#There's so much that could have happened behind the scenes

[bloggerspam]

And here it is, the epilogue! We skip back a little bit in this one, for some yummy deleted scenes. Thank you @phantomfen and @haleswallows for your lovely support, this couldn't have happened without ya'll! And thank you @ashrayus for the art that inspired it all. I hope I did you proud!

===

Cass observes BruceBatdad from her vantage point two rooftops away.

She hears StephSpoiler join her soon after, TimRobin following just seconds later.

BruceBatdad is not alone.

A woman and a boy stand before him, and Cass would be a fool to not remember that face, to not know who they are.

Even from so far away, it is hard to forget the woman who gave her candy once, all those years ago.

It is hard to forget her words then too.

I have a son, Talia Al-Ghul had said then, but I'm afraid he does not like sweets, will you throw them away for me?

Cass hears TimRobin and StephSpoiler bicker quietly behind her, lets BabsOracle's soothing voice demanding explanations wash over her in harmony.

JayHood's low timbre joins the cacophony, DickieWing's excited chatter echoing in the comms as he makes his way over. It is Sunday, that Sunday, brunch Sunday, so he is in Gotham tonight.

Bludhaven must be lonely.

She squints. BabsOracle starts to hiss, TimRobin and StephSpoiler tumbling over each other now.

DamianBabyBrother stands at attention, but his gaze is on them.

She waves. He does not wave back. That is okay.

DickieWing cartwheels onto their roof, gives Cass a pat on the head before wrangling the other two.

Cass observes their new baby brother, but does not get much. He is well trained. It does not matter, there will be time to learn.

"Show of hands," BabsOracle's voice is strict, commanding. They all freeze, trained in a better way, "New family member."

Immediately, all hands go up. TimRobin hesitates. It is okay. There will be time.

Cass smiles, watches DickieWing whoop, leading the race back to the Cave.

Cass waves again, but knows not to wait this time, twirling her way through her siblings.

She intends to win the race back home.

===

Alfred contemplates his newest ward as he wipes his hands.

The little one wants to know if there are any tasks assigned to him, which is new and refreshing.

This is, of course, sarcasm.

Master Jason refused to accept food without some kind of chore to exchange.

Miss Cass still shadows him occasionally, on alert for anything Alfred should need.

Even Master Duke is in the habit of asking Alfred if he can help anywhere.

Alfred had indulged them, of course, once in a while. Help them feel at ease.

The problem now is that Master Damian is not actually asking for tasks.

He is asking for information.

That is what intrigues him.

Master Damian stands quietly at attention, patiently, as Alfred considers the best way to navigate this.

"Well," Alfred lifts an eyebrow, "It isn't entirely necessary, Master Damian."

"I must earn my keep," the young master insists, "Blood son or not, I do not plan to waste away here."

Alfred hums. "Then I suppose it would depend on where your skills lie, Master Damian."

"I was trained in survival," Master Damian replies with nary a pause, "I can cook, and do basic cleaning." He tilts his head, reminding Alfred of a Young Master Bruce. "Admittedly, I am unsure of my skill level with no-one to compare to, as it was not necessary to my training."

Alfred lets that ruminate. He could have the young master help with dishes first, chat as he cooks for the family. It would be nice to have someone in residence to help with cooking again. Master Jason still avoids the Manor quiet often, after all.

"It is at least edible," Master Damian must mistake his silence as refusal, "And I learn quick."

"Yes," Alfred reassures the boy, "I am aware. Let's have you start with dishes, shall we?"

Master Damian's lip quirks to the side, small and so very familiar, and rolls up his sleeves.

Yes, this will do. Alfred smiles back, turning around to work on tonight's dinner.

Now, how much to reveal?

===

Steph watches the newest baby Wayne scrutinize Dick's somersault with the kind of concentration of a life and death threat.

It's impressive and at once entirely so sad that Damian executes a perfect somersault two tries later.

Once to get the feel. Twice to adjust.

Genius? Or training?

Steph doesn't really want to know.

It's the 16th item on the list that Damian has excelled at within the first five tries. Steph wants so badly for this little baby to let loose. He's been here for a couple months and he still thinks his stay is temporary.

As if Bruce would let his babiest bat go back to that asshole Ra's.

Talia might be cool, Steph doesn't know. Damian sure loves her, just from the scant sentences he's said about her. But sometimes love just…isn't enough.

Damian does a perfect one handed handstand, twirling around just like Dick did and stepping delicate down, and eyeing the tightrope Duke and Steph had set up for him to try. There's a unicycle somewhere in the gym, they just have to find it.

"Does this spark joy?" Damian tilts his head, from where he's perfectly balanced on the stupid unicycle and looking way too smug about it.

"It does not." He finally answers, dismounting with boring aplomb.

The next hobby is skateboarding—Tim shows Damian how to do an ollie, once the kid has the hang of standing on the board.

It is a special kind of delight to watch a trained-from-basically-birth assassin eat shit on a skateboard.

A pencil is tossed unerringly at her forehead whilst she loses breath laughing, and you know what?

It's totally worth it, especially when it devolves quickly into an office supply version of a food fight between the five of them.

They try new hobbies, and each time, Steph asks "Does it spark joy?"

And each time Damian considers, before he answers very seriously, "It does not."

Steph's gotta admit, the sincerity is what does it for her.

By the end of it, Steph loses the bet, but it doesnt matter.

Babybat'll fit in fine.

===

Duke comes down to breakfast and immediately realizes something is wrong.

Damian has been in the Manor for a while now, and it's been routine for Duke to see him making breakfast with Alfred every Tuesday and Wednesday.

Today is Friday, and Damian is at the stove, alone.

"Hey, little dude." Duke cautiously greets, "Where's Alfie?"

"Pennyworth went to fetch more eggs." Damian doesn't turn around, but he answers, and that's all Duke can really ask for. "Someone had used it up last night, without permission."

Duke whistles. "Enough of them to warrant an emergency shopping trip?" Alfie usually keeps a burden's amount of eggs in the fridge always stocked up.

"Brown and Grayson," Damian carefully says, smirking over his shoulder and obviously trying not to laugh, "decided they wanted pancakes."

"Oh my god." Duke laughs, already seeing disaster and trying to keep it all in to ask his question, "What—what did they do?"

"Apparently," Damian drags out, "They thought that eggs and flour was enough to make the batter."

Damian comes to the table, placing a perfect plate of sunny side up eggs, bacon, and hash in front of Duke.

"Needless to say, they made almost two kilos of pasta instead." He places the second plate at the head of the table. "They tried to fry some of it anyway, and ruined two pans before they realized that perhaps, maybe, pancake batter should look a little more…liquid."

By the time Damian has his own plate sitting across from Duke, he can't breathe from how hard he's laughing.

Bruce walks in, and they no doubt paint a peculiar picture: Damian, smirking and daintily eating his eggs. And Duke, curled over the table and trying to recover and succeeding at a snail's pace.

"Good morning Father." Damian primly greets.

"Good morning, sweetheart." Bruce's voice is confused, but amiable. He carefully picks his way to his spot and compliments Damian on breakfast, who nods in satisfaction.

"Duke, are you alright son?" Bruce asks, when Duke can finally straighten up take one deep breath.

"He'll be fine, Father." Damian waves his fork, "On an unrelated note, would you perhaps be opposed to pasta for lunch?"

Duke fucking loses it.

===

"Well?" Damian sits himself down delicately, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair, expectantly.

They're down in the Cave, sitting across from each other at the round table in the main area, side by side.

Tim rolls his eyes, fine. No pleasantries then. "Are you considering joining the family business?"

Damian tilts his head, puppy-like, not that he'll ever say that to his face. "Which one?"

And that's a fair point. "Either. Any."

Damian purses his lips, in the same exact way Bruce does, thinking. "I am undecided. Why?"

"I was thinking that it was time for me to start making moves to…" Tim wants to be delicate here, considering the history Damian has, "…well, move on."

"Be more clear, Drake." And wow, the way Damian furrows his brow in annoyance is identical to Jason, "Use your words."

Tim huffs. "Robin, Demon Brat." Tim enunciates his words, trying not to smile at the way Damian perks up. "I want to retire."

Damian eyes him mistrustfully, darting from Tim's coffee cup, to his tablet, even to the BatComputer where Tim has a DNA sample running. "…I highly doubt that."

"UGH," Tim groans, "I want to rebrand, so I'm giving you the Robin domino or whatever."

"The Robin mantle must be earned," Damian puffs up like an irate Pomeranian, making Tim laugh for more reasons than one.

"I already retired once." Tim informs him, "Steph was Robin for a hot minute, making her own suit from a Halloween costume."

"She what." Damian's voice is dangerous, but Tim flaps a hand. He can blow steam as much as he wants, he's the baby of the family and despite it all Tim's 87% sure Damian wouldn't hurt a fly.

…Maybe a solid 66%. He'll have to run the numbers.

"She gave it up to be Spoiler real quick," Tim continues, "And then some shit happened, and though he wasn't officially a Robin, Duke was part of the We Are Robin movement."

Damian fumes in silence, which shouldn't be funny, but is.

"In other words, Demon Brat," Tim smirks, "Lots of people have been Robin. And if you don't take it now, well…who's to say someone else won't just…make their own costume?"

Tim waits out Damian's breathing exercises, patient and frankly, uncaring. He fiddles on his tablet, sips at his coffee, considers new vigilante names. With Dick now acting as Nightwing, the transition to Young Justice won't be as confusing even if he did join up as Robin, but Tim would rather not.

Just thinking about the mistaken identity issues with Dick's romantic history is already giving him nightmares. Slim as the chances are, with their builds being so different, but Tim just doesn't want to take that chance.

"Fine." Damian finally says, "I concede. When will training start?"

Tim scoffs. "You're League trained, so you'll just be shadowing for protocol. There's a manual somewhere that Bruce made, but we mostly treat it as a guideline. The Batkids have their own that they update, and you already have access to that on your tablet." Tim gives him a look. "Tell me you need access."

Damian wisely stays silent. Tim remembers that the League isn't really attuned to the intricacies of hacking and coding, but Damian has had no trouble snooping through the system from what Tim has seen. He wonders if the League just got upgraded since Cass got trained, or if Damian is self taught. It doesn't matter.

"Right. Well, Dick said he'll take you on a mission whenever your schedule is open, and you can shadow me on my current patrol, move around. You won't be able to patrol on your own for a while but—"

"What will be your new name?" Damian interrupts, eyebrow raised. Curious.

"Oh—uh. I haven't thought about it." Tim stutters. He didn't expect Damian to ask—

"Liar." Damian accuses, squinting at him.

Tim sighs. "I dunno, Red Robin?"

"That's a terrible name." Damian's nose scrunches. "A stupid name, even."

"Wha—it is not!" Tim slams his tablet down. Damian's eyes suddenly go wide, horror dripping through his tone.

"Drake—tell me you did not simply combine Red Hood and Robin."

Tim stays absolutely fucking silent, grabbing his coffee to keep his mouth occupied.

"Drake, I implore you to be better than this." Damian slaps a hand over his face, which is rude.

"Hey! That is—that is just uncalled for—" Tim pulls his cup down, almost spilling it. He swears, but Damian pays no heed to him.

"I knew you were a fan of Todd's Robin, but this cannot go on. Did you expect me to graduate and become Green Robin?"

"No! That's stupid, there's not such thing as a green robin—"

"There's no such thing as a red robin either! Unless you wish to be named after a subpar restaurant." Damian throws his hands up.

"You've never even been to a Red Robin!" Tim sputters, and tries to get a handle on the situation.

He fails.

"You have at least sixteen unique aliases with full on back stories that you successfully keep track of and disguise yourself into, and you cannot do any better than Red Robin?" Damian says, loudly, over his protests and effectively silencing him,

Tim opens his mouth, closes it. Shuts his eyes. Grumbles. "Well I'd like to see you come up with a better name…"

"Cardinal." Damian gets up, stalking towards the secret entrance, clearly done with this conversation. "I cannot fathom how little sense you have. Ridiculous."

And well. Tim hates to say it, but Cardinal is much better than Red Robin.

Gods damn it.

===

"I will name her Batcow." Dick refuses to coo. Damian is covered in blood and wielding a sword, this is not cute behavior!

How did this happen? This was their first mission. It was supposed to be easy. Tomorrow, Tim was going to take him out on patrols. The weekend after that, Jaybird was going to take him paintballing. Steph and Duke were going to teach him how to prank people harmlessly. This was supposed to be nice, easy Robin bonding!

"That's nice, baby bird." Dick tries to placate, "We can shuffle her with the other cows to their new home—"

"Nightwing," Damian's voice brokers no argument, "I have claimed her."

Dick has to wonder if he was as much of a menace when he was this age. He wasn't, surely. Sure, he got Ace in an unconventional way, but Ace was practically made for hero-ing.

Not to mention Ace was a dog.

"It's great that you want a pet," Dick tries again, "But how about we start with a dog first? Maybe a cat?"

Damian thinks on that a bit, before nodding. Dick sighs a great sigh of relief.

"I would like one of each." Wait. What? No. Nononono—

Cackling echoes in the comms, the hysterics of Steph and Jaybird loud and guffawing in his ear.

"Stop laughing and help me." Dick hisses into the comms as Damian starts flicks the blood of his sword.

"I used to put him in, in air jail." Jaybird says through gulps of air, "Y'know, pick him up wh-hen he was acting n-naughty."

"That isn't exactly applicable here, Hood!" Dick grits through his teeth, causing Steph to shriek in high pitched laughter.

"We will have to take the jet," Damian interrupts, "Batcow will not fit on our motorcycles."

"No, Robin—we, uhm. We don't have room for a cow at home—" Dick wants to tear his hair out. He's too young for this, surely.

Heedless of his words, Damian starts to gently lead the cow towards him, raising a single eyebrow.

"Okay, well. We do have room, but that doesn't mean—"

"Nightwing. Robin." Dick has never been more glad to hear Bruce's voice, "Leave the cow with the proper authorities and report back to the Cave."

"Father," Damian's voice suddenly changes, "I would like to take Batcow home."

"…Robin," Bruce starts, but is summarily interrupted.

"Father, you have missed twelve of my birthdays." Damian's voice goes wobbly, despite Dick physically seeing that his face is stone cold, "And I have not once received a gift."

There's a long silence, and Dick slumps. What the fuck do you even say to that?

"…The jet will pick you up in 3 minutes."

"And the dog and cat?" Damian's voice is smug.

Dick sighs. "I'll take you to the shelter tomorrow."

The comms peak, from the sheer volume of Jay and Steph's mocking laughter.

===

Bruce enters his study with a tablet in one hand and a glass of whiskey in the other. 

It's been a long day.

He’s tired, preoccupied with thoughts of Damian starting school soon. The rest of his children seem to be causing some kind of trouble trying to celebrate it in their own way, and it's giving Bruce a minor headache about it.

Talia's continuous demands of pictures and actual reports is both heartwarming and excessive, but Bruce can hardly blame her.

His eyes should be scanning through the documents that Lucius sent over this morning and is still awaiting approval for. 

What his eyes catch on instead is a new addition to his Gray Ghost shelf. 

It’s an action figure of the eponymous hero, one in almost pristine condition. A first edition. 

Inside the cloche with the Gray Ghost gun is a miniature version resting just beside it. The RC car also has a miniature version perched next to its front wheel. Between the trilby and the goggles lay two hands and a miniature case of the first DVD release.

He tilts his head, feeling his eyebrow raise and a smile crawl up as he picks up the action figure to inspect it. It looks old, but clean. Not quite used, but not sitting on a shelf either—there’s little knicks here or there. Perhaps found in a garage sale somewhere? It’s not even his birthday—still, the gift warms his heart as anything involving his children does.

Now, which one of his kids did this, he wonders?

No matter, he’ll find out soon enough. His children are terrible at keeping secrets, and he isn't Batman for nothing.

He places the figure gently back down in its place, and settles in for the long haul.

===

Talia sits, straight backed with her legs crossed in a highly uncomfortable chair.

Next to her, her Beloved looks lovely in his turtle neck and slacks, comfy, even.

She looks around the room, noting the whiteboard and assortment of small desks behind them,

There are motivation posters, and informational ones with equations listed upon them.

Talia refrains from scoffing, but really, what is the point of putting the answer up on the wall? How will they learn if they have such a crutch?

"Now," The portly man sitting across from them behind a large desk coughs to clear their throat, "Damian has shown high intelligence, his grades are top of the class and he has shown such high promise that the other teachers and I have discussed whether or not it would be beneficial for him to move up grades."

"I believe the principal and I already had this conversation, Mr. Porter." Bruce smiles, but it isn't the nice one, "Dami has always been a smart boy, but he was home-schooled, and we were more concerned about his socialization."

"Ah, yes. Well. The girls in the class seem to find him charming, albeit stoic. He is gentlemanly for his age, and doesn't really participate in…" Mr. Porter coughs once more.

Talia rolls her eyes. "In idle immaturity?"

"Well, yes. It's just—well," Mr. Porter tugs at his collar, "It's just boys being boys really."

"Has he made any friends? Of either gender?" Bruce asks, giving Talia a warning look. She shrugs, putting on her best innocent smile.

"Oh! Yes, one boy, Colin Wikes." Mr. Porter takes out a handkerchief to wipe his brow, "They seem to get along, in their own quiet way."

"That's lovely!" Talia's voice goes high, fake. Bruce winces, but she ignores him, "So his grades are up, he's made a friend, and overall he's popular with the ladies!"

"W-well, yes, but the other boys—"

"Now, now. Bruce is a lady-killer himself, and he managed to figure out male friendships eventually!" Talia simpers,"He had such a close friendship with Harvey Dent after all, before that whole...fiasco."

Bruce sighs, but again, Talia ignores him. "Now, I hear that my son has a talent in art? I see that none of them are hung up—"

This is very important business after all.

No-one can stop her from achieving her mission.

===

Jason opens his door carefully, quietly.

His traps have been disabled and reset, and Jason can only think of two people who would do that.

Both of them came from the League, and both of them don't take kindly to being startled.

He drops his work bag, the one for his mechanic's job, down in the entrance way. He takes of his heavy boots and treads silently through the apartment to find out which sibling came to visit.

He's greeted by Damian, asleep on his couch with an open and currently in danger of falling copy of Pride and Prejudice.

Jason quickly tiptoes over, grabs the book before it can fall to the ground, grabbing the kid's bookmark—a pressed flower that Cass made for him—and placing it to the side.

The fact that the kid hasn't woken up is testament to their time in the League.

Jason's been getting bits and pieces back, ever since he got shot and saw double vision of Damian and a younger version of the kid administering first aid to him.

Talk about shock therapy.

It's not all that pleasant, the memories.

He remembers the grueling training, the pain and anguish and fear of not remembering. Not knowing who he was, knowing Robin was important, not knowing what to do.

But not all of them are bad.

He remembers forcing Damian to brush his teeth for longer than 2 minutes, remembers tucking the tyke in with the bear, even the figure.

He remembers various missions, where he would pick up Damian and carry him to the nearest food stand to make him try an assortment of street foods with a series of flailing movements. Remembers the feeling of accomplishment and pride whenever the little guy would express it was adequate, because that was as good as a 5 star rating.

He remembers carrying him, hastily packed duffle bag and all, and thinking Gotham, Gotham is the safest place to be but not knowing why.

Mostly he remembers watching Damian sleep, peacefully, like he is now.

Because it's novel, then and now, how Damian trusts him enough to do it.

He sits himself down for a moment, always a little woozy when memories come surfacing up, breathing deep and leaning back. It's getting easier to remember, and Leslie had said it would stop eventually, so he weathers it out.

A second later, something warm thumps into his lap.

Damian has his head there, hands fisted like kitten's paws, curling up like a little ball.

Jason sees double, triple, memories and memories of watching this boy sleep and feeling honored and responsible and attached to him.

Brothers in arms, Talia had said, back when he wasn't quite himself, but wasn't Damian's Robin anymore either. You have a brother—

Jason had cut her off then, yelling that no replacement could ever be his brother.

He had eaten his words then, and he's eating them now too.

He lays a hand on Damian's back, rubs up and down his tiny shoulder blades, the way Bruce did when he was first adopted.

Brothers indeed.

He shuts his eyes, just for a moment, to breathe in the peace.

He falls asleep like that, dreaming of teddy bears and robins, and deadly, deadly assassins.

some jasons and damians thats been piling up :]

(and tim and alfred the cat)

[ddarker-dreams]

Cherubim.

Gojo Satoru x F Reader x Geto Suguru.

Warnings: Implied trauma, Gojo and Geto are both weird + manipulative. Word count: 6k.

-Index-

March 18th, 2006. 

2:26 p.m.

-

Gojo Satoru has found himself embroiled in his greatest turmoil yet. 

Assassination attempts? That’s nothing, he’s waved those off since he was a kid. Jujutsu politics? The higher-ups can yap until they’re blue in the face; they’re all bark, no bite. Curses? Similarly inconsequential. No matter how much power they hold, they're reduced to speckled splatters the instant they cross his path. 

For most, experiencing one of these dilemmas would prove too overwhelming, much less all three. He isn’t like most, though. He’s strong. Incomprehensibly strong. He can weather any storm, shift the tides of any battle in his favor. Has this gone to his head? Absolutely. He can handle ‘too much.’ It’s ‘not enough’ that’s proving to be an issue. 

This is why he’s detailing his recent woes to an uninterested Ieri Shoko, who made the mistake of reading in the dormitory’s common area. 

The scene is as follows:

Satoru’s along the length of the couch, his long, lanky limbs dangling wherever they can. He lays his head against the armrest, snowy hair succumbing to gravity in an avalanche that frames his face. He uses his ability to keep his sunglasses from meeting the same fate. Behind the dark frames, his eyes narrow into a piercing stare. If the ceiling were sentient, it would’ve fled by now. Such is the potency of his miserable mood. 

Parallel to him sits Shoko, the fat of her cheek squished upward from resting on her fist for so long. Books, candy wrappers, and notes from last year’s curriculum yet to be thrown away litter the table’s surface. Suguru’s could put a calligraphist to shame, even if they were written in a Badtz-Maru pencil you won from a gachapon. Your notes stand out as well. They’re bright shades of your favorite colors, organized according to a system of your own devising. Occasionally, the handwriting shifts, taking on Suguru or Shoko’s likeness for trickier kanji. You doodle hearts of gratitude around the yomigana they include for good measure. 

(You complained that his handwriting was ‘indecipherable’ when he tried doing the same. Out of spite, he gave you the cold shoulder… for three minutes. He withers and wilts without your attention). 

He sighs and concludes his monologue. 

“So, that just about sums everything up. Well? What’s the prognosis, Doc?” 

“You’re in desperate need of more friends,” Shoko replies. Satoru lets out an unsatisfied grunt. “And you miss [First].” 

Satoru perks up at your mention, finally giving that poor ceiling a much-needed reprieve. He shuffles around until he’s facing Shoko. 

“But she just headed out yesterday.” 

“I know.” 

“That’d make me really weird and clingy, right?” 

“Glad you’re catching on.” 

While Satoru contemplates the previously unconsidered possibility of him being ‘really weird and clingy,’ Shoko reopens her manga. She’s of the mistaken belief that the issue has resolved itself. Unfortunately for her, the problem extends beyond Satoru’s insatiable hunger for you. The problem is Satoru himself. Until he’s running amuck elsewhere, there’ll be no solace. 

She commends herself for her patience. 

In typical Satoru fashion, he continues testing it. 

“When was the last time you updated your passport?” 

“I’m not flying to her home country with you,” Shoko shuts down what he thought was a brilliant plan. “It’s just two weeks. Wait it out.” 

“What if we fly first class?” 

“Gojo.” 

“Yeah, yeah, it’s still too soon to meet her parents. It’s gotta happen eventually though, right?” 

Shoko doesn’t dignify this with a response. 

Satoru sinks into the cushions. Could there be anything worse than boredom? He has no missions lined up, you and Suguru are visiting family, and the first-years haven’t arrived yet. Pestering Utahime has lost its charm too. He could return home before the school year starts, but he’d rather have his fingers chopped off one by one than suffer that torture. 

“Hey, Shoko.” 

“Mm.” 

“Why aren’t you back home? I thought you got along with your parents.” 

“They’re both busy. I wouldn’t see them much.” 

Satoru doesn’t press the matter. 

It does intrigue him though — the relationship sorcerers have with their non-sorcerer families. Or, to be more specific, yours and Suguru’s familial dynamics intrigue him. Satoru can’t (and doesn’t bother trying) to care for the going-ons of anyone outside his small circle. This is more the hubris of a teenager who has been told he’s special his entire life than anything malicious. To Satoru, the world’s population might as well be stuck at three. 

Regardless, it’s an improvement.

Before meeting Suguru, those in his life consisted almost exclusively of suckups or stuckups. If he was unlucky, it’d be both, rolled into one terrible package. This was his reality. Jujutsu was his reality. He was the first to possess the Limitless and the Six Eyes in generations. The Gojo clan wouldn’t waste such an extraordinary opportunity. He was their pride and joy, personality aside. 

He was born to be the strongest. 

He can’t imagine any other life for himself. 

Then there’s you. 

He could see you leading a normal life. You wouldn’t be top of the class or a varsity athlete, but you’d be well-liked. Boys would nervously ask you out on dates and buy you roses with money they got from mowing lawns. You’d be the first one your friends would call when they experienced heartache. Maybe you’d go to college or land an entry-level job. Some co-worker with a decent sense of humor would win you over. Then you’d get married, rent a property, have a few kids… 

Satoru’s stomach twists. He grimaces, shifting his thoughts elsewhere. Namely, the question that’s bothered him for a while. 

Why did you become a jujutsu sorcerer? 

It was intentional. You chose to leave behind your home, your family. You knew the risks. How the body can break and ache in ways previously unrecorded. And what do you get in return for this thankless crusade? Sleepless nights where you tremble like a leaf beside Shoko? A nimbleness at dressing wounds that could only have come from years of practice? 

You’re open about everything until you aren’t. Fear, mortality, loss — when confronted by these unsightly truths, you retreat to someplace he can’t follow. 

Satoru can’t make sense of it. Neither can Suguru. Shoko says they shouldn’t press the matter. He wants to, though. He needs to know how you break. How else can he ensure that you never will? 

He thinks back to that humid August day. The binding vow eviscerated your insides, shards from fractured bones dug into your organs. Until that point in his life, Satoru prided himself on his immunity to fear. The pathogen never lasted long in his system. After all, fear is born from a lack of control. From having something to lose. If he couldn’t lose, what was there to be afraid of? 

It’s a question he’s been avoiding. 

(“If she dies,” he told Suguru, in a voice he barely recognized as his own, “They die too.”)

His mouth feels dry, his tongue heavy. He’ll drink that tea you’re fond of later to satiate his thirst. He wonders if you share its taste.

“What’re you reading, anyway?” he asks, hoping to take his mind elsewhere.

“Fruits Basket.” 

He laughs, incredulous. 

“Seriously? Didn’t take you for a shoujo type.” 

“I borrowed it from [First]. We’re doing a book exchange over break.” 

A book exchange��� three words Satoru never thought would pique his curiosity. However, anything about you demands his undying attention. Even if it’s shoujo manga. Girls who read that genre do it to project onto the heroine, right? So the love interest must have appealed to you. What tropes do you like? Do you want a shy, sensitive soul who blushes and stutters in your presence? A misunderstood bad boy who’s only soft around you? The responsible student council president? 

Oh, he’ll have so much material to tease you with when you return. He can’t wait. 

“How do I enter this exclusive book club?” Satoru demands. 

“You don’t. I don’t trust your taste,” Shoko replies, much to his chagrin. “You can still read it, though. She has all of the volumes in her room.” 

… Your room? 

He grins from ear to ear.

Should he respect your privacy? Probably. Is he going to? Of course not. He never has, there’s no point in starting now. 

This trip of yours might yet redeem itself. 

-

Along the outskirts of Jujutsu High, Geto Suguru spots an odd woman. 

She’s wearing a baggy graphic tee, low-rise jeans, and gaudy bracelets on both arms. Her black hair is tossed up, thick strands sticking in every direction. Even from this distance, he can discern the silver glint of piercings that dot her ear like constellations. The stranger stands slouched, both her hands shoved into her pockets. For her to have gotten this far, she can’t be a civilian. Those unfamiliar with jujutsu can’t find this place. 

He stays still for a spell — watching and waiting. From this distance, she shouldn’t be able to sense his presence. It’s one of the few areas he excels at over Satoru. Satoru’s cursed energy is bright, blindingly so, a thunderous clap that can be heard for miles. Suguru prefers to keep his muted. It coils around his limbs like a serpent, never straying far. This is why you had no difficulty picking out Satoru’s stupefying presence on your first day, whereas he had to make himself known to you. 

Suguru’s lips quirk up. 

He was fated to meet you. 

“Hey! Kiddo!” A deep, somewhat raspy voice exclaims. He blinks rapidly, temporarily thrown off. “This ain’t an art gallery. What’s with the staring?” 

She noticed him? How? 

When the stranger starts slinking his way, he regains his composure. 

“I apologize. It wasn’t my intention to make you uncomfortable,” Suguru’s cadence flows smoother than a river. 

“Hah! ‘Uncomfortable?’ That’s a way of putting it,” she pokes the space beneath her emerald eyes twice. “Even now, I can feel ya picking me apart. Shit’s creepy.” 

His smile tightens. “I’ll be more mindful of my conduct in the future, then.” 

She waves him off. Her golden bracelets clink together as she does so, the sound grating his ears. 

“That’s a lie if I ever heard one. And I should know. Schemers excel at picking out their brothers in arms,” she juts her head up, giving the impression that she’s the one looking down on him, despite the slight height difference. 

“Anyhow, by the looks of it, you must be Sugu-kun.” 

… Did she just call him Sugu-kun? 

“What? Too soon* to be calling you that? Heh, heh…” 

Suguru’s smile tightens. “You can refer to me however you like, so long as I can return the favor.” 

She guffaws.

“Maaan, Goldie sure was gracious in her description of you,” the woman gives him a lopsided grin. “Name’s Akane. There — is the playing field leveled now?” 

“Ishimoto Akane?”

He doesn’t miss the way she winces as her surname is spoken aloud, rather pointedly at that. 

“Ah. S’pose I had that coming.” 

Suguru decides against prolonging her torment. He’s in a generous mood, it isn’t every day he has a chance to learn more about you. This is an opportunity he’ll take full advantage of. 

“And I presume 'Goldie' is [First]?” 

He makes a mental note to figure out the wordplay for your nickname later. 

“Full marks.”

Suguru hums, a sound indicating that he’s drifting deep into thought. 

You don’t mention your mentor often. When you do, it’s normally in the form of endearing (if not mildly concerning) anecdotes.

“She told me that natto is bits of caramel held together by melted marshmallows, like a Rice Krispy Treat. It… it was not like a Rice Krispy Treat…” 

“... For my twelfth birthday, she got me Pokemon Ruby. I remember crying because Roxeanne’s Nosepass took out my Torchic. My cursed energy spiked and the party had to end early…” 

“... Out of curiosity, I drank her stash of Georgia canned coffee. My heart rate was almost high enough to warrant a trip to the ER…” 

Getting anything else relating to her out of you was like trying to wring water from a rock. Suguru didn’t miss the wistful melancholy underpinning your stories. You recalled them with a far-off expression as if mourning that those days of whimsy were over. Initially, he considered it a consequence of growing up. Childhood idols rarely remain highly esteemed as the years pass and maturity accrues. 

His intuition argued that he should examine the issue closer.

(“I met her, y’know,” Satoru mentioned whilst he spun in a rolling chair ‘commandeered’ from Yaga. “Akane. Our girl’s mentor. Former mentor? Whatever the case is.” 

Suguru sat his pencil aside, any investment in his studies gone.

“When?” 

“Last March.” 

Suguru sighed. “And you didn’t bring this up earlier because…?” 

There’s a twinkle in his companion’s sunglasses-covered eyes.

“Must’ve slipped my mind,” Satoru shrugged. 

Liar, Suguru thought, unamused by Satoru’s faux nonchalance. He must’ve had his reasons for neglecting to mention it for so long. Suguru figured your impending trip home had something to do with Satoru’s ‘miraculously’ cured amnesia. 

“What? Don’t tell me you aren’t curious.”

The provocation failed to irk him. Instead, Suguru refocused the conversation.“Tell me your impression of her.”

Satoru stilled, threw his feet atop Suguru’s desk, and placed his hands on his neck. “About what you’d expect from a disgraced daughter of an influential clan. Bad-tempered, tattooed, pierced up… hah! Bet her old man would go into cardiac arrest if he saw her.” 

“Satoru,” he implored. 

“Fine, fine. So impatient,” The white-haired sorcerer complained. “I misread her. She got all mopey after she fessed up about Cursed Technique: Null. I wrote it off as envy. The student exceeding the master, or whatever.” 

Satoru remained silent for a moment. “Post Kaizu, though, I assume the feeling actually gnawing at her… ” 

Kaizu. 

Panicked phone calls. Satoru’s agitated exclamations. His horrified silence. Your breathing faded, theirs accelerated. You looked so small. So human. He scarcely believed the limp girl cradled in his arms just executed such a devastating maneuver. Your cursed energy had exceeded any output he’d felt from you before. It was too much, your body wasn’t ready to endure a spike like that. 

Suguru had never felt so distant from the title ‘strongest.’

At some point later on, in a hospital waiting room, Suguru posed a question. 

Satoru heard him yet offered no response.

“Who taught her how to do that?”

“... was guilt.”)

“You didn’t visit her.” 

Akane blinks. 

“Hah?” 

“You didn’t visit her,” Suguru repeats, his tone firmer. “[First]. Your student.” 

She exhales shakily. Suguru thinks she looks tired. 

“If you have something to say, just come out with it already.” 

He was prepared to wear her down for hours — this willing cooperation saves him time. Although, it doesn’t make navigating the volatile minefield that lies ahead any easier. He knows how to rein Satoru in when he’s going too far. He can fluster you without giving too much of himself away. After rescuing someone from a curse, he knows the exact pitch, timbre, and tempo necessary to pierce through their abject horror. He’s a virtuoso at playing people, a conductor hidden amidst the audience. 

Deceit. Misdirection. Coercion. 

His repertoire is expansive and ever-growing. 

From what he can see — what he can feel — the prodigal daughter before him boasts a similar discography. She returns his unflinching eye contact as if issuing a challenge. Daring him to use dubious methods that might work on anyone else. This obstinate resolve reminds him of you. Once you’ve determined your course, even he struggles to change the route.

He abandons all pretense. 

“You didn’t want her here,” he theorizes. Akane’s face reveals nothing. “You knew something like that was bound to happen.” 

Sorcerers aren’t only at war with curses. No, there’s an inner battle that must be fought as well. The recognition that the next assignment could be your last. And if it is, you won’t be commemorated by the masses; to them, you don’t exist. Your sacrifice will be known to a select few who mourn you, or  a few who don’t. Everything could go right. Everything could go wrong. Engaging in that high risk for such a low reward goes against one’s self-preservation instincts.

How each sorcerer handles this fight is unique to them. 

As for your strategy — you refuse to acknowledge this conflict exists. 

Paradoxically enough, that functions as your self-preservation. 

Akane smiles thinly. She’s almost his reflection, in that regard.

“Full marks.” 

-

Suguru idly observes as Satoru paces back and forth, his troubled figure illuminated by a row of vending machines. 

A nearby street lamp flickers. It’s late, but the local convenience stores glow with artificial light, tempting customers to come inside. Some are weary salarymen grabbing ready-made meals, others are middle schoolers clinking their change together, praying they can afford a sugary treat. The latest group cheers, indicating their triumph. 

The duo receives odd looks — thanks to their school uniforms, no doubt — not that they pay the judgment any mind. No one troubles them. Not even a wandering policeman, who, under normal circumstances, would scold minors out by themselves at night. 

Suguru theorizes that Satoru’s ominous aura is what subconsciously repels them. 

Earlier today, Suguru bid farewell to his parents and boarded a train for Tokyo. As nice as it was to spend time with his family, he’d been looking forward to reuniting with you and Satoru. He amassed quite the phone bill thanks to your frequent correspondence. Nonetheless, he carried the minor debt with pride; it’s a sign you often thought about him. He planned for Satoru to assume the debt by dangling the pictures you sent his way as ransom. 

His encounter with Ishimoto Akane grounded his soaring mood. This was made worse when he entered the dormitory, only to find a tight-lipped Shoko and agitated Satoru. 

Shoko remarked that unlike the two of them, she’d be handling things with ‘tact,’ and retired for the evening, not wanting to catch their ‘stupidity contagion.’ 

It’d been hours since then. That time stretch brought them closer to revealing the complete picture, but a few pieces remained missing or incomplete. 

The frenetic sorcerer stills and rummages around in his pocket.

Suguru takes the opportunity to break the silence. “I—” 

He cuts himself off as Satoru whips out a familiar-looking chapstick. The cutesy design befitting your aesthetic stands out like a sore thumb in Satoru’s large, calloused hands. 

“... Where did you get that?” 

“[First]’s room,” is Satoru’s response, spoken nonchalantly whilst applying it to his lips. “Why?” 

Suguru snorts. Sometimes Satoru’s ungodly strength blinds him to the fact that he’s still a teenage boy. 

“Won’t she notice it’s missing?” 

“I replaced it.” 

“Ah.”

“She has plenty more in the drawer beneath her vanity if you want one.” 

Suguru knows the exact spot Satoru’s referring to. They both helped you assemble it (Satoru got bored fifteen minutes in and fell asleep on your bed but still claims credit). 

After noting this suggestion, he asks, “Have you calmed down?” 

Satoru barks out a ‘hah!’ as if he’d just heard a hilarious joke. “Me? Shouldn’t I be askin’ you that?” 

Suguru massages his temples, sensing the looming headache that awaits him. “Satoru…” 

“We could follow her residuals, you know,” Satoru suggests. He tips his sunglasses down, revealing eyes that gleam with predatory intent. “With the Six Eyes, it’d be a walk in the park.” 

“And then what?” 

“Oh, you know, chat about the weather, latest political scandals, that sort of thing.” 

“You can’t strong-arm yourself through everything in life, Satoru,” Suguru chastises. 

Satoru opens and closes his lips. He folds his arms, scrunches his eyebrows together, and rapidly taps his foot. The shift puts Suguru at ease. Satoru adopts this countenance on the rare occurrence he’s faced with a formidable threat. The serious, almost somber visage speaks to his ironclad resolve. Suguru may have told his companion that he can’t strong-arm himself through everything, but that’s a half-truth; the Gojo clan’s pride can do whatever he pleases. 

It’s consideration of the aftermath that Suguru wishes to instill in his companion. Tempering the arrogance of a God is no easy feat. 

“... She isn’t going anywhere,” Satoru declares, as if any other outcome was blasphemous. 

“She isn’t,” Suguru agrees. Then, he lowers his voice, adding, “We can’t disregard what Ishimoto-san is getting at, though.” 

“Simple — all our girl needs is a good ol’ fashioned intervention.” 

“An ‘intervention,’” Suguru deadpans. “Didn’t you already try that?” 

Satoru smiles in a way Suguru can only describe as dopey, reminiscing on the night you got ‘mad at him for wanting you to be mad at him.’ That’s how Suguru interpreted the detailed account Satoru gave the next morning, anyway. 

(“I wish she would’ve cried, just a little bit; it would’ve made her look extra cute,” Satoru cooed, to which Suguru shot him an exasperated look. “Oh, don’t act so high and mighty. You’d make her cry just so you could wipe her tears away.”)

Suguru shakes his head. “Here’s what I think — the self-sacrifice in and of itself isn’t the problem. Well, the main problem. There has to be a reason, something personal… identifying that takes priority.” 

A gust rips through the narrow street, howling as it terrorizes store signs and doors with weak hinges. The two strongest sorcerers remain oblivious to the drift. What occupies their mind is greater than any force of nature, insignificant or otherwise. They have the means to challenge natural phenomena itself. And they would, should they deem it an obstacle to their goals. This single-minded determination is what elevates them beyond the rest. 

“I guess the old man has a soft spot for us after all,” Satoru says, referring to Yaga, Suguru guesses.

Breathlessly, he chuckles. “Maybe.” 

Studying Satoru from his peripherals, he silently mulls over the far likelier reality—  

—that Yaga understands Satoru’s potential for saving this world is matched only by his capacity to condemn it. 

-

From a young age, Ieri Shoko found irony everywhere she looked.

It’s prevalent in the medical field she wishes to pursue. When stabbed, it’s better to leave the knife in than immediately pull it out. For an immune system to better defend itself from a virus, it must first be exposed to it in trace amounts. If an appendage becomes too infected, removing that piece of the body is better than keeping it whole. It was you who pointed out this theme extends into the world of jujutsu. 

“You’d think fighting to survive a curse instead of defeating it would be an okay alternative, right?” You had said. “But really… that just means someone else gets to foot the bill. All ‘cause you cheaped out.” 

She regrets not asking you to elaborate. At the time, the observation felt so personal, so intimately interwoven with who you are, that she thought it best to leave it alone. 

Watching you now, lounging on the swing beside her, she’s determined not to repeat her previous mistake. 

“Tired?” 

“Well, yeah,” you laugh. It sounds off. “I wasn’t meant for long flights. It takes everything out of me, y’know?” 

Shoko unsuccessfully digs around her pocket for a lighter. The search ceases when she recalls its inopportune location — left behind in her dorm room in the rush to be the one who reaches you first. Not sure what else to do with her hands, she folds them onto her lap. Meanwhile, you pick at a stray thread on your jeans. 

“I didn’t mean from traveling,” she clarifies. 

“Hm?” 

“How many curses did you exorcise back home?” 

Your fingers go still.

“I dunno… a few?” You shrug, stuffing your hands in your pockets. “If I happen across them, I’m not gonna just let them run amuck. That’d be irresponsible.” 

Your nonchalance comes across as forced. You may be keeping your words lighthearted, but she can tell you’ve dialed up your senses, monitoring her closely. It reminds her of a cornered mouse. It’s then that any lingering doubt over her choices leading up to this moment dispels. Resolve strengthened, she swears to make as much progress as she possible before those two catch on. She felt a bit bad lying about your flight’s time, but felt the situation justified the call. 

“It feels different when they’re close to home, doesn’t it?” 

Shoko’s eyes scan over the lively park before them. There’s a group of children playing with one another, some scouring the grass for bugs and others playing tag. Their guardians watch from a distance, chatting amongst themselves, likely discussing the upcoming poor weather or latest neighborhood scandals. Young couples walk hand in hand along the pathways, cheeks flushed from the joy of experiencing their first love. 

“Encountering a curse is draining. Fighting them, even more so. But when they’re on a street you walk every day, or a few blocks over from your house, you can’t help but start thinking. ‘What if I hadn’t come this way? Would it have hurt people I know? People I love and care about?’”

Her eyes find yours. “‘What if it killed them?’”

You look like you’re going to be sick. 

She ignores how your expression contorts her stomach and continues. “Sorcerers are in the minority, it’s true. So… fighting to survive isn’t selfish. It’s strategic.”

In the distance, the rough silhouette of two individuals grows clearer. The spotlight she commandeered grows fainter with their every step. In what remains of the fading limelight, she considers you. The CC cream that conceals the worst of your exhaustion, how your pupils dilate from high caffeine intake, then your fingers. The keys that when steepled just so, open the future for others at the cost of permanently locking yours. 

She reaches over and gently squeezes your hand. 

“Remember — we won’t be much help to anyone if we’re six feet under. So let’s aim to stay above ground.” 

-

The evening sun sinks into the horizon, demanding acknowledgment in its final moments by dousing all in a fiery hue. 

Your uniform absorbs the brunt of this last stand. The dark fabric devours the waning sunlight, heating you from head to toe. It didn’t fully occur to you that you were back when you walked through the torii gates lining the mountainous path. Nor when you unpacked in your dorm, stuffing your passport away until your next break, where it’ll serve you faithfully again. 

Instead, it was the simple act of putting your uniform on again that made home seem far, far away. 

You’d gotten used to your clothes smelling like your mother’s preferred detergent. It’s a brand you couldn’t find in Japan, sold exclusively in your home country. You wondered what meal your parents were having when you straightened out your collar. If your neighbor ever fixed that rumble their old sedan huffed out as you slipped into your tights. Whether your grandpa knew you’d landed safely when you brushed lint off your skirt. 

The campus atmosphere is serene. Tengen’s barrier is a bulwark against curses, insulating you from any potential threats. Without this assurance, some part of you was always on the defensive, anticipating anything when you slept in your childhood bedroom. It siphoned away your vitality, just like Shoko pointed out. 

You sniffle and kick a rock aside. 

How does it always end up like this?

First Akane, now Shoko, you hug yourself. I just want to protect others. What’s so wrong with that? If I don’t, then who will?

You pause abruptly. 

When Akane began mentoring you, the world as you knew it changed. Suddenly, you were given knowledge no one else was privy to, for they lacked the tools to comprehend it. You’d seen those ‘creatures’, but it was Akane that explained their malevolent nature. What they could do, the pain they inflicted, how defenseless the population at large was against them. 

The shadow that this monstrous threat cast could never be outshone by light. The best you could do was create safe pockets the size of pins in the darkness. That was the extent of your hope, the most bitter pill you’ve ever swallowed.

The lingering specter of Shoko’s reassuring touch prickles along your hand. 

It’s easy to forget you’re not alone anymore after fighting by yourself for so long. 

-

Eventually, you happen upon a clearing near the school’s main grounds. 

The steep inclines surround a sizable outdoor track. This area is known colloquially as the school’s training grounds. You prefer to train in a more secluded, wooded area, but not everyone shares your enthusiasm for subtlety. Namely, the two prodigies who have turned the field into a colosseum that’d rival the battles of ancient Rome. 

You take a seat on the grassy hill and watch what unfolds. 

Your eyes can scarcely follow the blows Suguru and Satoru exchange. Their sparring sessions are unreal — blurring the very fabric of reality. Somehow, they manage all this without using cursed energy. The spectacle you’re witnessing is simply hand-to-hand combat. It’s like watching a film with skipping frames. In a matter of seconds, they can travel a hundred meters and return to their original position. Your brain struggles to process the stimuli your senses are feeding it. 

They were already strong when you met them. But now? The nomenclature doesn’t exist to properly classify them. 

And in the future… 

There’s no telling what highs they’ll reach or the ceilings they’ll shatter. 

Their light is the most dazzling you’ve ever seen.

Within a few minutes, they conclude their training session. Satoru instantly beelines toward you, whereas Suguru cycles through stretches. There’s not even a single drop of sweat on Satoru’s body as he plops to your right. He’s wearing his signature sunglasses, despite the night's looming shadow. 

“Shouldn’t you be asleep or something?” Satoru asks. “It’s past your bedtime.”

You punch him lightly on the shoulder. He yelps out an exaggerated ‘ouch!’ rubbing the area to soothe the nonexistent wound. 

Suguru approaches at a far more leisurely pace, sending a wave that you return in kind. 

Satoru, not one to be forgotten, yells out, “Be careful, Suguru! She’s violent!” 

“Only against those who deserve it,” Suguru replies.

Fondness blossoms inside your chest as you laugh. You’d forgotten how simple life feels around them. It’s as if when the three of you are together, you’re swallowed by a pocket dimension, isolated from everyone and everything. Permanently inhabiting this utopia is a temptation. 

Satoru places his hands behind his head and lays onto the ground. “Here I am, potentially out of commission forever, without a single ounce of sympathy to show for it.” 

“We could always settle in court,” you offer. 

Suguru stands before you, hands on his hips. “Or he could finally figure out how to use reverse cursed technique.” 

At this, Satoru shoots back up, his sunglasses falling askew. “Hah? Last I recall, you gave yourself a headache giving it a go. At least I’m not that bad.” 

“Hurdles are necessary to improve. Without any, how do you know you’re truly making progress?” 

Satoru gives him a grossed-out look. “All this philosophizing is gonna turn your hair gray before you hit twenty.” 

“That’s rich, coming from the guy whose hair is already white,” You point out. “What’s that say about you?” 

Suguru muffles his laughter behind his hand. 

Satoru’s quick to overcome his incredulity. “It says that I’m going to spoil the next volume of Inuyasha. Sesshomaru—” 

You cover your ears and sprint off. “Can’t hear you, can’t hear you, can’t hear you…!” 

He chases after you, periodically shouting the names of the main characters right when you think he’s finished. You do your best to block out his voice, running like your life depends on it. He’s hot on your heels, cackling at your expense. After a stretch of silence, you uncover your ears, hesitantly turning around to check if he’s finished his torture. 

You meet Satoru’s gaze. His lips are parted, his eyebrows slightly raised. Your reflection in his dark lenses appears equally perplexed. He straightens his sunglasses and regards you with an unreadable expression. 

“... You’ve gotten faster.” 

The comment is so quiet, you’re unsure if you heard him correctly. 

“Hm?” 

“Nothing,” he dismisses, waving you off. “You shoujo-loving types sure take this stuff seriously. It’s almost cultish.” 

“I don’t wanna hear that from the guy who references Digimon like it’s some sorta scripture!” 

“Honda Tohru is a lame heroine.” 

You audibly gasp. “Wh— you take that back!” 

And so it’s your turn to chase Satoru, who, for reasons unknown, is oddly knowledgeable regarding Fruits Basket. 

-

“Could you guys be honest with me about something?” 

“All depends.” 

“Of course.” 

Satoru and Suguru’s responses come out simultaneously, the contents offering little reassurance. You’re not sure what you expected. Nonetheless, you press past the gnawing discomfort, your conversation with Shoko a fresh memory. 

“Did Akane stop by while I was gone?” 

You scrutinize their countenances for involuntary reactions that might betray their inner thoughts. You begin with Satoru, who was in the middle of cleaning his sunglasses when you posed the question. His eyes, which normally brim with mischief, have an eerie calmness about them; like sheets of ice that were once choppy waters. He smiles softly and slips his lenses back into place, undoubtedly aware of the intent behind your stare. 

Then there’s Suguru. He hums, as if finding your inquiry unexpected and not an inevitable point of contention. He’s a more challenging puzzle to decipher than Satoru. With the latter, you can roughly gauge the greater picture, blurry and incomplete as it may be. Suguru, on the other hand, hasn’t given you enough pieces to attempt a solution. 

Satoru continues mulling over your question while Suguru responds, “Is that what’s been worrying you lately?” 

So they picked up on it too, you think. 

Frowning, you shift in your seat. Blades of grass tickle your thighs and you push your skirt down. 

“Er… not that, specifically,” you admit. You feel like you’re surrounded by walls that know just how far to close in to give the impression you might be crushed. “I just… I’ve been thinking. About why I’m here— what I’ll go on to do. And, well…” 

Much to their surprise, you stand, squeeze your eyes shut, and bow ninety degrees. 

“For so long, I’ve carried this burden. The truth is, when I first learned about Null, I was relieved. I’d always have something to rely on in the worst-case scenario. But at the same time… that meant not using it could also be a mistake. You have no idea how much that scared me.” 

You curl your hands up into fists. “I don’t want to think that way anymore. I see it now — have for a while, actually — strength I couldn’t even imagine before. So, I guess what I’m trying to say is… I’m in your care. If it’s alright, I want to rely on others, starting with you two.” 

Your heart pounds wildly in the silence that follows. 

Maybe this is selfish too, you think. But I don’t want to be alone anymore. 

You hear Suguru speak your name. It isn’t until he repeats it, his tone kind yet firm, that you straighten yourself and face him. 

Satoru stands further back, scratching his neck. Much to your confusion, a red flush has risen to his cheeks, extending up to his ears. Suguru corrects your staring by taking your face in his hands and redirecting your attention to him. Warmth envelops you. Your faces are inches apart, but somehow, the distance feels nonexistent, like he’s peering into your mind unhindered. 

“Surely, you can dream bigger than that,” Suguru chastises.

“... Eh?” 

“Do you think so little of us?” Satoru grumbles. It almost sounds like he’s pouting. Was he not listening to anything you just said? The sincerity behind your every word? Why are they both acting like you insulted them? 

“Eh?!” 

“I’m glad you’ve come to this realization, but… you don’t have to rely on anyone else. Just us,” Suguru takes a step back, though he keeps one hand cupping your cheek. You feel lightheaded. “After all…” 

“... We’re the strongest.” 

notes:

*this pun actually works decently in english ?? but akane is making a reference to how suguru sounds phonetically similar to すぐ, or sugu, which means 'soon.'

[nataliasquote]

Double the trouble | Switch Up | n romanoff

Double the trouble AU

Summary: Yelena is back, the twins are older, and her scheming ways do nothing but backfire. a mother always knows…

Age: 8

Warnings: none

wc: 3.3k

note: hello! I’m back with another little oneshot for DTT. I’ve missed writing tbh and although this isn’t the best, I’m pleased to finally write. I’m sorry for keeping you waiting!

-⧗-

Leaving the twins with Yelena was either the best idea or the worst idea Natasha had ever had. But with Wanda away visiting her brother, Natasha didn’t really have much of a choice. Work didn’t allow her to take time off like this, so she turned to the next best thing.

The blonde was as grumpy as anything until she was faced with the two bundles of joy that were her nieces. She hated kids, but Isla and Y/n were an exception. She opened the door with a huge grin as the twins came barreling towards her, crouching barely over the threshold to collect them in a hug.

Natasha hovered back by the stairs with a soft smile tugging at her lips. Despite having a rocky patch, she truly loved Yelena with all her heart. And seeing her girls happy was all that mattered. She wished she could stay, but with new development plans happening at the studio, she had to oversee the final meeting.

“Are you staying all day?” Isla asked, peering round to look at Yelena’s truck parked in the driveway. “Where’s Fanny?”

“I’ll get her out in a minute, and yes I am, lucky duck.” The twins cheered at her response, their chatter tumbling over the top of each other as they bombarded their aunt with questions. Natasha quickly stepped in, taking them by the hand so Yelena could finally enter the house. After sending her girls over to the couch, Natasha pulled Yelena to one side, whispering in hushed voices.

“It shouldn’t take long, but in case I’m held back, there’s boxed mac and cheese in the cupboard and the girls made cookies last night so they’re in the green jar.”

“Mac and cheese, green jar, got it.”

“Please don’t give them too much sugar,” Natasha warned, knowing her sister’s tendencies, “and they have been arguing a lot, so good luck.” She didn’t really need to tell Yelena what to do, she’d babysat since they were really little, but it gave Natasha a piece of mind to know they were well looked after.

“Natasha, they’ll be fine. Don’t you trust me? Yelena asked with a grin.

“Absolutely not.”

Yelena rolled her eyes, stuffing her hands into her pockets. “So who’s the troublemaker this time?”

“Y/n has been in a mood for the past few days, so it’s currently her. Apparently Isla's existence annoys her.” As if on cue, a yell sounded from the living room and Natasha inwardly groaned. A moment of peace was never on the cards.

As she went to sort out whatever argument was occurring with her eight year olds, Yelena let Fanny out of the car and watched the Akita bound up the front steps, her tail wagging frantically. Any normal person would feel bad about the amount of hair she shed, but it only made Yelena laugh. She truly made every place her home.

The scene in the living room was absurd even for Yelena. Natasha was scolding a pouting Y/n whilst Isla cried in her arms, clutching something hidden behind her hair. Yelena hovered awkwardly, unsure how to approach, and Fanny did the same. It was almost like she could read the room.

Natasha, breathing a sigh of relief, gestured for Yelena to approach, to which she did. A sniffly Isla was pushed in her direction and the young girl lunged at her aunt, clinging to her waist with a sob.

“What happened?” Yelena mouthed, her eyebrows shooting up as Natasha held up what looked like a barbie doll. “Where’s the hair?”

“This one got scissor happy,” Natasha said exasperatedly, jabbing her thumb in Y/n’s direction.

“She stole my barbie!” Y/n protested, folding her arms across her chest in a huff.

“No!” Isla burst out,” that’s mine!”

“Well I don’t care, I was playing with it!”

“Get your own!”

Above their heads, Natasha gave Yelena a look. This is what she had been dealing with since Wanda left and although she hated leaving her kids, the bickering was starting to wear her down. It was Yelena’s turn to handle it for once. She just hoped the house would still be standing when she got back.

“Girls, please,” Natasha sighed, standing up with the barbie in her hand. “Mama has to go in a minute, and I’m not having you acting up for Yelena.” She used her stern mom voice and Y/n paled, hating being told off. “Y/n, can you apologise to Isla please.”

“No.”

Natasha may have a soft spot for her youngest but the glare that crossed her features made the little girl’s eyes well up and she hung her head in shame. “Y/n…” Natasha warned, knowing what came next if she didn’t start behaving.

“Sorry,” Y/n mumbled, suddenly very interested in the sleeve of her pink sweater.

“Good,” Natasha stated, brushing off the dog hair from her sleek black suit trousers. “I want you two on your best behaviour, and Yelena will tell me everything that happens. If I find out that you’ve been disrespectful and naughty, I will tell Mama. Okay?”

The girls mumbled in chorus, with Isla still clinging on to Yelena and Y/n standing by herself. It was just a phase, Natasha had to keep reminding herself that, but it certainly felt as though it was going to last forever. She wasn’t the bad mom, but Y/n’s behaviour had been so bad lately that not a day went by where she wasn’t being told off. It hurt her to see her daughter so upset, but Natasha stood strong. It was her own kindred spirit that she saw in Y/n, and now she understood why she was such a difficult child sometimes.

“We’re going to have fun, right guys?” Yelena asked with extravagant enthusiasm, although the responses she got were far from it. “You can go and do your boring adult stuff whilst the cool kids do… cool kid stuff.”

Natasha anxiously glanced at her kids, a wave of doubt washing over her. “Are you sure you’ll be okay? I can cancel-”

“Natasha, go, I’ll be fine. They’re angels with me and I’ve got Fanny with me if it all goes wrong.”

The dog in question gave a small woof and Natasha eyed her warily, far more a cat person than a dog person. She wasn’t totally convinced, but motherhood had made her anxious so she straightened out her jacket and nodded, psyching herself up.

“I’ll be back by 5, 6 at the latest.”

“Have a good day Mama,” Y/n said quietly, trying desperately to get back on her good side. Having Wanda mad at her was bad enough, but having Natasha was the worst thing she could think of. And when her Mama crouched down and opened her arms, Y/n took her chance to get to the hug first, muttering another ‘sorry’ to try and make amends.

“Be good, girls. I’ll be home soon.”

‘Aunty Lena, does Mama hate me?” Y/n asked as the door closed. The blonde frowned and turned to her niece, her large green eyes piercing into the Russian’s soul.

“Of course not, little bug. But you have to start being nice to Isla, okay?”

“I know,” Y/n replied. “She just really makes me mad.”

“That’s what sisters do. Your mama and I used to fight all the time.”

Y/n’s eyes lit up. “You did?”

“It’s totally normal, little bug. When your mama had blue hair, I used to tease her about it all the time.”

Isla’s head perked up at that. “Mama had blue hair?”

“Has she never shown you pictures?” Yelena asked in disbelief. Both girls shook their heads and Yelena grinned. “I’ll make some hot chocolate and I can show you. Your grandma put all our photos as kids in an album.”

The twins cheered loudly and ran to the kitchen, laughing with each other. It was such a stark contrast to earlier that Yelena had to do a double take at what she was witnessing.

“I’m glad you’re not this much work,” she muttered to Fanny, who barked happily at the noise. Kids really were hard work.

~~~

“Lena, kick it!” Isla yelled across the garden, dancing around the goal whilst her aunt really took her time. She was doing it purely to mess with her niece, and it was working perfectly. With another yell, Isla sprinted out of the goal in an attempt to tackle, but Yelena took her chance and sent the ball flying into the goal with a thud.

“That’s not fair!” She cried, running over to retrieve it.

“Another point to Aunt Lena!” Y/n announced from her place at the side before launching into another back walkover. She’d only recently learned the skill at dance and was more than happy to do acro tricks whilst they played. As long as she kept score as promised.

“No! That doesn’t count,” Isla protested, one foot propped up on the ball. “She cheated.”

“I didn’t cheat, you just have no patience,” Yelena said sassily, propping a hand up on her hip. “You’re not going to make a very good goal keeper.”

“I hate soccer anyway,” Isla grumbled, kicking the ball as hard as she could in Yelena’s direction. “It sucks.”

“It’s only because you’re bad at it,” Y/n piped up, now sitting on the porch steps after exhausting herself from cartwheels.

“You’re worse!” Typical comeback but Yelena had had enough. With a roll of her eyes, she marched towards the goal, giving Isla a bump with her elbow as she walked past.

“New game, I’ll be in goal and you have to work together to score. Deal?”

Isla shook her head. “I’m not playing with her, she can’t even kick a ball!”

“I can too!” Y/n protested, sprinting up to her sister. “I’m better than you and I don’t even have lessons.”

“That’s so not true. You-”

“Guys!” Yelena shouted, her Russian accent thickly coating her words. “Do you ever stop this fighting? It’s so annoying!”

The twins went silent, an uncommon phenomenon. Y/n muttered something under her breath but Yelena didn’t have it in her to care anymore. Every time she babysat it made her more and more impressed at how Natasha did it. A true saint.

“New rules. You have to pass it to each other before trying to score. If you don’t, the point goes to me. Okay?”

“Fine!”

Surprisingly, very few fights broke out over the course of the game. Isla did most of the scoring after Y/n well and truly botched her tries. But in her defence, her legs weren’t made for kicking the shit out of a soccer ball.They were made for cartwheels, which Isla soon got fed up with.

After far too long outside, Yelena rounded them up and herded them back inside after teeth started chattering and Y/n’s soaked trouser legs from falling over were turning her lips slightly blue.

After a quick bath she sat them both on Isla’s bed and dug through her closet for some comfier clothes. After a few minutes she sat back on her knees, her mind racing.

“Do you guys match anymore?”

“Ew,” Isla said, her nose scrunching. “Never. All Y/n wears is pink, and I hate pink.”

“You also hate dresses too.”

Yelena was quiet for a moment, the cogs in her head turning. She turned around with a sheepish smile, almost shaking with excitement.

“I have an idea, but you need to cooperate… okay?”

~~~

Natasha sighed as she stepped out of her car, her breath forming a small cloud in front of her. It was far too cold for October and she rushed up the front steps to get inside. The building work was looking amazing and she knew Y/n was itching to get back to the studio just as much as she was (there was only so much kitchen ballet they could do).

It was eerily quiet as the front door opened, only her heels sounding on the wooden floor as she approached the kitchen. She wasn’t met with a pile of bodies throwing themselves at her, which was probably more strange than the silence. Had she trusted Yelena too much and her sister had kidnapped her children and ran off to Russia? Honestly it wasn’t such a surprising theory.

Empty kitchen�� empty living room… this was weird. But the sound of giggles couldn’t be hidden and Natasha kicked off her heels at the bottom of the stairs and took the stairs two at a time, her trousers straining around her thigh muscles. Isla’s laugh was the most distinguishable and she pushed the door open slowly, trying not to startle anyone.

The wholesome sight of the three of them sitting on the floor surrounded by stuffed animals was enough to melt Natasha’s heart and she smiled softly, leaning on the doorframe waiting for someone to notice her. And strangely it wasn’t Y/n but Isla who jumped up first, almost stumbling over Fanny to get to her Mama with a shriek.

Natasha caught her daughter in her arms and pressed kisses all over her face, warmth flooding her body. She would never feel complete when she was away from her girls.

Y/n quickly joined in, wanting the same cuddles. Natasha crouched down and stroked their cheeks before pausing slightly, squinting. Something wasn’t right and Yelena’s overly wide grin didn’t help her suspicions either. She stroked Isla’s hair with a chuckle and straightened up, her back aching from bending down so much.

“Did you girls have a good day?” She asked, watching as Y/n settled back on the floor beside Fanny. “You both look happier than when I left.”

“We played soccer and beat Aunt Lena!” Y/n piped up. “I scored all the goals.”

“No, I helped too!”

Natasha didn’t miss the way Yelena nudged her nieces or how their eyes went as wide as saucers. But the redhead just chuckled and took a seat on Isla’s bed, her legs slightly aching from standing all day.

Isla stood in front of her, clearly torn with where to go. Natasha knew she wanted to sit on her knee but watched as she settled beside Yelena again. It was impressive, Natasha gave her that much. Very dedicated to the cause.

“You did? Well done baby. Have you behaved today?”

“They’ve been angels, sestra, as usual. It’s only you they are bad for.” Yelena had a shit eating grin and it took everything in Natasha not to launch a pillow at her head. But she could not condone aggression around her violent children anyway before Y/n got any more ideas.

“Is that right?”

“Mama you had blue hair!”

If looks could kill, Yelena would be well and truly dead. If there was one thing Natasha hated, it was pictures of her younger self. She made far too many questionable decisions and went through one too many boxes of hair dye, so seeing pictures was a no no. Not even Wanda had seen many. And now her daughters had seen the worst ones which she was never going to live down.

“Yelena Belova… what did you do.”

The blonde just shrugged and jumped up, causing Fanny to do the same. The queen of avoiding things. “Who wants Aunt Yelena’s special mac and cheese?”

The twins both cheered and raced out of the room after their aunt, leaving Natasha slightly bewildered in the blue and white room. There were times where Natasha convinced herself that Yelena wasn’t all that bad, and then she pulled stunts like this and put herself back on top of Natasha’s hit list. But that was never going to change.

“What else did you show my kids, Yelena?”

No reply. Typical.

Natasha truly was outnumbered when her sister was around. But then she remembered what was really going on and a small laugh escaped Natasha’s mouth. Adorable, really.

Y/n and Isla helped as much as they could to make dinner, including standing on a chair to stir the boiling noodles and dumping the cheese packets in when instructed. Natasha was banished to setting the table after Isla gave her a lecture about her inability to cook, clearly something else she’d picked up from Yelena. But Natasha yielded, setting the cutlery down with a shake of her head. The longer it went on for, the more she tried not to laugh. And the more slip ups she noticed.

Like how Isla wouldn’t stand on the chair because she was scared of heights, even though yesterday she climbed the largest tree in the backyard. And how Y/n stood still when waiting for her turn, when she’d usually be twirling around with her apron. Natasha could only watch as Yelena heavily emphasised their names and the twins burst into giggles whenever they answered her. It was adorable to see and she couldn’t wait to tell Wanda.

They ate in silence, which was usually the case when mac and cheese was involved. And the girls did very well, Natasha gave them that, until she pulled an admittedly evil move.

“How about cookies?” Yelena asked once plates were cleared and the table was wiped down.

“It sounds good to me,” Natasha agreed, grabbing the tin and sitting back at the table. “One each, you too Yelena. And Y/n, you know the rules. You got in trouble today so you don’t get a cookie.”

She slid the tin to Isla who happily reached in until a protest sounded from the girl next to her.

“That’s not fair! That’s my cookie!”

Isla had already shoved her cookie in her mouth at this point, the crumbs sticking to her cheeks and the front of her shirt. She grinned happily, thankful she agreed to Yelena’s scheming plot.

“Mama! That’s mine!”

Natasha shook her head. “No Y/n, those aren’t the rules, you know that.”

Isla smacked her palm against the tabletop. “I’m not Y/n! She is!” She pointed at her sister harshly, who was licking the crumbs from her fingertips. “We switched!”

“Isla!” Y/n whined, “You weren’t supposed to spoil it!”

“I’m not losing my cookie, give it to me!”

“No,” Y/n said with a grin. “Mama said you can’t have one, so you can’t.”

“I hate you!”

Natasha watched the scene unfold, with Yelena looking more and more concerned. The blonde turned to her sister for help, but was met with only a smirk and a raised eyebrow.

“Do something!” Yelena hissed, but Natasha shook her head.

“Absolutely not,” Natasha said, leaning back in her chair. “It’s your mess, you fix it.”

“Tell her Aunt Lena!” Isla cried, tears threatening to spill. “Tell her I’m Isla! I’m not Y/n.”

Whilst Isla was nearing a breakdown, Y/n’s mean streak thickened. “These cookies really are good.”

“Mama please!”

Natasha rounded the table and placed a kiss on Isla’s forehead before passing her the biggest cookie from the tin. “Here baby, you’re okay,” she soothed, gently wiping her tears. “But your Aunt is an idiot. I did know it was you all along Isl’s, I’m sorry baby.” She picked her daughter up and set her on her lap, holding her close as she ate her cookie.

Yelena’s mouth fell open. “You knew?”

“From the moment ‘Isla’ ran to me first.” Yelena hit the table, muttering ‘dammit’ under her breath. “A mother always know, Yel. Always.”

[hoe4hotchner]

Farewell, My Friend | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader (x Jack) | WC: 1.9k | CW: Angst, Pet loss, grief, crying, vet scene, doggy funeral scene, discussions of death with child

A/N: Friday night is not for partying, it's for crying. At least I'm crying. This is really really sad

The house was quiet when you woke up, something felt off. Normally, the faintest sound or smell of food would have your dog’s nose twitching, his head lifting from his basket with a spark of interest waiting for you to call for him. But now, he just lay there, curled tightly, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. You’d seen him slowing down over the past few months, but this — this was different. His favorite treats lay untouched beside him, and his eyes, once bright and alert, seemed glassy and grey — they were distant. He didn’t even lift his head when you crouched beside him, concern settling into an aching certainty that you knew what was about to happen.

“Hey, buddy…” Your voice trembled as you reached out, smoothing a gentle hand over his fur. His coat was still warm, still soft, but you could feel the frailty in his bones. He blinked slowly, giving you the faintest flicker of acknowledgment. A tear slipped down your cheek, your heart breaking at the sight of him so still, so quiet.

Lowering yourself onto the floor, you lay next to his basket, bringing your face close to his, close enough that you could feel his warm breaths against your skin. You pressed a hand to his back, feeling the gentle rise and fall beneath your fingertips. “It’s okay,” you whispered, voice cracking. “You’ve been so good… You’ve taken such good care of us. We’ll be fine, okay? I’ll be okay.” But the words were more for you than for him, an attempt to soothe the fear settling in your chest. You’d known this day would come eventually, but knowing hadn’t made it any easier.

Tears spilled down, falling onto the blanket under him as you continued to stroke his back, trying to hold onto every last moment. You didn’t want him to see you fall apart, to know how deeply this hurt. But the silence was broken by a small voice behind you.

“Why are you crying?”

You turned, seeing Jack standing a few steps away, his little face filled with confusion and concern. His eyes flicked between you and the dog, searching for an answer. For a moment, you struggled to find the words, feeling the hurt build up even stronger.

Swallowing thickly, you wiped your eyes and patted the floor beside you. “Come here, buddy,” you said gently, and Jack approached slowly, glancing down at the quiet figure in the basket, his brow furrowing in that thoughtful way that reminded you so much of his father.

“You remember how we talked about how some dogs get very, very old?” you said softly, keeping your voice steady for his sake.

Jack nodded, his small hand reaching out hesitantly to stroke the dog’s fur. “Yeah,” he whispered, his eyes widening as he began to understand.

You took a breath, voice shaking as you tried to explain. “When dogs get really old, sometimes they go to sleep… and they don’t wake up. They go to a place where they’re young again, where they don’t hurt anymore, and they get to run around and play all day. We call it heaven.”

Jack’s face crumpled, and he bit his lip, looking back at the dog with a quiet, sad understanding that seemed beyond his years — he wasn't supposed to feel this heartbreak yet. “He’s going to heaven?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, unable to hold back the tears that slipped down your cheeks. Reaching over, you gently pulled him close, wrapping an arm around his shoulders as he rested his head against you. His small hand remained on your dog’s fur, his fingers petting softly, as though trying to say goodbye in his own way.

With trembling hands, you reached for your phone, swallowing hard as you typed out the message to Hotch, who was away on a case. The words felt heavy, final, but you knew he needed to know — he needed to know what he would be coming home to.

It’s time.

The drive to the vet’s office felt like an eternity. Jack sat in the passenger seat, holding your hand tightly. Your dog was cradled in a soft blanket in the backseat, and you stole glances at him in the rearview mirror ever so often. Each look tore at your heart a little more, seeing the once-lively dog lying so still, his head resting on the edge of the seat as if he was simply exhausted.

When you finally arrived, the vet greeted you with gentle understanding, leading you both to a small room filled immediately — away from prying eyes. The room was clearly designed for moments like these with its soft lighting and cozy atmosphere. The vet left you alone as he gave you a quiet moment to say goodbye.

You knelt down on the floor, pulling your dog into your arms as you pressed a tender kiss to his forehead. He lay peacefully, his breathing slow and shallow, as though he understood. Jack knelt beside you, his little hand resting gently on his furry head, his expression mirroring yours. You murmured soft words of love and gratitude, stroking his fur and promising him he’d always be part of your family.

The vet eventually came back into the room, moving with a gentle care that reassured you both. He crouched down, speaking softly as he prepared for the procedure, describing each step with the kind of gentleness reserved for grieving souls. When he asked if you were ready, you managed a small nod, feeling your voice catch in your throat. Jack sniffled quietly but stayed close, pressing into your side, his hand tightening around yours.

The vet administered a gentle sedative first, to relax him, and you felt your dog lean a little heavier against you, his breaths slowing as he began to drift. You whispered to him, your voice choked but steady: It’s okay, buddy… you’re such a good boy…

Finally, the vet administered the final injection, and you held him tighter, feeling each heartbeat grow softer, each breath fading. Jack leaned his head against you, and you both stayed close, united in your grief. You felt his heart stop, his warmth still lingering in your arms. In that stillness, it felt as if a piece of you had gone with him. But as you pressed your cheek to his fur one last time, there was a gentle peace in knowing he was no longer in pain, that his final moments had been filled with love and comfort. The vet made his final checks before officially pronouncing that he had passed peacefully.

Later, when you and Jack had returned home, your dog was gently wrapped in a soft blanket — his favorite blanket, his familiar weight in your arms was comforting despite the sorrow you felt deep within your bones.

The house felt different, quieter somehow, as if even the walls understood what had been lost this afternoon. Together, you stepped out into the backyard, where the last warm light of the sun filtered gently through the trees, casting a golden glow over the grass. It was the same light your dog had once basked in on lazy afternoons, rolling in the grass or lying happily in the sun’s warmth.

Jack stood beside you, watching as you began to dig at the spot you’d chosen near the edge of the yard. Each shovel of dirt felt heavier than the last, the weight of your grief pressing down on every movement. After a moment, Jack knelt beside you, he'd found his toy shovel in the shed to help with the work — the one he reserved for when he was helping Aaron garden. He didn’t speak much, just stayed close, occasionally brushing his arm against yours as he mirrored your movements in silence.

Finally, the hole was ready, and with a trembling breath, you lowered your dog into the small grave, cradling him with the same gentleness you’d shown him every day. Jack reached into his pocket, pulling out a small toy — a little car he’d cherished. Without hesitation, he placed it beside your dog, his hand lingering for a moment as he whispered, “Goodbye, buddy.”

You knelt beside him, saying your own goodbye, your voice catching as you murmured a final, heartfelt thank-you for all the love he’d given. Tears slipped down your cheeks, falling freely, and for a moment, you closed your eyes, remembering the joy, the laughter, the countless memories he’d been part of. The pain was raw, but the gratitude was there, too.

Jack, seeing your tears, wrapped his small arm around your torso, leaning into you with a tenderness that broke and soothed you all at once. “It’s okay,” he whispered softly, his voice filled with a compassion far beyond his years — he had learned from his dad. You felt his small hand resting on your back, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to lean into his comfort, finding strength in the quiet support of a little boy, who you'd come to love as if he were your own.

Night had fallen, wrapping the world in darkness, the house was finally still. Jack was fast asleep, his form curled up peacefully, unaware of the grief settling over you. Out on the porch, you stared at the patch of freshly turned earth in the backyard, the collar of your beloved dog held tightly in your hands. The metal of his tags pressed against your palm, their familiar jingle echoing faintly in your mind, bringing with it a flood of memories and tears.

The tears slipped silently down your cheeks as the moments you’d shared together played through your mind, each one bittersweet. You remembered the warmth of his body pressed against your legs during long winter nights, the way his tail wagged in pure joy whenever you walked through the door, the silent moments when he’d simply rest his head on your lap, offering comfort that words never could. He’d been there for everything, for laughter and heartbreak, for quiet Sunday mornings and busy, chaotic days, for the day you had met the love of your life. He had been with you ever since he was 8 weeks old. And now, that constant, loyal presence was gone.

The door creaked softly behind you, breaking through your thoughts, and a familiar figure settled beside you. Hotch wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. He didn’t speak, didn’t offer empty words he knew wouldn't help — he just held you, his presence enough to ground you in ways that only he knew how to. His hand moved in soothing circles on your back, a gentle rhythm that began to calm the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you.

You let yourself lean into him, feeling his heartbeat steady against your shoulder. Together, you looked out over the yard, at the small grave under the trees, a simple but loving farewell to the friend who’d meant so much.

After a long silence, you found your voice, hardly more than a whisper. “He was a good dog.”

Hotch’s arm tightened around you, and he hummed softly in agreement. “The best,” he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. You closed your eyes, letting the warmth of his embrace soothe the edges of your grief. Slowly, you felt the weight begin to ease, just a little, just for now, as his presence reminded you that, somehow, you’d find a way to carry on — you had to.

As the night stretched on, you stayed there together in the quiet, watching over the place where love, friendship, and loyalty had been laid to rest, feeling that though a chapter had closed, you wouldn’t have to face the next one alone.

[gentlebeardsbarngrill]

Samba's Death by Cheese Class Notes 11/09/2024

So generally when we get these classes, Samba shares BTS info. This is what I could write down when I wasn't making the Mac.

Pic Source: Samba's Instagram of his dish

Questions:

What was the longest scene to film?

First episode of Stede going down the steps talking about "mentally devastated". They were spending a lot of time riffing and figuring out the characters. They asked everyone to make something up-- Roach said: "First you skin them alive"- each Swede - "First you keep it in side, and then you go home, and then you take it out on your loved ones"

In S2 = The torture scene took the longest to film. Samson and Roach had those clamps on their head the whole time (multiple days of shooting and it sucked) Rhys pulled his shoulder being tied to the mast. Vico and Madeline were nauseous from laying with their feet up in the air for so long. Con and Kristian were tied together, and Samba was saying how con came up to Kristians knee (affectionately)"

What was the story behind the first run of Stede being glammed up by the crew and the sexual tension (before calypsos birthday was written).

Wee John was gonna glam up Stede, add eye shadow, give him a makeover - pierced earring, wear a low cut shirt, and then Blackbeard would notice him-- but then they all decided that it would be better that Blackbeard and Stede bond over this scene of Stede coming into his pirate captainness (or the trauma from it)

More BTS:

The cast hadn't worked together before (except like Rhys and Taika, David Fane and Taika, and Sampson and Joel)

Apparently Samson almost killed them when he threw a sword up in the air. They decided after that the guys wouldn't be doing any major battle scenes or stunts. "You can do yardies that's as far as you go"

They didn't get to learn too much ship work, besides belaying, that's why it always looks like people are just like mopping or hammering in the background. Samba, Kristian, and Nathan wanted to practice throwing rope in the water to save people, Kristian threw it like Hodor, Nathan threw it "GAY" (and he has a video-- but didn't say anything about sharing it)

Talked about making the dish in New Zealand for Rhys and the cast:

He did a lot of impressions of Con, and said "Oh Con, didn't see you there" Looking at the floor "This is delicious, how much cheese is in this?" - Con "Hey! Stop kicking me!" - Samba" "15 Cups"- Samba "15 cups!?" - Con, and then Samba said he just had to pick Con up and calm him down. "Ok put him in the corner!" - Samba (All of this said affectionately)

Mermaid Jizz

People asked about Mermaid Jizz in chat, and the ASL Interpreter was being very good at interpreting things (Berto is the man!)

Funnily enough, apparently this wasn't the raunchiest chat, Felicia Day had people talking about lightning bolts coming out of their Anus, and Berto said something like "nothing can top Jewel" We need this story Berto. Please.

Silly Pronunciations:

Co-Land-Err, and Pap-Ree-cah

Dirty Jokes While Talking about the dish:

"You want it to be nice and sticky like Lucius' Sheets"

"Nice and coated, like blackbeard on calypsos birthday, and the inn happening right now"

"Gentle and easy, like the gentleman pirate"

"Moist, Lucius' favorite word"

Love being sent to all of us:

We need to band together and support each other. Thank you for supporting the LA food bank, it means a lot to Samba personally.

Love Conquers all Cast and Fans are Bonded for eternity "You and I we are like Lucius and Black Pete. Nothing can keep us apart-- or not, never mind that's too sticky".

Love to everyone, he is not leaving twitter because actors HAVE to have multiple socials-- but he'll look into if he can hop onto BlueSky

If you attended the class and shared your results, please tag Samba Schutte and Momentus on the socials!

If you all remember anything I missed please let me know or reblog with it please! I was trying to write everything down while making this monstrosity lol.

[lopsicle]

Arcane season 2 spoilers

/////

I have been thinking A LOT about Jayce and Viktor, mainly the scene where Viktor is reborn out of his pod of Hexcore.

Mainly because it means a lot for Viktor’s character. On a fundamental level, he never seen much worth in himself, but he did see worth in inventions, the things he made, it’s how he could prove himself to the world. This is why he becomes so concerned with his illness and the legacy he’ll leave behind on the world; he needs the Hexcore to work because he doesn’t have anything else.

But now, he is literally fused with his invention, his invention that he has grown to hate because it killed one of the only people who truly saw value in Viktor, and not the things he could, partly due to his own negligence. Viktor put it best, in his pursuit of greatness, he failed to do good.

He doesn’t really know how to process what happened to him at all, he’s a smart man, he can clearly deduce that his body has undergone some cybernetic change, he can probably remember the explosion in the council room, but other then that, he’s just confused, hence why he asks Jayce, “what am I?” Viktor’s body is entirely different and unfamiliar, and taking into context that the Hexcore, his greatest invention which he tied all his worth to, has failed before this, it’s likely Viktor had lost sight of who he was, and his new body only served to further that descent.

Jayce can’t think about any of that though, he’s just happy that his partner is alive and who wouldn’t be, he’d been waiting for days, possibly weeks for him to wake. Viktor’s mortality is one of the things that Jayce has struggled with the most in the series, which is what makes his survivor’s guilt so much more pertinent. A lot of people claim that Jayce grew up rich and coddled, and I think that’s true to an extent, but they forgot his family were workers, tool smiths. Jayce seemed to grow up with the idea that he wasn’t that fortunate, that he was a working, middle class man who was going to change the world, and then he meets Viktor, a “poor cripple from the Undercity,” and then he sees what the Undercity is really like and the conditions people live in. And that’s when Jayce realises; he had it good. I believe this is what encourages part of his admiration of Viktor; he is what Jayce thought he was.

Tangent aside, I feel that their hug is a very, very important moment, mainly because of Viktor’s reaction.

He isn’t relieved or uncomfortable, it’s just…nothing. Given what Viktor says about how he doesn’t feel that it’s cold and just recognises that it is cold, I believe this is the moment where it fully sank in how much his body had changed. He couldn’t feel Jayce.

And like, first off, that is such beautiful symbolism for what he says later about how they’re relationship was only held together by affection. Viktor physically cannot feel said affection anymore and know has no reason to stick by the side of someone whose views have become so contrasted to his. But more emotionally, it’s representative of Viktor’s belief that he is unloveable, his new body is merely proof at that, he can’t touch Jayce, he couldn’t save Sky, he couldn’t make the Hexcore work properly, he couldn’t even get Jayce to destroy the Hexcore. To himself, Viktor is a failure who is unworthy of love.

But, he still huge Jayce back. Despite not being able to feel Jaycee’s warmth anymore, despite it feeling like his whole life has crumbled, Viktor wants to give Jayce one last act of service. Perhaps to prove that he still has use, or maybe this was the moment where he decided he would have to part ways with Jayce, and just wanted Jayce to remember his touch, even if Viktor couldn’t remember his.

Anywho if enough people like this dribble, I may post my take on the rest of this scene because it shattered me

[the-anonmaton]

Quivering Dance

Relationships : Sevika x Reader Characters : Sevika, Original Female Character Rating: Explicit Tags : Smut, Light Dom/sub, Strap-Ons, Vibrators, bottom reader, Top Sevika (Arcane: League of Legends), bottom sevika, Light Sadism, Overstimulation, top reader Chapters : 2 (both chapters in this post - reversed POV) Words : 1,531

Summary:

Chapter 1. How about reverse cowgirl Reader? Chapter 2. How about reverse cowgirl Sevika?

**********

CHAPTER 1 : Bottom Reader

**********

You have been at it for a while now.

You came home only to find her on the bed, propped up on the pillows against the headboard, a saccharine smile on her face as she was lying down naked and harnessed with her favorite hexstrap. One hand behind her head, the other stroking the strap and coating it with lube, the bottle forgotten beside her.

Your mouth agape as you took in the scene in front of you, already knowing what was about to happen. She caught your roaming eyes and a nod towards her lap was enough to pull you from the stupor she inflicted upon you. Hurriedly, you undressed yourself as you were making your way towards her. You reached the bed and crawled to her, put one leg over her and straddled her, both of you holding each other's eyes through it all.

The hand behind her head reached for your cheek to pull you in for a chaste kiss. The hand on her strap lifted to touch your pussy and found you already wet. You gasped an exhale in her mouth and pushed down on her hand with your whole body.

"Turn around baby, I want to see your back dance."

**********

You have been at it for a while now.

She could feel you through your touch. You were leaning forward, balanced by your hands on her legs and fingers digging into each muscled thigh. Your feet resting behind you, beside her torso, tapping at her body with each tremble, the hair on your legs tickling her skin.

She could feel you through her touch. Her hands roaming, from the backs of your spread thighs, to the meat of your ass, to your lower back where sweat was gathering, to your shoulder blades where muscles quaking beneath.

You could feel her eyes on you, her gaze transfixed by what was connecting you. With every forward move you made you were leaving behind a strap coated with your cum, only to push back and feel it buried inside you again, filling you, opening you up and making you momentarily shake above her, repeating your quivering dance.

She could hear your heavy breathing, she could hear your every movement, betrayed by gasps, moans, pleas, inhales and belated exhales.

"Do it, please, make me come."

**********

You have been at it for a while now.

There was a reason this was her favorite strap. Despite her desire to keep reverently experiencing what was unfolding all around her, she wanted to bring you over the edge you were teetering on, as a testament of her worship.

So she pushed the button at the base of the strap. The moment both of your ears picked the vibration, it was immediately drowned by your whines and cries. No longer able to keep the balance on your hands, you doubled over, your forehead resting against her leg.

She lost sight of your back, but was presented with a much better view of your connection. She couldn't help but feed her selfishness as her hands gripped your asscheeks, thumbs placed on each fold, spreading them, opening you up only for her to see, your movements never ceasing, your hips never stop canting, your walls never stop clenching, your cum never stop flowing.

“So wet for me.”

**********

You have been at it for a while now.

Your hips kept moving and kept chasing, the pleasure making you lose your rhythm, so she grabbed you by the hips and every time you moved away she pulled you back harder and deeper against her. It would not be long.

Another push of the button at the base was all it took.

Your feet lifted off the bed, knees pushing harder against the mattress. Your arms snaked to the back of her legs, hands gripping hard at the meat of her calves. Your whole body shaking on her lap. Your mouth open and teeth holding onto her leg where she could feel your breath warming her skin. Your heavy exhales filled her ears. Your wet folds quivering around her still vibrating strap, your thighs pushing against her, unable to close, while cum was dripping down your pussy and coating her own thighs.

“My good girl.”

**********

She can't turn it off, not yet, she is selfish. She will keep you there, with demanding hands on your hips. She will keep it on, see you shiver and quake trying to run away from her. She will see you leaking more on her strap until she hears your signal by the snap of your fingers.

"That's it, beautiful."

**********

CHAPTER 2 : Bottom Sevika

**********

You have been at it for a while now.

She came home only to find you on the bed, propped up on the pillows against the headboard, a saccharine smile on your face as you were lying down naked and harnessed with your favorite hexstrap. One hand behind your head, the other stroking the strap and coating it with lube, the bottle forgotten beside you.

Her mouth agape as she took in the scene in front of her, already knowing what was about to happen. You caught her roaming eyes and a nod towards your lap was enough to pull her from the stupor you inflicted upon her. Hurriedly, she undressed herself as she was making her way towards you. She reached the bed and crawled to you, put one leg over you and straddled you, both of you holding each other's eyes through it all.

The hand behind your head reached for her cheek to pull her in for a chaste kiss. The hand on your strap lifted to touch her pussy and found her already wet. She gasped an exhale in your mouth and pushed down on your hand with her whole body.

"Turn around baby, I want to see your back dance."

**********

You have been at it for a while now.

You could feel her through her touch. She was leaning forward, balanced by her hands on your legs and fingers digging into each thigh. Her feet resting behind her, beside your torso, tapping at your body with each tremble, the hair on her legs tickling your skin.

You could feel her through your touch. Your hands roaming, from the backs of her spread thighs, to the meat of her ass, to her lower back where sweat was gathering, to her shoulder blades where muscles quaking beneath.

She could feel your eyes on her, your gaze transfixed by what was connecting you. With every forward move she made she was leaving behind a strap coated with her cum, only to push back and see it buried inside her again, filling her, opening her up and making her momentarily shake above you, repeating her quivering dance.

You could hear her heavy breathing, you could hear her every movement, betrayed by gasps, moans, pleas, inhales and belated exhales.

"Do it, please, make me come."

**********

You have been at it for a while now.

There was a reason this was your favorite strap. Despite your desire to keep reverently experiencing what was unfolding all around you, you wanted to bring her over the edge she was teetering on, as a testament of your worship.

So you pushed the button at the base of the strap. The moment both of your ears picked the vibration, it was immediately drowned by her whines and cries. No longer able to keep the balance on her hands, she doubled over, her forehead resting against your leg.

You lost sight of her back, but were presented with a much better view of your connection. You couldn't help but feed your selfishness as your hands gripped her asscheeks, thumbs placed on each fold, spreading them, opening her up only for you to see, her movements never ceasing, her hips never stop canting, her walls never stop clenching, her cum never stop flowing.

“So wet for me.”

**********

You have been at it for a while now.

Her hips kept moving and kept chasing, the pleasure making her lose her rhythm, so you grabbed her by the hips and every time she moved away you pulled her back harder and deeper against you. It would not be long.

Another push of the button at the base was all it took.

Her feet lifted off the bed, knees pushing harder against the mattress. Her arms snaked to the back of your legs, hands gripping hard at the meat of your calves. Her whole body shaking on your lap. Her mouth open and teeth holding onto your leg where you could feel her breath warming your skin. Her heavy exhales filled your ears. Her wet folds quivering around your still vibrating strap, her thighs pushing against you, unable to close, while cum was dripping down her pussy and coating your own thighs.

“My good girl.”

**********

You can't turn it off, not yet, you are selfish. You will keep her there, with demanding hands on her hips. You will keep it on, see her shiver and quake trying to run away from you. You will see her leaking more on your strap until you hear her signal by the snap of her fingers.

"That's it, beautiful."

**********

taglist : @opropheticsoul @archangeldyke-all @wizard-pdf

Thanks for reading! :)

[fellthemarvelous]

The Mystery of Chopper Base foreshadowed Ezra's exile.

Ezra's anxieties about Malachor brought him to Zeb. He was headed to a Sith temple with Kanan and Ahsoka, and it was with Zeb that Ezra was able to show his more vulnerable side.

He said it. "I don't know when we'll be back. Or if we'll be back."

And the thing is...the Ezra who came back from Malachor is not the same Ezra.

The new Ezra that came back was traumatized, angry, defeated, grieving, and he blamed himself for just how sideways their mission to Malachor went. This new Ezra started wielding a green lightsaber and came very close to falling to the dark side if Kanan had not been there to pull him back from the edge.

This Ezra came back jaded and vengeful and guilt-ridden after Maul blinded Kanan, and he and Kanan had been forced to leave Ahsoka behind with Vader while the Sith temple collapsed around them.

This Ezra came back with a Maul shaped shadow doing everything possible to make Ezra his new apprentice.

This Ezra survived against Darth Vader for a second time (because someone else was there to save him).

Ezra was already grieving the death of his parents when Malachor happened. Malachor hurt everyone in his family. He brought Kanan back to Hera physically injured and forever changed, and he wasn't able to bring Ahsoka back to Rex at all.

But despite the grief that everyone was experiencing, they persevered. Hera continued on with the mission and Rex spent just as much time pulling Ezra back towards the light as Kanan and Sabine did.

Hera and Kanan's final conversation before Malachor ended up becoming a reality. Kanan regained his vision and was able to look at Hera in his final seconds of life.

Ahsoka and Rex's final conversation was the very first scene in the Twilight of the Apprentice, and it was over Space Facetime. Rex was so nervous about Ahsoka going without him and she had to remind him that she was not alone. Rex is used to mourning his brothers. He's done it thousands of time. He's used to seeing his own face die over and over again. Losing Ahsoka would be different though. She wasn't a clone trooper, but she was still a soldier just like him. She was his best friend, his closest ally, someone he trusted with his life more times than he could care to count. They were each other's sword and shield.

Ezra understands these bonds. It's what his bond with Sabine was becoming.

And all of them (with the exception of Kanan because my boy sacrificed his life to save the people he loved, and Ahsoka because we don't even know when she is, let alone where she is at this point) followed Ezra into battle to take Lothal back from the Empire. They freed Lothal from the grip of Darth Sidious, but Ezra didn't get to see it happen. He was somehow surviving a long ass trip through hyperspace with space whales and a very pissed off Grand Admiral Thrawn.

He spends ten years in exile, alone, on another planet in a distant galaxy with a ship full of stranded Imperials nearby and always ready to kill him, but he still manages to find a new family, traveling with them and protecting them, grieving his loss and becoming more attuned to the Force.

The Ezra that Sabine finds is so much like the Ezra that she first met on Lothal. He doesn't seem to be carrying a heavy burden, but he knows he needs to get back home because Thrawn is a Big Problem, and he's had ten years learning how to outsmart the Imperials and the Nightmothers.

He's returning home with a lightsaber that matches Kanan's and he's about to meet Kanan's son Jacen for the first time.

The empire is toppled now but he and Zeb will have plenty of war stories to trade when they see each other again, especially as the threat of the Empire's return is rising again.

[maniccatra]

tbh glimmer has so little time to even react after realizing exactly what catra is doing when she saves her in Corridors - what she's doing for her, for adora, for ALL of them - something glimmer straight up acknowledges at the end of the ep when adora asks her "what happened back there" btw.

"i think catra saved me.. i think she saved us all"

like, wut haha and honestly tho i think if catra did give glimmer enough time to react, glimmer might have resisted the rescue attempt and refused to escape w/o catra. something i think catra could prob intuit, based p much just on glimmer being tight w adora honestly, but it also seems obvi to me just by the look on glimmer's face when she's teleported and dematerializes - leaving catra behind. something i guess the girl has just gotten used to by that point tbh ugh

but yeah the sorta like "gotta save everyone tho" mentality catra literally mentions knowing adora possesses in the same scene tho ("she'd still come for you, that's.. just how she is") is why, to me, catra just doesn't even give glimmer a chance to stop her lmao. corridors is just so wild, rlly tho ily catra you truly do matter

[thedepressedjuggalette]

I'm a life long Pokemon fan. Hell I was a Team Rocket member for Halloween, and I thought every single one of Lily's points -- her ACTUAL POINTS not the made up bullshit op made because he has the reading comprehension and attention span of a baked potato -- were all accurate. I have not finished the entirety of Pokemon Scarlet because I got bored with it in the sense that it is a total grind fest to finish one of the quests (the one where you have to collect a certain type of herb for a teacher). I have been actively putting it off and haven't been playing the game.

Like seriously, I understand why May had to fuck up Team Magma and Team Aqua's plans. They kept fucking with her journey to the Elite Four and the adults around her were using her as an errand girl. But with Scarlet and Violet they have dialed back the story back to a more grounded level instead of being the "SAVE THA WORLD" plot every JRPG has for whatever reason.

Red, Crystal, and May just want to chill and go on their adventures but Team Rocket, Magma, and Aqua kept getting in the way so they unleashed the wrath of a couple of kids and their pets.

Scarlet and Violet is about a kid who is just trying to go to school, go on a journey, and happened to run into a giant lizard who becomes their bestie. (Plus going on errands.)

I've tried multiple times to get into Pokemon Pearl, but god... It is a slog. I've even finished Pokemon Black before I ever got Pearl, but that thing. My god. They have so much yapping. I'm an English Major and all, but when my RPGs become novels for no reason I am just frustrated.

Black and White pissed me off because they couldn't commit to the bit. They kept blue balling me with this idea that Pokemon Trainers could be abusive and this was even explored in the anime with the character Paul and his Chimchar that eventually gets taken in by Ash.

I would've LOVED to see N meet Paul and Infernape in the anime. I WAS BEGGING FOR IT. But no. We got Charzard. Like yes Charmader's story was bad. But CHIMCHARS WAS WORSE.

And in the games it doesn't even give you that! Like even in the OG Red Blue and Green we got Team Rocket with whips. Where was any of that in Black and White???

Why didn't we see the occasional trainer with a whip, and a Pokemon that uses moves like Frustration or just new moves that relies on the Pokemon to have a Friendship stat in the negatives? Hell we got Pokemonami in X and Y, why don't we use that in Black and White to really hammer home that there is a different between being abusive towards your Pokemon and being loving. What if the worse off your pokemon's affection/friendship stats are, you get a lower amount of money from your battles?

ANYTHING.

But that requires actual critical thinking and analysis of the actual story you're getting. The "behind the scenes lore" doesn't matter here. That is SUPPLEMENTARY. That is a GIFT from the devs for exploring and reading the Dex entries. They are not the actual story you're getting.

Pokemon Sapphire was about the environmental destruction caused by Team Aqua using best Kaiju only for a kid tell god on them.

Pokemon Red was about a kid taking down a Mafia that is going around mugging people and getting in the way of their journey.

Pokemon Pearl is about gods of time, space and gravity (I refuse to believe that Giratina is the god of antimatter, the entirety of the planet would've exploded if that was the case. It makes more sense for it to be the god of gravity considering the reverse world) somehow being used by a mortal who wanted to become a god for some reason. And you also become friends with Deer Jesus.

Pokemon Black and White is about Truth and Ideals without talking about Truth and Ideals but constantly saying "Aren't ideas cool?" while also beating up "Totally not PETA" who just wanted pokemon all to themselves so they could become god king of the world.

Pokemon X and Y is about you taking down a charity foundation that felt like it got taken advantage of and decided to literally cause the end of the world because of it.

Pokemon Moon is about a foundation that was initially meant to protect pokemon only for an obsessed mother to become obsessed with aliens and you have to get the help from a baby god to get it to become a god and start throwing hands instead of having her daughter and son doing it.

Pokemon Scarlet and Violet are about a couple being obsessed with the future and past only to end up orphaning their son and leaving him with their pet motorcycle lizards and destroying the environment. But you also destroy a gang of kids who existed to stop bullying because the school couldn't do its fucking job. And also meeting your new best friend.

Reading the Dex and random character dialogues that isn't for the main story are all SUPPLEMENTARY. Pokemon has always been a linear game.

Even the most open world games out there have linear stories. But having paragraphs of text in the main game isn't really useful and doesn't make the game deep.

N blabbering on about how Pokemon Trainers are the devil and that the pokemon should be free, means NOTHING if you have all your Pokemon in the negatives with your friendship and affection levels and he says the exact same thing he does when you have them maxed.

To give a fair comparison, Kingdom Hearts 368/2 Days has voice acting and decent character animation. All Pokemon had to do, was to add voice acting and animation or even just make the player character... An actual character with a voice and thoughts.

Lily even made the point that the entirety of Sun and Moon was the story of In Game Lily (the daughter of Lusamine) it would've been better if we played as her or even her brother instead of being some random kid. It was their story, we just happened to be in it.

Hell, we get this somewhat in Pokemon Mystery Dungeons Explorers of Time. The player character actively shows their thoughts, their thought process, and opinions and even has conversations with their friend. They even had their own starter that we don't get to choose but end up meeting.

Here is an imagined better version of Pokemon Black:

1.) have there be trainers that have whips and have a pokemon that has the move Frustration.

2.) have the player occasionally meet an Officer Jenny who voices frustration about Pokemon abuse, and also have a couple that is caught arresting trainers and confiscating their pokemon because of abuse charges.

3.) have one of the Gyms double as a Pokemon Sanctuary and Rehab center. And let it be Cilan, Chili and Cress' gym. They make custom Pokemon Food and even go as far as to heal your Pokemon at the end of the battle and give you a random factoid about your starter.

4.) Every time you go to the Pokemon Center Nurse Joy will mention your Pokemon's happiness stats. And if you're taking good care of them.

5.) we have Pokemonami.

6.) N's dialogue changes with your Pokemon's happiness stats.

7.) The player can respond to N via dialogue options.

8.) new trainer class "Volunteer" who are Sanctuary Volunteers. The typing they mainly use are Grass, Normal, and Psychic and have a lot of moves that are dependent on their happiness stats.

9.) When you beat N, your character just tells him to start volunteering at the Sanctuary.

Credits.

I can really go on all day here but I'm tired and have work in the morning. But if you're looking for a TLDR here it is:

The Dex entries and random dialogue from random non-stort characters are not part of the main campaign therefore Lily doesn't have to talk about it. Pokemon Sun and Moon should've been In Game Lily's (Daughter of Lusamine) story, and therefore we should've played as her the whole time. Pokemon Diamond, Pearl and Platinum doesn't need to have such long dialogue if we aren't going to be able to respond or if it even pertains to anything relevant. Black and White's writing sucks because it keeps talking about Truth and Ideals and Pokemon abuse but never does anything with it and never makes a point and N is a boring character because of it. And Pokemon Mystery Dungeon has better writing than Black and White.

so one thing someone pointed out on reddit is that lily is a massive fan of world of Warcraft, which bleeds into her Pokémon video. To quote someone on reddit:

“World of Warcraft is...

-A game where dialogue is minimal and easily skippable.

-You don't have to grind against enemies in the world to level up, you can just do quests.

-Has a point A to point B style of questing.

-Has a huge focus on exploration of the vast and grand world.

-Once you get to a certain level you can basically curb stomp your way through all of the early parts with no effort.

-Are able to just skip all the cutscenes to fight the boss”

are you fucking kidding me. No knowing that she has the media literacy as a smashed egg on toast this just compounds it. They are different games you fucking dumbass

[theepitomeofamess]

ok ok it's theory time bc i'm rewatching mismag 1 as a coping mechanism so potential spoilers ahoy & forgive me if it's rambly i've also had a sedative

the serpent in the storm. the one without a name and only shown as an illumination in the Tome of Nimble Working. is that what was possessing evan? like is it the amalgamation of the "demons" that were haunting him, or even just The Main Guy? i'm not sure if this creature has anything to do with the breaking of magic, I just started thinking about this today at work, but hear me out.

in Class Conflict, the manifestation of the thing haunting Evan when it emerged to protect him was the blood cobra, and the barb that Tallulah hit Evan with after potions class was that all she heard was "hissing noises." so we know that snakes are something evil & monstrous in wizard culture (as much as they were in HP) but not because they're the mascot of the "evil house" Aqarbus. so where did the serpent symbolism come from?

later, in Family on Six when Evan makes the agreement to lean on the demons to save K, the "permanent change" that Brennan describes is that out of the shadow across evan's face "just goes black and is leaking black oil and water." aabira's description of the illumination of this creature was "a mix between a snake and an oil-soaked bird of prey." oil-soaked.

this is kinda what got me thinking in the first place, because what are the things you think of when you think of Evan Kelmp? Bird Facts and Gas Station Parking Lots. this absolutely feels like something Aabria would pull to make Brennan eat the lore he created.

it's also the type of shit she would do because of K's attempts to find any sort of books about what these "demons" might be during the exorcism, only to be met with "you think you're going to find me in a book?" maybe not named. not studied. no anatomical drawings or any sort of understanding as to what it is. but yeah. they'll find it in a book.

i do think that maybe this bird snake entity has been tied to Evan since before his birth---aabria's description in the latest S2 ep: "you feel yourself and the inside of you is empty, and something that was always meant to be poured in is beginning to pour itself back in" tells me that Evan was born to be a vessel for something. now, the demons at the exorcism said that Evan was promised to them. promised by whom? promised by what? maybe by the thing that knew it was going to be held within Evan, and knew that if he were to grow up with a dark enough childhood, if he were to be haunted enough, he might become the Dark One.

now, we don't really know the mythology of the Dark One. we don't know what sort of prophecy was told about it. going off of the general trope of the thing, we've gotta assume that it's something along the lines of "this person will unleash a great terror/darkness/evil upon the world." this likely was supposed to happen as a result of evan's torment like a psychotic break, or maybe as a defense mechanism in a life-or-death situation. either way, this creature and the magic that it represents would have wanted to be released, maybe still using Evan as a vessel and working through him to maintain its unknown, mythological status. this thing isn't Tad, it can't and won't be lulled to sleep.

could this creature have been accidentally released as a result of sam's exorcism? probably, it had to have been a thing or else it wouldn't be on the orery.(besides, this ancient monstrosity would never have anticipated Sam Black). could it be that it was released after K killed Evan? possibly, idk how often gm's rearrange lore behind the scenes to better fit what's happened in the story they're playing through.

whatever the case, I do think that it's not insignificant that Evan only started getting inklings of this sort of repossession leaking in after the events on Seeganpelater. the place where he saw the creature through the serpent's watch (a scene that in illustration implies that, maybe, the serpent could see them, too). the place where he snapped his wand. the place where he killed Boudicca. where we saw him be a magic murderer, where we saw him truly tap into the darkness he's been assigned his whole life. somewhere on cannibal Island, there was a moment of reconnection, and it helps that the very next places they went to were the islands that 1) stressed Evan out beyond belief, and 2) worked with amplification. it was able to strengthen its bond either the minute they landed, or as soon as Evan leaned into his strengths to scratch the tree with his shadow.

maybe this creature is what broke the well of magic. maybe it created the storm and destroyed Gowpenny. maybe this is a version of the Dark One prophecy coming true, breaking the rules of magic to the point that the entire system is broken and the world can never be what it used to. maybe it's not involved in anything and is just reveling in the chaos. I don't know. maybe all of these are coincidences between seasons. fun to think about, though!

[the-soraya2004]

Grieving for Buck and Tommy on 9-1-1

I knew this week was going to be a dark one, because I predicted two things would happen:

Trump would get re-elected; and

Buck and Tommy would break up on 9-1-1.

Never have I wanted to be wrong so desperately on both counts, yet here we are! :( I'm leaving the first one alone for the sake of my continuing sanity; as for the second, it is deeply disappointing. And for those thinking that this frees up Buck for a relationship with Eddie, I don't think it's great news for them either!

It's hard to put into words how much I have enjoyed watching Buck and Tommy's relationship unfold. Despite the relative scarcity of their time on-screen, I found myself genuinely enthralled watching the two of them take those first tentative steps along a new relationship. They truly were beautiful together, and their love story drew me back to watching 9-1-1 regularly again. Each week, I found myself excited to discover what lay in store for them as a couple. Some that joy was tempered after stumbling across instances of, frankly, utterly hateful speech and ugly behaviour directed online at the actor who plays Tommy (Lou Ferrigno Jr). It's one of the reasons why I tend to keep my distance from fandom and unregulated, unmoderated social platforms. But, ultimately, what frustrates me about this ending is that, from my observation, it doesn't appear to fit with the narrative set up. It felt akin to one of those franchise movies where a character is abruptly killed or written off because of some behind the scenes issue, like the actor is too expensive or contract negotiations have failed. I'm not necessarily suggesting that is what has happened in this case, just that this abrupt left turn doesn't appear (to me) to fit the story that was building, so logic would dictate that there's some other driver. One could speculate ad nauseam, but ultimately that serves little purpose.

It's a shame the showrunners either weren't willing or able to proceed with the Buck/Tommy love story, but honestly I can't say I'm surprised. And objectively, I don't think it spells good news for fans who want to see Buck and Eddie get together either. My reasoning is:

If you look at the main characters, Hen, Bobby, Athena, Chimney and Maddie are all in serious long term relationships (married). Therefore, no hottie-of-the-week for them, unless the writers plan to go full on soap opera to break up these established couples

Buck and Eddie are the attractive single men, who can be available for relationships with a revolving door of characters played equally attractive actresses. This allows for fresh eye candy for the sort of viewing public that wants that sort of thing

Eddie, as a character, is more reserved and therefore less likely to jump from relationship to relationship each week. Which leaves Buck as the main engine to drive the hottie-of-the-week cycle. If Buck were to go off the market (semi) permanently like the other main characters, the engine/cycle breaks (or at the very least slows down), which means less eye candy for the viewers who tune in for that, etc. and so on.

If you suddenly had Buck and Eddie dating each other long term seriously, then the show would likely need to bring in new characters to fill the "attractive single man available for relationships with hotties" void - all of which is a different sort of behind the scenes issue for showrunners.

Overall, while the Buck/Tommy love story may be gone from our screens, it can and will (I hope) continue to thrive in Fanfic. At least there our beloved characters can go where studios are unable (for whatever reason) to tread. Sincerely, I wish Lou Ferrigno Jr every success in whatever projects come his way, and even though he'll never see this post, I want to thank him for helping bring to life a little piece of screen magic that brought a lot of light and joy into my world.

[lavender-butterfly-cookie]

Hey if you could can you write for the Ancients comforting a fellow ancient reader who got kidnapped by their beast and chat with them? (I don't know how else to work this I'm not good at explaining things)

Plot suggestion: basically it's kind of just the scene from Sam Remy Spider-Man from Peter Parker getting kidnap to Green Goblin giving them a proposition then flying away saying "THINK ABOUT IT "HERO"" but with some alterations

Here's the scene that I'm talking about

https://youtu.be/sAfxBXAQCZM?si=LfuEqW_z1cqA9uqp

Brother, I had to go watch that scene- I will gladly do it. Side note, most likely going with the light of patience Y/N cookie because that's currently the only Y/N ancient cookie I've created.

Comfort after the chaos

After a long lasting series of VERY unfortunate events, you were back in your kingdom and exhausted. You just endured what seemed to be a forever lasting trip to and from Beast-Yeast and you had a lot on your mind. Especially after your encounter with the beasts. You have no idea how, but you had to travel there 5 times. And in all those five times you found yourself held captive. You were doing this to help your fellow ancients, NOT BE KIDNAPPED 5 TIMES IN THE TIME SPAN OF FIVE WEEKS!

Speaking of the ancients, they were all worried about you. You didn't have a previous holder of the light of patience, so there was no particular beast who was after your soul jam. But that was more of a reason to help your companions in defeating their beasts. However, you seemed to be targeted more than your allies, and no matter how hard you tried you found yourself in the same situation. In the clutches of the beasts.

The Beasts didn't harm you physically, but the mental trauma was far from ceasing anytime soon. Everything each of them said correlated to the conclusion that you'd be better off joining them and giving in to the corruption. Because there's nothing more the people love more than to watch a hero fall. In the end they'd all grow to be bitter to you, grow to hate you despite how much you've done for them. They'd hurt you and part of you knew it was true. "So why not hurt them fiirst?" That was always the question. All those interactions ended with them leaving you to think about it and you had never quite recovered from the experience

Your discomfort and unease did not go unnoticed by the other ancients, oh not at all. Every time you returned from beast yeast you seemed more shaken up and all of them felt guilty for having you tag along only to return traumatized. With this in mind, they all tried to comfort you as best they could. Though you never actually told them what had happened during your time being a hostage, they were determined to soothe any discomfort.

"Do not allow Shadow Milk cookies words to get to you, Y/N cookie. Anything from that Beast can not be trusted." Pure Vanilla cookie stated as he pulled a placed a tea cup on the table in front of you. He walks behind you and pulls a blanket over your shoulders as a means to make you feel at ease. And it's working. "I promise you that he will never be given the chance to disturb you so much. I will always be here to stir you in the right direction if he ever tries to get in your head again"

"I apologize once again that you had to be dragged through that issue, Y/N cookie." Dark Cacao said, he had grown a bit soft after he saw how being kidnapped had effected you. Despite you reassuring him that it wasn't his fault, he couldn't just leave it be. Though he wasn't exactly... best with comfort, you could see he was trying. Caramel Arrow Cookie and Crunchy Chip cookie were doing more of the direct comforting for him, CA occasionally hugging you and making sure you were ok whilst CC had his cream wolves huddle around you to comfort you. Both methods worked quite well. They did this because Dark Cacao himself genuinely wasn't sure of how the best way to console you would be after encountering Mystic Flour cookie. But you did appreciate the effort.

"Go on Y/N cookie! I insist. Anything you want shall be yours" Golden Cheese said. She had a plan, and that plan was to spoil you filthy! Anything you had taken an interest in was immediately yours. And even if you didn't want anything she'd still buy you things she knew you liked or gave you comfort. She would take you on flights around the kingdom too. She had also grown a habit of hugging you and wrapping her wings around you as though to protect you. And she was protecting you. Protecting you from Burning Spice cookie, as she should've done when you were still in Beast-Yeast. She's got you, and she ain't letting NOBODY try taking you away from her. They'd have to catch these hands first! And that gave you a sense of security

"How are you feeling, Y/N cookie? You doing better?" Hollyberry cookie asked as she prepared another cup of juice. You were both outside and she had been more of an energetic comforter than the previous three. A bit of fresh air and exercise should be a good distraction from whatever the heck Eternal Sugar cookie had said to you. She had also gotten you a lot of juice. Like- A LOT. You weren't sure if she was trying to get you drunk or something but fortunately none of them seemed to have alcohol. At least not the ones she had given you. She was also quite insistent on a bit more training so you could better prevent such situations, which was something you expected more from Dark Cacao but for some reason it didn't happen. Regardless, she's wants you to be protected, even if it's not by her.

"Please don't stray too far away, Y/N cookie. I still have yet to fully adjust to the forest myself." White Lily cookie requested as you both took a stroll under the night sky. She had been a lot more cautious with you after having lost you to Silent Salt cookie. She tried everything that usually made her feel better with you. Taking you to flower gardens, having a cup of tea whilst reading a good book, cuddles, any and everything. She also had the faeries take care of your needs when she couldn't be near, which they did gladly since they were aware of your contribution to their queens victory. White Lily will make sure you are as comfortable as possible and having her around is comforting in itself.

[gotskamstuff]

Can I also shed light on something that is so problematic in the OBX production?

How did they manage to get THE BIGGEST plot point ever of the entire show in 5 years of work… leaked like that on the same day they filmed it? (‘cause boy there rumors we didn’t want to believe have been here since the cast was still in Morocco)

The unprofessionalism clearly is rampant in the entire production ‘cause that is insane, we’re not taking about a small independent production, this a massive Netflix production that should have a certain level of secrecy, this is honestly one of the reasons why at first I found it hard to believe those rumors, how could they possibly know? IT’S NETFLIX!

When I started to believe the rumors and A LOT of people were coming forward saying they knew it from reliable sources, I legit thought that it was because the scene was shot in front of quite a few background actors, around people in Morocco who could’ve seen it with their own eyes.

When I tell you my astonishment as I realized in the past few days that the scene was actually shot in what seems like a secluded location with only the main actors and main crew on set. It’s crazy to think that for this to have been leaked so quickly and rampantly it means that it got out from someone working very closely in the production of the show or someone very close to the ones who do, who else could’ve known?

Some people are going around saying “Rudy told everyone in Morocco he was leaving”…but quite frankly if you believe that you are Boo Boo the fool, I know we’re mad at him at the moment but this is an insane speculation and incredibly hard to believe, who in the right mind says something like that to strangers? He would’ve been fined by the network for probably 10 times his paycheck.

The fact that someone working on the show or someone close to them was able to leak something like this so quickly and freely is so problematic. What other big Netflix production has ever had any massive plot like that leaked like this? None.

This show has been fumbling BIG TIME for so many reasons also revolving the production and this post is already long enough as it is, but maybe I will explain another time how much I believe that even a lot of the bullshit and drama happening behind the scene with the cast was to some degree the producers fault for how they handled things from day one.

They always treated this massive Netflix production as if they were working on their independent college project with their friends.

[imnotaman]

Nightmare

Penelope woke up in a strange place, a room in pitch black, she was about to grab her sword when she realized it wasn't beside her where she always left it. A voice called behind her

"Have you forgotten the lessons I taught you?"

Him. How had he gotten to her?

she looked behind her back and got into her fighting stance, protecting both hands, glow and behold; there he was

"Ares!"

"Have you forgotten to turn off your heart? This is not you."

Why was he saying this. Did he just want to haunt her with the fact he'll never be her Mentor again? Why did he have to be like this.

Ares glitched, he seemed to be shifting onto another form. There were 2 options; either Penelope's dreams decided to be Extra Bitchy to her that day, or ARES decided to be Extra Bitchy to her that day.

"I see you changing from how i've designed you."

The walls began to shift, growing, shrinking, anything you could think the room would change to that.

"Have you forgotten your Purpose? Let me remind you."

She was somewhere else now. The Cyclops cave. Why the hell was Ares doing this to her. Soldiers were managing to run away, one of many was right behind her

"Circe." She looked as beautiful as the day she'd lost her. It took so long to realize the Cyclops was about to club at Circe, and she was blissfully unaware.

Penelope screamed out her name, any kind of warning! But it was too late

"600 Lives to take"

2 more people hit.

"600 lives I'll break"

4 in a single hit.

"And when I kill you then my deed is over."

Hit.

"You're dying here and now."

Hit.

"Escape is not allowed."

Hit.

"You won't live through this day so die."

Hit.

"Die."

The scenery changed, causing a sense of Nausia in Penelope, she couldn't see much as she was trying not to Puke. All she could hear were the sounds of the ocean and the wind in her hair

"And now it is finally time to say goodbye today you die~"

No.

"Unless, of course, you apologise."

Please.

"For my son's pain and all his cries"

Penelope looked up, maybe this time it could be different. Maybe Ares would be merciful enough to show what could have happened instead

"Amphitrite, we meant no harm," she began, her voice shaking. "we only hurt him to disarm him! We took no pleasure in his pain. We only wanted to escape~"

Ctimene was beside her, holding her shoulder as if she knew what was coming.

"The line between. Naiveté and Hopefulness is almost invisible"

FUCK.

"So close your heart"

There had to be a way to save them

"The world is dark."

There had... there had to!

"And ruthlessness is mercy--"

Fuck.

"Die."

The scene shifted again. She was in the Underworld.

"Waiting...."

Why. Why did he want her to suffer!?

"Waiting..."

Penelope turned, she knew who that was

"...Dad." it wasn't a question. Not this time at least. Her father's face began to shift

"Waiting... Penelope when you come home I'll be waiting..."

A tear couldn't help but fall down Penelope's eyes, at that point she had just started crying.

"Even if you're the last thing I see I'll be-"

"I-I'm right here Dad! Can't you see me? I'm"

"Waiting..."

A ghasp escaped her lips, why did Ares want this. "I took too lo-"

"--you on the brink of death"

Tireseas.

"I see you draw your final breath. I see a man who gets to make it home alive."

Penelope could only whisper what the Prophet said, "But it's no longer me..."

Penelope felt numb, she could only cry and beg with the same words she had spoken all those years ago

"This can't be... we've suffered and sailed through the toughest of Hells! Now you tell us our efforts for nothing!?"

The Prophet continued, "I see your Palace covered in red... Faces of Women who long thought you dead." She got closer to the Prophet, angry. She was so close home. It was all worthless!?

"I see your man with a girl who is haunting." Who. Who was it!? She got even closer to Tireseas "a girl with a trail of bodies..."

She grabbed him by the neck in anger

"WHO!?"

The scene changed, a boat. Directly inside of a cave, eyes glowing, 6 torches behind Penelope, she only had a single order.

"ROW FOR YOUR LIVES"

"DROWN IN YOUR SORROWS AND FEARS"

One.

"CHOKE ON YOUR BLOOD AND YOUR TEARS"

Two.

"BLEED TILL YOU'VE RUN OUT OF YEARS"

Three.

"WE MUST DO WHAT IT TAKES TO SURVIVE"

I know.

"GIVE UP YOUR HONOR AND FAITH"

Four.

"LIVE UP YOUR LIFE AS A WRAITH"

Five.

"DIE IN THE BLOOD WHERE YOU BATHE"

Six.

"WE MUST DO WHAT IT TAKES TO SURVIVE"

The figure appeared in front of Penelope, this never happened the last time Penelope want through this, Scylla's eyes grew red. Ares was in control of this.

"We are the same you and. I~"

"Choose."

Thunder appeared behind her. No. Please. ARES

"Someone's gonna die today and you have got the final say~ choose."

Penelope looked up at Zeus, praying to both him and Ares

"Please don't make me do this. D-Don't make me do this."

She didn't hear anything for a while, until Ctimene's voice caught her off guard

"Captain?"

Penelope looked up at her friend, she ran to hug Ctimene, which seemed to catch her by suprise

"I have to see them."

"B-but we'll die."

"...I know."

And with that the scene changed with a shock of Thunder, this was a different place, she was in a Palace. Ithaca? Why was she there

"Cause I'm stuck with your stories..."

That voice. She knew it all too well after the last to days.

"But no clue who you are"

Telemachus?"

"And no idea if you're dead or just too far~"

"TELEMACHUS!?"

Penelope fell down, cowering like a pathetic child. This was how she gave up.

"Somebody tell me."

The voice of the child she never met.

"Come and give me a sign"

Her real child.

"If I fight those monsters is it you I'll find?"

A monster. That's all she was. 600 men who died under her command. A monster to both Man and God. Why. Why couldn't she move

"I still intend to make it so you don't Lower your Guard"

Ares.

"Don't forget that you're a warrior, do not tear yourself apart"

ARES.

"You are a warrior of the heart"

Penelope stood up, ready to tackle him at any moment, she ran as quickly as Possible and landed a punch, he didn't even flinch.

"Don't disappoint me"

She really had nobody. Her friends were all dead, Amphitrite would probably drown all of Ithaca, and the people she cared about weren't even from her universe

Solana would never actually care. Telemachus only likes her because him own mom's a γιος της σκύλας. And Odysseus is in her own place so she'd never see him.

It was worthless.

She was worthless

And the she woke up in the tent she set up in the tress, just outside the barrier of Ithaca.

[honeyjars-sims]

3.36 Left the Building

Later that night, I remember what Lexie said about not letting any opportunities to get away from me and decide I should try to find a way to get Lacey alone.

I just can't find the right moment. It seems like one of us is always heading off into our tent for a nap or busy eating or caught up in conversation with someone else.

It doesn't help that Lexie keeps looking at me expectantly. It feels like everyone else is waiting for me to make my move and having all eyes on me just adds to the pressure.

At one point we're all gathered around the campfire when Lacey starts asking Paul about school.

"Are you planning on staying at Foxbury for med school?" she inquires.

"No, actually I was accepted into Sequoia State," he explains. "I'm going to take my last few courses at Foxbury over the summer, then I'm moving here in the fall."

"Oh, that's cool! I guess we'll be seeing you around more then."

I feel my stomach drop a bit and decide I should intervene before Lacey and Paul start making plans together. Lacey starts coughing and I seize the opportunity.

"I could use some fresh air," I break in. "Sounds like you could, too, Lacey."

"Yeah, that would be nice," she replies, and we walk away from the others.

"I hope you don't mind that I singled you out, but I thought you could use a break from the smoke," I tell her.

"Oh, no, that's fine," she responds. "Actually, I was hoping we would get the chance to be alone."

"You were?"

"Don't act so surprised," she says, a smile spreading across her face. "I thought it was obvious I was into you."

"Well, I guess I wasn't sure. Actually, I thought you might be interested in Paul."

She wrinkles her nose. "Paul? He's nice and all, but he's not really my type. He can be kind of a dork sometimes."

"He's not that bad," I say before realizing I'm defending the guy I've been insecure about. "Anyway, what is your type?"

"Well, I like a guy who can make me laugh. Someone who's comfortable being himself and goes for what he wants."

This would be the perfect moment for me to ask her out or kiss her or something, but none of that happens. Instead we're interrupted by the ungodly sound of someone retching their guts out behind us.

We turn to see Lucy hunched over and violently expelling the contents of her stomach onto the ground. Any chance of a romantic moment happening tonight is effectively ruined.

We walk back towards the others, who are gathered around Lucy in concern.

"Are you okay?" Paul asks her. He runs down a list a symptoms but Lucy denies that anything's wrong.

"I'm fine, really," she insists, like she hadn't just recreated a scene from The Exorcist in the middle of the woods.

"Oh, so you expelled the demon, then?" I ask.

"Yes, Pazuzu has left the building."

In the morning we start packing up and prepare to leave.

"So did you do it?" Lexie asks, referring to me asking Lacey on a date.

"No. I was about to, but then Lucy...you know. Kinda ruined the moment."

Lexie laughs. "Yeah, that would do it."

"But look, I need you to lay off a bit about Lacey," I say, kindly but firmly. "I know you mean well, but it's a lot of pressure."

"I'm sorry," she apologizes. "I know I'm being overzealous. I just want you to be happy."

"And I will be. I am. I had a rough few months, but I'm in a really good place right now."

"That's great! I guess I just felt guilty about everything. I hate that I hurt you."

"I know. But I don't even think about that much anymore. I mostly think about how much you cared about and supported me. Maybe your feelings for me weren't romantic, but they were still real."

"They were, and still are. You're like the brother I never had, and I miss you like crazy." She's starting to tear up, and I know now that whatever negative feelings I had about our breakup are gone. They left the building with Pazuzu.

"I miss you, too. I don't like not having you in my life." I wrap my arms around her. It feels nice having her in my arms again, but it's not a romantic feeling. It's more like the comfort of an old friend.

"I really do love you, Johnny."

"I love you, too, Lexie."

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