiful.” She looks between the both of you. “Perfect combination, but she has your smile.”

“Thank you.” Anyone saying anything nice about your Callie always lands a genuine grin on your face. “It’s the dimples,” you add.

“Joyce, are you in there talking a hole in them people’s heads?” Another voice enters the room, and you see an older black man also wearing an apron around them. Dennis. This is Dennis.

Joyce sucks her teeth. “Oh hush, you old fool.” She beckons him over, and he shares a quick hug with Joe before her eyes rest on you. Joyce introduces, “this is his girlfriend. Ain’t she pretty?”

“Sure is,” Dennis agrees, shaking your hand. “Pleasure to meet you, young lady.”

Your focus is partially on the conversation at hand but also on how she introduced you. 

Girlfriend. 

You’ve never once considered yourself that to Joe, even in being with him for three years. It always felt wrong and invalid. Because of his wife.

But, she’s out of the picture now.

What reason is there for there not to be a label between the two of you?

Shaking your head, you try to return to the present. 

This is ending up being so much more than just a date.

________

“How long have ya’ll been together?” 

You’re in the midst of mincing garlic when Joyce asks her question. 

This wasn’t just a dinner date. It was a private cooking lesson with thee Joyce and Dennis Green. Not many things made you giddy, but this was definitely one of them. 

Thinking on her question, you realize it’s something you’ve never thought about and thus have no idea how to answer. Because just how does one quantify your relationship? Can you even count the three years you were actually together when he was legally married to someone else? 

Joe, conversely, has no difficulty answering.

“Almost eight years.”

Joyce glances at your left hand. “How much time you need to make up your mind, young man?”

“Oh, Joyce, leave them kids alone,” Dennis chides, carefully chopping up the onions. “Let em’ do what they want.”

“I’m just saying, you already have a child together,” she continues, asking, “What’s stopping you from taking the next step?”

“Uhhh, we, we’ve had some ups and downs,” you answer, hoping the change in tone will indicate this is a sensitive subject.

“I see, well….” You can tell she’s trying to carefully choose her words, and you’re grateful for that thoughtfulness and respect. “All things considered, you seem to have found your way back to one another, so that has to mean something.”

Her words resonate deeply. She’s right. Yes, obviously Callie will always bound you to Joe in some sort of capacity, but countless people co–parent without being together. However, that doesn't seem to be the case with the two of you, something tethers you together. 

And it’s not just the child you share together.

The four of you work together to prepare your meal with Joyce and Dennis having to be extra patient with you, because Joe of all trades over there excels without the need of much help. It’s annoying how he’s just naturally good at so many things. 

At one point, Joyce gently whispers to you, “some people just don’t got it, baby, and you don’t. That’s okay.”

Of course, Joe hears this, and you have to stop yourself from flipping him off. Instead, you settle for mouthing asshole.

The entire process takes about an hour, and when the meals are finished, you’re surprised to find that Joyce and Dennis move to a separate room to eat. It’s not something that entirely bothers you though. You enjoy your alone time with Joe. And it allows you the space to briefly FaceTime Callie in the middle of your meal to tell her goodnight, an absolute must. 

Not even just for you anymore, but Joe too. 

She has to see and speak to the both of you before she can fall asleep.

You can’t wait for her to find out the truth. 

Stealing off Joe’s plate, you quickly realize that while your food came out fine, his is delicious. It’s why you decide to seat yourself on his lap instead of your chair so you’re not constantly reaching over the table. 

“You done messed up your food, and now you wanna come after mine?” Ignoring him, you bring a forkful to your mouth, moaning instantly. 

Covering your mouth as you finish chewing, you exclaim, “it’s so good.”

He chuckles, hand on the small of your back. “I see I’m the one who’s gonna have to do the cooking for us.”

“Well, according to you and everyone else, I can’t cook, so—”

“You can’t, but that’s okay. I hoped this would help, but you may be beyond help—” He laughs as you shove on his chest.

“You’re such an ass….” Gaze softening, you bring your hand to his face, gripping his beard. “Thank you for this. It’s incredibly sweet.”

And you mean that. Joe didn’t have to do this, didn’t have to do any of it. But, this is just who he is, a kind, sweet, thoughtful man. It’s what makes him such an amazing father. 

An amazing partner.

He kisses your palm. “You’re welcome….”

Once the food is finished, you two spend the rest of the time just talking, laughing, enjoying each other. You could never get tired of being around this man. His energy is so warm and welcoming. You’re starting to relate more and more with Callie’s difficulty every time he leaves. This night is too short, but you wonder if you could ever have enough time to be with him.

As the night draws to a close, you two reunite with Joyce and Dennis to thank them for a wonderful evening. However, it’s the closing remarks that really sit with you. When Dennis pulls back from his hug, he whispers to you, “young lady, I’ve lived a long life, so trust me when I tell you this.” You watch him, listening intently. “A man doesn’t look at a woman the way Joe looks at you unless he’s in love.” 

Your breath catches in the back of your throat. That’s….definitely not what you expected him to say. And Joyce is no different. She holds onto you a little longer in the hug, and you’re grateful. She reminds you so much of your grandmother. 

“A little piece of advice from an old lady?” It’s almost impossible to prepare for whatever is about to leave her mouth, your mind still trying to sit on Dennis' words. “You don’t lose love by sending it away” A beat. “All you’re doing is making it grow stronger.” 

________

The rides home are more quiet than the journey there, and that’s because you’re trying to balance this heavy battle between your head and your heart. 

Your mind is all over the place. You’ve felt so conflicted since opening the door for Joe for the first time in almost five years. And you don’t regret it, far from it. Callie’s father is in her life. She has that relationship, that love with him. 

That’s all you wanted, all you expected. 

You didn’t expect for your feelings for him to resurface or his for you to be as strong as they clearly are. 

It’s such a suffocating, overwhelming experience. 

And at the same time, everything you’ve ever wanted. 

He is everything you’ve ever wanted. 

Walking into your apartment, Joe locks the door behind the two of you, always wanting to make sure you’re straight before he leaves. As he always does. 

He brings his hands to your face, concerned, asking, “what’s wrong? Talk to me.”

Your eyes close, hand to his chest. 

This is too hard, too painful, too difficult. 

You can’t do it anymore.

“Fuck it.”

In a matter of seconds, your lips are on his and his hands are all over your body. It’s explosive, the both of you battling for dominance, Joe’s tongue circling around yours. You moan into his mouth, and he hikes you up on his waist. 

"Are you sure?" He breathes against your mouth and you nod fervently.

Come what may, you'll deal with it then. You need this. Need him

Gaining your consent, he skillfully guides you to your bedroom only breaking the kiss when he places you on the floor in front of the bed. “Take off your clothes.” 

His tone is authoritative, demanding, but even if it wasn't, it's not like he needs to ask twice. You squeeze yourself out of your dress, tossing it to the side. As the top was padded and shoulders out, you didn't bother with a bra. And before you can hook your fingers around your underwear to discard them, Joe tosses you on the bed, hovering over you.

He lifts his shirt over his head, and you chew on your bottom lip. This man is too fine. His strength has always been so sexy to you. As a woman on the thicker side, you’ve always needed a man who could handle you in the sheets. And Joe was more than adept in that area. 

He stares at you like you're the most precious thing he's ever had the privilege to lay his eyes on. Your stomach flutters. No ones ever been able to make you feel things like Joe can.

Its such a welcomed experience, one you've missed deeply.

“God, you’re beautiful….” 

His big hands travel your body, but it’s when he bites down on the strap of your panties and glides them down your legs that your back arches off the bed. You're already so wet, dampness coating the inside of your thighs.

You need this man more than one needs air to breathe.

“Patience, baby.” His voice is soothing on a surface level but does little to abate the fire burning through your entire body, the throbbing in your center. “Don’t I always take care of you?” When you don’t give him an answer, too busy trying to settle yourself, his hand grips your thigh. Tight. “I asked you a question.”

Swallowing, you nod, answering, “y-yes, you do.” 

Pleased with your obedience, he goes to remove his pants, and your eyes go straight to his massive bulge. You wet your lips. The moonlight shining through the window creates a backdrop of his broad shoulders, silk hair down and free. Just how you like it. 

He’s so beautiful and yours. 

Only yours.

Your hand reaches for his abs, wanting to touch him, when he captures your wrist, bringing your fingers to his mouth, sucking slowly, teasingly. 

Groaning, your head tilted back, another spasm works its way through your core. You need this man, and you need him now.

Joe detects as such and hovers over you, one rough hand grasping your breast as he glosses his lips over your clavicle. Moaning, you lift your thigh against his hip, wanting, needing some type of friction. 

He begins lining kisses down your body, lips leaving a flaming trail of desire in its wake. “Spread your legs for me, baby. And keep 'em open.” He doesn’t have to ask twice. You heed to his command, opening yourself to him. He kisses the inside of your thighs, eyes alight with desire. “Before you come on my dick, gotta taste this pretty pussy.” 

Joe makes a sound, taking his finger and swirling it around your pussy. A sticky line of your cum drips from his fingers, and you nearly come right then and there watching him suck it off. 

“Fuck,” he groans, bringing both of your legs over his shoulders, hooking them behind your knees. “Forgot how sweet you are.”

His cool breath hitting your core is the first thing you feel followed by that deliciously talented tongue taking one long swipe up your cunt. Instantly, your back is arching off the bed. That’s how sensitive you are to him, how easily your entire existence becomes focused solely on him and the insane pleasure he provides you.

The tip of Joe’s tongue swirls around your swollen, sensitive bud as he uses his other two fingers to keep your folds open, available to and for him to do whatever he wants. He plays with you, a tactic you’ve noticed he gets off on, edging you in a sense.

“Stop playing with me,” you groan, even if this feels just as good as anything else. It’s not what you want, what you need. What you need is his mouth on you, not this toying shit.

Sucking his teeth, he blows on your clit, and you hiss. “You really gon tell me how to take care of my pussy?” There’s a trace of humor in his voice as he dips one finger inside of you, smiling at the way you grip at the sheets. “Naw, baby. I know what you need.” 

And that’s when he finally does away with the teasing, locking your legs on his shoulders with his hand and buries his face into your pussy. “Shit!” It’s what you wanted, most definitely what you needed, but not what you expected. 

Fuck. He’s too good at this. 

Joe alternates with expert strokes, sucking and flicking your pussy, with a yearning and longing that’s matched only by the rapture soaring through your body. 

He eats your pussy like he does all things in life, with passion and dedication.

“Joe.” Tears burn your eyes as he continues to eat at you, rarely breaking for air and never allowing your body time to recover. He’s back to back, bringing you to climax and going right back to eating you out.

You’d forgotten how much he loved this. It’s nearly impossible to recall how many times this man has had his face in between your legs, but you could most definitely count how many times he’d let you return the favor. Joe didn’t care much about receiving. He was a pleaser, through and through.

“Baby, please, I can’t—I—-“ and it’s a waste of time because every inch up the bed is met with his strong hands on your hips, tugging you closer. Even as you cum, hard, nearly convulsing off the mattress, he stays sucking your pussy, lapping every bit of it up as his tongue circles your sensitive bud.

You’re not sure when he finally comes up, just that it’s after at least two orgasms. Maybe three. Keeping count with Joe is always a waste of time, because it’s always going to be several.  Panting, eyes fluttering, you take in the sight of him. His beard is wet, glistening with the result of his expert work. “I love eating this pussy.” His finger swirls and plays around with the absolute drenched mess you’ve made. “but I need you to come on my dick now.”

There’s a bit of dissociation in the next few minutes. He’s tongue fucked all of your five senses out of you that it’s only when you realize he’s got you on your hands and knees, dick teasing your soaked entrance that you're aware of what's about to happen. 

“Wait.” Your breath is haggard, voice drained from only this man’s tongue. This. This is the shit he does to you. This is why it took so long for you to let him go all those years ago. It’s the same reason you don’t think you’ll ever be able to let him go. Not after this. “I need—you gotta let me adjust, Joe.”

Joe’s dick is thick, long, and curved. The best you’ve ever had, but it’s been years since you last had him, so he has to take it easy on you, allow you time to accommodate him.

“You can take this dick, baby,” he encourages, pushing down on the top of your back until your cheek is pressed into the pillow, back arched perfectly. “And you always will.”

His tip nudges your sticky, gushy opening, starting a slow entrance that has your hands fisting. Inch by inch, he enters you, jaw clenching at how tightly your cunt clenches him. 

It’s been too long since he’s been inside you.  

“Oh my god.” You’d forgotten this, forgotten the delicious stretch of him inside of you, forgotten how deep he could go, touching you, reaching you in all the areas no one else could. And you had tried. God, you tried. Had your hookups, but no one was checking Joe’s box when it came to length, girth, and skill. And that tongue. Fuck, Joe ate your pussy like you were his last supper every single time.

Never a miss.

He doesn’t need to ask if you’re good. Joe sees the way you back your ass onto him, eager for him to fuck you like only he knows how to.

And he obliges. 

He slams into you with a force that has you wanting to scream out bloody murder. He feels so damn good inside of you. He stretches you so good, and you take him just as well.

“You on the pill?” He suddenly asks, slowing the speed and force of his thrusts, watching and enjoying your moans as he cruelly teases you, halting at your entrance before gradually re-entering. He’s playing with you, and it’s both blissful and miserable. 

Whining, you manage to answer, “fuck—n—no.”

“Good.” You shout when he slams back into you with such force that you reach for the headboard, needing something to keep you leveled. “Gonna fill you up with my cum.”

“Joe….” His words register, but it’s hard to think straight with this man fucking you so good. Shit, you missed this. “We—” You’re cut off again when he reaches in front of you, hand ghosting over your pussy, index finger circling your clit. “We ca—”

“I’m not pulling out.” He groans above you, the way your shit grips him. “You’re so fucking tight.”

“You’re just big,” you counter and cry out when he slides out of you and slams at a different angle that has your big breast slapping against your chest. “Shit, Joe.”

“Can he fuck you how I can?” For a second, you’re confused cause who the fuck is he talking about? There’s only one person that exists in your world right now, and that’s the man blowing your back out. “Answer me,” he demands, bringing a hand down on your ass. 

You cry out, “no, baby.” Your eyes water. He’s so deep in you. “N–no one fucks me like you do.” 

“Exactly,” he continues to play with your clit as you work hard not to let your entire apartment building know you’re getting your entire insides rearranged. “Your moans are for me,” he slows down momentarily, no doubt enjoying the view of his thick dick sliding in and out of you, coated in your cream. “You scream out my name.” 

“Yes, baby,” you whimper. You and Joe have fucked plenty of times, but this is different. There’s a meaning in every word that leaves his mouth, an oath behind every declaration. You know that after tonight, there is no turning back. 

“You’re mine,” he growls, big hands moving to the small of your back, holding you down and against the bed as he rams into you, determined and focused. “You’ve always been mine.”

Tears burn your eyes when he suddenly yanks you up by your hair, pulling your body flush against his. His hair fans part of your face, mouth pressed against your temple. “I can take care of you. Take care of this pussy. You don’t need nobody but me.”

Reaching your hand behind to caress his scalp, you murmur, head laid back against him. “I don’t want anybody but you.”

There’s something about your words, so vulnerable, so sincere. With a gentleness that’s contrasted all of his fucking thus far, he pulls out of you and lays you on your back. A whimper leaves your mouth at the loss of him inside of you only for him to move his body over yours and lift your legs to his waist. He sinks into you again, and you moan together, his head resting in the crook of your neck as he finds a pace that pleases the both of you.

Ankles locking above his ass, you enjoy the different kind of depth this allows. People shit on missionary, but it’s one of your favorite positions with Joe. It’s a level of connectedness and togetherness that makes you feel so close to him. Like you two are one and the same. 

“You're so good for me,” he continues to talk you through it, tears streaming down your face as he repeatedly thrusts against your g-spot. “So fucking good around me, fucking made for me.”

His words send you over the edge.

Hands on his face, forcing him to meet your gaze, you encourage, gently, “come with me.” He looks at you, and you know. You just know that there's not much, if anything, you could ask that he wouldn't do for you.

His thrusts become more uncontrolled, erratic, and that’s how you know it’s coming, building up until there’s a blinding white light behind your eyes, toes curling and head rocking back against the pillow. Joe is not far behind, staying true to his promise as he empties inside of you every bit of his cum until there’s nothing left.

Joe doesn’t move from off you, doesn’t remove himself from inside of you, instead his body rests on top of yours. Panting, you bring your hands to his scalp, nails gently raking through his hair as he lays against your chest, muttering, “let me stay like this in you for a little bit.”

You don’t want him to move anyway, don’t want him to go anywhere. You never did, just followed what you felt and believed was right. Joyce’s wise words from earlier suddenly return to the forefront of your mind. 

“You don’t lose love by sending it away. All you're doing is making it grow stronger.” 

That’s never felt and rang more true than in this moment.

[onesaltybagel]

Finally talking about season 5 because I’ve been putting it off

Notes won’t be in order at all and are mostly about the final episodes

Spoilers BOGOOA BOOO!!!!

When people were saying that Sean had really gone all out this season, I was like “oh ok maybe there’s a kinda sad scene or a really heartfelt scene”. NO. I WAS SO WRONG. I was NOT prepared for the scene of him screaming and wailing to the point of his voice cracking and going raw because he wanted Mk to stop so badly. I did not ever imagine I was going to see that and I’m still not over it. If I see it again, I get chills every time and I’m in love.

Nine-headed demons full form is so cool! I can’t believe we saw that before the trailer even dropped and I thought nothing of it! I thought it was just going to be another guardian of the stone! God the designs in this show rock

Mk saying “don’t make me do this” was perfect. It was so quiet, so small and full of emotion. Had he planned since that first moment he was going to use the circlet? He knew since like episode two that he was going to be doing something EVERYONE wouldn’t want him to do and- presumably- it became clear really fast to him what that was. Was he planning all along?

I cannot stress this enough- THE FIGHT IN EPISODE ONE FORESHADOWED THE FIGHT IN EPISODE NINE.

Nuwa saying I’m so proud of you, her voice actor is completely perfect for her. It was so soft and gentle :(((

Mk crying from joy. He should never have to be in that position, it is so unfair that he was created just to die- over and over and over again. I’m so glad he found another way.

Nuwa saying “my sacrifice AND yours” what did she sacrifice? When she fixed the pillar the first time, was she the one that entered the pillar to fix the sky along with the stones?

WHERE IS NUWA EXACTLY??? Is that just what- the inside of the pillar looks like?

Will we see Nuwa again?

Oh my GOD Wukong catching Mk made me want to throw up. That little bit where we see it through Mk’s eyes kills me every single time.

People gaining elemental powers? Is that- every person who didn’t already have any? Like- some went into Red son did he gain MORE power like that one fire sneeze girl or is he the same? If he is, he’ll be mad LMAO

The chaos HHUUUGHGHGHB ITS SO PRETTY? I don’t know if it’s supposed to be unnerving but I want to stare at it for hours it’s so cool. Where is that? Outside the universe? How does the chaos affect things? WHO IS “HE?” I looked up Xiangliu and the only person I could associate that with was Gonggong who is another snake like entity.

Gonggong also knocked one of the eight pillars (theres eight?) holding up the sky and ends up dying in a battle with someone called Zhurong who is a fire god and has some story with Nuwa!

They’re all snakes. What is with snakes in this world?

Was Macaque still investigating? At the end, he’s in the court room again for some reason and at the start of the season he said he was looking around for stuff related to Mk. Macaque is a hero and he cannot deny it anymore.

Oh yeah the ten kings of the underworld are dead. What the fuck happens to dead people now?

Why does Macaque have chaos magic, who did he make a deal with and WHY WAS IT ON THE STAFF.

Li Jing is a complete asshole. If we’re basing him off canon then there’s no return but if him vandalising his son’s grave ISNT CANON, then he’s just bad dad. I hope he trips and falls over and embarrassingly gets a bruise on his forehead.

Nuwa x Lady Bone Demon toxic Yuri <33

I love Nuwa but I also hate her sm right now. Why did there have to be a cycle? Because there needed to be someone to fix the sky? Because that person would never be enough and they weren’t fixing the sky they were resetting it all instead? This is down to Nuwa underestimating the world- we see that- but I just cannot get over that she made a baby for the sole purpose of dying. He gets up, he gets the stones, he dies. He experiences nothing, he speaks to no one.

And Mk has absolutely had that life a thousand times.

But she doesn’t react as emotionally as I wished she had. This is nothing against the writers, I am just a Nuwa hater and lover rn. She was perfect, so cool, such an amazing character but she still needs to pay child support.

[custardcrazy]

i have a Ted logan request! it’s kinda inspired by the tutor piece you wrote but instead of being Ted’s tutor she’s Deacons tutor (or babysitter) instead and she comes over to the Logan household and Ted sees her there and is immediately head over heels for her and is constantly trying to find an excuse to go to whatever room she’s in and stay there much to the annoyance of Deacon and their father on occasion

sorry if i got to specific but you’re my fav Ted Logan writer and I’m happy his requests are open!!!

young as we are

summary: you're deacon logan's new babysitter. it doesn't seem like it'll be anything too special -- until you meet his cute older brother, that is. (gn!reader)

wordcount: 3.8k

A/N: okay so I might've changed around the prompt a teensy bit, but hopefully it still fits what you wanted. i'm no good at writing slow stuff so i got kinda impatient lmao (also. i'm?? your favorite?? you have no idea how genuinely happy that makes me. i'm smiling like an idiot. thank you so much.)

You checked the note you'd written the address down on to make sure you hadn't gotten the wrong house -- okay, all good -- before ringing the doorbell. 

The house itself was pretty nice, just looking at the exterior. One of the perks of babysitting in a somewhat well-off area like this one was that you usually got paid decently for your troubles; and it wasn't nearly as bad as working retail, if the stories you'd heard from your friends were anything to go off of. And kids could be sweet, unlike food service customers. 

It was only half a minute before the door was answered by a balding middle-aged man with a stern expression. Mr. Logan, you presumed; it was probably his voice you'd heard on the phone. 

"You must be the babysitter," he stated directly, not giving you time to answer, "come in, then. I have some things I have to inform you of." He didn't wait, disappearing into the house and leaving the door ajar behind him. Feeling slightly awkward, you followed. 

Once you entered the foyer, he began speaking again. "Deacon's probably in his room right now. He has to be in bed by nine P.M., and he knows that, but I don't doubt that without me being present he'll try to stay up." Indicating some bills on the counter, he continued, "there's some money for a pizza. The number to call is on the refrigerator. Dinner should be at six." 

"Oh, and my … eldest son, Ted." If it was even possible, his tone became more snide. "He should be back in an hour or two. Don't let him bother you at all -- if he gets too annoying, just let me know when I get back later in the evening, and I'll deal with him." 

You barely got out an "uh, okay, thanks" before Mr. Logan was yelling for Deacon. 

He was maybe around twelve, you guessed. It was obvious that he was reluctant to come downstairs, but did so after a look from his father. You smiled at him, but he didn't return it; you didn't really mind. He was at that awkward age, after all. And if your instincts were correct, an overbearing father could inflict a number on any kid. 

It wasn't that you weren't familiar with strict parents -- but it was near-impossible to get entirely used to them. Being in charge of their children meant that you had to be extra careful. You couldn't trust a young kid to not tell on you if you were a little lenient when it came to bedtimes, and you couldn't trust an older kid to not try and put the fact that you were more easy-going than their parents to the test. 

Still, once Mr. Logan had left, you immediately relaxed. 

And so did Deacon, by the looks of it, because suddenly his tense demeanor all but disappeared. 

It was almost frightening how abruptly he turned his attention from his father's car pulling down the driveway to you. 

"You ever watched RoboCop?" 

He asked, with a certain bluntness only preteen boys were capable of. 

"No, I haven't." Encouragingly, you smiled again. "What's that?" 

"I have the tape," and already he was turning away, "gimmie a sec." 

You had the sneaking suspicion that his father didn't have the same enthusiasm for science fiction movies.

And you were right; even during the movie he spoke up now and then to tell you stuff about the characters or the plot. About how "RoboCop could probably take down an entire army by himself". You thought it was kind of spooky how the titular protagonist was a reanimated guy forced to follow cyborg programming to uphold "justice" in an already-corrupt city, disregarding any humanity he once had. 

… Or something like that. Deacon just found the guy "badass". 

By the time that you'd nearly reached the ending of the movie, you were invested. 

But not too invested to not look up when the front door opened, and thus you made eye contact with probably the prettiest guy you'd seen in a while. 

He froze midway through his path to the stairs. 

For a moment, both of you just looked at each other. He looked familiar. 

Oh, yeah, you'd seen him at school a couple times. Passed by him in the hallways or in the cafeteria, maybe. You hadn't really noticed him before, but maybe that was because you hadn't gotten a good look at him. Like now. 

And then Deacon took notice, coughing in an awfully non-subtle way into his fist, and you realized that maybe you shouldn't stare like a creep. 

"Uh, you must be Ted, right?" You laughed semi-awkwardly. "Hi. I'm just gonna be babysitting Deacon until your dad gets home." 

Hopefully you remembered his name correctly. From the way his father had said it, you had expected him to be some flavor of delinquent -- piercings, leather jacket, all that stuff that an uptight man like Mr. Logan would disprove of. A high school dropout who was bumming around in his dad's basement without a source of stable income. 

That couldn't be further from the truth; the Ted you were seeing now was a slightly gangly, floppy-haired boy your age who was looking at you like he'd seen an angel. 

It took him a moment, but he nodded vigorously in response to your question. 

"Yes. Yeah. I'm -- that's me." Ted glanced away, finally breaking away your gaze. "Um. What's your name? I - … I don't think we've been introduced before, dude." Even from your position on the couch, you could pick out spots of rose pink on his cheeks. Even as he focused determinedly on the ground. 

You couldn't help but be hopelessly endeared, so you gave him your name. 

He gently repeated it once, as if trying out how it felt on his tongue. "Oh. Radical." 

There was another brief moment, in which the movie still playing on the boxy television faded into the background. Then, his eyes were back on yours; they were a warm brown, you noticed. 

Apparently, Deacon had enough of his older brother interrupting his sacred movie, because he spoke up again, breaking the silence. "Ted, don't you have stuff to do?" 

You wanted to reprimand Deacon for his less-than-polite tone, but didn't have the chance, because Ted responded first.

"Oh." Seemingly snapping back to reality, he glanced away. "Yeah. Sorry 'bout that." 

Before you could tell him that you were going to order food later, he'd bounded up the stairs, taking them two at a time. You heard the far-off shutting of a door; and then a little later, muffled music that had a lot of distorted electric guitar and drums. 

Deacon scoffed to himself, but settled further into the couch cushions. 

You didn't see Ted again that night. He didn't even come downstairs to snatch a slice of pepperoni pizza, and just remained in his room. Maybe he didn't want to bother his little brother anymore, you thought, trying your hardest not to feel disappointed; even if you'd barely had any sort of conversation with him, there was something … Something very magnetic. 

Mr. Logan was back at around eleven, and by that time you were seated by the television once more. Alone, because you'd miraculously managed to get Deacon to go to bed. 

"I'm guessing everything went fine," remarked Mr. Logan, taking off his cap. You were beginning to get used to his clipped tone, and shut off the terrible sitcom you'd been killing time with. 

"Yeah, I left the change for the food on the counter." 

He pulled out his wallet, counting out crisp bills. 

"Did Ted give you any trouble?" 

Taking the money, you made sure it was the correct amount -- why'd you even bother, a man like Mr. Logan must've been specific about everything. "No, not at all. He barely said anything to me, actually." 

He only gave you a noncommittal hum in response to that, not even looking in your direction as he headed for the counter; probably to make sure you weren't stealing any of the change. "Well, good night." 

It wasn't a thank you -- not even close, but you'd take it. You'd been paid, after all.  "Good night." 

Ted's face upon seeing you still was fresh in your mind as you made your way home. And during the next several days that passed. It wasn't surprising, really. Nobody had ever looked at you like that; nobody had ever looked in awe of you on sight. At least, not anybody that had really caught your attention. 

Eventually, Mr. Logan called again. Apparently he had another work thing to do -- not that you were listening closely when he mentioned it. Your heart jumped at another opportunity to see Ted; it was a little embarrassing, really. You weren't some boy-crazed lunatic, pining after a guy you barely knew. 

Well, pining was a strong word. But you did pay extra attention when walking around at school, trying to catch a glimpse of him on your way to your classes. 

(You didn't.) 

This time, your pulse picked up when you walked up to the house. You even hesitated before you rang the doorbell again. But when you did, you heard some general commotion from within the house before Deacon answered the door, looking a little annoyed. 

"Hi," he said, "Dad's getting ready or whatever." 

He stepped aside to let you in. "I thought Ted was gonna answer the door. But he ran off as soon as he heard the doorbell." Sighing, he flopped down on the couch. "Lazy ass." 

As if on cue, Mr. Logan entered the living room, fixing his hat. You idly wondered if he wore it to hide the fact that he basically lacked all of his hair except for on the sides and back. 

"Deacon, watch your language." 

"Sorry." Even though his voice was muffled into the cushions, he didn't sound apologetic in the slightest. 

Mr. Logan turned his attention to you. "You don't need a refresher on anything, right." It sounded more like an order than a question, but you chose to look past it. At least he had offered to jog your memory if needed. The bare minimum was nice sometimes. 

"Yeah, I'll be fine." 

He gave you a curt nod. It wasn't until you heard the garage door shutting behind his car that Deacon sat bolt upright, suddenly energized. 

You looked at him expectantly. 

"Let's watch Ghostbusters," he declared. "Dad thinks it's stupid." 

And so, with little fanfare, you were basically doing the same thing as last time. But instead of dystopia, the setting was mildly less disturbing this time. And the main protagonists were human and likable. No offense to cyborg cops, but he didn't offer much in the way of personality -- so nobody could blame you. 

You were sure you'd seen this movie before, but the memory was vague enough that most of the events were new to you. However, even though you were focused on watching the film, there was something else on the back of your mind. An underlying antsiness; and you had a good idea why. 

Said antsiness was confirmed when, about half an hour into the movie, you heard footsteps coming down the stairs. It took all of your willpower not to look, but you knew who it was. 

It was only until he breached your peripheral vision that you allowed yourself to smile. 

"Hey, Ted." 

Today, he was wearing all loose clothes -- a baggy tee shirt with BLACK SABBATH printed on it in slightly distorted purple font, and what looked like sleep shorts. All in all, it made him look very soft. Like he was planning to do nothing but lay in bed for the entire day. Even his hair was kind of mussed up, a curl or two (or three) sticking out from the rest. 

He returned your smile tenfold with a near-blinding grin. "Hey." 

Deacon, unlike you, didn't have to hide anything. 

"Are you just gonna stand there and stare at the babysitter?" 

Delightfully, Ted flushed, hand flying up to fiddle with his hair. "Uh. No. I was just wondering if I could -- " he hesitated, before continuing, "if I could watch the movie too, y'know. I think Ghostbusters is a totally exceptional example of cinema." You didn't catch the way Deacon narrowed his eyes at his older brother. 

"Okay. Just don't interrupt too much." 

" 'Course." 

You were mildly startled when Ted sat down in the middle of you and Deacon -- you'd expected him to sit on the other side, but apparently that wasn't the case. The younger Logan let out an audible sigh and scooted further away. 

True to his word, Ted didn't speak up for the majority of the movie. But you were aware of his presence in a way that was almost comparable; since you were mere inches apart. He didn't sit still, and adjusted his position every so often, but you had the feeling that was the norm since Deacon didn't mention it. 

However, it seemed by the near-ending Ted reached his limit on not making at least one comment. 

"Dude. I forgot how impressive the special effects are," he mused in his best attempt at a hushed tone. "Must've taken them ages to do this stuff." 

"Yeah," you agreed, glancing over, "it's pretty cool. Slimer really gives me the creeps." 

Ted opened his mouth to respond, but shut up when a loud "shhh!" came from Deacon's general direction. 

For a moment, you and him just looked at each other. Then, not able to stifle it in time, you snorted; he lapsed into a fit of giggles, and as a result of that so did you. It wasn't really your fault -- his laugh was very contagious, even muffled like this. 

Somehow, you managed to get through the rest of the movie without much more incident. Even if your heart lurched every time Ted's arm or leg accidentally brushed up against yours with the way he was fidgeting. 

By the time it was over, it was around six, and so you called to order a pizza. Ted didn't retreat back upstairs, much to Deacon's disappointment, and pretty much hovered around you as you all waited for dinner to arrive. Not in a weird way, not at all -- he just resembled a puppy trying to get attention, really. 

"What'd you think of the movie?" He asked, just after you'd gotten off the phone with the pizza place. 

"It was pretty good," you hummed, putting down the receiver. "A couple moments were slow, but overall I enjoyed it. What's not to like about some guys capturing ghosts and defeating otherworldly entities?" 

"An excellent way to phrase it," grinned Ted, "and I agree most wholeheartedly. The ghost-buster dudes are impossible not to root for." 

You chatted a little more about it with him; his way of talking was a bit unique, but somehow you found it just as attractive as everything else. Sadly, your conversation was cut short by the doorbell. As soon as you'd taken a single step in the direction of the door -- 

" -- I'll get that!" declared Ted, with an enthusiasm that was a little frightening, already moving to grab the pizza. 

"Hey, wait, there's money on the counter!" 

"... Oh." 

Backtracking, he grabbed the cash and resumed his course to the door, covering the distance with long strides. 

It wasn't long before the food was gone; and you unceremoniously stuffed the ripped-apart cardboard box into the recycling bin like last time, hoping Mr. Logan wouldn't take issue with how you'd basically just jammed it in. After Deacon had wolfed down maybe three slices, he'd disappeared somewhere. Probably to his room -- you  reminded him to be in bed in time, lest Mr. Logan stop letting you babysit, and he'd only replied with a dull "okay". 

You were practically alone with Ted now. 

"So, uh." He broke the silence as soon as you returned to the living room. "... Wanna go upstairs? There's not much to do down here 'sides watching more movies." 

"I don't see why not," you said without thinking. 

For a second, he looked caught off-guard just as much as you were, (seriously, what) but recovered quickly. "Cool. C'mon, dude." 

Beaming, he motioned to you, and you were helpless to do anything but follow. 

His room was a bit messy, but you would've found it strange if it wasn't. Posters were all over the walls, Metallica and Van Halen and other assorted bands and movies. In the corner was a shelf filled to the brim with various memorabilia; action figures, guitar picks, markers and books that looked kind of dusty. His laundry bin was overflowing a little, but at least it was confined to another corner. Everything was just so Ted and that was probably the best way to describe it. 

He made his way over to the window, opening it just a crack. "Let's just keep the window open so we can hear Dad pulling in the driveway. His car is super loud -- I think he'd go ballistic if you were hanging out with me." 

You knew he was right, but it still struck a minor chord on your heartstrings -- which you attempted to move past as fast as possible. "Oh, yeah. Good thinking." 

At your compliment, he was all smiles again. 

You felt yourself melt a little, and sat on the bed before your knees gave out or something. 

Before long, you were both sprawled out on the carpet playing a serious game of Uno. For a guy who you were learning wasn't the sharpest crayon in the box, he was pretty good at making you question your own abilities; either that or he was just extremely, ridiculously lucky. He did have an awful poker face, after all. 

He snickered every time he drew a plus four or plus two card, and blanched whenever he didn't have a playable card. Which was cute, but also pretty advantageous for you. 

After a frustratingly long time of going back and forth; of him denying you every single time you dared call Uno, you finally won. 

"Dude!" Ted exclaimed, throwing down his hand as if deeply and truly offended, but you could see that he was grinning again. "That was totally 'cause I let my guard down." 

"I don't know," you teased, "or maybe it was because of my great and unbeatable card-game skills." 

He hung his head in mock-shame. "You're right. I suck." 

You were conflicted between bullying him a little more or comforting him to lessen the blow of your victory, but before you could decide, you both heard the tell-tale sound of tires crunching on the pavement and the whir of the garage door opening. Ted scrambled over to the window, peeking through the small opening he'd left earlier. 

"He's back," he announced, turning back to face you. 

"Okay," you said, getting to your feet and making sure you hadn't dropped anything. "See you later, Ted." 

" 'Bye!" He called after you.

Thankfully, you managed to make it down to the living room, jump onto the couch, and fumble for the remote just in time to turn on the television a good minute before Mr. Logan entered. During that brief time, you felt strangely like you were a spy, a double-agent -- that if you were caught fraternizing with the enemy, you'd be given grave consequences. 

It was hilarious, you had to admit. 

Mr. Logan didn't ask you about Ted this time, just cutting right to the chase and taking out his wallet.

"Is the change on the counter again?" 

"Yeah," you answered, giving him a "thanks" as he handed you a couple bills. You marveled again at how clean they were -- it almost felt criminal to stuff them in your pocket, but what else could you do? 

Once more, Mr. Logan turned away, going for the counter. "Good night." If he was as disinterested as he sounded, it was no wonder why he didn't try to make small talk with you at all. And you were grateful for it; you were sure that it'd just be awkward and nothing else. You rushed a little to leave. 

But just as your hand turned the doorknob, you were stopped in your tracks by a shout. 

"Wait!" 

Apparently, you and Mr. Logan were both equally shocked, because he also whipped around mid-action. 

In Ted's hasty descent down the stairs, he nearly tripped over himself, but regained what little composure he'd been holding onto, and jogged over to you. Either he didn't notice his father standing there, looking utterly baffled; or he just didn't care. In his hands he was holding a cassette tape. 

He held it out to you, still catching his breath. The color in his cheeks could be attributed to his rush downstairs, but you had a sneaking suspicion that wasn't entirely the case. "Here. Sorry. I was gonna give it to you earlier," bashfulness showed clearly in his expression, "but I forgot." 

It was only a second before you realized that you'd have to exit the situation to avoid any questions from his father -- whose eyes were darting between the two of you in an extremely worrying manner. So you took it from him, even whilst having absolutely no idea what it was. 

"Thanks." 

And with that, you were out the door. 

--

The second you got home, you got a good look at the tape. 

On the outside, written in an untidy scrawl in black Sharpie, was your answer. It was a mixtape. How much time had he spent making this for you? Your mind conjured up an image of him sitting by the record player you'd seen in his room, painstakingly selecting his favorite songs to record. 

Flipping it over, you realized there was a scrap of paper taped to it -- a note. 

You hardly had to think about the question hastily written on it with a bright pink marker, with little stars doodled around the edges. 

It was the only thing that was running through your mind for the rest of the night. They were agonizing, the few days that passed before you finally received a call from Mr. Logan again. It was probably the only time ever that you were glad to hear his voice. 

Deacon was a little disappointed when you told him to wait a minute to watch Raiders of the Lost Ark.

"Don't start loudly making out or anything," he said, sulking as you quickly ascended the stairs. You wanted to scold him for the sake of preserving your own dignity, but you had more pressing matters to focus on at the moment.

"So," Ted began sheepishly, after you entered his room. "You got my note, right?" 

"I listened to the tape, too," you answered near-breathlessly. "Yes. I'd love to spend more time with you, Ted." You smiled broadly. "You're really sweet, you know that?" 

He went bright red in response. 

And then ducked behind his bangs. 

It took him a little while to speak, but you were patient. 

" … thanks, dude. I'm really glad," he finally murmured. "I spent ages making that tape, but it wasn't until I was gonna give it to you that I realized that. Like. Just hanging out like this wasn't gonna be enough. At all."

Right now, the main emotion your brain was registering was giddiness. 

"I'm really glad, too."

[honey-beann]

hi! I looove your positively mouth watering fic with connor, and was wondering if we could get something sorta similar with nines? if not I tooootally get it, I just wanted to ask! love your work!

Elements of Control

Nines (rk900) x Reader

Note: Hi anon! Thanks for the request, I had a lot of fun with this one!

Word Count: 3,159

Warnings: NSFW

You were starting to wonder what you had done to deserve being tortured in the way that you were.

This whole thing was supposed to be easy, a quick evaluation of a scene to see if it could be connected to a potential serial killer case that yourself and your partner had been put in charge of.

Except upon your arrival, you'd been informed of an issue:

State PD seemed to think they had jurisdiction over this crime scene because of it's slightly rural location, despite the fact that you were still very clearly and firmly within city limits.

And to make matters worse?

They absolutely refused to listen to anything that you had to say about it in favor of calling your authority into question.

Upon your arrival at the scene, even after having taken note of the three Michigan State PD cars, you'd still believed things to be business as usual.

It wasn't necessarily odd, after all, for MSPD to be called to a scene if your dispatch team noted that a great deal of your officers were off duty or busy.

But this time, as you'd stepped out of your car, you'd been surprised to see a rather frustrated looking Officer Miller approaching you, his body language tense.

"Miller, what's going o-"

"These guys are assholes."

Chris huffed, cutting you off in the middle of your question and immediately causing you to raise a brow at his words.

"What guys?"

You asked, watching as your friend and coworker motioned toward the state police cruisers in exasperation.

"Those guys. They keep insisting that they have jurisdiction over this case even though we already informed them that it's not only within city lines, but that it's also a part of the case that your team is actively working on."

You felt your brow crinkle slightly in confusion,

"Wait, seriously? They aren't listening to you guys at all?"

Chris shook his head, clearly still frustrated,

"No! Not even a little bit. They've been forcing us out of the scene and messing with the investigation for at least an hour and a half now talking some bullshit about needing to speak to the lead detective on the case."

You sighed but nodded,

"Well the good news is that I'm here now, so hopefully they'll be leaving soon."

Chris scoffed, rolling his eyes,

"I doubt it, they're on some crazy power trip and keep going on and on about how we need to respect them because we're all so much younger. Talking to them is like talking to a wall."

You patted your friend on the shoulder and tossed him a supportive and understanding look before you thanked him for his update and set off toward the small crowd of officers standing near the door of the house that had been dubbed a crime scene just a few hours prior.

As you approached, you could hear people arguing, Person and Chen in particular, though louder than them were three extremely noisy and unfamiliar male voices that were clearly trying to talk over the two women in an effort to silence them.

You sighed, but continued walking toward the porch that they were all standing on, rapping your first against the slightly splintering wood before you leaned against it, trying to keep your body language as casual as possible to hide how stressful this situation was beginning to feel.

Both your officers and the three Michigan state men turned to face you all at once, the two women immediately looking relieved at your presence, but neither of them saying a word as they watched you open your mouth to speak, your tone casual but firm.

"I heard somebody was looking for the lead detective on this case?"

You asked, trying to channel your inner Hank in an effort to come across as far less of a person that someone wanted to argue with than you probably looked like to these guys.

Unfortunately though, your strategy proved useless as they all scoffed,

"You're the lead detective? Yeah right, you look young enough to be my granddaughter."

Bristling a bit at the disrespect, you took a step forward onto the first step of the porch, your hands finding your pockets to keep your body language as relaxed looking as possible even as you replied with quite a bit less professionalism than you'd initially thought you would be right off the bat.

"And you look old enough to be my grandfather. Now look gentleman, as much as I love making these incredibly fun observations with you, I'm actually supposed to be doing so inside of the crime scene instead of outside of it, so if you don't mind, I'm going to have to ask you to move along."

The three men glared heavily at you, and one laughed humorlessly and took a step in your direction,

"I don't know who the fuck you think you are, kid, but I already told your rag tag little group of city cops, this is our case, and we ain't leaving unless you can prove you have an actual lead detective here at the scene."

You sighed, pulling your badge out of your pocket to present it to the man only to have him snatch it from your hand and chuck it back in the direction of Chris, who watched in absolute shock, both you and your officers baffled at the lack of professionalism found in these three state police workers.

Your hands clenched into fists at your sides, and for a moment or two, you thought you might actually risk your job and punch the man in front of you, only to bark out the names of your nearby officers instead, clearly more than a little frustrated.

"Chen. Person. Follow me for a briefing on the case please. I'm going to give these idiots a few minutes to come up with an apology good enough to convince me not to arrest them for disrupting a crime scene."

The men burst into laughter behind you as you and the two women made your way back over towards Chris and the three other officers who were present on the scene, your face twisted into a scowl as you approached.

"Did they seriously just do that?!"

Chris hissed as you grew close enough to hear, causing you to nod stiffly before you motioned for your officers to group up around you.

"Clearly these guys are out of control, and I don't want any of you getting wrapped up in something ridiculous because they feel like acting like children, so please just stay away from the scene until I can get in contact with the captain and have him send someone to talk to-"

"Excuse me, Detective."

A familiar voice sounded from behind you, halting your orders before you could even finish giving them.

You turned on your heel to find your partner just a few steps away from where your badge had been tossed, holding it up between his thumb and forefinger as he approached,

"Lose something?"

You scoffed, crossing your arms as Nines grew closer, his long legs carrying him over with ease as he smirked down at your smaller frame.

"No, actually. That was on the ground courtesy of Michigan's finest over there."

You said angrily, gesturing toward the bumbling idiots who called themselves officers of the law that were still planted firmly upon the porch, not paying any attention to what was happening in the yard in front of them.

Nines raised a brow at that, and handed you your badge before speaking up,

"So they threw your badge when you presented it to them?"

He clarified, causing you to nod in exasperation before he hummed,

"I see. Why exactly aren't they under arrest then?"

You huffed,

"I'm not going to ask any of my officers to deal with them all up close and personal like that, and I certainly don't feel like risking my job wrestling three assholes into a cruiser. They think they have jurisdiction here and won't leave until they speak to a lead detective that they don't think we have, so I'll just try to get Fowler to send Hank or Reed or something."

You grumbled, causing Nines to regard you with curiosity,

"But Detective, you are the lead on this case, the presence of either Detective Reed or Lieutenant Anderson is simply not a requirement."

You groaned at your partner's explanation, resenting the idea that you needed to be reminded of your own position on the force, though you pressed forward nonetheless.

"I know that, but they won't believe me and I don't feel like arguing today. This shit was supposed to be simple, drop in, inspect the scene, and wait to receive an autopsy report to see if the crimes appear connected. Corralling three old dudes on power trips was not meant to be a part of the process."

Nines rolled his eyes but nodded,

"I see. In that case, give me a few minutes. In the meantime, ensure the driveway is cleared for their departure. They will want to exit swiftly."

You were just about to ask what Nines meant by that when he simply walked away entirely, making his way over to the officers standing childishly outside of the scene with his expression neutral but his eyes shining.

Whatever he was about to do, he was absolutely going to enjoy it.

And you'd be lying if you said that you didn't want to see for yourself.

So, after rushing to help the team move your cruisers, you all walked toward the porch until you were within earshot, which was when you found out why Nines had been so certain that the men were going to make a swift exit.

He was scaring the ever loving shit out of them.

And God, was it hot.

He stood on the porch, an inch or two taller than even the tallest of the officers, thus allowing the android to quite literally look down upon them as he regarded all three men with an immense amount of disdain.

"I'm unable to understand where exactly your confusion is stemming from, are you calling my lead detective's authority into question?"

He asked, tone low and vaguely threatening as he spoke, though his posture remained relatively casual, with one of his hands in his pants' pocket as if he could not have been less concerned with looking the perfect picture of professionalism that he usually strived for.

It was almost staggering what a difference that made in the way that you were looking at him.

Your eyes trailed up his long legs, clothed in his typical black slacks, before you allowed them to move upward, where they lingered briefly on his hands as the one that was not resting within his pocket clenched and unclenched at his side seemingly unendingly, reminding you far too much of the way his digits had felt as they'd curled inside of your soaked heat just the night before, your back arcing off of the bed as his other hand had moved to the small of your back, keeping you perpetually pressed against him in a way that had nearly brought tears of bliss to your eyes.

You blushed heavily at the unexpected recollection, attempting to shake off your embarrassment (and arousal) before either could hope to get the better of you, choosing to try and distract yourself with Nines' rather hostile interaction again.

Unsurprisingly, as much as you'd hoped that might help, it only served to make your situation that much worse.

Because unfortunately, the state officers must have answered Nines' question in a manner that he far from agreed with, because the android was taking two intimidating steps toward them now, expression fairly neutral but his tone cold and almost cruel as he spoke.

"And what makes you think you have the right to question someone with a higher position than you? Are you insinuating that my partner is somehow lesser than yourselves? Lesser than I?"

You shivered at his tone, ironically recollecting a time several days prior where the android had seemed hellbent on teaching you the opposite of what he was saying to the older men standing before him.

"What a pathetic little thing."

He'd all but cooed with a shake of his head and an ever so slight chuckle, his eyes alight with amusement and arousal as he watched you squirm, sliding his cock, hot and thick and so very close against your wet folds, teasing you ceaselessly as you whimpered and writhed beneath his piercing gaze and searing touch.

"Please!"

You'd gasped out, sobs rushing out of your mouth uncontrollably as you did your best to arch and buck into the android's touch, desperate to feel something more than what he seemed to be willing to give you in that moment.

Nines chuckled, fingers moving to snatch up your jaw as he forced you to look him in the eyes, humming as he leaned in closer, his tongue tracing the outline of your lips as you trembled beneath his touch,

"Look at you, so helpless, squirming your weak little body in a shameful attempt to get me to fold for you. Did you really think that would work? That I might succumb to desire or take pity on you?"

He smirked and trailed his lips up to your ear, where he continued his degrading questions,

"I think we both know how slight the chances of either of those things happening are, don't we?"

He groaned slightly as the tip of his cock grazed your slit, causing you to mewl and plead briefly until he shushed you and spoke up again.

"You're completely at my mercy, and there is absolutely nothing a feeble little thing like you could do to make me give you what you want before I feel you've earned it."

You whimpered at his words, and watched with slightly wide eyes as he pulled back with a smirk, hand reaching to your hair before he grabbed a preliminary fistful of it and yanked ever so slightly, a warning of what was to come, no doubt.

"Now get off of this bed and onto your knees."

You felt your legs quake slightly as you recalled the familiar memory, licking your lips involuntarily as you all but forced yourself to watch on rather than continue letting the android impact you so devastatingly through your memories alone.

You watched in shock as Nines reached forward to grab at the collar of the obvious "leader" of the group, expression as close to anger as you'd seen it get all day as he all but growled,

"Now, I highly suggest you leave before I take offense for my partner over there and decide to give you a reminder of whose really in control here that you won't soon forget."

The older man sputtered slightly in Nines' grip, but almost seemed to refuse to relent, eyes glaring as he continued to spit whatever venom came to his mind.

"Oh, we can see who it is that's in control here."

He snapped, eyes briefly shooting toward yours, glaring daggers into your soul,

"How shameful that a supposed lead detective can't even manage a crime scene without the guidance and direction of an intimidating fucking toy."

Nines tightened his grip, causing the man to gasp and struggle for a moment before the android scoffed and let him go, immediately sending him falling onto his ass in front of his friends.

"You see, Officer, that's where you're wrong."

Nines began, his tone a low purr of satisfaction as he watched the man struggle to stand again, his chest heaving with both anger and effort,

"She doesn't need me to tell her anything. In fact, I would go so far as to say that it's her who directs me more often than not."

He smirked as the three men attempted to move past him and toward the steps, which he followed them down with an intimidating and practiced ease, his long legs helping to keep up with them without any sense of urgency.

"If you'd like though, I would be more than happy to show you what I'd be doing to you right now if she wasn't around to ensure that I couldn't do things my way."

He said casually, still following the men as they rushed back to their cruisers, eyes wide and petrified as Nines made his intentions clear.

They could leave now, or, he could show them how things went without your guidance, since they were so eager to act as if you had never arrived in the first place.

You watched in utter shock as the men sped off almost as soon as they reached their cars, one of them even shouting a frightened sounding apology in your direction as he tore out of the driveway.

Nines hummed and crossed his arms over his chest, watching them as they went with satisfaction evident in his body language.

The officers around you cheered, rushing over to the android from where you had all been listening near the porch as they both thanked him and offered props before they seemed to start actually briefing him on parts of the case that had not yet been added to the file.

He stood there, seemingly absorbing every word that everyone was saying, casually shrugging out of his jacket and tossing it over his shoulder in preparation to begin heading inside before he rolled up his sleeves slowly and methodically the way he always did before entering a scene.

Except this time, you felt the strong urge to not allow him inside until your current frustrations were eased.

He still had yet to actually fuck you after the other night, or even the evening before, some clear attempt at breaking you to get you to beg for his cock like the weak minded little human he seemed (at least some of the time) to believe that you were.

Maybe it was time to settle the score then.

You gritted your teeth together, hoping desperately that the sensation would distract you, only to give up with an exasperated sigh before walking quickly toward the android in question, who regarded you with slight surprise before his eyes swept over your face and body, and a slight smirk began to tug at his lips.

It was borderline obnoxious how easily he could read you, but in that particular moment you couldn't have cared less.

He raised a brow at you as you continued making your way over, before stopping abruptly a little over a foot away, eyes challenging and body tense as you spoke.

"Nines, car. Now."

You muttered before regarding your colleagues with a respectful nod and rushing off before they could ask any questions.

Nines chuckled, following suit with slow but long steps, his hands casually finding his pockets as he watched you eagerly.

"Certainly, Detective."

masterlist

AO3

[enbysiriusblack]

"-And Miss Meadowes shall be partnering with... Miss Mckinnon", Slughorn read out.

Dorcas slid over to Marlene's desk, glaring at her, "If you mess up this potion, I will kill you."

Marlene nodded, swinging her legs as they sat on a stool, "Sure, Sure. Get thrown in Akzban for murder, then."

Dorcas ignored them, instead deciding to start on the assignment.

Marlene glanced over to their parchment as Dorcas wrote notes down, "Do you think dementors enjoy the happy memories they steal?"

Dorcas turned to her, "What?"

"Cause, they steal happy memories, right? But why? What benefit would they gain from that? I mean surely it must be tiring going around day after day in a freezing building and just sucking people's souls. So do y'think they get to keep the memories they take and it makes them happy? Like an exchange of happiness?"

Dorcas frowned in thought, pausing their writing.

"Huh. I hadn't thought about that."

Marlene gasped, "Oh, do you want to hear this theory I have?"

Dorcas' frown deepened, "I actually do."

"So, basically I have this theory that the dementors are actually kinda like dogs. And they think that azkaban and the prisoners in there are their food, but their owners, so that's the ministry, they tell them 'oh you can only have little bits of all these different types of foods', so kind of like a diet, and the dementors listen because they're the kind of dogs that are super well trained, and so our souls are their food and so they have to take them or they'll be starving. But, if you think about it, if we let the dementors be like wild dogs, wouldn't that mean they'd be happier and we would also be happier. Cause they'd only eat a few people's souls, and if you didn't want them to take your soul then you could just be in the light all the time, it's really not a big deal."

Dorcas covered their smile with their hand, "Sure, Mckinnon."

Marlene turned to them, "I burnt the potion by the way."

"What?" Dorcas frantically stood up and leaned over to look at the blackened contents in their cauldron, "We hadn't even started yet!"

Marlene shrugged, "I know, but Sluggie was boring earlier so I put all those ingredients he wrote on the board into the cauldron whilst he was still talking rubbish."

"But the potion doesn't even require heat!"

"Okay, well that isn't my fault! You let me rant to you about my theory, and whenever I rant I start playing with my lighter and I subconsciously put the lighter inside the cauldron and all the ingredients burned! So really that's your fault for not making me shut up."

Dorcas scoffed in disbelief, shaking her head slightly as her stubborn mouth still tried to twist into a smile.

"You must be the worst person to partner with in class."

Marlene gasped, "That is so not fair! Because I was partners with Snape last term and he never let me do anything to help, or let me talk, or play with my lighter or anything. He's definitely the worst partner, because he's such a boring control freak. Like even more a control freak than Lily, although I say that with love and only because she called herself it just last week."

Dorcas gave up on the aims of hiding her smile as she passed her notes to Marlene, "Here, you can tell me what I need to do and you can rant all you want whilst I do make the potion, just in case you get any more urges to put a lighter in the cauldron."

Marlene grinned, "Well, Meadowes", she started to read the notes, "Start off with adding 50ml of leech juice whilst I tell you the story of when I broke James' arm when we were nine and beat him so bad in a 1v1 game of quidditch that he made him parents get rid of his hoops for a year."

[gumbootillustrations]

day 18 - headcanon

i had too many so no drawing today. instead, i offer a list.

bogan laurance. or, more specifically, bogan meteli. like cmonnn u Cannot tell me that meteli (esp old meteli) is just a standin for small-town new zealand/australia. anyway, they all have aussie/nz accents. laurs is the most obvious bc i think its funny. @shadowqnights @abxolotl this one goes out for you guys <3

on that note, ru'aun's environment is basically new zealand's. especially the sacred forest - it has major nz bush vibes. like.

cmon u Cannot tell me that these were taken in the sacred forest of ru'aun.

anyway. travis gets kept up at night by kiwi screaming at each other (seriously. take a listen.)

also, tu'la is inspired by the roman empire. ill probs elaborate on this in the future.

necromancer cadenza! i've spoken abt this before here if u want to see a bit more :3

irene's cathedral/dimension/whatever is less cathedral and more eldritch labyrinth. specifically, i envision it to be a lot like the theatre of domination from honkai impact 3rd.

garroth gardens in his free time! it's how he grows all the flowers for his flower crowns.

meif'wa are werecats; they can 'tuck in' their ears and tails like werewolves can (but it's generally super uncomfortable, no matter the species), and have a sort of hybrid cat-human form that they can also shift into.

melissa is the first ultima - i sort of got into it in this post, but essentially after mel comes back to find falconclaw destroyed and her siblings, aaron and lilly, dead (to the best of her knowledge - aaron is still alive, however), she strikes a deal with a goat-eyed being to bring them back, but because the fine print was specifically worded to fuck her over, her soul ends up getting fused with the wolf that she sacrifices for the ritual and she gets ultima'd.

also, lilly is now aaron and mel's younger sister. she's a ghost.

juror relics! i hate hate Hate how the jurors never get fleshed out in canon, so i gave them a bit more backstory in ashes, ashes. their powers originally came from smaller, less powerful relics that xavier carved off of his own, but after they get lost, they become figureheads for a long time until about 20-25 years prior to the start of ashes, ashes. there's a bit more on this in my day 20 post, pinky promise.

the generals of the shadow lord's army are called "death knells", and although they lead their own units/squadrons/whatever, their primary purpose is to oppose the divine warriors; including the shadow lord (who opposes irene), there are only ever seven death knells at one time. an example of a death knell is gene, who is intended to oppose kul'zak.

zianna is a witch, although, for most of her life, her abilities were passed off as her having prophetic magicks; these 'magicks' are why she was married off to garte, as the ro'meave line wanted to introduce these magicks into the family. unfortunately, the heir, garroth, didn't inherit his mother's abilities, but her two other children, zane/zuwellyn and vylad, did.

nicole is a half elf from her mum's side; her mum is matilda's sister, making her and levin first cousins. this is based on matilda lowkey looking really similar to nicole. idk i just think its fun.

garte sells out o'khasis to tu'la for more power during s2, thus transferring the jury of nine into the control of the king. it's a whole mess, and in the process, he essentially scapegoats zianna by faking his death.

however, this does make zianna lord of o'khasis. we love a girlboss.

the relics have different effects on their wielders; for example, esmund's relic makes its wielders a lot more physically dense, meaning that they'll sink into softer surfaces like sand and mud. xavier's relic turns its wielders hair red.

consequently, zane has red roots. he dyes his hair black (its natural colour) to hide them.

katelyn has the moniker of "the dragon of o'khasis". the phoenix drop gang mostly assumes that it's because she's ruthless on the battlefield... until she decides that the best course of action is to breathe fire at an opponent uncle iroh-style.

katelyn is also Stupidly superstitious. like. she fully believes in the sweater curse and will Refuse to walk under a ladder even if theres no other available path.

mys!nicole gets forever potioned. this has Consequences for the home gang during the events of s5-s6.

speaking of mys!nicole, her and dante are queerplatonic coparents to dmitri. they had him when they were in uni after a brief fling. he's the street's baby.

anyway i think thats abt it. lmk if u have any questions :3

(ps two days until day 20)

[anawrites3]

I want someone (not me) to write a Bodyguard!Sladick fic - but in a very specific way (I'll probs end up writing this unless someone beats me to it (pls beat me to it someone, I can't commit to another WIP))

Basically, someone kills Bruce Wayne. And not because he's batman, but because he's rich af and refuses to sell his land in Gotham (bc yk, bro can't sell the fucking batcave and all his safe houses full of Batmerch). But no one knows who killed Bruce and why but they all believe it's because they found out Batman's identity and needed him out of the way for something.

21 year old Dick Grayson, who hasn't spoken to Bruce or had anything to do with the Batfam for two years, is asked to come back for Bruce's funeral and reading of the Will. Turns out, Bruce left everything - and I mean everything; cape and all - to Dick. Dick is now The Batman, the leader of the JL, the billionaire, the CEO of Wayne Enterprises, and also the legal guardian of not one, not two, but three kids. Jason and Tim was understandable, but Bruce never mentioned to Dick about having a kid with Talia al Ghul of all people. In all fairness, Damian was only dropped off at Bruce's feet two months ago. (Note that I'm fucking around with the Batboy's ages. Thus, Jason is 16 (bro died young), Tim is 14(bro was crazy stalking so young), and Damian in 9(bro is just young))

The killer, however, is still at large, and is now targeting Dick, the new Prince of Gotham, and his kids. But Batman (Dick) can't get involved just yet, the Batfam don't know what exactly the killers knows about them and Batman - it's too risky. But Dick can't just not do anything. So he calls the one person he knows will keep his family safe - for the right price, obvs.

Dick has money to play with and Slade loves a good game.

Basically they make a contract that issues Deathstroke as the bodyguard of the Grayson-Wayne Family until Bruce's killer is handled.

Only, Slade comes with his own baggage (aka a 9 yr old Rose Wilson) and Dick is stuck training (aka raising) another kid. But that's fine, because Slade ends up being less of Dick's bodyguard (let's face it, the kid can handle himself), and more of Dick's bodyguard-with-benefits/mentor/business partner/mental-support-bestie/drinking-buddy/private-chef/co-parent/stay-at-home-husband/love-of-his-life.

They get very domestic in this fic. And Slade has to wear a three-piece suit when following Dick around as he plays Gotham's Billion Dollar Prince and Dick can't stop riding him in the back of the Batmobile because Slade looks waaaaay too good in a suit.

But raising kids is hard, especially when you're 21. So Dick faces a lot of challenges in this fic - like his undead brother, Jason, trying to come to terms with Bruce dying right after they started to mend their relationship, and Tim who was just recently fired as Robin after one simple mistake, and his new rage at Bruce for that and dying (he refuses to believe his dead), and fuck - the nine year old assassin and grandson of Ra's al Ghul, Damian, who never truly had the pleasure (misfortune?) of knowing his father. Than there's Rose Wilson, who doesn't really know English all that well and is dealing with the trauma of watching her mother die before her.

So Dick has to really step up - as a business man, as a leader, as Batman, and as a father.

Luckily he's got Slade, who fuck's like he fights. It tuff that Dick is quickly falling in love with Slade, and Rose, who he can't help but see as his kid, too.

Oh I love this idea so much, its great!! I would love to read it as well ahaha and I might write something 👀👀 but it's a big project so I wouldn't be able to do the whole thing

But you can let me know if you have any fav/special scene in mind (or a few 😌) and I might write it. You can also check out my commission info if that's what you'd preffer and you're able to afford it!

I love bodyguard Slade stories, I'm a sucker for those honestly haha and I love how here he's protecting not only Dick but the whole family. And its just so delicious that Dick hasn't talked to Bruce in so long and now he's thrown back into his life- but Bruce is dead and Dick has to take on the mantle and help the city and raise three kids and keep them all alive and not go crazy and-

I love that you're making it even more messy and difficult for Dick by putting Rose in the middle of it too lmao. I can already imagine all the trouble the family would have together

Slade wearing a three piece is a sight and I don't blame Dick at all 🙈🙈 But seriously, I adore their relationship in this, it's so complex and complicated. I can imagine them bonding over some whisky when the kids are deep asleep and Dick getting frustrated with what his life is now and Slade just letting him cry while holding him close AGHH SO GOOD

Thank you for sharing! Again, its a great idea and I'd love to play with it a bit if you allow me 🤗💕

[tgmsunmontue]

Another Time (Chapter 10/14)

ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT NINE

Summary: Jake wakes up in Rooster's body ~30 hours post-Mission and they have to deal with it. They're adults. Apparently.

(Posting on Tumblr, chapter a day until it's complete (currently 14 chapters already written), after it's complete I will post it on AO3 once a day until it's completed there as well).

Odd chapter = Jake POV, Even chapter = Bradley POV

TEN

                He wakes up warm, his arm firmly tucked over a torso, and he hums under his breath. He’s still not in his own body. As he’d predicted last night, Nat had commandeered his guest room. Coyote had gotten a lift home from Bob, both promising to return tomorrow. Now today. It had left him with the sofa, the lumpy as fuck one-seater or the floor beside Hangman. He’d considered the option of sliding into the bed beside Hangman, but there’s a big difference between doing it when he’s awake and asking (and okay, a bit loopy because of the drugs), and doing it when he’s fast asleep. He’d wanted to though. Being rudely woken in the middle of the night and being offered, no, told, that got what he wanted, well, that’s something he could get used to.

                He stretches a little, nuzzles his nose into the nape of Hangman’s neck and just breathes for a moment.

                “Mornin’,” Hangman says, voice rough and Bradley misses his accent.

                “Morning…” He replies, hears the accent and it just isn’t the same.

                “So, what’s on the list?”

                “It ended up being quite a… quite a list,” Bradley states, because he’d read it over and felt uncomfortable just reading it, let alone discussing it. Although he knows they’re going to have to. He draws away from Hangman and reaches for the piece of paper and hands it to Hangman silently. Gets up and goes to the bathroom and comes back, sliding back under the blankets without being asked, Hangman having shifted to face him and looking at him isn’t going to make this any easier.

                “Vulnerability. Trust. Communication… this is like intense couples therapy before we’re even a proper couple,” Hangman says and Bradley laughs quietly, because he’s not wrong.

                “Yeah. This feels all backwards.”

                “Hmm. You think we would have managed to figure this out if we’d been doing it the traditional way?”

                “Well, I guess we’ll never know.”

                “Guess so. Backwards it is. Well, at least we can cross off proximity and touch… I mean, we’ve touched plenty,” Hangman states and his lips twitch in a smile and Bradley finds his eyes tracking the movement. Also noting that his moustache really needs a trim. Hmm.

                “And calling each other by our first names…”

                “You got a middle name?”

                “Uh, yeah. Peter.”

                “After Mav?” Hangman asks.

                “Yeah,” Bradley says on a sigh.

                “Hmm. Well, okay then Bradley Peter Bradshaw, my name is Jacob Andrew Seresin.”

                “Nice to meet you Jacob Andrew Seresin…”

                They both go silent, looking around hopefully for a brief second before they both break into huffs of laughter, shaking their heads.

                “God I wish it was that easy.”

                “Guess we can’t catch a break huh? Well, how about… biggest fear?”

                Bradley has to stop and think, because his immediate response is that he’s not afraid of anything. That’s a lie of course, but he can’t put it in words what it is he’s afraid of the most, feels like he’s lived through his worst fears coming true over and over to put a voice to them.

                “Least favorite food?” Hangman asks instead, obviously reading something in his silence or on his face.

                “Fruit.”

                “An entire food group? Really?”

                “Yeah. I’m really picky when it comes to fruit. My apples need to be crunchy, my bananas not too soft, pineapple still firm…”

                Hangman snorts.

                “Picky wee Rooster…”

                “No, I just know what I like.”

                “Do you just…”

                Bradley laughs, wants to shove him, kiss him, straddle him and –

                “Do you ever stop flirting?”

                “Nope. It’s all part of my charm darlin’.”

                “Part of something alright,” Bradley mutters and then Hangman is leaning forward, capturing his lips so soft and Bradley relaxes into it for the briefest of moments.

                “So, the whole physical intimacy. So polite of Bob. I want… it’s the last resort. I want to be in my own body when we do… more.”

                “More. Yeah… Although, if you jerk me off right now, would that count as you getting me off, or me getting off?”

                Bradley groans and pulls away with a laugh, shakes his head as he feels his neck and chest go warm with desire and embarrassment.

                “I have no idea… but I feel like we can put that down as a middle-step…”

                “All part of your plan of attack hmm?

                “Shut up. Like you have any better ideas.”

                “It’s just like another mission. We’ll figure it out. Break it down.”

                “Doubt this one can be fixed with a couple of well-aimed missiles.”

                “No. But I guess I can talk about myself for a bit…”

                “Your favorite subject right?” Bradley says, and he means it as a joke before he realizes that no, Hangman doesn’t talk about himself. He’s a cocky arrogant fighter pilot, confident in his abilities and more than willing to talk himself up… but that’s all surface. It’s not who he is. “Tell me.”

                “Hmm. Well. Vulnerable right?”

                Bradley’s stomach does an unpleasant flip. He’d hoped there wasn’t a tragic backstory or trauma but…

                “It’s not bad. I mean, my parents had me very late in life. My brother and sister are closer to Mav’s age than mine. Still, we’re all pretty close. I’m closer with my nieces and nephews… It’s just…”

                “You don’t have to…”

                “But I do, don’t I? What if it’s this that makes us switch back?”

                Bradley lets out a long breath, because he has a point.

                “We don’t have to do it all now though. Come on. We’ve got to get you ready for your hospital appointment and then we’ve got the debrief. We’ve also got something really important to take care of.”

                “What?”

                “I need to trim that moustache,” Bradley states and grins when Hangman laughs freely, some level of tension dripping away.

                “Do you not trust me?”

                “With my life? Yes. With my ‘stache? Not so much…”

                “Afraid I might shave the whole thing off?”

                “I think I could deal with that, it’s you trimming it crooked that would be world ending.”

                “Well okay honey, take care of me.”

ELEVEN

[fandom-trash-xl]

EPISODE 1: CONSPIRACY

Hello, hello! Welcome back to weekly Dragon Ball commentary- feels good to say that, these posts were my roots on this website.

I would like to thank a friend for sharing their Crunchyroll and to apologize in advance to my roommate who has already caught me mid-ramblings- sorry, bestie, this is going to last several more Fridays.

Anyway, onto our very first episode of Dragon Ball Daima!

Firstly, an amazing "welcome back to Dragon Ball" recap. Since the Power Pole is due to make its comeback, I'm not surprised that they didn't forget to include a reference to the series roots in OG Dragon Ball- and the fade to them growing up AAAAHHH MY HEART

"Saiyans are known for appearing youthful for longer"- OH YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW

And speaking of recapping, we're introduced to the silly little demon clown guy, Gomah, and Shin's out-of-nowhere brother, Degesu, as they do an abridged Mystery Science Theater of the Buu Arc. Apparently, all powerful Demon Not-Kais still rely on pen and paper to take notes.

With no one left to oppose him after the disposal of the Majins and Dabura, Gomah's the king of the Demon Realm. And turns out Shin also has an out-of-nowhere sister too, Dr. Arinsu. Wonder why she has the God of Destruction gold collar? Might be relevant, might just be jewelry.

It's looking like I may have to finally dip my toes in the Xenoverse lore... we're getting suspiciously close to Towa territory.

However, Goku and his friends pose a threat to Gomah's power- because of course they do, it's Goku and friends- so we need a way to nerf them in the way that's not an evil wish. So, let's turn them into kids! GT BUT ON PURPOSE!

The Demon Realm has their own Dragon Balls created by a senile Namekian they picked up off the street, but they're guarded by these figures called the Tagamis- safe bet that they'll be fighting the Tagamis later.

We have a confirmed timeline placement! It's not long after the Buu Saga and Trunks is turning nine. Gohan is conveniently off studying... why the exclusion? We don't know yet.

And now for the two casual lore drop points that I proceeded to ramble about because my roommate had just walked in:

Saiyans get growth spurts at 15

I guess this was a casual excusing of Goten and Trunks still being short in Super and it sort of lines up with Goku in original DB. He grew slightly, but I guess he was a late bloomer because he was still rather petite at the King Piccolo fight where (not counting Minus) he was 16.

But, Gohan! He had a decent amount of height at 11 in the Cell Saga. Perhaps he got a little more of the Ox King genetics than Goten did.

Goku then proceeds to slander Vegeta's height and- "He's right behind me, isn't he?"

THE SECOND POTARA RETCON

Yep, it happened again. We went from "Potara fusion is permanent, we don't know what happened with Vegito" to "Potara fusion is permanent for Supreme Kais, but if it's two mortals, it's a hour" to, now, "it was Buu's stomach acid the whole time!"

So, instead of using the Dragon Balls to separate like in Super, Kibito Kai just had Buu eat them and spit them out.

I guess this helps confirm that Daima's running on its own track and won't lead into Super. Does this mean we have three separate canons now? I'm okay with this. At least this means my fanfics are safe.

Also, looking a bit pale there, Kibito.

Back to the plot:

Seems that all of the Namekians were originally from the Demon Realm! The Demon Gang can tell because of the pointy ears- I'm getting Owl House flashbacks.

Then what does that mean for Mr. Popo?

The old Namekian magnetizes all the Dragon Balls to the lookout- because of course he can- then reactivates them from their stone state- because of course he can.

Shenron's not dealing with any monkey's paws today and he's not going to guess like Ultimate Shenron did in GT- you're going to want to input all the settings you want for your turn people into kids wish. The adult gang are all first graders and the kids are now babies.

THE WISH HITS RIGHT AT THE END OF THE EPISODE

We'll have to deal with the fallout of this next episode. Hope someone fills Gohan in.

---

Feel free to send asks- I'll screenshot them if there's spoilers so I can put the question under a Keep Reading break if need be- or have a discussion in the replies.

Otherwise, stay tuned for more of my ramblings next Friday!

[byooregard]

today i will be showing everyone my GRAPHS. this is so that i can PROCRASTINATE FANFIC WRITING. thank you

GRAPH NUMBER ONE + DISCLAIMERS

This is the top 10 doctor who ships in the doctor who ao3 tag by how many fics were written for each each year . notes:

ao3 is somewhat bad at dealing with ships that are secretly multiple ships in a trench coat, of which doctor who has many. This applies to -- doctor/river, doctor/rose, doctor/master, and ten/rose (as ten/rose also includes metacrisis ten/rose)

using doctor/rose as an example, in the dropdown for top relationships within a tag it will only show fics explicitly tagged with 'the doctor/rose tyler', meaning it gets listed as the 8th most popular ship, with ~1000 fics, whereas if you go to the doctor/rose tag itself (which i did for this graph) , it shows every fic filtered into the Group tag doctor/rose -- ie, things just tagged nine/rose, just tagged ten/rose, etc etc

i filtered these by DATE UPDATED and not date posted, because i cannot do the latter with ao3's search system

i also can't filter things by 'main relationship' in the fanfic

ao3 was founded in 2009, and gained popularity as the main fanfiction website through the 2010s, however, when you transfer a work from another site to ao3, ao3 will keep the date it was originally written, allowing for you to find works on ao3 posted earlier than 2009. i didn't count them in this graph because i didn't want to

i wish it was this easy to collect data on fanfic posted before ao3 was popular. im so sad about this genuinely

all of these disclaimers/data inaccuracies apply to the other graphs

GRAPH NUMBER TWO AND ALSO PERHAPS THREE:

thoschei graph. call that a real ship of theseus amirite

sorry for that joke. ive already made that joke

shoutout to spydoc for going from 0 fics to roughly 700 in one year, throwing off my entire graph

something was in the water in 2020 doctor who fandom. that something was likely covid

left graph is the top ships, right graph includes the total for doctor master and a vague attempt to make a graph for the 'other' however i made that graph by going into the doctor master tag and filtering out all the ships id done graphs for, so it's pretty inaccurate data

GRAPHS NUMBER FIVE AND PERHAPS SIX

as everyone in the doctor who fandom went collectively insane in the year 2020 i wanted to chronicle that.

left graph is the top ships in the tag, however this time i took out ships of theseus like doctor/master, doctor/river and doctor/rose

notable peaks. in jan-the 1st of march, doctor who was airing. in october nothing notable happened other than the usual fandom slew of -tobers (you know, flufftober, whumptober, etc). in december there were likely the usual gift exchanges

quarantine started around march for most people, marking the start of our collective descent into madness

and here i will give you a link to the actual spreadsheet with numbers

[nabtime]

Our Empty Graves IX

Fandom: Danny Phantom / Batman: Under the Red Hood

Pairings: Danny Fenton/Jason Todd (Dead on Main)

Rating: Mature

Tags: batfamily, hazmat AU, Nobody Knows AU, Mute!Phantom, potential ghost king danny, slow burn?, DC means Disregard Canon, AU means AU nothing is exactly the same, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, more than canon typical violence, danny is a Halfa and also a Fetch, no beta we die like basically everyone

Summary: They say that Red Hood has a loyal mutt. The man rules his territory in Crime Alley with an iron fist and a guard dog at his side. They say that Hood calls him Fetch, sometimes Fetcher. No one's ever heard him speak. Anyone who's ever seen him says he looks like an experiment gone wrong, that Hood picked him up somewhere unspeakable. They say he'll do anything Red Hood asks of him and he'll do it well. That he's strong and fast and probably inhuman. The girls say he's sweet; quiet but charming in his own way. Rival gangs say he's vicious; that he'd sooner rip your throat out than let you go.

Jason just wants to help him.

Chapter 9: and I cant fix what was done to you (but ill shield you from the rain)

Chapter Summary: A few moments of calm before the storm. A little help goes a long way.

Chapter Notes: title from Small Hands by Radical Face Links: AO3 // Chapter 1 // Chapter 8 // Chapter 10 // Spotify

Nadi had never seen hair like Fetcher had. It wasn’t- hair- not properly. It was soft like fog, wispy like a cloud. And it moved like it was underwater, flowing and floating and altogether, frankly, a bitch to cut. But it needed to be trimmed, because it looked like someone had taken a torch to some parts of the poor kid’s skull. Chunks were burned off. She also wasn’t about to give up after all the trouble she’d been through to get little cujo to agree to this.

She’d walked ten blocks round trip to her apartment and back, Charlie huffing and puffing from just a simple folding chair and bag the entire time. Packed a sheet and all her usual hair-cutting tools. She knew her way around some scissors- a lot of the girls came to her for trims instead of paying for a full stylist. She used to be a barber, way back in what she liked to think of as her past life.

That time felt so long ago. Before she was Nadi, before she walked the streets of Park Row. She used to live in the nicer parts of Gotham, sitting pretty with a stable job, stable apartment, stable family. Then she transitioned and everything went to shit. Fired, evicted, disowned. The whole nine yards or whatever. No big deal, though. She liked where she was at in life now, despite it all. And most of the time she was genuinely happier here, working the corner as the woman she was always meant to be instead of suffering as the man society wanted her to be.

She’d found her people here, in Park Row. Crime Alley. The other cast-offs and has-beens. The others that didn’t belong. And this poor baby boy was yet another reject. A poor soul left for dead in the slums. He was such a sweetheart, and she wasn’t about to let him fend for himself so completely. Not if she could help it. And she could, if only a little bit. She would cut his hair, she would feed him, she would offer a shoulder to cry on and an ear to listen. She wouldn’t let anyone else feel like she once had. Alone and abandoned. All it ever took was a small kindness, a tiny gesture of good-faith. She could do that. She’d move heaven and hell if it meant the sweet boy that had saved her, had saved many others in the Alley, wouldn’t be so skittish. So alone. Sure he was vicious, but only when he needed to be. Only to protect others. Boy didn’t have a mean bone in his body. She wasn’t completely sure he had bones in his body but that wasn’t important.

What mattered was getting his hair fixed.

She couldn’t do much for him. Couldn’t even begin to fix all that was wrong with him, all the wrong that was done to him. She could kill Hood for scaring her baby off. She didn’t know what he did but she was going to kick his ass for it. Crime Lord or no, he deserved it. She’d already kicked him where it hurt when she’d gone after him about Fetcher being missing in the first place, but he could do with a few more.

The boy was purring under her hands as she carded her fingers through his hair. Purring. That was goddamn adorable. How dare Red Hood do anything to upset him when the boy could purr.

She snipped away, gently brushing as she went. Thankfully, even with the singed edges, his hair still had a bit of length so even after she was done it would still hover around his shoulders. Literally hover. He looked good, fluffy like that, and she didn’t want to cut it any shorter than she had to. He’d already flinched once at the scissors coming close to his little pointed ears, she wouldn’t have that again.

“Almost done, mi vida,” she murmured, trimming the last strand and dropping it to let it float. “You doing okay?”

The purr rumbled like he was humming in agreement. Fuck that was cute.

She ran her hands through his hair a few more times, shaking out loose strands and fixing any tangles. Just enjoying the cool feeling- like mist and fog with only the slightest solidity- whirl around under her touch. Enjoying the purr it kicked up when she did it.

“All done, baby,” she said, reluctantly pulling her hands away and tugging off the sheet she’d wrapped him in, shaking it out to let the cuttings fall to the ground. They were, strangely, black. The moment she cut it away, his hair would turn black and solid like normal hair. She didn’t ask. It was none of her business.

She circled him and smiled. He looked a little goofy, still touch-drunk with his eye-lids drooping, all slumped into the chair like he was melting. His hair didn’t look half bad now, wavy and curling around his face, kissing his neck and cheeks as it swayed in an invisible wind. She’d done a pretty damn good job, all things considered. She wanted to coo at the sight of him, but she held it in. She didn’t want to spook him. They’d been doing so well so far.

She didn’t want to go. Didn’t want to leave him here. But she knew he wasn’t going to come, no matter how many times she asked.

“Do you wanna have a look?” she asked, moving to pull the hand-held mirror from the bag she’d made Charlie lug with them.

Fetcher’s gaze sharpened and he tensed in the chair, looking ready to flee. His purring had ceased. He shook his head fervently and she wanted to despair. What in the world had happened to him? What horrors had descended on her sweet, sweet boy?

“Okay,” she placated. “That’s okay.” She waited until he’d relaxed again, though not as much as he had been before. “You’ll just have to trust me when I tell you that you’re a very handsome young man.”

He rolled his eyes and she grinned.

“It’s true! You’re a pretty boy, and my handiwork only made you prettier.”

He stuck his tongue out and folded his arms.

She laughed. She wanted to stay. She wanted him to come with her. But it wouldn’t happen. Not yet, at least. Not until she could kick Hood’s ass and get him to fix whatever he’d broken here. She rummaged in the bag and brought out the thick blanket she’d packed and the bimbunuelos and gansito snacks she’d grabbed from the gas station for him.

She sighed and made sure she had Fetcher’s attention. “Alright, baby. I know I can’t convince you to come with me,” she said slowly. “I’m still sure I could smuggle you in and Hood wouldn’t say a word if he knew what was good for him,” she murmured vindictively, “but I can’t force you.”

He simply watched her as she handed the blanket and the treats over. “But, please,” she begged,” take care of yourself out here, mi vida.”

He gathered everything up in his arms and gave her a serious nod. She smiled at his solemn look, wishing with all her heart he’d learn to smile more instead.

“I’m going to head back to work now,” she said, backing up to give Fetcher some space. “But I’m going to visit again.”

She gave him a stern look this time. “So you better take care of yourself, baby. I’ll be disappointed if you don’t.”

He pouted, petulant, and huffed before giving her another quick nod and floating himself back up into the bough of the hickory he’d claimed for himself.

It was a small kindness, giving him that haircut, but she knew it meant more than that for the both of them. It was about acceptance. Accepting him as he was. About permission. Permission to seek comfort from her. Permission to see and be seen. She hoped he understood that.

Now, she had a Crime Lord’s ass to kick.

═════ ◈ ═════

Alfred Pennyworth had served the Wayne family for many years now. Seen and done more things serving Bruce than he ever had in service to the Crown. One would think being a butler would be less exciting than a top ranking M15 agent, but one was not often employed and trusted by The Batman as a butler.

Seeing Bruce grow and raising him were some of the most rewarding moments of his life. Seeing him grieve and break after every death that piled upon his shoulders were the most heartbreaking moments of his life. Seeing him obsess over the possibility that one of his wards, one of his ‘fallen soldiers’, had made their way back to the grave, was nothing less than harrowing.

Once again, Alfred was witness to Bruce passively trying to kill himself- ignoring anything and everything but the case he was working on. The facts in front of him. Solving it all like a puzzle that had pieces one could fit together in the first place. Getting frustrated when it didn’t all fall into place. Bruce rarely acknowledged that sometimes cases didn’t have all the pieces, couldn’t be solved by fact alone, because to do so would admit defeat in his eyes. He needed logic and sense and many times life was far too messy for that. People were unpredictable and murders and villainy more so. But his boy had never been comfortable with things he couldn’t predict.

Like Jason Todd rising from the grave.

Alfred knew in his bones that Jason had returned, changed and broken, but returned all the same. He wasn’t about to say so to Bruce, the man would never understand the certainty he felt without the facts to confirm. But he knew . And it broke him just as well. He was over the moon to have one of his wards back in the living realm with them, for him to be alive again. But to see him torn and angry like he was… To see him so full of pain and hatred… Alfred couldn’t stand it. Couldn’t stand to know that he’d had a hand in the boy’s death. Had a hand in the neglect he’d suffered upon his initial return. It might not have been directly, but guilt never cared degrees of cause, especially when one cared . And Alfred Pennyworth cared more than anything.

He was nothing more than a sentimental old fool.

But he would help where he could. He would stand vigil with Bruce, care for the man wherever he would allow. He would keep in contact with Richard and Timothy, check in on them as often as possible ( he would not lose another ). He would place another cup of coffee by the Batcomputer and lie in wait. Nothing would move Bruce from the screens, not even much needed sleep, so he would do what he could and bring him finger-foods- easy to eat while typing away and staring, staring staring.

He would receive cheeky letters from anonymous ( Jason ) persons and deal with his badly behaved Bat as best he could. Scolding the man for being unnecessarily cruel and letting his anger cloud his judgment. (And he would hope it would be enough for Jason, that his scolding would get through Bruce’s thick skull so that he might not make an ass of himself even more. That the crimes Bruce had committed against Jason would lessen rather than stack. That there might one day be a chance at reconcile. That Jason might one day come home .)

But for now he would do what he could. He would wait and he would serve, doing all the little and big things to help. He would keep the manor running even if no one but himself had set foot in it for some time. He would clean and sweep and cook and weed and dust and wash and do everything he possibly could to make the manor clean and welcoming and warm. All in the hopes that someday, someday , the family that had been so painstakingly built and torn apart here, might return. Rebuild.

That all his wayward children might call the manor home once more.

═════ ◈ ═════

Tim had come back to a mess. Alfred had warned him, greatly under-sold the mess- sure, but had still warned him. Bruce hadn’t said anything at all about what had recently been happening in Gotham, only that he needed help with multiple cases.

Bruce needing help with multiple cases was always a bad sign. But Tim had never imagined something like this.

His predecessor potentially coming back from the grave. And murdering people. And Bruce absolutely losing his mind about it.

It wasn’t all that hard, in Tim’s experience, to make Bruce lose his mind. He wasn’t a particularly mentally stable man in the first place. It’d been the whole reason he’d insisted so much about becoming Robin in the first place. Batman needed a Robin. A balance. Otherwise Bruce could so easily lose himself to his grief and get swallowed up in the darkness. He’d seen it first hand after Jason’s death. How he hit harder, cut deeper, and had less mercy for his rogues all around. An inexcusable use of excessive force- all in grief and anger and guilt.

Bruce liked to pretend that he had no emotions. The he had the control to shut them on and off at will. But that couldn’t be further from the truth. The man was made of nothing but emotions. Anger and grief and fear and, astoundingly, compassion . Yes, he was logical and could be cold, and he didn’t talk about his emotions very well. But Tim knew they were there, brewing under the surface.

Bruce could talk about detachment all he wanted. Talk about shutting everything off in order to make a deduction. But that wasn’t what made Batman a brilliant detective. It was his stubborn nature, his drive. His empathy. It’s what made him a hero .

And Tim admired that.

But it also meant cleaning up his messes sometimes, and Tim admired that much less.

He’d barely been given a ‘how are you, chum,’ before Bruce was racing off to find Ra’s and question him about Jason. Leaving Tim to investigate a possible new meta hiding out in Crime Alley. Working with Red Hood. Working with Jason. To puzzle out motive and power set. To find a way to neutralize him should he be a threat ( and Tim didn’t think about how callous that was, how cruel that would seem ).

And thus, Tim did what he did best. Chug a lethal amount of espresso and hack into every governmental database conceivable. He’d find something. He always did.

Except, hours later. He’d found nothing . Not a damn thing. No one outside of Gotham had any record of a glowing hazmat-clad meta that had green blood . He’d scoured any and all social media accounts across the world and no one had ever posted about it. No weird deep-web forum dedicated to sightings of the guy. No newspaper articles complaining about his presence. No tourist commenting about seeing him. Nothing. Usually with a meta like him, someone so conspicuous , there was something. A short video. A dedicated cult. A local news segment.

Anything about the guy was all from Gotham. All recent and none of it helpful. It didn’t explain where he’d come from . What he was capable of . Didn’t explain why he went by the name Fetcher of all things. Was he an alien instead of a meta? Had he been looking in all the wrong places this entire time, because they’d just assumed he was a meta when he wasn’t? Meta, alien, science experiment gone wrong. All questions and no answers.

Tim wanted to rip his hair out.

Bruce had said that it was definitely a hazmat suit, even if it was glowing and slightly customized. Customized to what conditions, though, was the question. Any lens footage had been corrupted so Tim could only rely on B’s overly detailed report for a description. A level B suit. So working with something that was a severe inhalation risk but less of a risk for skin contact. But the SCBA was described as something Tim had never encountered before. A lightweight tank connected to a full face mask and tinted eye-shield. Working with a substance that glowed ? Something that caused the glow that Fetcher let off? But the only things he could think of were either occult or radioactive, and if it was radioactive then he’d be wearing a level A suit. And the green blood. Bruce had described it as similar to Lazarus Water.

Tim shuddered.

What the fuck kind of lab accident might make you bleed death juice?

And then, miraculously, he found a lead. A pair of scientists that worked in hazmat suits that matched the description. He’d need confirmation from Bruce that they looked the same, but the tint to the eye-shield or goggles, despite not working with radioactive material was a big enough clue. The substance they did claim to work with didn’t make much more sense, though. Ectoplasm. From ghosts.

There was no way.

He refused to go down that rabbit hole without confirmation from Bruce. It didn’t matter how morbidly curious he was. He’d fall down that trail later if he wanted. For now he’d need sleep. He couldn’t go any further in his research and the lead he’d found was already slim at best. He felt like a failure, like he needed to keep going. But Alfred was already breathing down his neck about resting and there wasn’t much more he could do anyway.

He saved what he’d found on the Doctors Fenton and trudged up the stairs to his room in the manor.

He couldn’t do much, but he’d help where he was capable. Not with the main case. Bruce wouldn’t let him touch it. But he could look into the secondary one as much as possible on his own, he’d ask about the similarity in the suits and then keep digging himself. He didn’t want B to fall into the same spiral that he had before, to get lost in grief with no one to help. He would be the Robin to his Batman. His support. His balance.

What little help he could give, he would.

═════ ◈ ═════

Bruce would go to the ends of the earth if it meant righting his past wrongs. If it meant undoing the one mistake that weighed on him the most. If it meant bringing back his second ward, his second Robin. If it meant never having to go through the pain of having that little soul slip right through his fingers.

Nothing would ever change that though. Even if Jason was really back from the dead, it would not change the fact that he had died. That Bruce had lost him. Failed him. It wouldn’t change the pain that both of them had felt. The pain of dying. The pain of coming back. The pain of losing someone he never should have lost.

He’d made a promise . And he’d broken it. He was much more careful with those now. Much more careful with everything .

Except Ra’s’ skull.

He had the man pinned to the floor, unmerciful as he questioned the master assassin about Jason. About the sudden appearance of Red Hood. About Ra’s’ possible involvement in his resurrection and why he hadn’t done it sooner or told Bruce about it happening.

“You don’t have all the facts, detective,” Ra’s said, voice strained from the force of Bruce’s weight pushing him into the tile of his fortress.

“Then enlighten me,” he spat, knowing full well he was starting to let his temper get the best of him. He was better than this, but when it came to Jason- everything felt like it was too much. Like his anger and grief could boil over in an instant.

“The Waters cannot bring a person back from the dead!”

“That’s not a fact,” Bruce argued, trying valiantly to tamp down the fury that threatened to overcome him. “That’s a theory.”

“A well founded one,” Ra’s grumbled, indignant. Then quieter, “We tried to bring him back. Initially. Nothing was said about it because it didn’t work.”

Bruce lifted from Ra’s back and stepped away to give the man room to stand, watching intently for any sudden movements the entire time.

“Elaborate.”

“The boy died,” Ra’s began, brushing dust off his robes as he stood, “partially at my fault. I should never have worked with that mad clown in the first place, and the little Robin paid the price for it.”

Bruce stood in wait. He knew all this. Ra’s working with the Joker is what allowed the villain to capture Jason. It was a solid rule in the underworld of Gotham to never work with the Joker. He could not be accounted for, could not be controlled. Ra’s found that out the hard way.

“So, in order to rectify the mistake, Talia stole the body and replaced it with a convincing replica.”

Bruce closed his eyes and held everything in. He would not break here. Not in front of Ra’s. He’d been so overcome with grief when he’d dug Jason’s small little body out of the wreckage, that once he’d finally let it go- he hadn’t had the strength to look at it again afterwards.

“We dipped his body in the Pit,” he continued flippantly, “and nothing happened. We kept the body monitored for a time and then switched it out again after a continued absence of life.”

“So you wouldn’t know about a possible connection between the deceased Jason Todd and The Red Hood,” he stated.

Everything was slipping from his fingers. All his leads were turning to dead ends that didn’t make sense . He knew that The Red Hood was Jason. That was his Robin , returned from the grave. He could feel it, and there were so many clues that led to that conclusion. But they didn’t add up. Nothing was adding up. He felt like he was going insane, trying to shove together pieces that didn’t fit to complete a puzzle he already knew the answers to. He wanted to believe, more than anything, that Jason was alive, but he couldn’t trust that he was (because the disappointment would hurt him more than anything else if he wasn’t) because he didn’t have confirmation .

“Now, I didn’t say that,” Ra’s said, back turned to face the window and the red of the sun rising over the horizon.

“Explain,” Bruce gritted out for what felt like the thousandth time. Always asking for an explanation and never quite getting what he needed.

Ra’s sighed. “Jason Todd was found wandering the streets of Gotham,” he turned to give Bruce an inscrutable look, dark eyes heavy. “He was more akin to a walking corpse than a person. Running on instinct alone. We did not alert you to his resurrection because he was still not himself.”

“You don’t know how he came back,” he said more than asked. This was the more important question. How Jason could walk among the living so long after his death when Bruce would have done damn near anything to bring him back if he could.

“No,” Ra’s answered simply. “But a second dip in the Pit waters after he shambled in with Talia brought his mind back. Which was rather more of a miracle than his initial awakening.”

“Could the first dip have brought him back, but delayed?” None of this made any damn sense. This is why he hated working with magic and mystical things. They never made any sense.

The other man stared, hard and unforgiving. Irritated. “I have worked with the Lazarus Pits for a very long time. And yet I am still no closer to answers for questions such as yours. Your guess is as good as mine.”

“You can’t confirm, definitively, the reason Jason Todd came back to life.”

“No,” Ra’s said with a sneer, body tensing to strike. Bruce had overstayed his welcome then. “That’s for you to puzzle out, Detective.”

Bruce turned and left. There was nothing else he could gain from interrogating Ra’s and inciting the man’s temper. Bruce’s own was on a hair-trigger as it was. He would begin his long journey back to Gotham, only partial answers acquired and more questions whirling in his head.

There was little he could do now. He needed to get back to his city, regardless of what was happening with Jason. Regardless of if he’d come back as the Red Hood or not.

There was little he could do to make up for all the ways he’d failed his second Robin, all the things he hadn’t done in time, hadn’t done when it was needed. But he’d do every small thing he could, now . As Batman, all he’d ever been able to do was small things. One criminal apprehended here, one rogue put back in Arkham or Blackgate there. But the city was still torn apart, citizens still ended up dead. Like putting a band-aid on a gaping chest wound.

He’d never fix everything, but he’d do damage control.

═════ ◈ ═════

Jason wasn’t much of a fan of waiting. Not when he was so much closer to executing the best part of his plan. He knew where the Joker would be soon. He had everything he needed ready. He would capture the crazy clown, beat him near to death with a crowbar to see how he liked it, and then set him like the spring in a trap. Bruce would be back from whatever jaunt he’d fled the city on and he’d be able to goad the big bastard into a chase.

Then he’d snare him and finally get the answers he’d so desperately been wanting.

Why hadn’t Bruce killed the Joker already? And what would it take for him to do it?

What would finally make the Big Man snap?

But first he had to catch the clown. He didn’t know what Harley was up to or what the party she’d mentioned was all about- and maybe he was being hasty in planning to just barge in guns blazing without gathering more information. But he was already antsy. He wanted this done already. He wanted to make Bruce choose . Either Bruce would finally kill the Joker or Jason would die by the man’s hand. Again. He would make Bruce suffer the choice, make him realize the severity of his decision to keep the mass murderer alive. Jason hadn’t been the only one killed by the clown, not by a long shot, and people would only keep dying if he was still free.

The Joker would find his end, one way or another. Jason would make sure of that- even if it had to be from beyond the grave again.

If Bruce chose to kill him instead of the deranged clown- Jason didn’t really know what he would do, but at least he’d have his answer. That Bruce had cared for whatever asinine definition of justice he had more than he ever had Jason. That Bruce cared more for his own personal morals than actually doing something to save the people of the city he’d sworn to protect.

He didn’t have confidence in which answer Bruce would choose.

Waiting also had the downside of giving him time to think . Something he currently didn’t want to do. Not when it made him reflect on his own mistakes. Made him reflect on the ways he’d hurt Fetcher so badly.

He regretted his actions in the dojo that day. But he knew he couldn’t take them back, couldn’t take back the tears he’d caused the other to shed. He was supposed to be better than that. To not let his paranoia get the best of him and allow him to hurt the ones he cared for, they way Bruce often did. It hadn’t taken very long for Jason to go back through everything that had happened with Fetcher and realize that he had severely jumped the gun.

He’d come to trust the kid way too fast, sure, but that wasn’t the other’s fault. He’d been desperate for an ally and he’d seen just a bit too much of himself in the poor soul he’d saved. He’d wanted to protect Fetcher from a fate like his, but all he’d ended up doing was hurt him.

But his eyes- the green- the sharpness there-

Jason paused where he stood in his kitchen, hands gripping the cast iron skillet just a bit too tight. He could hear the metal creak under his grip, likely to snap if he didn’t relent. The kid’s eyes had reminded him too much of the Pit- of when he’d died and come back. Of the torture of resurfacing to a new world he didn’t understand.

If Fetcher had been working for Ra’s he’d been doing a poor job of it. It took Jason far too long to realize that. No movement from Talia or Nanda Parbat. No whisper of activity from Ra’s. Nothing at all to indicate that Fetcher was one of their agents. Whatever mess the kid had gotten himself mixed up in, it wasn’t necessarily connected to the League. And Jason had yelled at him. Called him a monster. And all he’d done- was cry.

Jason was the monster here, not Fetch.

He was likely better off sulking in the graveyard Jason had found him in anyway. It would have only been a matter of time before Jason turned on him. Or did something else to get him hurt, get him killed. Like father, like son.

When Nadi had come to yell at him about Fetcher’s disappearance, it had been something of a relief. Even if she had kicked him in the balls, it was still good to see that someone cared about the kid. Someone good . Someone that could help him where Jason couldn’t. And when she’d come back a second time to demand that Fetcher be allowed back into Crime Alley, he’d reluctantly agreed. He couldn’t face the other after everything he’d said and done, but he wouldn’t banish him for Jason’s mistakes.

He hasn’t seen the other since then. But he knows that he’s in the area. Seen the faint glow of the other brighten a dark alleyway, trailing after Nadi like he used to trail after Red Hood.

Jason shakes off his thoughts and goes back to cooking. Only to realize that he’d made two servings.

Silently, guiltily, he packs it away. He’ll hand it out to the first person he sees once he leaves for patrol (no use in good food going to waste- even if his first instinct is to trash it). The sight of it made him sick.

He’d have to live with what he’d done and that was that. There was little he could do to fix things. Little he could do to help. But he’d keep his distance and let Nadi take care of Fetch where he’d failed so spectacularly. He didn’t want to face the other again, and it made him a coward- but he didn’t want to risk hurting the other more than he deserved. He’d already done enough damage.

( You’re too angry, Jason. You take it out on the wrong people. It makes you reckless. You’re going to get an innocent person killed one day because you couldn’t control your temper. This is not why I let you become my second Robin. You’re benched . Indefinitely. )

Jason was far from perfect and he knew that. But he’d take his imperfection and still try where he could. He’d fix the city, little by little. Build it up where Bruce couldn’t and clean it out where Batman wouldn’t.

Even if he died again proving his point to Bruce, even that little bit, would help in its own way. Make Bruce see where he’d gone wrong or else prove where Batman was failing. If the bastard was too stubborn to see that Jason was right about this, then Gotham had long been doomed anyway. His second death wouldn’t change that.

All he had to do now, was wait.

[fizzigigsimmer]

The power of narrative empathy.

This is kind of a strange post about Billy, but I’m just gonna let it flow. I’m gonna start with this, I am a Billy Hargrove fan. I am a black, queer, female abuse survivor and I make no apologies about loving this character. Also, none of what I just said matters, I just think it’s important to note that we are out here. Even if I wasn’t those things I would still have the liberty and hopefuly the empathy to feel for his character. Today I want to talk about how Billy was written, why I think that’s dead wrong and damaging to those of us who survive abuse without a halo, and I am going to use another beloved fictional victim to do it. He also happens to be one of the world’s most iconic and well known villains. Yes I am going to talk about Darth Vader/Anakin Skywalker, and how his story is real. How it happened to me and it’s happening to someone else right now, and how I see evidence of the same societal failure shown in the films playing out in real time every damn day in the Stranger Things Fandom when it comes to Billy Hargrove. So here we go.

For a highly condensed slightly satirical recap: The genocidal tyrant formerly known as Darth Vader started out as Anakin Skywalker. A gifted child slave whose only living family was his mother. If the words child slave didn’t clue you in, let me just tell you that my ravenous consuming of any and all Star Wars companion novels confirmed that Anakin regularly suffered abuse and was put into life threatening danger by a greedy master because he was a protege pilot. As a result, Anakin learned from a pretty early age that how he used his gifts might literally be the difference between whether he and his mom survived. Fun shit like that.

Despite all, Anakin was a good person. Yeah he was a little rash and a little angry sometimes, but he was also kind, brave, and loyal and had all the makings of a great person - in other words he was an ordinary child who just happened to have a special power that gave his FEELINGS agency in the world.

Enter the Jedi Knights, literal space Knights, and fellow feelings practitioners. They’ve developed a truly insane way of dealing with the fact that their feelings are a literal force in the world, by forming a kind of religion around not allowing themselves to feel very much at all and keeping the peace. They’re the ultimate good guys whose reputation proceeds them and our enslaved child instantly looks up to and idolizes them as heroes. He’s willing to put his life in danger to help them even when there’s literally no gain in it for him and then they happily use him in order to get some parts they need to get off the planet. He’s 9 by the way.

But Anakin isn’t risking his life for nothing nothing. Jedi master Qui-Gon Jin has seen Anakin is a fellow feelings user and immediately thinks he’s the prophesied “Chosen One”, who is supposed to bring BALANCE TO THE FORCE THAT GUIDES THE UNIVERSE. Based on literally nothing nothing and possibly an immaculate conception. Anyway, he’s convinced. Even though he already has an apprentice/surrogate son, he immediately starts love bombing this slave child and filling his head with promises that he’s gonna be freed from his horrible life and trained to be this great Jedi - promises he has no idea whether he’ll be able to keep by the way. So Qui-Gon buys a child and calls it a rescue, and tells him he’s going to have to leave his mother in bondage and cut off all emotional ties to her. Like he can never see her again or even feel too strongly about never seeing her again because Jedi’s aren’t supposed to love. Love is too strong a feeling and it leads to all the other BAD FEELINGS. So the nine year old child slave is told to be brave and start acting like a Jedi already and stop with the whole being scared/guilty about leaving his mother thing.

The nine year-old child slave who has just been separated from his mother for life, does not do that. In a turn of events that should really shock no one, instead he immediately trauma imprints on the first girl who shows him empathy after he opens up about his EMOTIONAL PAIN. He then spends the next decade fixated on this girl and crying out for help because he can not just turn off his emotions. He is constantly criticized, demeaned, and treated like a pariah for not just being able to magically rise above his trauma or control his trauma responses, in order to become the white knight he’s supposed to be for the republic. Side note, when I say dude was erratic AF and crying out for help AF, I mean that. There are several Youtube Psychologists who have done reactions to this character and an interesting theme  throughout all of them is how Anakin displays all of the typical indicators for Bipolar Disorder and Reactive Attachment Disorder. It’s interesting, and I’ve linked a favorite.

So back to this child slave who is either the victim of a three movie long mental health crisis or the Worst Writing Syndrome (I’ll take both for 300 Alex). Obi-Wan, Anakin’s big brother/father figure has no idea what the hell he is doing or how to help him, because he hasn’t processed his own trauma. Time for a side note about Obi-Wan’s former master Qui-Gon. He was an overly critical and emotionally unavailable teacher/father whose teaching style was essentially to give out tiny scraps of approval every now and again just so Obi-wan didn’t decide to swallow his light saber.

So there was Obi-wan, 25 years old, still out here trying to get daddy’s stamp of approval so that he can be a real man who has MASTERED HIS FEELINGS, but he’s being told he’s not ready and reminded of all of his short comings on the regular. It’s Tuesday in other words. But then dad finds this new kid and literally just stops caring about training Obi-wan. He tells Obi-wan it’s time he moved out and got a job with zero notice.

Qui-Gon announces to the Jedi Council that he wants Anakin as his apprentice. Which is super awkward because his actual apprentice is standing right there. When they point out that he’s already got one, he’s suddenly all ‘oh Obi-wan is ready to be a big boy now’. Obi-wan was rightly jealous, hurt, and low-key pissed off, but Jedi’s aren’t supposed to let FEELINGS get the better of them so he swallows sadness.

Qui-Gon might be a bit of a dick but he is still dad, so when he tragically dies right in Obi-wan’s arms and uses his very last breathes to beg him to train Anakin, this fresh as fuck Jedi-Knight suddenly becomes a father figure to a traumatized slave child. And the saddest thing is Obi-wan is a better man than Qui-Gon. He has every reason in the world to hate this little twerp, but he tries so hard to break the cycle and he be the father figure Anakin needs.

But the thing about breaking cycles is someone has to teach you how to do it. The Jedi Council is not out here encouraging Obi-Wan to be emotionally present and empathetic to Anakin’s unique struggles and challenges. And LOLS do he have them. In fact Obi-Wan is constantly in the council room defending Anakin against their prejudice for shit Anakin can’t control, and is often being criticized himself for being too soft with his apprentice. Like they would literally sit him down and essentially tell him to stop being an Anakin defender and apologist 😂.

So the end result was Obi-wan landed somewhere in the messy middle between the dad he promised himself he wouldn’t be and the one he wanted to be, and the child slave’s mental health continued to decline (surprise surprise) until he finally met a creepy groomer who manipulated him by VALIDATING HIS EMOTIONAL PAIN. Nobody intervened, although there was ample opportunities to do so. Anakin was literally as well as figuratively crying out for help the whole time. He didn’t get it. He was told to just stop being afraid. Just stop being angry. Just stop loving your mother and don’t think about what may or may have happened to her. Just stop and do the savior thing okay? JUST GET OVER YOUR FEELINGS ANAKIN.

And the rest is just tragic history.

I took the time to write all that because I have been in Anakin’s and Billy’s figurative shoes. I was abused more ways than I want to recount here, and I’ll just say it. It messed me the fuck up. I know what it’s like to cry for help, over and over again and never get it. I know what it’s like to be blamed for blowing the whistle the same day you’re blamed for behavior that stems from the rage of utter helplessness. I know what it’s like to break shit and hurt people who don’t deserve it because that’s what you know. And I know what it’s like to be told I have to break the cycle somehow, even though you wouldn’t know the first place to begin even if you were in a place safe enough to start.

I aged out of my abuse. Nobody rescued me. The systems failed me. I simply got old enough to move away from my abusers and then after considerable self harming behavior I got lucky and broke good. I reached my lowest low and realized I did want to live and that I had to fix my shit in order to do that. I started going to therapy and working to build the life I wanted. And in case this isn’t clear enough I will spell it out. The world did not look at me, an abuse survivor and empathize. There was not a reliable support system, no heroes in capes. I’m here, stable, loved and in a good place because I survived long enough to buy the help I needed. That’s it. It’s fucking tragic and as a society we have a lot to be ashamed for. We fail.

I empathize with Billy Hargrove because his story is my story. Right down to societies response, and the way his writers decided to condemn him from conception.

As terrible a writer as George Lucas may be that is the one thing he did not do. He could have condemned the character of Darth Vader with his narrative, but instead he wrote what is essentially a redemptive six part epic about an abuse survivor that the ENTIRE GALAXY FAILED. Anakin’s story is a text book case for why it is fucking awful to look at an abuse survivor and put the burden of healing on them. Like they’re just supposed to be organically “resilient” to the shit that you claim you wouldn’t even know how to survive, in order to be some virtuous example to others about how to “stay good”. 

People expect that of characters like Billy Hargrove because that’s what people expect of real victims too. You’re only worthy of empathy if you somehow survive the unsurvivable mentally and emotionally intact. That’s how the Duffer brothers related to Billy’s trauma. In their own words, he’s not written as what he is (an abused child) he’s a villain whom they wanted to look like a real boy so they gave him trauma. He’s written to be judged, hated for his inability to just magically STOP, and then die so that the story can plod forward.

And just in case you don’t yet see why that matters, just stop and think about how people are more accepting of the character who literally decimated planets and slaughtered children, than the teen who was abused and then possessed. Anakin is allowed to have fans who empathize with his struggles, who dream of the better life he might have had. Anakin’s sacrificial death is allowed to be the redemptive moment that it was, and he’s literally allowed to shed the name of Darth Vader and be remembered as the friend and brother that Obi-wan loved within his own narrative. Because he’s written with empathy.

And society responds to that empathy. I have never, not once, been shamed, ridiculed, or called a child murder apologists (or what the fuck ever) for loving his character.

Billy isn’t real, but the people who empathize with and see themselves in his character are real. Nobody’s required to like him, love him, or even want to think about him for that matter but this drive some people have to blanket judge other fans and start calling people weirdos and monsters for feeling anything for him that isn’t disgust - that’s what can stop. You can literally just stop. Back away from the keyboard and take a deep breath. Agree to disagree. Feel how you feel. But don’t go fucking far out of your way to tear strangers down over the internet.There’s no justification in the world for it. I promise.