#my dad is good with computers so he should be able to fix it but he's working now and so he can only fix it on the weekend

[edwardbonnets]

sooooo i would start doing my birthday celebration stuff now but unfortunately my PC is Broken🧍🏻‍♂️ so um. i made one gif and it fucking died on me :( rip to that, i'm gonna see if my dad can fix it for me, but in the mean time that means i literally cant gif anything, unless i decide to use my old laptop which will probably explode if i decide to boot up photoshop again 😭😭😭

[satorulovebot]

so scarlet it was, maroon | chapter one

✧₊⁺ pairing — satoru gojou x journalist!reader

✧₊⁺ chapter summary — you get the chance to meet the infamous gojou satoru while working on your journalism project at suzuka circuit. what could you possibly want from him?

✧₊⁺ word count — 6.3k

✧₊⁺ warnings — nsfw (minors dni), age gap, alcohol use, mature themes, mentions of cheating, substance abuse, themes of marriage and divorce

✧₊⁺ notes — hello everyone! i asked you awhile ago on a poll which series you would like to see after cursed seas and f1 gojo won the poll and then i posted the masterlist and everyone wants it so you get it now. so here it is. and NO its not happy NEVER expect happiness from me because im allergic to it. also the reader being nosy af is inspired by me and my parents telling me i should be a journalist with how nosy i am.

series masterlist // pinterest moodboard // general masterlist

next chap. the husband and his wife

You moved to Tokyo with your family when you were younger.

You grew up in a rural part of the country, surrounded by farmers and people either ready to retire or nearing the end of their lives. Your parents hated living there, and so did you—for one, there were hardly any kids to play with, and two, as your father would say, "too many old fuckers lying around."

When you moved to Tokyo, your family decided to celebrate by taking you to a Formula 1 race. Your dad thought it would be perfect for the two of you since fixing up old cars had always been your daddy-daughter activity.

You didn’t like the idea of racing at first—the noise was too loud, and the idea of people speeding toward a black-and-white checkered line seemed ridiculous. But the moment you heard the roar of the engines and watched the lights go from red to green, you were captivated, a fascination that would stay with you for years.

When you got your first computer, you began looking up videos of F1 drivers. One day, you stumbled across a video titled “The Biggest F1 Scandals in History,” and that was when you decided you wanted to go into journalism.

You were nosy, to say the least. So, it was no surprise to your parents when you announced to them that you wanted to pursue journalism as a career. Your father reminded you how you’d always been curious, listening in on others’ conversations and keeping up with the latest school drama.

When you applied for journalism school, you were accepted into one of the top programs in the world—Sophia University. Your parents were proud that you’d made it into such a highly ranked school for journalism in Japan.

You were now in your fourth and final year at Sophia, and enjoying your journalism class. Recently, your professor assigned a project: write a story about a major pop culture figure of your choice, and for extra credit, get an interview with them. Your professor knew it was damn near impossible, but he was always optimistic that one day, someone would get that interview and he could retire in peace.

That project led you here: Suzuka Circuit, Japan's main Formula 1 track. Your chosen figure was none other than Gojou Satoru—F1's biggest driver in recent years. He was your father's favorite among the new-generation drivers, known for his string of controversies since he started on top of the persistent rumors of his heavy drug use before races.

You had managed to snag a media passs from your professor when you mentioned doing an F1 driver for your project. He was able to pull some strings to get you into the media booth, getting you a closer look at Gojou Satoru in person.

You watched the pre-race preparations closely from the media booth, your fingers hovered above your notepad as you waited for the race to start. You were determined to get a good grade on this project, and that meant adding every single detail to your report about this race.

It was about time for the drivers to gather in their garages, each wearing headsets and ready for the pre-race briefing. The briefing typically covers the race start, various pit stop scenarios, and a detailed weather report. Before each race weekend, they usually spend time in a simulator of the track they'll be racing on, preparing them for the upcoming race.

After about thirty-minutes the racers came out of their garages in their respective cars. They each line up based on the results of a quaifying session that takes place before the race, slowest qualifier in the back, fastest in the front. Gojou Satoru was at the front of the grid, which meant he was one of the qualifiers who had the fastest time.

You waited around for a little while longer turning your attention to what was happening around you. Eventually, you made your way back to the front of the media booth as the race started, ready to report.

The engines revved as each driver began preparing for the start of the race, each car vibrating on the starting grid like a beast straining at its chains. Gojou sat at the front of the lineup, his hands loose on the wheel, fingers tapping in a steady rhythm as he waited for the lights to turn green.

The roar from the grandstands faded, becoming a blur of sound as the lights ticked down: red, red, red, red… green.

He slammed the throttle, feeling the raw force of the car’s engine kick him back into his seat as he tore down the straight. Other cars jostled for position behind him, all fighting to claim the inside line into the first turn.

Through his earpiece, he heard the voice of his race engineer, Shokou, calm as ever. “Clear on turn two, you’ve got five-tenths on Hayashi. Stay tight.”

But Gojou barley heard her. The car was an extension of him, responding to his every thought, every split-second decision. He pushed down the straights, his right foot heavy on the accelerator, taking corners at speeds most drivers wouldn’t dare attempt. The sound of his tires skidding against the asphalt, the blur of the track side barriers, the lights of Tokyo reflecting off his mirrors—it all blended into a single, perfect rush.

Gojou could see the next turn ahead, a tight chicane that could send the best drivers into the barriers if they weren't careful. He braked hard, turning the wheel with perfect precision to angle the car through. He could feel the back end wobbling, but he didn't flinch, drifting perfectly as he swung back onto the racing line, gaining another second on the pack.

He could almost hear the collective gasp of the crowd in his head as he slipped through the chicane. This was his playground. Every race was a chance to remind the world why he was the best.

“Coming up on a DRS zone,” Shoko’s voice crackled in his ear, grounding him, though he was already on it

He waited for the perfect moment, watching the rear-view mirror to see the faint outline of Hayashi's car. He pressed the DRS, and his car shot forward, the drag reduction giving him a temporary speed boost that had him pulling away, putting him in the lead.

The track opened up ahead, the second sector full of wide, sweeping turns. Here was where raw speed mattered more than anything. Gojou pressed down hard on the accelerator, the engine roaring in response. He leaned forward, watching the track fly by, the white lines blurring as he focused entirely on the road ahead.

For a second, the sound in his earpiece went dead, the faint sound of static filling his ears. Then Shokou was back. “You’ve got Yoshida closing in on your tail. He’s pushing hard.”

Gojou glanced up at the mirrors, his eyes catching the bright blue and orange of Yoshida's car looming larger. The familiar thrill sparked in him. So, Yoshida thought he had a chance, did he? Well, he’d show him otherwise.

“Copy,” he muttered into his mic, eyes narrowing as he took the next corner, barley touching the brakes. He felt the tires skid but he managed to control the drift, knowing any slip would open the door for Yoshida to slip past.

He whipped into another straight, his hands steady on the wheel as he hit a top speed.

His foot didn’t so much as twitch as the engine’s roar morphed into a high-pitched scream as the car closed the distance.

The curve ahead was brutal—a tight 90-degree bend that demanded precise timing.

In a split-second decision, he did something no one expected. He braked late, his heart pounding as he cut the turn at a speed that sent the back end skidding. The tires gripped just in time, allowing him to pull out of the corner without losing traction. He could almost feel the shock reverberating as he regained control, his lead still intact.

As the laps wore on, his body moved on instinct, every gear shift, every turn becoming a single, fluid motion. One lap. Two. Three, with two pit stops between. He counted them off one by one, his mind buzzing with the pure rush of speed and the heat inside the car, barely noticing the time passing. The crowd faded into nothing, the world shrinking down to the track and his car.

The final lap. This was it.

“Box this lap if you’re in trouble,” Shokou’s voice crackled again. “Tire degradation is high.”

But Gojou’s grip on the steering wheel only tightened. His front tires were holding out—barely. It would be tight, but he could make it. He’d run this last lap on sheer determination alone if he had to.

“Negative, Shokou. I’m taking it,” he replied, and then turned off the earpiece, tuning out everything except the track and the car in front of him.

He launched into the final lap, throwing caution to the wind. Yoshida was right on his tail now, close enough that he could see the gleam of his headlights in the mirrors. But Gojou didn’t back down. He took each turn aggressively, blocking Yoshida's attempts to pass, forcing him to fall back every time.

The last chicane loomed ahead, his final obstacle before the finish line. He tightened his grip, the wheel trembling under his hands. He took the chicane fast, too fast, almost feeling the wheels lift off the ground as he flew out of the turn. The car rocked, but he held steady, pushing the pedal to the floor.

The finish line was in sight, a faint white line at the end of the straight, and with one last push, he crossed it, the checkered flag waving in his periphery as he tore past.

It was only after he’d crossed over the line that the realization hit him—he’d won.

The cheers erupted in the stands, the roar of the crowd filling his ears as he slowed down, the adrenaline still pumping through his veins. He could hear Shoko’s voice crackling back in as she shouted, “You pulled it off, you insane bastard.”

Gojou grinned, leaning back in his seat, still buzzing. He’d done it again, just as he always did.

The moment he climbed out of the cockpit, Gojou was surrounded by his team. Shokou was the first to reach him, her usually composed face split by a wide grin. She grabbed his helmet and thumped him on the shoulder hard enough so he actually felt it though the layers of his suit.

“You reckless son of a—”

“Language, Shokou,” Gojou interrupted, grinning as he yanked off his gloves, waving to the rest of the Tokyo Jujutsu Racing team that swarmed him.

“Do you know what it’s like to watch you pull stunts like that? I’m gonna need a raise after today’s heart attack,” she muttered.

“Oh, come on, Shokou. That was just a little fun.” He stretched his arms over his head. “Where’s my confetti?”

“Coming right up, your royal highness." Someone handed him a bottle of champagne, still cold and slick, and he twisted the cap, spraying a wild arc of foam that showered his team and nearby fans.

His PR manager, Nanami, clapped him on the back. “You’re insufferable."

“That’s what I’m here for,” he said, lifting the champagne bottle in a mock toast, flashing him a grin. The media’s cameras clicked and flashed, capturing every moment as his crew continued their congratulations.

The crowd pressed close against the barriers, shouting his name, waving homemade banners with scribbled slogans and his number embellished with the colors red and black. He walked closer, one arm raised, acknowledging the fans, letting their cheers fill him up, louder and louder with every step.

But as he continued walking, his gaze caught on something—or rather, someone—just beyond the crowd.

At first it was just a hint curiosity, the way your gaze was fixed on him. A bit removed from the chaos, you leaned against one of the barriers with a media pass hanging around your neck, arms folded as you watched from a distance.

Gojou slightly narrowed his eyes, holding your gaze longer than he'd held any fan's tonight, as if he was daring you to look away first.

“What the hell is that about?” he muttered under his breath, gaze moving back to Shokou for half a second.

“Hm?” Shokou followed his gaze, but her eyes slid right past you, uninterested. “Press. You’ll get used to it. Come on, they’re all waiting.”

He forced himself to break the stare, clearing his throat as Shokou ushered him toward the media pen, where a lineup of journalists waited, all armed with recorders, microphones, and notebooks.

He fielded the usual questions—how did it feel to win, what was his mindset, what was he thinking on that last turn? His answers were always the same practiced ones, words sliding out like clockwork.

“Well, Mr. Gojou, what would you say to those who believe your racing style is a little… aggressive?” one journalist asked, a little smirk on her face as if she thought she was catching him off guard.

He snorted. “They can call it what they want. I call it winning.” He shrugged. “I don’t come out here to play it safe.”

A few reporters laughed at his remark, clearly interested in what else he had to say as a fresh wave of questions started.

Somewhere behind the flashing lights, he saw you again, lingering a few feet behind the crowd of reporters with that calm gaze fixed on him. You didn’t raise a recorder or a camera, didn’t even make an effort to push closer for a question. You just… watched.

It was disconcerting.

“Gojou!” Another journalist waved a microphone his face, snapping his attention back to the current situation. “What’s the next step for you this season?”

He forced a smile, eyes briefly looking back to you before he focused on the question. “The same as always,” he said. “Push harder, get faster, and give everyone something to talk about.”

The crowd laughed again, though, he barely heard them, too focused on the strange woman staring right into his soul. The two of you locked eyes and you have him a small nod, as if acknowledging that you were in fact staring into his soul.

“Well, I think that’s enough,” Shokou said suddenly at his elbow, pulling him out of his thoughts. “They’ll have plenty of time to hound you later.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he murmured, though he let her guide him away. Still, he couldn’t help glancing back over his shoulder, hoping to catch one last glimpse of you.

But you were already gone.

Gojou slipped away from the crowd, weaving through the bustling garage and dodging the congratulatory slaps on his back, the endless rounds of handshakes, and the celebratory shouts. He ducked past a few journalists, ignoring the barrage of questions still hurled his way, his smile slipping as he finally found the door to the bathroom.

Inside, the cool, sterile silence was jarring compared to the noise outside, but he let out a sigh of relief, his heart hammering in his chest. He clicked the lock and leaned against the sink, running his hands over his face, staring at his own reflection in the mirror.

The victory high had worn off, leaving behind a familiar pressure he could not cope with. It settled on his shoulders like an old, unwelcome friend.

He hadn't realized how much tension he was carrying in his shoulders, how deeply it would itself into him when he was alone. The race had been perfect, his win flawless, but he could feel the exhaustion radiating off of him, a pulsing throb being his eyes. He clenched his jaw, glaring at himself in the mirror.

“Pull yourself together,” he muttered, his voice barely audible.

But his words fell flat, swallowed up by the silence. In the mirror, his own eyes stared back at him, tired, almost hollow.

He reached into the pocket of his racing suit, fingers brushing over the small, familiar packet hidden in the inner lining. It was a stupid habit, a reckless one really, but it was one he hadn't been able to shake, no matter how many times he tried to quit. He could practically feel the temporary relief in the palm of his hand.

He closed his eyes, running his thumb along the edge of the packet before pulling it out, setting it on the counter next to the sink. He ripped it open tapping a small line onto the smooth counter top. It was like his fingers had a mind of their own, as if it was part of his routine of suiting up or gripping the wheel.

The powder glinted under the bathroom’s harsh fluorescent lights, almost mocking him with its simplicity. Just a quick escape, just enough to take the edge off. That’s all he needed.

He leaned down, closing one nostril and inhaling sharply, feeling the sting as the powder hit his nose. He straightened his back, blinking hard, the world around him sharpening as his mind cleared. A small, humorless smile tugged at his lips.

He leaned back against the sink, tilting his head up to stare at the ceiling, feeling his heartbeat slow, the tension in his muscles fading away.

But it didn’t take long for the guilt to creep back in, that hollow feeling settling in his chest, a reminder that this wasn't the answer. He knew it. He knew exactly what he was doing to himself, how he was destroying his body from the inside out, how it could all come crashing down. And yet… here he was.

“Fucking pathetic,” he muttered to himself, his voice echoing against the tiles.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door, jolting him back to reality.

“Gojou? You in there?” It was Shokou. “They’re waiting for you out here.”

He stuffed the empty packet back into his pocket, brushed the last of the substance off of the sink, and glanced in the mirror one last time to check his reflection, making sure there was no trace left of his momentary escape.

Taking a deep breath, he squared his shoulders, forced a smirk, and unlocked the door.

Shokou was standing there, arms crossed, her gaze scrutinizing as he stepped out. She didn’t say anything, but her judgmental eye lingered over him for a split second too long.

“You good?”

“Never better."

“Right,” she said, clearly unconvinced, but she dropped it, gesturing for him to follow her.

As the celebrations continued, Gojou weaved his way through fans and team-members alike who were still wrapped up in their post-race celebrations. He scanned the crowd, hoping to find the strange woman from earlier who he noticed had a press pass, thinking you would be here.

And then he saw you, leaning against a stack of crates near the garages, observing the current scene with the same judgmental eyes that Shokou had. The media badge hung from your neck, swaying slightly as you shifted your weight, pulling out a notebook and flipping through it, seemingly absorbed in what you were currently doing.

He cleared his throat as he approached, the echo of his footsteps giving his presence away.

You looked up, your brow raised as he came closer, a hint of intrigue flashing in your eyes.

“Looking for something?” you asked, not moving as he stopped in front of you.

“You could say that,” he replied, slipping his hands into his pockets, his gaze darted to the notebook in your hands. “I couldn’t help but notice you earlier, off in the shadows. Didn’t feel like joining the crowd?”

“Not my style.” You shrugged. “I’m not here to cheer. I’m here to report.”

“Journalist, huh?” he drawled, tilting his head. “What’s your angle?”

“The truth,” you said, a little smile pulling at your lips as you studied him. “Not everyone’s a fan of that, I know.”

“Depends on what you call the truth. But I’ve got a feeling you’ve already got your version.”

"How perceptive. I’m doing a piece on your racing career, your achievements, but… the public wants a fuller picture, don’t you think?

“Not sure I follow. Everyone knows what they need to know.”

“Not quite,” you replied, flipping through your notebook. “There’s more than just racing stats when it comes to Gojou Satoru, isn’t there?”

“Care to elaborate?”

“People say you’re… unraveling. Your recent ‘questionable decisions’ are starting to paint a different picture, don’t you think?” you said, tapping your pen against your notebook. “The accidents, the fines, the constant change in pit crews—”

“Is this some kind of witch hunt?” he interrupted. “Because I’d hate to disappoint you, princess, but I’ve heard it all.”

“Maybe so.” You leaned in a bit, meeting his stare. “But what about the whispers that aren’t out yet? The suspicions about you cheating the drug tests, your team shielding you—” You paused. “There’s a lot of money on your success, Mr. Gojou.”

“Money and racing have always gone hand-in-hand, don’t you think? You’d have a hard time finding someone out here who hasn’t bent a rule or two.”

“True enough.” You titled your head slightly. “But even the most golden careers have a way of losing their shine.”

"Tell me—do you enjoy tearing people down for a living?”

“Only if it’s warranted,” you replied unfazed. “People aren’t interested in perfect stories. They want the flaws, the dirt. It makes it all more real. At least that's what my professor believes."

“You’ve got a wicked mind, I’ll give you that. But I hope you realize you’re not the first to come sniffing around for the ‘real story’.”

A pregnant pause settles between you before you asked, “And what about her?”

A beat passed before he answered. “Who?”

“Your wife. She’s been… noticeably absent from the press circuits. And rumor has it things aren’t exactly picture-perfect between you two.”

“Rumor has it,” he repeated. “Guess you know how it is in this business. There’s always some rumor or another.”

“So it’s just a rumor, then? All the time apart, the missed events, her name suddenly missing from every headline. You’re saying there’s nothing to it?”

“People are eager to make stories out of nothing. My private life is just that—private.”

“That’s interesting,” you murmured, not looking away. “Because the most recent stories about you and her—they’re awfully detailed. People are noticing, wondering why she’s suddenly… disappeared from the scene.”

“Let them wonder. Like I said, people will talk. And it seems like you’re more interested in gossip than journalism.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Journalism is about uncovering the truth,” you countered. “But it seems like you’re more comfortable brushing things under the rug than addressing them.”

His smile returned, his carefully crafted facade sliding back into place as he straightened up, glancing away from you, clearly bored of the conversation. "Maybe someday you'll get the truth you're so desperate for, but it's not going to be today."

Before he walked away completely, he gave you one last look, his tone playful but laced with a hint of warning. “Be careful what you dig up, princess. Sometimes the truth’s more trouble than it’s worth.”

And with that, he turned his back to you, disappearing into the crowd.

Gojou returned home after the long night of celebrations had died down, the adrenaline from the race long gone, now replaced by a gnawing emptiness that felt like it might hollow him out. His penthouse was in the hear of Tokyo—a sleek, modern apartment with floor to ceiling windows overlooking the neon-drenched skyline.

As he opened the door, the soft him of the city below was drowned out by the sound of footsteps, His wife, Hana, appeared from the hallway, her arms crossed tightly across her chest, her eyes narrowed. She was dressed in a sleek black outfit, her dark hair pulled back, a looking a frustration etched onto her face.

“You’re late."

“Didn’t realize I was on a curfew,” he replied, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it onto a nearby chair.

“Don’t act like that.” Her eyes flashed as she followed him into the living room. “You missed the dinner with my parents again. They’ve been asking about you, wondering why you’re never around.”

“Hana, I just won a race,” he replied, exasperated. “Sorry if I wasn’t in the mood to play the doting son-in-law tonight.”

She scoffed, crossing her arms tighter. “Of course, it’s always about the race with you. Everything is about that damn career, isn’t it?”

“You knew what you were signing up for when you married me.”

“Maybe I didn’t know it would mean you disappearing for days, weeks sometimes, chasing whatever thrill you think you need to feel alive.”

“What’s your point, Hana? We’ve had this argument a hundred times.”

“The point is, Satoru,” she said, voice trembling with anger, “that you seem to care more about everything else than this marriage. I’m just a fixture in your life, something you come back to whenever you need to check a box or show face. But you’re never really here.”

He let out a harsh laugh, the bitter sound filling the apartment. "Here we go again. Hana, it’s not like you’ve been some shining example of commitment either. You’ve known what this is for months.”

“What this is?” Her voice rose, cracking slightly as she repeated his words. “What exactly is ‘this,’ Satoru? A sham? A partnership for appearances? I thought you loved me…"

“I can’t keep doing this,” she continued softly, her voice breaking. “The lying, the pretending. It’s exhausting.”

“So what do you want me to say, Hana? That I’m some perfect husband?” He gestured to himself, shaking his head with a smirk that looked almost pained. “We’re both guilty here. Let’s not act like this hasn’t been a slow-motion train wreck.”

“Fine. But do me a favor—at least act like you care when people ask. Because every time I hear some story about you, another scandal or rumor, it’s like a slap in the face. My family, my friends—everyone’s talking. They see the headlines too.”

“Fine. But do me a favor—at least act like you care when people ask. Because every time I hear some story about you, another scandal or rumor, it’s like a slap in the face. My family, my friends—everyone’s talking. They see the headlines too.”

“What do you want from me, Hana?” he asked quietly, the fight suddenly draining out of him. “You want me to pretend I’m someone I’m not?”

“I want… I wanted the man I married. The one who cared, who had dreams."

“Then maybe,” he said finally, his voice almost a whisper, “it’s time to stop pretending.”

As Gojou stood there running a hand through his hair. Hana paused, her expression shifting from something resigned to something wounded.

“And there’s one more thing."

He looked at her, brow furrowing. “Fucking Christ Hana, what now?”

“Do you think I’m stupid, Satoru?” she asked, folding her arms tightly across her chest. “I know what’s out there. The rumors. The whispers about who you’re with when you’re not here. Or maybe you think I don’t hear them.”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Hana, they’re just rumors. You know how the press is—they’ll twist anything for a story.”

“Twist what, exactly? Why do they have something to twist in the first place?”

“They don’t have anything. It’s just the media looking for something to make people read. Speculation sells.”

“Right. Speculation. But funny how it’s always about you, always linked to another woman.”

“That’s because I’m under a microscope. People love to create scandals, especially with someone like me. And you know that better than anyone.”

“It’s not just them, Satoru. People talk, and it’s not just baseless gossip. I’m not naive. I hear things from people close to you, people who actually know you.”

“You really believe them? You think I’m out there, risking everything for some—” He stopped himself, biting his tongue.

“Do I? I don’t even know my own husband anymore. Maybe I should ask them. Or maybe I should ask you directly, Satoru. Are you seeing someone?”

“Why are we even doing this?”

“Because I want the truth. Just once. I deserve that much, don’t I?”

“Believe what you want, Hana. I don’t have anything else to say.”

“Then maybe that’s all I need to know.”

Gojou stormed out of his apartment, his hands clenching and unclenching as he tried to shake off his frustration. He'd had enough for one night. His heart was pounding and the last thing he wanted was to be alone with his thoughts. He needed to get out, to drown the anger with something that could at least help him forget.

The bar he found was tucked away down a dim side street in Shibuya. It wasn't anything fancy–a dark cry from the glitzy nightlife he was used to–but it was dark and quiet which was exactly what he needed. He slid onto a bar stool and motioned for a drink, not bothering to pay attention to what the bartender poured.

He sipped his drink in silence, trying to tune out the night and all the noise in his head. The alcohol burned down his throat, but it was a welcome distraction that numbed his anger and frustration. He was almost on his third drink when he noticed someone sitting in the corner of the room, hunched over a notebook, tapping her pen against her cheek in thought.

She's cute, he thought to himself. He squinted trying to get a better look at the young woman, and he immediately recognized, it was you.

Of all the places he'd expect to see you, this shitty bar wasn't one of them. You looked so absorbed in your work, like you were piecing together something for a story. Satoru's curiosity got the better of him, and he stood up carrying his drink as he made his way over to where you were sitting.

"Well, well," he said, leaning against the back of the chair across from you. “Didn’t peg you for a bar rat, but maybe I was wrong.”

Your head snapped up, and your eyes widened slightly in surprise. “Gojou Satoru. What a surprise.”

“Mind if I sit?” he asked, already taking the seat.

“Didn’t think someone like you would end up in a place like this. Celebrating?”

He gave a dry laugh, swirling the glass in his hand. “Something like that.”

“So, what are you doing here, really? Figured you’d be at a fancy cafe, writing about some important news story.”

“Maybe I am. Research is research, even if it’s in a bar. Maybe it’s you I’m writing about.”

“So I’m your new project, huh?”

“Maybe. It’s part of this little journalism course I’m doing. We’re supposed to pick a public figure and write a profile. Someone who’s got a… colorful public image.”

“Colorful, huh?” He smirked. “Guess I’m your lucky target. Hope I make an interesting subject."

“Interesting is one word for it,” you replied, a faint smirk tugging at your lips. “What’s got you so quiet tonight? I thought you’d be surrounded by fans somewhere.”

He shrugged, taking a long sip of his drink. “Not in the mood for fans tonight.”

“Tough race?”

He laughed humorlessly, shaking his head. “Not the race. Just… life, I guess.”

“So,” he said, leaning in. “tell me about this little journalism course. You planning to make a career out of stalking poor drivers like me?”

“It’s a bit more complicated than that. We’re learning how to ‘uncover the truth’—or at least, that’s what they say. So far, it’s been a lot of digging through archives and learning to ask the right questions.”

“Right questions, huh?” He arched an eyebrow. “Let’s hear one. What would you ask me, if I were your ‘colorful public figure’?”

“Alright, Gojou. How does someone at the top of their game manage to keep it all together? All the races, the publicity, the pressure… don’t you ever feel like it’s too much?”

“Honestly?” He ran a hand through his hair, glancing away. “Sometimes, yeah. It’s not as easy as it looks, being the guy everyone thinks has it all together. But people don’t care about that part. They just want the show.”

“So you put on the show.”

“Guess that’s what it comes down to.” He laughed, but it sounded hollow even to his own ears. “People don’t want to see a guy crack under pressure. They want the image.”

“But what do you want?”

No one ever asked him that, as if what he wanted didn’t matter.

“What do I want?” he repeated, a slight smirk tugging at his lips as he tried to dodge the question. “Maybe another drink.”

I’m serious. Behind all of that… what’s left?”

“Honestly? Sometimes I don’t even know anymore. It’s like I’ve been going so fast for so long, I can’t remember what it was I was chasing in the first place.”

“Maybe that’s what you need to figure out, then.”

He looked at you, and the faintest trace of a genuine smile broke through. “Maybe.”

The two of you sat in silence, and he found himself grateful for it. You didn't press or pry at him and he thought that he could just be himself, even if it was just for a little while.

“Alright,” he said finally, nudging your notebook with his finger. “So, future journalist, you really gonna write all this down? Make me sound like some tortured artist?”

You smirked. “I’ll try to be kind. Maybe I’ll even leave out the part where you go to bars alone and pretend to be mysterious.”

“Ouch,” he chuckled, holding up his drink in mock surrender. “Noted. But I expect a copy when it’s published. Autographed, obviously.”

“Obviously,” you replied, laughing as you clinked your glass against his. “But don’t expect it to be flattering.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

As the conversation continued, Gojou found himself leaning in closer. You both let the drinks keep coming, though it was less about how much alcohol you were consuming and more about the way the words spilled more easily between you two.

“So,” you asked, taking another sip of your drink, “what’s it actually like out there? Everyone sees the fame, the money, the cars, but… what’s it really like?”

He exhaled, tapping his fingers on the edge of his glass. “Honestly? It’s… intense. There’s this high to it, this adrenaline. Nothing like it. You’re pushing yourself and everyone around you to the edge," he tilted his head. “But sometimes, it feels like the line between winning and crashing out isn’t as thick as people think. You cross it once, and that’s it—you’re done.”

“Doesn’t that scare you?”

“A little. But I’m more afraid of what happens if I stop. It’s like… I don’t know what I’d be without it. Guess that sounds stupid.”

“No, it doesn’t. I get it. When something’s all you know… giving it up is like giving up a part of yourself. Scary as hell.”

“Exactly. Guess we all have our addictions, huh?”

Shit. Did he say too much?

You didn’t push, just gave him a quiet nod. “So, what’s Tokyo Jujutsu like? It's one of the toughest team on the grid, right?”

“You know it. They’re tough as hell, no room for error. And they sure as hell won’t give you a second chance if you mess up.”

“Sounds brutal."

“Yeah, maybe. I guess I like the challenge. Or maybe I just like proving people wrong.”

“Enough about me," he continued. What about you? What’s the deal with this journalism project? Are you trying to make a name for yourself by exposing all my secrets?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Believe it or not, my goal in life isn’t to ruin yours. I actually think it’s fascinating, learning what drives people, what keeps them going, even when things get messy.”

“Messy? What makes you think my life is messy?”

“Oh, please. Gojou Satoru’s life is one headline after another. You’re practically the poster boy for drama.”

He feigned a hurt expression, placing a hand over his heart. “You wound me. I’m just a guy trying to make a living, you know?”

“Right,” you said, rolling your eyes. “Just a guy who happens to have a dozen scandals and an equal number of speeding tickets.”

“Hey,” he laughed, leaning back in his chair. “I’m a professional, okay? That’s all part of the job.”

The two of you continued to chat into the night. Gojou found himself relaxing, caught up in the rare comfort of talking with someone who didn’t expect him to play a part. He could just… be.

At some point, the bartender announced last call, and Gojou glanced at you, smirking. “Guess that’s our cue.”

You stretched, gathering your notebook and tucking it under your arm. “Thanks for the, uh, ‘research material.’ It was… enlightening.”

He laughed, standing and grabbing his coat. “Anytime. But don’t go making me look like a complete asshole in your little project, alright?”

“No promises."

Outside, the air was crisp as he faint hum of city traffic the only sound as you stood together on the quiet street. Gojou slid his hands into his pockets, looking at you.

Outside, the air was crisp as the faint him of the city being the only sound as you stood together on the quiet street. Gojou slide his hands into his pockets, looking at you.

“Maybe we’ll run into each other again."

“Only if you’re brave enough to handle more questions.”

“Oh, I’m plenty brave. But we’ll see if you’re as good at digging as you think.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing as you turned to leave, throwing him a casual wave. “Goodnight, Mr. Gojou.”

“Goodnight,” he echoed, watching as you disappeared down the empty street.

In that moment he realized, he never did catch your name.

© satorulovebot 2024 please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my work.

[noeggets]

felt like drawing my kids, sorta AU cause i drew them kinda different half my designs, i aged up the navi's sorta

information about them bc it's long and self indulgent from me talking to my friend

Enzan

Age: 11 (but turns 12 before Lan does making him slightly older and he will use this in a argument if he wants to)

I HC him french because of his english name they just moved to Dentech city at some point

Protoman

Age: in his 40's. 2 or 3 years younger then Enzan's father.

Backstory He was Enzan's mom's Navi (her name is Glace bc i watched the dub but apparently this website believes Enzan's english translated name is a swear word but his name on his wiki means Hot Blaze or something like that but it's french so his mom is french that is the HC i will stand on) i diagress, when she passed he was given to Enzan

other information: His Navi model was discontinued because it was buggy and glitchy, nobody could fix it (nobody wanted to try) so they just stop using whatever AI brain chip he has to make Navi's like him. He dislikes Enzan's father because he feels like he should have never got his original netop pregnant because she was sickly and giving birth is what ended her life he believes because she was ill he whole heartedly believes that what it was however the exchange was Enzan and he loves that child as his own, very rough relationship with Enzan's father

Lan

Age: 11

other information: His Mom and Dad are divorced because Yuichiro loves his work more then anything excluding Lan and Megaman he loves his kids. they are still friends and love Lan equally. Lan lives with his mom Megaman used to live with their dad in his testing phase but he's in Lan's PET so he lives with Lan and his Mom now. his original home is at Yuichiro lab, the PET and Lan's Computer is his new home he is able to jump to whichever he decides. His dad is Netopian/American

Megaman

Age: age unknown youth model - He hasn't existed that long but at the same time he was created to be around Lan's age

Backstory

created from the dna of deceased twin of lan hub. technically he is a twin but he isn't Hub he is a copy created with the DNA. He is not Hub tho.

other information: he doesn't understand social cues and tends to speak his mind, he is wiser then Lan but not knowledgeable in subjects people/Navi's his age should know about. He can solve complex problems and understand wrong from right but when it starts becoming being a world experience issue he can't really help you

Maylu

Age: 11 (older then Lan younger then Enzan, taller then Lan brags about it sometimes)

other information: American/Netopian, has whatever an american accent would be called in this world, she had a hard to learning Japanese but can speak it fluidly, cannot write it that well. Very chill at the same time the loudest person in the room if bothered. Likes this kid name Zackery in their school cough Zero COUGH he has a whole story that he is Willy's son who Willy turned into a Navi but nobody knows it yet

Roll

Age: youth model around 16 or 18

Backstory

Normal custom edited Navi from base youth model in stores no interesting background

other information: adapted the traits of being kinda selfish and needy. It's hard for her to stand not having her way, very girly Maylu did not make her this way she just developed a personality outside of her environment because she does not act anything like Maylu this is not a bad thing but it isn't a good thing either lol we love roll still

[racke7]

For anyone wondering about my life.

My car is still mine (and will remain so for the foreseeable future), and it's got new brakes+suspension and also (as of today) entirely new winter-tires.

Basically, my car didn't pass the inspection (that sucks), but I have a reputable mechanics down the street and they were able to fix-and-inspect it for 4k sek.

Considering that I'd been nightmare-scenario-ing the situation as possibly costing like half the value of the car? This was fantastic news.

In order to celebrate this fantastic financial news, I finally went and impulse-bought FF14.

So. Yesterday I spent all day trying to get that fucking mess of a game to work (why do I need two accounts, SE? Why can't I change the country after creating an account, SE? Why are you like this, SE?).

Then I realized that in order to properly play the game I needed 98gb of harddrive-space and that's not something that I have on my SSD. But hey, it managed to install just fine on my HDD? So it's probably fine-...

Why is it taking me a minute to load into any teleport-location? What the fuck.

Okay. Whatever. Maybe that won't be so terrible-... Wait, this means that it's going to do that for basically every dungeon-duty ever, doesn't it? Oh my god. This is hell.

Looking into it, I realized that my computer could theoretically handle a new internal SSD, if I just gave up on the 1TB HDD. This is a lot of space to give up, so obviously it would need to be a 1TB SSD, and that costs-... surprisingly affordable? Cool.

And it's being sold in a store in the nearby city. And they allow people to pre-order it. So I did, and immediately started transferring the files on the HDD to an external-drive for the temporary switcheroo.

Today, I got ready to drive into town to buy this SSD, and remembered that I had some other things I should probably buy whilst I'm out there. And then I looked out the window and realized that there'd been frost last night.

Frost that lingered into 10AM. Yeah. Definitely time for winter-tires. But, thankfully, the workshop that switches those tires? Basically next door to where I wanted to go anyway. Jackpot.

So I rolled the winter-tires out of storage, and shoved them in the car. And off I went.

And then I got there and the guy who would check the tires before they changed them? (The fact that this guy exists is why I'm willing to spend 500sek on having them do all of the physical work for me. Lazy, yes. But also safer.)

Anyway, this guy? He explained that my tires were made in 2014, and rubber gets really fucking shit at being rubber even after five years. So, yeah.

(My dad had something similar happen to him a few winters back, and mom basically refused to let him drive that car until he got better tires, because that's incredibly unsafe.)

But why should I believe this guy? Well, see, I remember a certain near-accident I had last winter. Where I tried to brake and just kept sliding.

(This basically scared me off from driving during winter for several weeks. It was not fun.)

Guess what happens when rubber-tires get "hard like plastic" when driving on ice? They slide.

So, I'm entirely willing to believe him (the guy I got the tires from was a car salesman, doubts were inevitable). And when asked for a price, it's 6k sek "new and mounted".

Could I have gone looking for used-tires? Maybe. But it would've probably taken me long enough that I'd need my shitty winter-tires in order to drive out to buy them, and then I'd need to have those be changed out for these new ones (1k sek).

So, if I found someone willing to sell them for 500sek/tire? It would still cost me 3k sek. So, half the price, for worse tires (and I don't even know if I'd be able to judge what amounts to "good tires" so I might get scammed outright), at some unknown future date (no idea how long it might take me to find any in the area).

And that's assuming that that's actually what they'd sell them for, because it's entirely possible that this unknown person might try to ask for 1k/tire. And then I'd only save 1k sek. For a massive undertaking, with more stress, and a worse end-result.

Or I could pay them up-front, and have the problem just... go away.

(The voice of my mother in my head popping up to say "do NOT drive with UNSAFE tires YOU COULD DIE", was also a factor.)

So, my car ended up costing me 10k sek this week. Not happy about that. Very relieved to hear that the reason I nearly had that accident was likely more because I had terrible fucking tires than because I "wasn't paying enough attention".

Also. My SSD-drive appears to work perfectly from installation, so that's fantastic. And depending on how fast it is in practice, I might move Skyrim over to it too (so that C:/ doesn't have any games).

But yeah. That's been my financial adventures today.

[moondragon618]

So uh. I think I've decided that I want to be a little bit more open about some things on here bc honestly trying not to acknowledge it is just causing me a ton of unnecessary stress (and I'm sure as fuck not acknowledging it irl lmaooo) so yeah. So I'll start with this: I'm currently unemployed and living with my parents (mom and stepdad) and my younger but also adult brother (they all have some form of income but it's only just barely enough to get by). Now on its own the whole all of us living together thing should not be that big of a deal apparently according to what I've learned from hearing other ppl's experiences in similar situations. Unfortunately my parents do not think like this. My mom especially is convinced that we are literally ruining her life so y'know that's fun (:

Okay but seriously. I'm about to sound like I'm trying to downplay this (and maybe I am bc. Yk.) but like a good 80% or so of the time it's. Fine. We get along okay. But I know that's only bc we never acknowledge The Problems outside of the few bad days and we always just go on like those never even happened. And here's what I mean by bad days btw: ""Family Meetings"". Yeah that phrase is literally a fucking trigger for me now it's fucking bullshit. When I was younger it meant "me getting screamed at about how fucked up I am and how fucked I'll be in the "real world" and how I'm just "a soft spoiled little bitch bc I never got my ass beat" (like my brother. bc he's definitely fine and has no issues at all lmaooo) (and usually without the bitch part aside from once when I was a teenager) and now it's more "me getting screamed at by my mom abt how I'm ruining her life and her marriage" etc. etc. So yeah. My stepdad is a little better in that he only yelled at me one time when I was like 12 I think? And then never again. And he seems to at least understand that if screaming at still hasn't "fixed" me after 25 fucking years then it's probably not going to so yeah. And he did actually kind of stand up for me during the last one (in late September-ish) which I know isn't much but it's still way more than anyone else has done so I do appreciate it.

Anyway the last one was really fun (terrible) I got the usual + being told I being disrespectful for not coming out to the living room bc I was having a panic attack and quite literally frozen and unable to move 👍👍👍 And I've also been limited to just my phone since then bc my mom took my computer (bc god forbid we consider there might be a reason I'm on it so much) and still hasn't given it back and tbh I think I'd rather kms than ask for it back so that's fun too (:

I am aware that this is abusive behavior and that screaming at your child for any reason is in fact child abuse btw. It took me until very recently to come to terms with that even while knowing that (and I'm probably still not fully there tbh) but I know. It's that fucking generational trauma bullshit yk. My mom's side of the family is Fucked Up like her parents were terrible and their (mostly her dad's idk the other ones lol) parents. Yeah I'm not even comfortable talking about them right now that's like a whole other thing lmao. But yeah I know that doesn't even remotely make it okay.

And yeah like the day after shit like that happens we just never acknowledge it again until everyone's losing their shit again because nothing ever changes. Believe it or not being screamed at does not help me figure out how to navigate getting a source of income or how I'm supposed to do anything when we sure as fuck can't afford another vehicle or how I'm ever going to be able to afford my own place to live lmaooo. And I also literally cannot even talk to them about any of this without losing my ability to speak so that really doesn't help either (: I sure as fuck haven't tried calling out the bullshit either bc fuck that there's no fucking way that's going over well and I couldn't even if I wanted to (: (: (:

So I'm just kinda stuck here ig. It's really not too bad (most of the time). I'm not saying that to minimize or invalidate anything either I just want you all to know that it's not like super urgent or anything, I'm not in danger, my mental health isn't great obviously but I'm not at risk of hurting myself or suicide or anything. Promise <3 I'm a tenacious bastard sticking around out of pure spite and a desire to keep creating things if nothing else lmao :)

God this is kind of a trauma dump lmao but that about sums it up ig? I'm also very much open to advice if anyone has any <3

[wordsunbound]

Chasing After You by Bri Warren

Chapter One:

I sat on my bed with my computer in my lap with discord open, revealing my chatroom with my boyfriend, Augustus Parrish. He lived in California while I lived in Missouri, we had been in a long distant relationship for a couple of years now. However, I wanted to end things for the better.

We were one of those annoying on and off again couples despite how much I tried for us not to be. Gus and I were just bad together. We were like an atomic bomb ready to explode at any second and destroy everything in our paths.

At first, the relationship was beautiful, wholesome, and perfect. He was there for me when my mother passed away from a neurological disease, and just recently my dad passed away from a hemorrhage. I'm grateful Gus was there for that but I just don't think I can do this anymore.

I had been wanting out of the relationship for a while but I thought things would get better. That's what the elderly said about relationships. In order to keep things going you have to fix things together, but that was not the case for us. We were always fighting about little things that ended up with him crying or me. We were toxic together.

I looked back at the chat to see what he said:

GustlePup: 9:30am Good morning, baby! GustlePup: 9:31am I love you! You're so beautiful!!!!! GustlePup: 9:47am I can't wait to hear your beautiful voice!

I replied to him:

CherryQueen: 10:00am Good morning CherryQueen: 10:01am I need to call you if you're not busy please

My phone rang and it read on the screen: Gussie ❤️. I picked up on the second ring, "Hey, Gus, I know I just woke up but I really need to tell you something."

I could hear him shuffling on the other end and then he cleared his throat, "Uh, okay. What's up, Chels?"

I grabbed at the brown bear on my bed, thumbing at his right ear. Clearing my own throat I allowed the words to tumble out of my rosy lips, "I think we should break up. I can't keep fighting with you every single day and crying. I just can't anymore, Gus."

My eyes were burning intensely as tears threatened to fall from my hazel-green eyes. I could tell he was hurt because of how his breath hitched upon hearing my words that struck him like an arrow in the chest.

"I knew you would do this! You've been acting weird for weeks and now you break things off! Who is it? Is it Cole? What did I do?" Gus was asking so many questions that I couldn't even comprehend anything else.

I stopped him as tears filled my throat and my eyes, "Gus, I cannot take this anymore. We are both a bad match and the distance isn't helping. This isn't about Cole-"

"Then who is this about?" Gus demanded with irritation clearly in his voice, which quickly changed to a softer tone. "Because I knew you'd leave me. I can't handle life without you, Chelsea.. Please don't leave me. Please."

I took a deep breath and said, "Gus, please I just need to be me. I gotta go, okay? I have to think about some things."

Before he could get another word in, I hung up the phone and placed it on my night stand. Was it cruel to do to him? Maybe, but I really needed to get ready for my day off at home from work.

After a quick shower, I was back on my phone trying to get ahold of my friend Kylee via text. I had already told my sister and my best friend, Cat, about the break up; they were happy for me.

Kylee texted me back finally as I shoved a spoonful of peanut butter in my mouth:

Who's ass am I kicking?

I laughed and quickly texted back:

Mine and Gus's I guess. I broke up with him and now he just can't leave me alone. Oh, btw are you still coming over to talk to Cat?

Kylee and I were friends last year until our ex roommate, Farrah, decided to conspire against all of us in the house. She was able to convince Kylee that Cat was not nice to the cat that Kylee had purchased as a gift for Farrah and Cat. So Kylee and Farrah took the cat when we were not home, and Farrah moved in with Kylee for a short period. Farrah ended up moving back home to her parents house in Tennessee with Cat's cat.

Kylee and I had put together a plan to hopefully rekindle Kylee and Cat's friendship even though it was a crazy idea.

Kylee and I were going to drive to Tennessee to get back Cheeto.

Kylee replied to me:

I'm on my way there now

@theink-stainedfolk

[echoghost1]

Burning Away Stress

Summary: After surviving something that was meant to kill him he thought school might be easier.

He should have known better.

Word Count: 1,624

Prompt: Danny’s having a bad day and decides to fix that… with arson

For: @phantomphangphucker

Part two of Disassembly Required

You can read on AO3 or down below the cut.

Danny didn’t understand why Tucker disliked hospitals so much. He’d been stuck in one for a month and he’d been having a great time!

Sure the first few hours were pretty rough, but once he showed signs that he was going to recover, everything changed.

Every little bit of progress he made was celebrated. At first, he could only wiggle his fingers and toes, but as the weeks went on he could do more and more.

They practically threw a party the first time he was able to grab and hold onto something.

They actually did throw a party when he got out of bed on his own. They had pizza and he even got to wear a little party hat.

During the last two weeks of his stay, he was in physical therapy re-learning how to walk.

He wasn’t used to so many adults being so proud of him. It was nice.

Part of him wanted to just stay and recover forever. He knew that was both impossible and not a good thing, but still, he didn’t want such a nice thing to end.

There was also another amazing thing that happened while he was at the hospital. Something he didn’t see coming at all.

The head doctor led a meeting with him and his parents. The doctor basically wanted consent to run extra tests on Danny to try and understand how he survived and how he was getting better.

The doctor kept calling it a “medical miracle”, but the way he said it sounded more like “freakish impossibility”.

Danny wasn’t sure what he would have said if he had been asked. He knew it would help other people if they were able to figure it out. He liked being helpful.

But the thought of being tested on…

He was so anxious during that meeting.

Not just because of what was being asked, but, because he was a minor, his parents were the ones that were making this decision.

He had no idea what they were going to say.

Would they be all for it?

Would they want to be involved?

Would they want to do it all themselves?

Would they even notice that he didn’t want to?

But then his mom said, “No.”

Not only no, but “My baby boy is alive. I don’t care how.”

And then his Dad added, “He’s a Fenton, that’s all you need to know.”

Hearing them say that made him happy in a way he couldn’t quite articulate.

Maybe it was hope?

================================================



And then he went back to school.

Since he was still technically in recovery, he had to use a wheelchair all day. It was both nice and annoying. It's not like he couldn't walk, but he did get tired pretty easily.

He was a fool for thinking that was going to be the worst of his problems.

Being chair-bound, those in charge thought that meant he wouldn't be able to get around on his own.

That was completely false, but whatever.

If that had been all, he could have managed. His friends and sister would have been more than happy to help. They even offered to do so.

But no.

It was decided he needed a single dedicated person. A person who shared all of his classes.

Sam had an art class when Danny had a study hall.

Tucker had a computer class when Danny had gym and was in a different math class.

Jazz didn't share any of his classes. Obviously.

There was one person who did.

Out of his entire class. One person.

Dash Baxter.

If his voice weren’t still shot, he would have screamed.

Instead, Danny had to endure being pushed around from class to class by someone who usually preferred to push him into his locker.

To make matters worse, everyone was staring at him. They looked away when he looked. Pretending they weren't, but he knew.

He could feel their eyes on him all day.

They all kept staring at the scar on his neck.

That jagged pale line that went all the way around.

He didn’t blame them for staring. Sometimes he’d catch himself looking for too long in the mirror. Or tracing his fingers along it when his mind wandered.

He just wished they didn’t try to hide it.

He wished they didn’t avoid him so much.

Wished they stop whispering behind his back.

He was both the center of attention and completely ignored at the same time.

They all wanted to talk about him, about what happened to him.

No one wanted to talk to him.

He hadn’t been expecting a parade or a party, but thought people would at least welcome him back with some kind of greeting.

Thought they might say anything at all.

All they did was stare.

They would point.

They would whisper.

On top of all that he had to deal with everyone praising Dash for wheeling Danny around.

As if the oaf volunteered for the position.

As if he wasn’t doing it the worst way possible. Stopping short, starting without warning, going way too fast, and constantly crashing the wheels into door frames.

Clearly, Dash was the real hero here.

Not the kid who survived being a modern-day ritualistic human sacrifice.

Danny only made it to his fourth-period science class before he wanted to tear his own hair out.

He resisted the urge to do that, but he did glare a lot.

Never at anyone, or even at anything in particular. Just whatever was straight ahead.

They were doing an experiment today, but since Danny was still “banned from handling all fragile school property”, he wasn’t allowed to participate.

Not that he could even reach the counter from his chair anyway.

So he glared.

Glared at the only thing in his sightline.

The flame coming from the Bunsen burner.

He ripped a piece off the corner of his worksheet and held it close to the flame.

The bit of paper turned to ash and fell onto the countertop.

No one was paying any attention to him so he did it again.

And again.

And again.

Once all four corners were gone, he moved to the edges, pulling long strips and testing how far he could be and still burn the paper.

Eventually, he ran out of paper.

That’s when he noticed the little book of matches.

He casually reached across the tabletop and palmed the matches. The teacher had plenty. These wouldn’t be missed.

================================================

His next class was English.

As much as he wanted to play with his matches, he knew he couldn’t. Matches have a smell, he’d get caught in no time.

Instead, he just imagined it. The sound of the matched head running across the striker. The way the flame danced. The thrill of trying to hold on as long as you can before the flame reaches your fingertips.

By the end of class, he was in a much better mood.

Then he had gym.

Even though he wasn’t going to be doing anything in this class either, Dash didn’t just drop him off at the gymnasium.

No.

He wheeled him right into the locker room.

Danny had been really looking forward to not smelling this room today.

He pulled the collar of his shirt up over his nose and fiddled with the matchbook in his pocket.

For a moment he entertained the idea of lighting a few matches to help with the smell. He dismissed the idea when he realized the room might be more flammable than the science lab.

Maybe if no one was in here he’d try it.

The place could use a good deep clean.

He was wheeled out of the locker room before he could give in to temptation.

The weather was nice enough for gym class to be outside by the football field.

There was a pile of various equipment on the ground, a few footballs, some jump ropes, and some rackets with those stringy Koosh balls instead of tennis balls. If people didn’t want to use anything there, they could just walk around the track or sit in the grass and practice yoga.

In short, it was the most perfect gym class where you could just hang out and do whatever.

Of course, he was stuck doing nothing.

He slouched in his chair and crossed his arms.

He wasn’t pouting. He was rightfully upset.

It wasn’t fair.

This whole day was stupid.

He felt the matchbook in his pocket shift.

No one was paying attention to him.

He was outside.

He decided it wouldn’t be such a bad thing if he took a little stroll. It was gym class after all. He needed to stretch his legs anyway.

He wasn’t going to go too far. He wouldn’t be overexerting himself.

He was just going to go hang out behind the football team's locker room. The one only used during practices and games.

The one that would be empty.

The one that blocked the view of what he could be getting up to if anyone looked his way.

Once he was safely in the shadow of the outbuilding he pulled out the matchbook.

He stuck the first match against the striker and watched it burn. He blew it out just as the heat reached his fingertips.

He used the bricks of the building to light the next match.

He shook out the match and dropped it into the grass with the other one.

He lit the third match.

There was a poster taped to the wall nearby. An ad for last month’s football game.

Danny held the match to the useless poster.

He smiled as the poorly cropped image of the Raven mascot succumbed to the flame.

He was feeling better already.

[determinedwriter]

Whumptober 2023: No. 21: Alt 15: Reluctant Whumper

Tony

“Dad, Please!” Ro wails, tied to a chair. An invisible barrier keeps me away from her. “Dad, make it stop!”

I scream in protest at a dark, faceless figure who keeps beating on her. “Hey! Hey, leave her alone! Let her go! Ro! Ro!”

The figure turns to me and I stumble back in surprise at its now visible face. He doesn’t speak. He just stares. He is…me.

“Dad, why are you doing this?!” She sobs.  “I’m sorry…please, I’m sorry.”

“I-It’s not me!” I stammer in shock and fear. “It’s not me! I’m coming! Hang on!”

I slam myself against the invisible barrier to no avail. “No! No!”

Ro slumps forward lifelessly, one last word on her lips. “Why?”

“NO!”

*

I wake up with a yell, Pepper startling me out of my nightmare. “Tony!”

“Huh?!” I gasp, looking around and trying to ground myself in reality. “O-Oh…”

“Are you alright?” Pepper asks. “You were screaming in your sleep, honey.”

I gulp and nod. “Yeah. Yeah, just a nightmare. I-I’ll be right back.”

She rubs my arm comfortingly. “Okay, babe.”

Making my way to Ro’s room, I open the door quietly. It’s still the middle of the night. My heart drops as I realize she’s not in bed. “Ro? Aurora?”

I turn on the light. “Ro!”

“F.R.I.D.A.Y, where is she?” I ask the compound’s AI. “Where’s Ro?”

My AI doesn’t respond. Something is seriously wrong. “F.R.I.D.A.Y?”

Nothing.

Checking my security system, I find that it has been hacked and disabled. Who could have done this? I’m good with my tech. Nobody can hack it. At least, that’s what I thought.  Rebooting the whole thing, I find a video taken from the front door’s cameras just under an hour ago.

Ro opens the front door, still in her pajamas with a blanket around her. She takes a deep breath, taking in the night air. “Do you need anything, Miss Stark?” F.R.I.D.A.Y. asks her. She smiles a little at this. “No, just wanted air. I’ll come back inside in a minute.”

A figure with dark clothing approaches as she turns toward the front door, holding her in a headlock with a gun to her temple. “Don’t scream.”

Ro stays still, her blanket falling to the ground. “You don’t have to do anything rash.”

“Oh, but I do.” He tells me. “You’re Stark’s kid, yeah?”

She hesitates, telling the man all he needs to know. “That’s what I thought. Take down the security system. Don’t alert anyone or I swear to God I’ll blow your goddamn brains out.”

“F.R.I.D.A.Y?” Ro speaks shakily.

“Yes, Miss Aurora?” F.R.I.D.A.Y. asks.

“S-Shut down the security.” She stutters. “Please…”

“You will have to access the security through a computer with the passwords to everything,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. explains.

“Get it done.” The man growls.

“A.R.I.E.S?” Ro calls to her AI with an earpiece in her ear.

It’s like how F.R.I.D.A.Y. is connected to my glasses. She wears that earpiece everywhere. She made it herself like the smarty-pants Stark kid she is.

A.R.I.E.S speaks through the earpiece, not audible from the security footage. Ro uses her AI, its interface, and her own hacking skills to shut down the compound’s security, and the video goes dark after that.

I should have known. Ro’s my kid. I wouldn’t put it past her to be able to do this to the whole security system. She’s smart. She’s a Stark. And I’d be proud if I wasn’t so worried about her whereabouts.

With the security system now fixed, I quickly tell Pepper what’s going on. With everything that has happened since the Sokovia Accords, nobody else is ever really here other than Rhodey on occasion. And Vision whenever he’s not with Wanda.

God, I’d really like to have the Avengers here right now. I hate that we got broken up so badly and in such a huge way. But I can’t worry about that right now. I have to think about my daughter. About Ro.

I have Rhodes stay with Pepper for safety, putting on a suit of armor before leaving and surveying the area for clues. I’ve gotta find her…I’ve gotta find her.

I will find her.

I don’t immediately find anything, Ro being the reason I end up with any leads at all. 

“Aurora is trying to call you through her earpiece, Mr. Stark,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. informs me.

I pick up immediately. “Ro?”

“Dad.” She whispers. “Dad I…”

Ro is so quiet that I can’t hear the rest of the sentence. “Kid, I need you to speak up a little. I can’t hear you.”

She stays silent, a low tapping sound starting over the call.

Two taps. A pause. Three more. Pause. Another. Five more, three, then one. Three. Five.

I wrack my brain for what this code is. It’s not Morse. I don’t know what kind of codes she might know.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y, do you hear a pattern?” I ask.

“Boss, it seems to be tap code. It was used in Vietnam as a-” She explains.

“Got it. God, you’re smart, kiddo. You really are a mini Stark. Do that again.” I request.

Two, three, one,  five, three, one, three, five.

H E L P flashes across my helmet interface. “Okay. Alright. I understand you. Give me anything you’ve got to help me find you, okay? I’m gonna come and find you. I promise.”

O K

“Good job, mini. I’m gonna have to ask you when you learned this. Once this is all over, I mean.” I reply.

D A R K 

C O L D

D O N T

K N O W

W H E R E

“It’s alright. Just tell me whatever you can. Is it just one guy that took you? I found the security footage.” I tell her.

O N E 

M A N

T A T S

M A S K

G R N E Y E S

“Tattoos, a mask, erm, green eyes?” I ask. 

Y E S

“Alright…I’m trying to track you but I’m having some trouble here. Anything else?” I reply anxiously.

N O

I M

S C A R E D

I M 

S O R R Y

I clench my teeth and try not to let my own fear show. “Don’t be sorry. And you don’t have to be scared. I’m coming.”

L O V E

Y O U

T O N S

“Love you tons, Ro.” My voice breaks a little. 

There’s a sudden yell. “Did I tell you you could fucking move?!”

“Where am I?!” Ro exclaims.

“Daddy’s not gonna find you here. Not for a while. What are you doing in the corner there, huh?” He taunts her.

I hear Ro whimper. “Please let me go. I don’t know what you want!”

“Once your father is here I’ll-” He stops. “Do you have your fucking earpiece? I took that away you little shi-”

There’s commotion, ending in Ro’s scream. “No! Dad, don’t! Don’t come, it’s a trap! It’s-“

“We lost connection, boss,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. informs me.

“Try to get her back. Try to track the damn signal. I need to find her now. I don’t care if it’s a trap…I’m saving my kid.” I growl angrily, hating the man for taking her. 

I don’t even know who this bastard is. 

“Boss, I’ve tracked a message.” She replies.

“A message?” I ask.

F.R.I.D.A.Y. hesitates. “It says…come and get her.” 

“So be it,” I reply. “I’m gonna kill this bastard.”

Going to where F.R.I.D.A.Y. has tracked the message, I find a small clearing in the middle of the woods. At first, it doesn’t look like anything unusual.

But then I scan the ground and find a secret metal hatch. “Bingo.”

I easily cut a hole in the large door with my tech, stepping through and descending a set of stairs. Lights turn on as I move. Motion sensors.

It doesn’t matter if this guy knows I’m here. I don’t care about the possible trap. I just need to find Ro and get her the hell out of this place.

Entering a room at the bottom of the stairs, I find Ro tied to a chair. “Dad!”

“Thank God. I’m getting you out of here, kid.” I reply, stepping forward.

“Stop!” She screams. “Don’t-“

Getting closer, I am suddenly zapped backward by an invisible barrier. It reminds me of my nightmare. The nightmare that alerted me to this whole mess in the first place.

Laying on my back like a turtle in its shell, I watch my interface go dark. “F.R.I.D.A.Y?”

Nothing. Suddenly, I’m jolted up, my suit forcing me to stand. I haven't even moved. And my armor is acting like Rhodey's did when Vanko hacked it years back. But my suit is upgraded. I changed it so that it can’t happen to any of the team or the suits again. How is this happening?

My armor forces me to turn back towards the door as someone enters, controlling the suit with a small device. “Hey, tin man.” 

“The wisecracks are kind of my thing, though I shouldn’t worry about you stealing my thunder. That was terrible.” I quip. Honestly, sometimes I say these things without a second thought.

The man is as Ro briefly described. Partially masked and tattooed with some pretty striking green eyes. Almost like a snake’s. 

His eyes wrinkle, making me assume he’s smiling. “Everything’s going as planned. Did you know the things your little girl is capable of? She’s the reason I was able to hack your suit.”

Though I am facing away from her, I can hear Ro cry out. “I’m sorry! He m-made me! I didn’t want-“

“It’s okay, Ro. I know. Everything’s gonna be fine. You’ve just gotta hang in there.” I reassure her quickly.

The man rolls his eyes. “How sweet. Alright, let’s move right along.”

“Why are you doing this?” I ask.

“I knew you’d step right into a trap if your daughter’s life hung in the balance. I’m sure you have a lot of enemies, Stark. You can’t be too surprised that Aurora has been thrown into the mix. It was only a matter of time until your mistakes hurt her. That…that is what this is.” He explains.

I grimace. “What’d I do to you, then?”

“You don’t care.” He accuses. “All you care about is yourself. At least…that was the case until you met her. It’s clear to me that you’d do anything to save your daughter. And because of what you and your company have done…the blood on your hands…that is the reason she’s about to die. And you’re going to be the one to kill her.”

The suit makes me turn around, walking towards Ro and past the invisible barrier that had previously subdued me. “Come on, F.R.I.D.A.Y. Come on, stop!”

My arm lifts, repulsor charging and pointing right at her head. “No, no, no, no!”

Firing against my will, I shout again. “Ro!”

She ducks her head down and out of the way, thankfully dodging the blast. “Ah!”

Ro tries to break out of her chair, having no luck. My faceplate lifts, allowing Ro to see my expression of terror. “Damn it, make it stop! Don’t make me hurt her! Goddamn it!”

Stuck in my own suit, I am unable to help it as my arm thrusts forward and punches Ro in the stomach. She doubles over in pain, seemingly trying to bite back a scream. “D-Dad…”

“I’m sorry,” I tell her. “Ro, I’m so sorry.”

She winces. “L-Love you tons.”

“Love you tons,” I reply. “Always.”

“Alway-” Ro is interrupted by another hit, opening a gash on her face.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y, come back.” I plead. “Make this stop. Come on, don’t do this!”

My armor forces my hand around her throat and I try to pull away, having no luck. “No!”

Ro struggles to breathe, starting to choke. I yell again. “Don’t! Don’t! Let her go!”

“This is all you, Stark.” The man taunts.

Using every bit of my strength, I try to regain control. My body betrays me no matter how hard I try to keep my fingers loose, they cling to her neck until her lips are blue. “No, no, no…no. Ro, I love you. I’m gonna make it stop. I-I…”

I’m unable to see it, but I hear a crash behind me. “Shit, Tony! Stop!”

“Oh yeah, sure I’ll just stop!” I reply sarcastically. “He has control of the damn suit!”

Suddenly, my hand releases her and she slumps back, unconscious. “Ro!”

Finally able to control my suit, I turn around and see Natasha. “Thanks…”

She looks different from when I last saw her. She has medium-length blonde hair. “Don’t mention it, Seriously, don’t. Secretary Ross will be on my ass.”

Nat’s a fugitive. She’ll be arrested. But she’s still my friend. And she just saved my daughter’s life.

The green-eyed man is unconscious on the floor, courtesy of Nat. I nod at her. “Won’t hear a peep from me.”

Ro comes to as Nat unties her, eyes widening. “N-Natasha?”

She grins. “Hey, kid.”

“You’re blonde.” Ro comments.

“You’re bigger,” Nat replies. “How old are you now?”

“Sixteen.” She tells her. 

Nat helps her out of the chair and hugs her. “Look at you, all grown up.”

Ro buries her head into Nat’s shoulder for a moment. “I’ve missed you, Auntie Nat.”

“Missed you too, little firecracker.” Nat coos.

Ro moves to my embrace, crying. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I hacked the security and the suit and…”

“It’s alright. A-Are you in pain?” I ask, seeing the marks on her neck.

She hesitates but nods. “I’m fine.”

Her voice shakes, betraying her facade of strength. I hold her shoulders. “Hey, look at me. It’s okay. You’re safe now.”

Ro breaks down into tears, trying to stifle her sobs. “D-D-Dad…”

“Shhh, shhh, shhh…I’ve got you. It’s you and me. We’re safe. I’m gonna take you home now, okay?” I reassure her.

“Okay.” Ro mumbles.

Nat and I help her out of there, leaving the god-awful place behind. 

Now that I have her back, I’ll never let her go.

[atsoraasayoma]

Guess that Digidestined Part Three!

Next on our list we have the stoic Iori. At first I considered him just a background character to just kind of fill in a slot. He just seemed to exist there to playoff the strengths of the other Digidestined. He exacerbates the loudness of Daisuke with his calm logic. He appears dull in light of Miyako’s outgoing personality. And yet he gives me Takeru vibes-like a younger Takeru vibe- just more mature.

At first I never really cared for Iori-like at all. There was just no enduring outstanding trait about him. I get how reliable and curious/wise he is because of his dad’s career path influence being a police officer and his grandfather and really taking things to heart. In truth the way I looked at him was really at a surface level.

What I did not see for awhile was the image of a young man trying to find his life’s purpose through the lives of others. -A young man that, much like Ken but in a quiet way was dealing with his own grief losing his father.

His character really fleshed out when I stopped comparing him to the others. I found out Iori speaks loudest with his actions. Swinging a Kendo stick, sticking up for his beliefs, putting in his two cents but all while not losing himself emotionally for the most part-

-heck even not wasting a cherry tomato because it would be wasteful- he lives by his moral compass and dies by his moral compass. He does not need praise or a pat on the back - but merely to be acknowledged and respected.

At times he seems awkward-almost out of place. But that is indeed due to his maturity. He is an only child and devoted himself to whatever he puts his mind to-and will not compromise. Yet he is not so blind that he will not take others opinions and weigh them on his scale of justice.

I would say his most defining moment was lifting the dying body of Oikawa as he desperately sought to help him fulfill his dream. Of course, he was emotional before, but this situation literally tore off the mask of justice seeing the redemption of his father’s friend and saw how even an ‘evil’ person could be redeemed. He witnessed it through Ken- but he was more emotionally invested in this redemption arc.

And that’s Iori for you. In short Iori is fair, and blameless to a fault.

Now, the moment you’ve been waiting for. In the conversation’s below who do you think Iori is speaking to?

Digidestined A: It’s nice how you hold onto the values of your grandfather. He’s pretty good at Shogi too. I wonder if we can see him again soon?

Iori: Tea and rice cakes it is then. I’ll arrange the meeting. and of course, all of you are invited as long as you mind your manners.

Digidestined B: I get what it’s like wanting to do your best having a strong sense of justice but sometimes Iori that can be a dangerous thing. You have to look at it seeing if what you’re doing ends up hurting those you care about.

Iori: I will take your words to heart, but that does not diminish my resolve. No matter what happens what’s right is right. And what’s wrong is wrong. The moment I start doubting that will be a Dark day for sure.

Digidestined C: If you condemn me Iori so be it. But like you I stand by my actions. Look at the person I am now- not the person I was before.

Iori: You can’t undo what’s been done. Your past is a part of you and is shaping your own resolve that I have borne witness to. I don’t condemn you but I caution you and warn you if you go down that path again you may not be able to come back from it this time.

Digidestined D: We’ve been friends for awhile and I can’t tell you how many times you’ve kept me fed with your mom’s cooking!

Iori. The feeling is mutual. I would have gone through at least a dozen computers had you not fixed it all those times. I am grateful.

Digidestined E: Listen. You should take a page from my book and lighten up. Get some sunshine. Have a candy bar or see a movie. You’ll feel a lot better.

Iori: …If I took a ‘page’ from your book then I would already be at the end of it. I relax from time to time but unlike you I never let my guard down.

[3liza]

he's definitely not gay-gay, he's very very into women, you know when dudes are Into Women in a way beyond hooting and grabbing etc, positive heterosexuality in a sense, but I could definitely see him being a Kinsey 4 or around there and just overcompensating like most men of his generation do (and most men still feel they have to, or have to, depending on their circumstances). also his older brother is capital G Gay and was gay and out in like. the 80s and 90s if not before then. I have no idea how the family handled that, my parents are older than most parents of millennials so there is a significant age gap between me and my generation of my family, all my cousins are like 20 years older than I am. and then my brother also is gay and that seems to really rattle my dad in weird ways and he has hangups about my brother being fragile or unmanly that my dad just doesn't have about me, he fully treats me as if I'm successfully embodying his ideals of manhood and has done so since I was a tiny baby.

in microcosm, it's a good example of how masculine coded behavior is considered honorable and beneficial for everyone, but being feminine is shameful, especially for men but even for women, but also feminine behavior and feminine attractiveness was good. dad would remonstrate with me about timidity or fussiness or being unprepared for emergencies or not being able to fix my appliances or whatever by negatively framing this behavior as "things women do", but simultaneously never acknowledged that if that was so, it would be appropriate for me to behave that way [if I was female]. so this created an interesting childrearing environment where the expectation was that I would learn both sets of gendered behaviors and skills: makeup, dressing, posture, grooming, speaking, car maintenance, shooting guns, trigger discipline, math, reading and writing, riding horses (gender of this activity unclear), climbing with and without ropes, marching and hiking, ignoring discomfort and illness, "exercise", driving manual transmission, research, computers, haircare, etc etc. and for whatever value we can assign to gendered and ungendered childrearing, it "worked", and now I'm the way I am. very odd.

and then my parents had a second child who was actually assigned male and it's like he didn't know what to do with that at all. I think he identified with my brother too much and all his anxieties about not being manly enough were projected on my poor little brother, who really was more sensitive and emotional than I (the stoic, bloodthirsty child) ever was. and as a result my brother missed out on a ton of the stuff my dad used to do with me. and I think this is because the female child who expressed any discomfort with a challenging situation would be accepted for displaying innate female weakness and simply encouraged to overcome it, but the male child was not allowed to start from the same place and instead immediately rejected for not immediately being manly. again the comparisons to King of the Hill are clear, except my dad was never a football star, he just thought that he should have been, so he considered my brother's "failure" to be a muscly jock a failure as well, even though it would have been borderline impossible for my parents to produce such a child either genetically or environmentally.

there's a fatphobic element too, because I was always underweight so I superficially appeared "athletic" and stringy, and my brother was always slightly plump (like my dad) and my dad is incredibly self conscious about never having the action man muscle body he felt he should have, not even when he was in the army or doing freakish athletic exercise like hang gliding or working on a dude ranch (not made up examples, he actually did both of these things and was slightly fat the whole time. because that's normal, but he didn't feel it was normal or acceptable).

so idk. my brother and I are both in a great place when it comes to relating to our parents so it's not an active, seething family issue. dad has taken full advantage of the veteran's administration finally and really gone to therapy and really figured his shit out so I think once I get a chance to talk him through a lot of this stuff we'll get some answers.

I don't really understand why my dad, a Silent Generation Vietnam veteran who can most accurately be compared to Hank Hill in appearance and mannerisms, is so cunty. but he also was the one to tell me about wearing your panties on top of your tights to keep your tights from falling down around your knees (less useful if you need to avoid pantyline, but still works well [or better] with a thong). my mom didn't teach me that. where did he learn this stuff. is he the only straight man on earth who actually pays attention to what women are doing?? we just don't know

[ithinkabouthowtothink]

Old Times - Part IV

The relationship both Rafe X Reader always wanted falls into place. Reader hits a dilemma she has been keeping secret.

Warnings: none

Part III

The papers below you were scattered across your desk. You felt out of place somehow, just for a moment. You blink quickly out of your haze as you hear your cellphone buzzing along the wooden desk. You began moving papers trying to locate your phone before the call goes to voicemail.

Rafe calls you in his free time when he’s on site. His line of work never allows him to fully clock out but he always makes time to talk when he can.

A sigh of relief escapes your chest as your phone comes into few, peaking from behind a stack of contracts you had not yet read. Your face comes into view on the screen as you pick the phone up. FaceTime, great. You haven’t been feeling the best the past few days and it has taken a toll on your appearance. You smooth your hair out as you press the green button putting on a grin to force yourself to feel an ounce better.

“Hey pretty girl.” Rafe answers the call with a huge grin.

“I was worried you were in the zone with work.” Referring to the time it took you to answer the call.

“Oh, no my phone was playing hide and seek under all this paperwork.” You push out a laugh trying to clear your busy mind to give your boyfriend all your attention.

“Are you home? You look like you just showered?” You question as you look over at the time on your computer. ‘5:42’ reads back and you know if the sun is out, so is the crew. It’s unusual for Rafe to already be home, especially compared to you still being in the office at this time.

“One guy no-showed so the extra workload was hard on the rest if us.” Rafe huffed out as he slipped two fingers underneath the neck of his purple shirt to scratch his collarbone. You know it’s definitely a much more complicated situation than he is leading on.

“I’m sorry, baby. That can’t be easy.” You lean into the back of your chair and Rafe positions his phone on a counter as you see more of his chest coming into view.

“They needed an early night.” He shrugged his shoulders then leaned an elbow on the kitchen counter in front of him, laying his cheek into the palm of his hand, his eyes searching yours through the screen. You know he needed the night off probably more than his crew did.

You nod and smile with closed lips as you begin collecting the stray forms scattered along your desk. The way Rafe’s eyebrows keep coming together makes it known his worry for you. You avoid eye contact in fear you will say what’s on your mind. You have to tell him. This secret has been only yours for a week and you feel each day drags on as long as you’re keeping it with you.

“Baby, what’s going on? You should leave the office, you don’t look so good.” Rafe grabs the phone in an attempt to be closer to you.

“Yeah, it’s been a long day.” You force another laugh as you put the papers in a loose pile in the corner of your desk. Emma has already left for the day but you’ve noticed she has finished a few forms in your mental absence.

You smile when you look to his beautiful face, his eyes never have left your face. Being away from him is so hard sometimes, more so today. It’s been three months now since you and Rafe fell back into each other. You have made it work with the back and forth every weekend, alternating of course. The Cameron family dinners Rose puts on was now in your calendar to attend twice a month. Your mom has lightened up on the lectures about Rafe especially once he started going to your parent’s to do a few things around the house. You had mentioned over the phone one night about your Dad not being able to safely get onto the roof to fix a leak. A day later your mom called to thank you for having Rafe showing up. He cares and he shows it. You loved him more after receiving that phone call. Rafe still doesn’t know your mom called but he can probably guess.

“Can I call you once I get home? I need to finish a few things here with a clear mind.” You rhetorically ask. You know your mind won’t be clear until you see him face to face again.

“Yeah, babe. Uh, I love you. I’ll talk to you later.” If this were just a phone call you’d still be able to tell how upset he is. It’s clear in his voice.

“Love you too.” You say as you blow a quick kiss before hanging up. You relax back in your leather office chair and huff as your chest tightens.

****************

The loud clank of your keys on the granite counter top echo through your kitchen. You grab a coffee k-cup, placing it into the insert. The hiss of the machine lets you know your coffee is brewing.

As you walk down the stretch of the kitchen island you find yourself in the restroom before you can think about where your feet are taking you. You open the cabinet above the toilet and it stares back at you. The little stick with the digital test reading “pregnant” across the top.

You had missed your period earlier this month but never said anything to Rafe, you didn’t want to worry him because you had been stressed at work. A few minor symptoms like being tired so you’d be in bed an hour earlier than usual. You also started having a craving for savory snacks mid-morning but you assumed it was bored eating from looking over paperwork all day. Finally, it was the widening of your hips that made you drive to the nearest drug store for an answer that would appear in 3 short minutes.

You know you want a baby. A baby does not scare you at this point in your life. You have a great job and enough money to provide for a baby. The apartment situation isn’t ideal but you can manage. You’re so happy so why are you so upset? You love Rafe. Having a child with someone you live shouldn’t cause such a dilemma but it is anyway. What if Rafe isn’t ready to be a dad? The two of you talk about the near future and the plan was not a baby. Moving in together, yes. Installing a car seat, no.

You wipe tears from your cheeks and run to your bedroom. The metallic gray suitcase you have used for those long weekends at the pool house is peaking behind your closet door. You throw it on your bed as you pack for a trip you know is going to change your life.

[rachaelswrites]

Nathan Harris

Spencer Reid x Daughter!reader

Word Count: 1,539

Requested By: Anonymous

We remember nathan harris, the high school student who had sex with prostitutes and killed them, and spencer saved his life after he tried committing right? I had just thought about this today where he’s a substitute for the week at reid!reader’s school and when reid!reader comes to class, he takes roll, he calls her name and is like “Is your dad spencer reid?” because the last time he saw her was at the metro when she was teeny tiny and now she’s bigger and very pretty, and she’s like “yeah”, then after class, he tells her to stay and talk for a bit, and he tells her that spencer saved his life, and after a few minutes of talking, she starts feeling uncomfortable and she makes up an excuse to leave, so then she heads to the bau, tells spencer about her day and asks him if he knows a nathan harris, and she started explaining all these things, and spencer starts to get worried and all

Warnings: Nathan Harris being a creep

Teachers had been coming and going for the past several weeks. Your regular teacher was gone on leave so you had substitutes almost everyday. Most subs were burnt out of your class by the third day, high schoolers could be brutal. They ranged from young to old and male to female.

In class, today, all the students arrived before the teacher did. It was the first class of the day so it wasn’t a weird thing for teachers to show up a little late. You were listening to your friend talk about her weekend when the teacher walked in.

He didn’t seem too old but he wasn’t super young either. He seemed nervous but it was his first day at a new school. He’d probably heard how awful your class was and was trying to spend as little time interacting with the students as he could.

“Good morning everyone. I’m Mr. Harris and I’ll be taking over for Mr. Owens. I know you have your work for the week already so if you have questions, just ask. I’m going to take attendance now,” he sat down at the desk and logged into the computer to pull up attendance. When he got to your name, he stumbled a bit, “Uh, Y/n R-Reid?”

“Here,” you raised your hand so he could see where you were. His eyes lingered on you for a moment before moving on to the next student’s name.

After he finished taking attendance, Mr. Harris walked around the class to make sure everyone was doing what they were supposed to be doing. When he got to your table he stood behind you and looked over your shoulder. He was too close to your liking so you pulled your chair in, creating more space between you, “Are you able to stay after class for a minute?” he asked you.

“Uh, yeah I think so. Is there a problem with my work? I can fix it right now instead,” you said. He gave off vibes that you didn’t want to be around, but it seemed no one else had a problem with him.

“I just have a few questions that’s all,” he said.

“Okay,” you went back to your work and he left you alone for the rest of class. You debated on having your dad on speed dial during the conversation. It wasn’t that you didn’t like talking to teachers after class, it was just that he creeped you out.

The bell rang, signalling the end of class. You packed up your things and walked over to the teacher’s desk. You had your phone in your hand, your dad’s contact on the screen, just in case.

“You wanted to see me Mr. Harris?” you said. You tried to hide the nervousness in your voice.

“Your dad is Spencer Reid right? He works at the FBI? He’s still a profiler?”

You nodded.

“Your dad saved my life a while ago. My name is Nathan Harris. Do you remember me? I remember that you were at the subway station when we first met,” he asked.

“I don't, I'm sorry. I should probably get going to my next class. I don’t want to be late,” you took a step away from him but he spoke again. The truth was, you did remember him. You didn’t want to tell him in case it furthered the conversation, You really wanted out of that room.

“The last time I saw you, you were so little. I think you were about two or three. You look so grown up and mature now,” he looked you up and down, making you grow even more uncomfortable, “You’re turning into a beautiful, young woman.”

“Oh uh, thank you?” you went to leave again but he stood up and took a step closer to you. You didn’t really know how to react to him so you stepped back, stumbling on your own feet, almost falling. He reached out to help, but you grabbed onto the nearby table instead.

The bell rang again, signalling the start of the next class.

“Sorry for keeping you. I’ll write you a note,” he quickly scribbled out a note and he handed it to you, “Have a good day Y/n,” You walked as fast as you could out of the classroom and to your next class.

You took the bus back to the BAU after school and immediately looked for your dad. To everyone, you looked completely flustered and stressed. JJ came over to you and put her hand on your shoulder, “Are you okay? Do you need some tea or something? You look really overwhelmed.”

‘I need to find my dad. Where is he?” you asked, ignoring her other questions.

“I think he’s in Emily’s office. Is everything okay?” she asked again.

You didn’t answer her question, instead, you dropped your bag at Spencer’s desk and went straight up to Emily’s office. You didn’t bother knocking on the door. You went in and went right to Spencer.

He was a bit shocked at the sudden contact with you but when he felt your body shaking, his shock turned to concern, “Hey hey, calm down Y/n,” he put his hand on your back and started rubbing circles with his thumb, “Take a deep breath alright?” he waited until your breathing was evened out and you had stopped shaking. Emily had left her office, giving you and Spencer the space you needed. He didn’t want to force you to talk so he didn’t speak until you did.

“Do you know Nathan Harris?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“He was a part of a case I worked on years ago. Why are you asking?”

You pulled your arms away from Spencer and sat in the chair next to him. He put his hand on your knee, encouraging you to tell him, “He was a substitute in my class today. He held me back after class and told me that you saved his life. He asked if I remembered him but I said no. But I did. I lied because I wanted out of the room. He just made me so uncomfortable.”

“He’s a teacher now? At your school?” his voice was laced with concern. He knew Nathan had probably gotten help by now but that didn’t mean he wanted his daughter near him, “Did he do anything to you? Did he hurt you?”

You shook your head, “No but he was just talking about you, the case and me. He didn’t do anything but I could tell he wanted to. The things he said and the way he looked at me,” tears were falling down your cheek slowly. You hadn’t realized how much anxiety you had been holding in about this conversation. You didn’t tell anyone what happened throughout the whole day. Keeping it in until you reached your dad, “He said something about me being grown up and mature now. I-I di-”

Spencer shushed you, pulling you into a hug while you tucked your face into his neck. He rested the side of his head on top of yours, “I wish that didn’t happen. I don’t care that he didn’t touch you, he shouldn’t talk like that around you. Or talk to you like that. And he shouldn’t dare look at you in any other way than his student.”

“I just feel bad now. I don’t want to make a big deal out of it. I just don’t want to be near him ever again,” you pulled away, but Spencer kept a grip on your hands.

“Don’t worry about seeing him. Something like that is not okay. I don’t care how serious or not you think it is. I’m getting someone at the school on the phone and you won’t have to see him again I promise. He won’t talk to you and he won’t ever lay a hand on you,” he moved his hand up to your face, wiping some of the tears that had been falling, “You’re too important to me and I’d never let anything happen to you ever. You understand?”

You nodded. Spencer was always protective but this was a whole new side. His grip on you was tight, but not hard enough to hurt you. His voice was harsh, but it was to make sure you got his message.

“If anything like this happens again, you call me. Right away. Don’t wait and hold it in,” he stood up and pulled you into another hug. He placed a kiss to the top of your head and he could see his fellow profilers watching you two through the window. He made eye contact with them and they all looked away, “I think everyone’s a bit worried about you. Why don’t we go downstairs and let them know you’re okay?”

You nodded and let him lead you out of the office and to everyone else. They were, of course, worried about you but once you explained the situation, they relaxed a bit. Spencer assured them everything was fine and he was going to take care of it. Garcia had been the most concerned. Anytime something happened with you, she immediately thought the worst until she heard otherwise.

Taglist

@ssebstann @peachyprincessss @emmy-writes-sometimes @dudele @prentisswrites @laura-naruto-fan1998 @multifamdomfan12 @aquariuslavenderhoney @rafehogwarts @vxidsti1es

[marauderundercover]

Taking Chances Ch. 19: Lack of Communication (Wayne Gala)

AO3

Prev

The shrill ringing of her phone tugs Marinette from her sewing machine. Glancing at the caller ID, she grins widely.

“Hey Uncle Jagged.” She says, pushing her chair away from her desk. It’d been a couple weeks since she last heard from the man as his tour had really picked up at the end. It was practically back to back concerts, so that didn’t leave a lot of time for phone calls or face times.

“Little Rocker! Glad I caught you. I have an event next week and I was hoping I could drop by the bakery so you could fix a tear in one of my suits.” He says. Marinette winces. That’s what she was supposed to do. Tell Uncle Jagged about...well, everything.

“Yeah, about that…” She trails off, wishing she’d thought to tell him about the whole ‘adopted’ thing the last time she’d seen him in person. “I’m actually not in Paris right now. I’m in Gotham spending the summer with my birth father.” She says, deciding to just rip the bandaid off. There’s silence for a minute. Then two. She looks down at the phone, frowning. Did he hang up?

“You’re in Gotham?” He finally says.

“Yup.” She says, sighing. “I’m really sorry I won’t be able to fix your suit.”

“What, no, this is great! See the event is in Gotham! It’s just a bunch of rich people and- hold on. Penny!” He yells. She catches bits and pieces of their conversation, Penny agreeing wholeheartedly with whatever it is Jagged has suddenly decided. “I have a rocking idea.” He adds.

“Okay? I’m listening.” She says, glancing at the new dress she’d started that was pinned on her dress form. She was having trouble with the shape and was quickly getting frustrated with her struggles.

“You could come with! As MDC, of course. You could wear one of your designs and get known in Gotham. The event is supposed to be highly publicized. Penny thinks it’d be a good way to get known in the US. So, whatdya say?” Jagged asks, and Marinette can just tell that he’s grinning widely, can hear it in his voice. She thinks for a minute, glancing at the dress form with a new sense of determination.

“I’ll have to double check with my dad.” She says, trying to think if they had any plans for next week.

“Of course! Let me know soon, okay? Penny says she wants to start publicizing MDC’s appearance if you’re gonna come.” Jagged says. Marinette agrees before hanging up, thinking. Would her dad let her go alone? Or would he insist on coming with? She knew Gotham was dangerous, it’s why she hadn’t gone anywhere by herself despite being a hero herself. She didn’t want to risk her Miraculous falling into the wrong hands, even if the person didn’t realize what they had. Making up her mind, she sets off to find her dad and ask about the event. She still wasn’t quite sure what it was, just that there would be plenty of big names and plenty of journalists- the perfect opportunity to build up a clientele outside of France. Checking his study first, she’s unsurprised to see he’s not there. Knowing chances were good that he was in the cave, she pulls a domino mask out of her purse. Her dad had asked her a couple days ago to wear one in the cave just in case they had unexpected visitors. Kinda like how her and Chat Noir had shown up unexpectedly that one time. Complete accident. Changing the time on the clock, she presses the button that opens the entrance, sliding in and walking through the passage. Glancing into the cave, she grins when she sees her dad, in costume, sitting at the computer.

“Hey B!” She says, knowing not to call him Dad while he was in the cowl. Something about it making him seem less intimidating, or something.

“Ladybird.” He nods. She frowns, glancing at the computer screen and wincing when she sees Superman on screen.

“Sorry, I didn’t know you were busy.” She apologizes, waving awkwardly at the man on the screen. He quirks an eyebrow.

“Hello. Ladybird, was it?” He asks and she nods.

“Er, yeah. Ladybird. Nice to meet you.” She says, rocking back and forth on her heels, eyes darting around the cave. Maybe she should just leave and ask later.

“Is everything alright?” Her dad asks, obviously confused at her presence in the cave. Not that she wasn’t allowed, she just didn’t spend a lot of time there.

“I was just wondering if I could go to an event next week with my Uncle.” She says, trying to stay vague. He’s silent for a moment before nodding.

“We can discuss details later, but that should be fine.” He says. Marinette grins, bouncing up and down in excitement.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She cheers, resisting the urge to hug him. “Bye Mr. Superman!” She adds, waving before running back through the passage to work on her dress some more. This was going to be amazing!

---

Penny had picked Marinette up early the morning of the Gala. She still wasn’t sure what it was for, but that didn’t bother her. She was just excited that she had finally finished her newest dress in time for the Gala. Penny had insisted on her coming over early so that she could help Marinette do her hair and makeup, which she was thankful for. Selina apparently had something to do tonight and couldn’t help her, and she would’ve definitely been her first choice. Smiling down at her dress, Marinette looks at Penny with a grin.

“Could you take a picture for me without my face covering so I can show my parents later?” She asks. Penny nods, smiling back.

“That dress is amazing, Marinette. Truly one of your best designs.” She says. Marinette blushes at the compliment before smiling at the camera. She thanks Penny and takes her phone back, sending the picture to her Maman and Papa as well as her dad and Selina. She was extremely proud of the dress and wanted them to see her in it before she added her ‘disguise’ to protect her identity.

“Hey, Aunt Penny?” Marinette says, looking up at the woman. Penny hums, putting on lipstick. “What is the event for? All Jagged said was that it’s a Gala.” She says, Penny huffs.

“Of course that man didn’t give you any other information. Honestly, sometimes- you agreed without knowing what the event was?” She says, eyebrows raised. Marinette shrugs.

“Uncle Jagged said that it’d be fun. I trust him.” She says. Penny sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Remind me to read any contracts before you sign them, okay sweetie?” She says. Marinette nods and Penny smiles. “Good. Anyway, it’s a Wayne Gala. The family hosts several every year to help raise money for the Wayne foundation.” Penny says and Marinette freezes. Wayne Gala? As in, her father? Her family? Were they really having a Gala tonight without telling her? Or inviting her? Were they….were they embarrassed by her?

“Like, Bruce Wayne?” Marinette manages to ask, trying hard to ignore the way her heart breaks when Penny nods. That was why Selina couldn’t help her. She had to get ready for the Gala. And if she had to guess, the rest of her family was also going. What would they have done with her if she hadn’t had plans? Would they have told her then? Or would they have acted like nothing was happening. Where even was the Gala? Oh my god. It was at the Manor, wasn’t it. The thought strikes her and she winces, giving Penny a small, tense smile.

“Are you okay?” She asks, obviously concerned. Marinette nods sharply.

“Yes, one last question. Where is it?” She asks. Penny frowns, obviously not believing that Marinette was okay, but luckily not pushing it.

“Wayne Manor. The Galas are the only time the manor is opened to other celebrities. The family is usually very private.” Penny says. Marinette huffs out a puff of air, working hard to ignore the hurt in her chest. The feeling that she wasn’t enough. That they didn’t need her. Suddenly, she wasn’t excited anymore. She really wished she would have asked Jagged for more details last week, because now she was stuck going. And it was going to suck.

---

Feeling confident in her design and disguise, Marinette walks through the wall of journalists with Penny and Jagged at her sides. She was working hard to push down the intrusive thoughts that were threatening to take over. Instead, she tried to focus on the questions being called out by the journalists.

“Jagged! Jagged Stone, is this really MDC?” One of them asks. Jagged immediately stopping and shooting the reporter a wide smile.

“Of course it is! She designed all three of these outfits.” He says, gesturing between the trio. “Isn’t she rocking!”

“MDC, why did you pick the Wayne gala to make your first public appearance?” Another journalist asks. Marinette turns to Penny, trusting her to answer the question. They’d agreed before leaving the car that it was best if Marinette didn’t speak directly to any journalists. It would make it easier for them to place her age and where she’s from, given her accent.

“She was in the area and Mr. Stone insisted his favorite designer needed a chance to flaunt her skills in America.” Penny says, flashing the journalist a wide smile before gently pushing Marinette along down the line of journalists. Marinette nods to the man who’d asked the question before following Jagged and Penny closely, her stomach churning as they walk up the front steps of the manor. Of the place she’d been living since summer started. Where apparently they didn’t care to tell her about one of the biggest family events of the year. No big deal. She thought they were accepting her, that they were all getting closer. But maybe not. Her dad not telling her didn’t hurt nearly as much as her brothers not telling her. That felt like a knife in her chest. Trying hard to move gracefully instead of tensely, she follows Jagged into the manor and into the ballroom. Her jaw clenches as she spots her family across the room.

“Mr. Stone, I’m Clark Kent. Nice to meet you.” A man with a notebook and camera says, walking over and extending a hand. Marinette narrows her eyes. She thought the journalists were supposed to stay outside. And this man looked oddly familiar….

“Rocking meeting you man! You a journalist?” He asks, his calculating look hidden by a wide grin. Mr. Kent chuckles.

“Yes, sorry for being so forward. Mr. Wayne and I are friends, so he lets my wife and I have an exclusive pass to come inside the Galas.” He says, glancing at Marinette over his glasses. She watches as his eyes widen slightly before he schools his features back into a neutral expression.

“That’s pretty rock n roll of him!” Jagged says, clapping Mr. Kent on the shoulder.

“It is. Pardon me, but are you MDC?” He asks, turning to look at Marinette once again. She glances at Penny, shaking her head to let her know that she’ll speak for herself for this one. As upset as she was with her dad, he obviously trusted this man. So she would as well.

“I am. Pleasure to meet you, Monsieur Kent.” She says, extending her hand. He smiles, shaking her hand.

“And you, ma’am. I must say, I was not expecting to see you here. I was under the impression that in person events weren’t your forte.” He says, clearly fishing for something. She knew how journalists worked, she’d seen Alya at work enough times to understand that the man in front of her was looking for a story. One she wouldn’t be giving, no matter how much her father trusted the man.

“I like to occasionally surprise people.” She says, waving her hand in a noncommittal way. “Keep them on their toes.”

“I can respect that. Well, I’ll let you all get back to your evening. Nice to meet you all.” He says. She nods back at him, not missing the way he immediately darts off to her dad. She watches as the two start talking, a surprised look on her dad’s face before he turns and sees her. She knows he recognizes the dress. Knows that he knows as well who is underneath the veil. She turns, deciding to ignore him. He didn’t want her here, fine. She’d make sure she stayed out of his way.

---

Clark Kent was confused. He’d known that Bruce must have another kid, adopted in some way. He didn’t just work with random vigilantes, especially not in his city. So knowing that Gotham had a new vigilante named Ladybird, he put two and two together. Didn’t take the world’s greatest detective. But what was confusing was the fact that no new faces showed up with the Waynes as they walked into the ballroom for the Gala. Making a note to ask him about it later, Clark makes his way around the room, talking to familiar faces and names, writing things down that would help the story he was being forced to write on the Gala. These events were not his favorite to cover, hardly anything ever happened. Until he heard the commotion outside, other journalists calling out to MDC. He blinks in surprise. MDC had never made a public appearance before. This was an odd one to choose. Preparing himself to confront the designer, he’s surprised as she walks in behind Jagged Stone. He’s even more surprised when he realizes she had to be a teenager. He chats with the girl and Jagged, glancing down at her over the top of his glasses, shock immediately flooding him. The girl had injuries. Hundreds of them. Bones fused back together haphazardly. Quickly excusing himself, he rushes over to Bruce.

“Do you know who MDC is? Because that girl is definitely younger than Tim. And she has hundreds of injuries, Bruce. Hundreds.” He says quietly, watching as Bruce turns and glances at the girl, his eyes widening slightly.

“Shit.” He mutters.

“What?” Clark asks, trying to figure out if he should also be concerned. Bruce smiles, but it's tense.

“That is my daughter.” He says. Clark blinks.

“That’s the new one? Why didn’t she show up with the rest of the family?” He asks.

“I knew she had plans for tonight, so I didn’t tell her about the Gala. I was going to warn her about it, if she didn’t have plans. So she knew to stay in her room.” Bruce explains. Clark frowns.

“You were going to keep her locked up?” He asks incredulously. Not even the least social Wayne was kept locked away for the Galas.

“Of course not. It’s just- she hasn’t said she wants to be announced yet. She hasn’t even said anything about being MDC because she hates the spotlight. I couldn’t just throw her to the sharks. I’m just trying to do what’s best for her.” Bruce says, standing up straighter. Clark sighs.

“Did you actually talk to her about it? Or did you just assume?” He asks, Bruce huffs.

“I think I know my daughter a little more than you do, Kent.” He says.

“Really? Because from here it sounds like she’s about two breaths away from a panic attack. And Penny Rolling keeps reassuring her that they don’t have to stay long. Oh- and now she’s apologizing for not telling her it was a Wayne Gala until today, but she’s also clearly confused as to why it’s upsetting her. And now-”

“Okay, I get it.” Bruce snaps, cutting him off. Clark raises an eyebrow.

“I’m not sure what happened, but you should fix this.” He says with a pointed look before walking away. God knows the Bats all need a push in the right direction every now and again.

---

Jason frowns as he looks around the room for Marinette. He knew that she hadn’t come with the family, B hadn’t explained that one. But he had heard that MDC was there. And he wanted to talk to her, make sure she was doing okay. These things were annoying as hell and he knew he wouldn’t get through it if he didn’t have his brothers (even if they were little shits). He finally spots her near a wall, clearly trying to disappear. He grins widely, walking over and grinning at her.

“Well, MDC, fancy seeing you here.” He teases with a wink. He watches her for some kind of reaction, frowning when he doesn’t get one. “Pix?” He says, softer this time as he looks at his baby sister.

“Oh, that’s right, I wasn’t supposed to be here, was I? Well, sorry to disappoint.” She snaps bitterly. Jason flinches back, surprised at her tone.

“What’re you talking about?” He asks, eyebrows furrowed. Why did she sound so hurt? Why did she think they didn’t want her there?

“Clearly I’m not as much of the family as I thought I was.” She hisses under her breath. He starts to deny that, but she cuts him off with a humorless laugh. “Bruce didn’t even tell me that there was a Gala. None of you did either. A Wayne family Gala and I wasn’t told. I should’ve known better.” She says, turning to walk away. He grabs her wrist gently, stopping her.

“I promise you, we want you here. Dick, Damian, Tim, me- we all want you here. I can’t speak for B, I’ll definitely be having words with the son of a bitch later, but we want you here.” He says, frowning as he listens to her sniffle under her veil. “Pixie, we thought you knew. He told us you weren’t ready to come to this. I swear to you, we would have told you if we knew. I swear.” He adds. His heart breaks as he hears a hiccupped sob break free from her. He wants nothing more than to wrap his baby sister in a hug, but he knows he can’t. Media’d have a field day.

“Really?” She asks in a small voice. Jason nods.

“Hell yeah Pix. Tell ya what, I’m gonna go get the others and then we’re all gonna sneak out. Take one of the old man’s cars and get some garbage fast food. Who needs this lameass party anyway.” He says, hoping she’ll agree. He’ll let himself be mad at Bruce later. And boy was he gonna be mad. The old man had really fucked up this time. It was one thing to ask Mari to not go to the Gala, or to think she wasn’t ready for it. It was a completely other thing to not even give her the chance to decide, or tell her at all. Cause now she was hurt and thinking everyone hated her. Well, he wasn’t gonna let that happen. Not on his watch.

“Lemme just go tell Jagged and Penny real quick.” She agrees, scurrying off. The second she walks away Jason lets his smile drop into a scowl. That son of a bitch. Storming over to his brothers, he tugs them over to the wall. Better not to let B get word of where they’re going.

“What is the meaning of this?” Damian asks with a scowl.

“Pixie’s gonna tell her Aunt and Uncle that she’s leaving and then we’re stealing one of B’s cars to go to McDonalds.” He says simply. Tim frowns.

“And we’re doing this because?” He prompts.

“Because B apparently didn’t tell the kid about the Gala. And she assumed we knew, and that we all hate her.” Jason explains with a frown.

“Father said she didn’t want to attend.” Damian says, and Jason huffs.

“Yeah, well apparently he lied. She had no clue that the event she was going to as MDC was a Wayne Gala.” He says.

“I’ll go get the car and pull it up front.” Dick says, a determined look on his face. Sometimes his ‘we’re a family and we stick together’ shit annoyed the hell outta Jason, but he was thankful for it today.

“I’m gonna go grab Selina’s coat for her to put on. I saw her dress, and if any MDC fan sees her leaving with us it’s gonna start a media circus.” Tim says, walking away to the coat room. Jason sighs, watching Marinette from across the room. A cleared throat beside him tugs his attention back to his youngest brother.

“What?” He asks, pushing his frustration down. He’d go shoot something later, but right now he was determined to not take his frustration at Bruce out on his siblings.

“Why would Father intentionally keep her from the Gala? She is far more adept at social interaction than I am.” Damian says with a frown. Jason sighs, shrugging.

“No clue. But I’m not about to let her push herself away from the rest of us just because B fucked up.” He says, watching as she walks over to the wall, almost disappearing in the shadows. He nods towards her, making sure Damian follows. The second Tim has Selina’s coat, their small group is off, sneaking out one of the side doors and walking past the journalists, sprinting to Dick and the waiting car. They all jump in and she tears the veil off her face, making Jason wince slightly at her red, puffy eyes. Dick slams on the gas, eliciting a curse from Jason and a squeal of surprise from Marinette.

“So! We broke out of that stuffy party. Where are we headed?” Dick asks, glancing in the rearview mirror to make eye contact with Jason. Jason grins.

“We go get a shit ton of junk food from McDonalds and eat it in the car. Give it the old, fast food smell that B loves oh so much.” He says. Marinette snorts, and Jason grins at her. He’d give B hell later, but for now, he was going to enjoy spending time with his siblings.

---

Bruce frowns as he glances around the Gala, not seeing his daughter. Or any of his other children. He made a mental note to talk to them later. Perhaps keeping the Gala from Marinette wasn’t his best decision.

Next

Tag list: @maribat-bdbwm @vixen-uchiha @stainedglassm @liquid-luck-00 @jayjayspixiepop @jjmjjktth @mizzy-pop @trippingovermyfeet @queenz-z @thepaceperson @iloontjeboontje @waiting247 @laurcad123 @toodaloo-kangaroo @ritacrow-blog @deathssilentapproach-blog @kittenmywaythrulife @nerd-nowandforever @tazanna-blythe @jaybird-and-co @jumpingjoy82

[containatrocity]

"You know, saying things doesn't make them true? 'I'm not clout chasing' is bullshit, and you and I both know it. You had no reason to be out here that wasn't trying to make that insufferable youtube channel of yours take off again. I can say 'I was just a casual fan of heroin' all I want, it doesn't make me less of a heroin addict, it just makes me look stupid." He points out, taking the phone back as Hunter puts his password in. "I'm almost done, don't worry." He plugs the phone into his laptop, continuing to speak as he works, as Hunter questions how he got 'bigger.' He considers it for a minute, giving him some bullshit answer, he doesn't owe the guy anything, after all. But he's obviously not the skeletal young man he'd been back in LA, living off of drugs and liquor and caffeine pills to prop himself up for the next public outing. He looked good, healthy, and it was, after all, to the credit of his being stuck here.

"Girlfriend's pregnant." He declares, as it seems to be the simplest place to start. "She used to help her uncle keep house, forage, prep kills and shit he came home with. Well, she can't exactly do any of that at nearly 6 months, so I'm stepping up to learn." He blows smoke out of his nose slowly. "Hunting, hauling deer and other dead animals, moving all my shit around from here to her place- No more heroin or constant stressing about when I was going to be able to put out more ideas for my dad to steal and a lot more exercise, and I've put on some muscle." He scrolls the phone for a moment, waits for the fox's head on the loading screen to stop swaying back and forth, then plugs a flash drive into the computer as well- unplugging both, a moment later, and handing them over to Hunter. "Here. Your phone until I can fix this one, and a flash drive with all your shit on it, no harassing a stranger required to pull the data."

"Congrats on your three whole friends." He mutters, closing the computer and standing back up. "But the point remains- you should think about being nicer to people, maybe. Not just people who can do stuff for you. You could die tomorrow, especially here. Do you really want to go out remembered the way I remember you? Bakayarô. Fucking Idiot."

A slight relief manifested itself across Hunters face in the form of a vicious smirk and he huffed, chin tilting upwards almost triumphantly. “Good, ‘cause I wasn’t going to be down at your feet anyway. I’m better than that.” Better than you were the words he’d rather be saying, but caution was necessary here. Cyan was the only one that could help him, and Hunter would much rather struggle on without that aid, unbend the phone himself and cope with the web of cracks indented into his screen, or just call his dad to send a replacement but that last one wasn’t an option, and Hunter couldn’t be seen with such damaged belonging. No, Cyan was the saviour. On this occasion. Never again.

“I wasn’t clout chasing,” that lie came so easily after all the years of practise, “I was trying to solve the thing in the sky, and my battery was dying. I only asked to borrow this guys phone to transfer stuff across. You can’t fucking demonise me for that.” But he could, and no doubt he would. Even with the best intentions Hunter found himself painted as the villain. At least that role was fun to play. "Stop calling me that," he huffed, holding the joint at arms length in an attempt to stop the smell wafting directly under his nose. He had no idea what it meant, never felt the need to look it up considering he probably couldn't spell it, the irony of it all given the vast array of derogatory nicknames he'd given Cyan and pretty much everyone else over the years. "Fine," he spat, "it's bent. So pleeeeease unbend it.” A prolonged please was genuinely the closest to begging he was willing to get. Good manners for some, a struggle for Hunter Hilton.

"Three," he said proudly, knowing that Cyan would be surprised at a number more than zero, "good friends actually. We do stuff together. So fu-" And then for the first time Hunter was silent, lips pressed together tightly into a thin line, no longer willing to answer any of the questions Cyan was throwing at him. The mention of his father, the doubling down that he didn't have to fix the phone no matter what Hunter was paying. Hunter didn't owe this guy anything anyway. At the prospect of having his phone broken forever, he'd submit, play the game that Cyan was forcing him to play, even if that game was 'shut up and be a decent person for two minutes.' Hunter never changed though, and after a few moments of fidgety movements, he finally spoke again. "How did you get like this anyway," a pause when he realised how vague that sounded, "y'know, like....bigger." He emphasised by pushing his shoulders forwards, a mock flex. The Cyan he'd known back in LA hadn't been like this, and maybe it was time for Hunter to take a similar rebrand. People might give him some more respect. "So it's set now?" He asked tapping in the four numbers for his password, 0510, his dogs birthday, "or do you need to do anything else to this one?"

[odos-bucket]

More Protective!Batdad Fic, With the Pretense that this is a Series Mostly Given Up

They’re returning to the cave after Robin’s first night out since the start of Tim’s parents’ most recent stay in the city. It had been a routine patrol, made noteworthy only by the return of the boy wonder. They’d gotten into a bit of a scuffle with some muggers towards the end of the night, but it wasn’t anything they couldn’t handle, and they had both come away from it unharmed. At least that was what Bruce thought at the time. And he paid pretty close attention to things.

But when the domino mask comes off he can clearly see where Tim has a black eye, and a bruise blooming over his cheek.

“What happened?” He leaves his cowl and gloves on the computer, and takes a few steps closer to where Tim is fishing his civilian clothes out of a bag.

“Huh?” Tim bunches up the shirt he’s holding into a fist, and his eyes dart around for a moment without settling on Bruce. “Oh.” Fingers of his free hand fly up to hover over his injured cheek. “Thief got in a lucky shot.” His voice is a fraction of an octave higher than usual.

Bruce’s eyes automatically narrow as he begins his mental recall of the events that had transpired less than twenty minutes prior.

“I didn’t see you get hit,” he says slowly.

Tim just shrugs.

The bruise is too dark to be less than half an hour old anyway. It had to have come from sometime earlier in the day. It had been hidden beneath the mask though, and they’d both already been in full costume when they’d met earlier that evening.

Before Bruce can say anything else, Tim is ducking into a private alcove to finish getting changed. He’s a bit slower at it than usual, and Bruce wonders if that could be indicative of other hidden injuries, or if Tim is just drawing it out to avoid further scrutiny. Several minutes go by, and he finally clears his throat.

“Tim?”

“Just a second.” The words come out quickly.

Bruce goes to change himself, only to find that Tim still isn’t out by the time he’s finished and returned. He knocks gently on the wall that’s partitioning off the section of the cave where he’s changing, and hears a soft startled gasp, before Tim’s scurrying out.

“Yep! Sorry! Sorry! Just a little spaced.”

“Tim.” Bruce hopes his voice sounds gentle. “What happened?”

“What do you mean? I told you-“

“Don’t lie to me. That didn’t come from just now.” Bruce pauses and sighs. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

Tim shakes his head.

“I won’t tolerate you hiding injuries from me.”

“I’m not.”

They stand looking at each other for several drawn out, silent seconds.

“Were you patrolling on your own?” Bruce asks after a minute. “I’m going to find out if you-“

“No.” Tim sounds even less like his normal self when he cuts in. “I promise I wasn’t.”

“All right. So what is it? Did something happen during the day?”

As much as Bruce wants to know about it if Tim’s getting into fights at school, or somewhere else, he recognizes that it may not be his place to intervene if this wasn’t vigilante related. That’s fine (at least so he tells himself) but he’d like assurance that someone’s looking out for his Robin.

“Is it something you can handle with your parents?” He tries.

Tim’s eyes widen for half a second, and then he bursts into tears.

Bruce briefly freezes, before returning to himself and rushing to Tim’s side.

“I’m so stupid,” Tim is muttering, barely discernibly. “I’m sorry. I was so stupid.” The words barely come out between bouts of gasping, shuddering sobs.

Bruce wants to beg him to tell him what happened, but settles for reaching out a careful arm, and slowly pulling him close. Tim freezes for a fraction of a second, before melting into his side, continuing to mumbled unintelligibly.

“It’s all right,” Bruce tries to sooth, very aware that he doesn’t really have the voice for that sort of thing. “You’re okay.” He desperately wishes that he could offer some more specific reassurances, but he still doesn’t know what’s going on. “I’ve got you,” he settles for, running a hand through Tim’s hair.

They stay like that for a while, Tim crying, and apologizing, and Bruce telling him it’s okay, and wishing he could be sure that it was true. Eventually the tears dry up, and the breathing evens out, and the tense body beside his goes limp with exhaustion. Bruce doesn’t let go, not until he feels Tim starting to shift around restlessly. And even then he stays close enough to be easily collapsed into again, should the need arise.

“I messed up,” Tim says, after a few false starts.

“Whatever it is, we can fix it.” A ridiculous promise, and one that Bruce normally wouldn’t be making without more information. But somehow- without Bruce meaning to allow him to- Tim has joined the narrow ranks of those capable of inducing him to speak or behave a-procedurally.

Tim shakes his head.

“Tim, I want to help, but you have to give me something to work with.”

Tim is too focused on keeping his eyes dry, and his breathing steady to respond.

“Do you want me to take you home?” Bruce forces himself to offer, forces himself to remember that this child isn’t his, doesn’t need him the way the other robins did.

Another sob escapes Tim, and he buries his face in his hands. There’s a pang in Bruce’s chest as he realizes what he has to ask next.

“Did something happen at home?”

The question is met with heavy breathing, followed by a drawn out silence, and then, finally, a slow nod.

Bruce forces down his rising anger, as Tim finally gathers himself to speak.

“I don’t know if they want me to go back.” It comes out in a hoarse whisper. “Dad was so mad at me.”

Fury coils in Bruce’s gut, and lies in wait for his next question to be answered.

“Did he do this?” He gestures to the black eye.

“It’s never happened before,” Tim rushes to say. “Nothing like this ever has.”

“That doesn’t matter.” Bruce practically growls. Tim, to his credit, seems entirely unaffected by the intensity of the tone.

“I started it,” he says.

“… There’s no way that’s true.”

“Bruce,” Tim chokes out, leaning back into him.

“I’m here. I’ve got you.”

Bruce pulls him close like he could absorb Tim into himself, like if he holds him tightly enough he can keep him safe- as if he’s actually capable of keeping any child safe. This will never happen again, he wants to say, I won’t let it. His mind is racing. He doesn’t want to let Tim back into that house, doesn’t want to let him out of his sight really. He’s never been able to fathom how the Drakes can have this selfless, determined, brilliant child in their care, and be so willing to spend all their time away from him. He’s been wary of them from the beginning. But he never imagined that they could pose this kind of danger to their son.

“This is so stupid,” Tim grumbles into Bruce’s shoulder.

Bruce can’t disagree, though he’s a little worried that they aren’t on the same page about what exactly that means.

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” Tim continues after a minute. “I thought- I thought things were going well!”

“Telling me was the right thing to do,” Bruce says quickly. “If somebody’s hurting you- no matter who it is-“

“That isn’t what I mean.” He takes a deep breath, and leans back a little bit.

Bruce watches patiently, as Tim calms his nerves, and steadies himself.

“I… told Mom and Dad about Connor,” he breathes. “Not the alien clone thing, obviously. But, I told them that I was seeing someone- a guy- and I don’t even know why I did it! In the back of my head I knew there was no way it was going to go over well. I knew that. I was just, I don’t know, feeling happy, and okay for the first time in a while. So I thought-“ He shakes his head. “I mean I didn’t think; that was the problem. And Mom reacted the way I knew she- the way I should have known she would. And I got mad, and I started yelling at her, and Dad, when I yelled at her, Dad, that’s when he- he…”

Bruce’s heart breaks. It’s not like he’d imagined that Jack Drake would have a good reason for lashing out at his son, but this was nothing.

“I’m still not hearing anything that you did wrong.” He forces himself to stay calm.

“Trying to come out to them was dumb! I didn’t need to do it. They were leaving soon anyways, it shouldn’t have mattered!”

“No. They shouldn’t have hurt you,” Bruce says fiercely. “This is part of who you are, so it should always matter. It’s not stupid to assume that people who are supposed to care about you would want to know more about what’s going on in your life. Tim, you did nothing wrong.”

He runs a hand up and down his back, like he’d done when Dick had nightmares as a child.

Tim glances at him out of the glassy corner of his eye, and scrubs his hands roughly over his face, before mumbling something that Bruce doesn’t catch.

He waits for a beat, before quietly asking if Tim will repeat himself.

“They don’t want me coming around here anymore,” he says more clearly, voice suddenly empty. “They- they saw that interview you did a couple years back, where you came out as bisexual.” His face is tinged pink, ashamed to even be repeating his parent’s words. “So they think that I, I don’t know, caught it from you, like it’s contagious or something. But I didn’t know where else to go! And I- I don’t want to give this up…“ He gestures broadly to the cave around them as hiccuping breaths overpower his speech.

Bruce just holds on as Tim continues to cry, softly repeating that he didn’t do anything wrong, carefully keeping the furious voice raging, ‘those bastards won’t take you away from me,’ under wraps. He doesn’t let himself think about every other instance of his sexuality being cited as a factor making him an unsuitable guardian that he’s committed to precise memory, the vicious arguments that his children should be taken away from him, the fact that if he hadn’t been born so lucky in so many other ways they might have been. Tim doesn’t need him to be angry, Tim needs him to be smart.

They wait out the tears again, until they’re not falling so heavily, and Tim is shuddering occasionally, rather than continuously, and can compose himself enough to speak.

“I didn’t mean to dump all this on you,” he says once he’s mostly calmed down.

“Oh, sweetheart.” Bruce threads his fingers through locks of lightly tangled hair. “I’m so glad you told me what happened. You’re going to stay here tonight, okay?”

Tim is with them often enough when his parents aren’t around that they already have a room made up for him, a room which after less than a year has come to show more evidence of his personality than his bedroom at the Drake’s mansion.

Tim nods.

“Thank you.”

Bruce squeezes his shoulder.

“Do you still have pajamas here? Or do you need to borrow a pair of Dick’s?”

It’s something easy in a moment where everything feels impossibly difficult.

“I brought them with me when I went home.” His breath catches on the last word, and it only half comes out.

“That’s all right. Dick won’t mind.”

Now it’s just a matter of getting themselves upstairs. There will be more to worry about tomorrow, much more, and it will undoubtedly only increase in the days that follow. Bruce will have to figure out whether or not Jack and Janet Drake are looking for their son, and he can’t quite decide which the worse option is at this point. He’ll also need to make sure he understands what exactly is within his power to do to keep Tim safe. Bruce stops himself before he can begin preparing for the future too obsessively. He brings himself back to the present moment, stairs, pajamas, bed, all very manageable tasks.

He just really doesn’t want to let go of the child in his arms. The realization that Tim might need him more than he thought is overpowering, making him feel violently protective, and a little bit terrified.

Some of the strain of the moment breaks when Tim uses the side of Bruce’s arm to stifle a yawn, but it’s still a little while longer before they’re ready to head upstairs.

When they do, Tim wanders up to his room, where Bruce hopes he’ll find easy rest. He stays awake and finds Alfred. There’s a lot they need to talk about.

[solarsavoy]

Hey hey, you got anything else about Deshi you’d like to share 🤔 I honestly really like his vibe (It’s usually like that for a lot light haired characters in my case 😅)

I was trying to figure out what to say about him. I just find him so cute sometimes because of the little side stories my muse gives me, so then I thought about sharing a little side story about him.

For context, I have an editor friend (not professional) that thinks Deshi's intellectually stupid, so I was trying to think of something that proves he's not, because he can be quite ingenious sometimes. So here it is. Storytime!

Deshi's friend is based off a friend of Deo's, in a way.

So Deshi loves videogames, which most should know by now, and this is inspired by the types of videogames I like, which some may not know. One major difference is that I'm a fan of horror games and Deshi is not, lol. He just can't handle them, which only makes him that much more endearing to me.

Anyway, when his dad disappeared, his mom got a large sum of money meant to take care of her and Deshi and Sasaki (his little sister) until college, so she doesn't work. This does make funds a little limited though and videogames can get expensive. To still be able to get what he wants, he's patient, saves his money, and then gets things as cheaply as possible. (Yes, he steals games online.) He got the idea from his unnamed friend to build a computer from scratch because the gaming computers/laptops can get a little pricey.

So that's exactly what he did.

He learned how to put together a computer, constantly asking his friend for help of course, and eventually built it from the bottom up, a really good gaming computer, for much cheaper than it would've been on the market. This is why he's a PC gamer. He's very proud of it and protective of it (since Sasaki is constantly pranking him and unlike Karma, her pranks are maliciously destructive) and his mom nor his sister have any idea how hard it was for him to make it. Like, they just think he can tinker around with it for an hour and it'll be fixed. 🙄

So one day, Sasaki actually damages it really badly and Deshi goes to his friend and it takes 3 months and all his miniscule savings to fix it. Mom thinks he was being dramatic, but finally decides to tell Sasaki that the computer is off limits and to just not mess with it ever because "Deshi's sensitive". *glare

After this whole debacle, his friend donates his old monitor (it's a very nice monitor, btw) to Deshi and moves away. They're both kind of pretty bad at keeping in contact, but they try. And that's how he got his computer and became a PC gamer!

Deshi was around 10 when he decided to start building his computer and 12 when he finished. His friend moved away when he was about 13 or 14.

So yeah, definitely not intellectually challenged. 😣 And Deshi's actually really good at finding ways around things. This comes up a lot in the Second Fragment while learning magic. He just has this kind of "how do I make this work?" mentality when it comes to doing things.

Bonus!

He's normally the guy that takes things a little to seriously and is overly cautious in ways (product of his evil little sister's constant pranks) but he's surprisingly playful when it comes to experimenting with stuff to understand it and make it work. Here's a summary of a scene in Second Fragment.

He's trying to understand his limits with magic while working with Master Diette and decides that the best way is to just use magic until he runs out, which causes him to faint. "Ooo, that's bad." Master Diette says, also wanting to test Deshi's limits out of curiosity. "We can't let Master Key know or we'll both be in trouble." And then allows him do this. But you know, forcing yourself to faint just isn't a good idea. 😆 Don't worry, he ends up being fine.

Deshi's nonchalance to danger while experimenting comes from the amount of times he was electrocuted while building his computer. Not super common, but it happened. He made the lights in the house flicker once and has burned through more than one motherboard, trying to figure it all out.

Thanks for the ask! 💙