#so it's just a Draw. no further analysis. what do others Get from that?

[lightbulb-warning]

so has anyone figured out WHY there is the Need To Share our Artworks™ or is it just the vibes and our Soul apparently

[croquettish]

A Hans Capon Character Analysis

Part 1: Hans' Disillusionment with the Nobility

I went into this wanting to write one thing and then instead ended up writing something different entirely which, after watching it get stupidly long, I decided to split in two. So you can consider this an analysis triptych (they other two are already drafted and ready to go). It's still stupidly long, so I apologize for that.

We know that Hans learned what the platonic ideal of a noble looked like and from that point on did his very best to live up to that ideal. He saw what he was supposed to be even while realizing that he could never live up to that ideal. Hans spends all his time trying to reach for perfection only to find his best only ever being at best shy of where he wants to be. More often, his best is far removed from where he thinks he's meant to be / supposed to be.

This is a theme that comes up several times throughout the game. First, when they're at the inn in Troskowitz where Hans pulls the "excuse" about why he can't do work:

I say "excuse" in quotes because the more time you spend talking to Hans the more it becomes obvious that he actually believes what he's saying. All that stuff about the three states of man is 100% something that he was either taught directly or overheard. It's entirely possible that he once tried to help out the castle staff and was told he wasn't allowed to do that because it went against the will of God. Like I fucking love AUs where Hans and Henry met as kids, but there's a non-zero chance that any attempt to do so, if not simply preempted, would have been shut down by Hanush and the others around him. This is what it means to be a noble, Hans. You're not allowed to do any of these fun things. You have a job to do. You're going to rule Rattay someday and that comes with certain responsibilities.

Here are some choice excerpts from that conversation:

I want to draw special attention here to the role that Hans places himself in, the role of the Bellator, a protector of others. This is what he's allowed to do. Remember that for later.

The other thing I want to draw attention to is this bit:

This isn't just about losing face. This is about the fact that he grew up hearing how wrong it would be for him to do peasant work. This is about the fact that he was told that if he did this, he'd be going against God, and everyone would think less of him for not acting as he's supposed to / required to. Not just in the eyes of God, but in the eyes of society.

Remember how I said that Hans has an idealized notion of nobility? That applies here as well. As the codex entry on the Three States of Man tells us, this is the ideal medieval society, one that is meant to be conducive to peace. That lack of social mobility and freedom that Hans has been chained by his whole life has a purpose: to ensure harmony.

But the script he's so used to, that he clings to so desperately, fails him. Harmony could not be further from his reality. Case in point, at the beginning he tells Henry that he can protect him with his name and therefore his own noble status:

But then, that doesn't turn out to be true. He does everything in his power to declare his noble status, to invoke his name, even places his arm behind his back and attempts to bow in order to properly present himself as nobility to the guards at the Trosky Castle gates—all for naught. No one cares. Hans tries so fucking hard to stick to the script he's been taught his whole life, and no one gives a shit. Svatya makes fun of him, refuses to apologize, and then physically assaults him. Instead of seeing Svatya getting clapped in the pillory, he is.

During the divorce era, he once again tries to grasp for any amount of familiarity from his old life by turning to hunting. It's a noble sport and something he's good at. Camping and going out to hunt, being out in nature over an extended period of time, these are all things he's done before. Things he can comfortably fall back on. If he forgets about the fact that he's alone—no Henry, no horse, no hunting dogs—he can almost pretend he's back in his old life.

Even his attempt at romancing Enneleyn at the wedding fits into this desperate attempt to cleave to his understanding of his noble title. (This is a point that also crops up in this fantastic analysis of Hans' character by @codeword-art, that Hans knows what people think nobles should be like, this including a love for women. This post and the one that preceded it are analyzed in greater depth in part two of this analysis.)

And then even that is torn from him when he's told he'll hang for poaching. Nobility was the one thing that was supposed to act as a get-out-of-jail-free card for him, his guaranteed fallback. Nobility was meant to remove the noose from around his neck... and then failed to do so. What's the point of being a noble if no one believes that you are one? What's the point of being a noble if it only comes with a lack of social skills, a lack of relationships, and a lack of freedom? What's the point of sticking to a script if everyone refuses to play their parts? Growing up, nobility always acted as a panopticon for him, surrounded by people's judgments of him. His character, his aptitude, was always everybody's business. But that pain, that judgment, always came with benefits before.

This illustrates for Hans, quite clearly, how quickly those benefits can be stripped for him and made meaningless. Nobility can't save him. Nobility has only ever taken from him, and then, when he needed it most, it wasn't there for him as a parachute.

At the end of Next to Godliness we can talk to Hans about what he's going to do with Arse-n-balls. And if Henry advises Hans to punish him, first Hans tries to defend him.

At which point Henry invokes his noble status and suggests that letting this transgression go unpunished would lead to people questioning him in his position:

At which point Hans folds quite quickly:

How much do you reckon Hans' worldview was shaken in hindsight, upon realizing the reality of the punishments he might have subjected people to. A day in the stocks or pillory? Being hanged for poaching? Suddenly he's seeing these things from the perspective of a peasant and what that might feel like.

Nobles are meant to protect people and dole out punishments only when necessary. But this whole system is so easily upended the second corruption gets involved.

He's next confronted with this issue in a big way if you decide to sell out Olda and go to Semine with Hashek. Despite von Bergow's wishes, Hashek wants to burn the place down to the ground along with all the people in it. Everyone is to die. This isn't what von Bergow wanted (and if you do agree to Hashek's plan, he is appropriately outraged after) and while Hans questions if the two of you did the right thing if you decide to go against Hashek's wishes, he's quite distressed if you don't go against his wishes and kill everyone. It puts him into a funk for quite a while after and leaves him viewing himself as inherently tainted by the experience.

Horrified as he is that Olda, as a nobleman, would side with Zizka and co (and expresses this right after the possible torturing if the truth is discovered), he's just as horrified that Hashek, a nobleman, would order the slaughter of innocents. He objects on several occasions but mostly goes along with what Henry says, only questioning what the right decision was after.

Nobles are supposed to be better than this. If he was expected to do better, to be better, to live up to all these unachievable ideals, why does no one else give a shit?

The next time this crops up in a big way is after the Maleshov rescue when Hans become quite upset at the sight of a destroyed village. A conversation with Brabant follows that showcase a number of Hans' feelings on the matter:

This is unjust, he says. Because in his eyes, the nobility should be above such dirty, underhanded tricks to get what they want. Brabant insists that the village will be resettled before long ("people die, it's what they do" etc etc) and that this is just how war is.

Hans, however, is unsatisfied:

Here too we see his idea of the Bellator and what that means for him as a noble. In Hans' eyes, their job is to protect the common people. To do everything in his power to make sure that these atrocities don't happen.

If Henry then agrees with him, Hans says something else telling (regardless of what happens with Semine):

These things happen because of his failure. He's a Bellator, a noble who should be capable of protecting people. Instead they failed at Nebakov and he was captured. The death of these people, to Hans, is on his own head.

We know that our boy Luke lost rizz points with pretty much everyone because he decided to burn down the village near Maleshov during the siege, but this too is a moment that's worth remarking on. In the moment, Hans defers to Henry and insists that well, they're in a war, aren't they? But after von Bergow's interrogation, he has quite a few things to say to Henry:

On the flipside, if Henry goes against Dry Devil, Hans praises his actions while simultaneously acknowledging that he wouldn't have been strong enough to do the same:

It's interesting that at this point in the story he trusts Henry (not a noble) with ethical judgments far more than either himself or other noblemen. Deferring to Henry isn't entirely new for him, but that's another post entirely. What matters here is that we're witnessing the wool being pulled from Hans' eyes in real time here: the inherent superiority of nobles is rapidly evaporating.

In addition to that, the fact that he's constantly put into the position of damsel in distress means that he's frequently saved or protected by Henry. He's not the Bellator of his own life. Henry is. Henry is more noble in Hans' eyes than any noble he's ever met. This even comes up at one point early in the game, following their first romance option:

I'm sure I don't need to point out how this means that Henry effectively dismantles Hans' sense of self only to build it up again. All his self-esteem was rooted in the fact that he's a capable Bellator, a defender of the people and worthy of his position as a noble. Then Henry comes in, does it all better despite his peasant upbringing, and then shows Hans that he has value in spite of what he perceived all his faults to be.

Even before the siege on Maleshov, Hans is slowly starting to build up an increasingly robust view of himself as a Laborator. I talked about this in more detail here, where we see Hans volunteer himself for manual labor that we see no one else in the game do other than Henry. In fact, it's something that is often (and jokingly at that) offloaded onto Henry. But here, Hans presents the far more noble position (in this case, dealing with the hunted game) to Henry while taking the manual labor task for himself.

With what noblesse oblige is Hans left with then? Stripped of all the artifice, what remains?

Just his word. The word of a nobleman.

Hans and Henry both get into an argument with Hanush at the end of KCD1 when he gives Toth his word that his safety will be ensured if he lets Radzig and Lady Stephanie go. Henry is (understandably) upset that Hanush will just let Toth go, but Hanush insists that his word as a nobleman is his bond. At which point Hans steps in to argue that they may as well not honor that bond:

Henry also argues, but Hanush ultimately comes back with this:

It's a point that sticks with Hans, and we see it invoked fairly early on in the game:

It's also challenged right toward the beginning as well. Henry responds to what Hans says with something that makes no sense, invoking the idea of one's word but here in the name of him being a blacksmith:

@antivanwine14 recently made a spectacular post about precisely this. There's no such thing as the word of a blacksmith. It doesn't carry the same weight whatsoever. But Hans decides to take it that way regardless:

No pretension, no posturing about the importance of a noble's words over those of a peasant. Either Henry has been elevated in Hans' mind (no doubt) or nobility is losing the special, unique lustre that it might have once held for him (almost certainly true as well).

We fast-forward a bit. His next encounter with the word of a nobleman is at Raborsch, where his word is given... for him, when he's engaged against his will. If you ask me, this changes things. In a big way. Hans has very little, but the one thing that he thought he had was his word to give. Every thing he swears by from that point forward serves as a reclamation.

And the first thing he does with that reclamation is swear that he'll be there for Henry just as Henry was there for him:

(and then he did, etc etc)

I do find it curious here that he doesn't invoke the word of a nobleman here in this promise to Henry. Instead, he swears by God, their mutual belief system. Giving Henry his word isn't enough anymore. As if Henry has outranked it in his eyes. I wonder if he thought back to the moment when Henry responded to Hans' word as a noble with the word of a blacksmith here. Unlike social stratification, this is a place where they are on equal footing.

The next time that Hans does give his word is at Maleshov during the siege: von Bergow's safety in exchange for both Rosa's safety and von Bergow's agreement to switch sides.

This makes sense. He's speaking to another nobleman here, someone who would understand what it means if the word of a noble is given.

And it is, of course, then immediately put in danger by Sam:

If Sam kills von Bergow here, he takes the last remaining vestiges of any sort of sense of self or identity from Hans. Nobility is losing its lustre, he's not a worthy Bellator and instead always has to have Henry saving his ass, and this is all that remains. What is a noble without his word? As Hanush told him very clearly at the end of the first game, his word is his honor. And without honor, he's nothing.

What's left if the artifice is stripped away? If all he has left to him is his word, if that too is rendered meaningless, Hans, in his mind, will be left as nothing.

It should also be noted here that Sam is not held back by the rules of this society that Hans is so solidly part of. Much like queerness, he exists well outside of it, as both Jews and sodomites were considered heretics. Sam has that freedom that Hans so badly longs for, but it comes at a considerable cost, that of oppression. It's risky to exist at the fringes of society.

As @hallowedlore perfectly put it (in private conversation), when Sam attacks von Bergow, a statement throwing into question why he should care about the rules of their fancy nobility, the only thing that stop him is the threat of violence from Zizka. Death, not social decorum.

Hans is clinging on to this bit of identity with all his might here as though it's a life-raft. And Godwin immediately backs him up, reminding him that what he did there mattered.

But it doesn't get him very far. And certainly not with Sam, who couldn't care less about pleasing a Christian god. It strikes me as curious (and topical) here that he comes away from the big roundtable discussion with von Bergow and the other nobles feeling like insignificant shit while their talk at the Devil's Den did not leave him feeling that way.

Being a nobleman was meaningless here too. His nobility didn't matter one bit, all that mattered was being the strongest personality in the room. And Hans is anything but that. That boy is made of insecurities, his outward facing personality all a mask behind which is only hot air.

Only his jealousy regarding Sam's inbuilt relationship with Henry makes him turn back to old patterns:

See, Henry? He's different from us. But the argument doesn't work on Henry and barely even works on himself.

Increasingly, Hans realizes that the nobility isn't where he feels like he belongs the most. This worldview of his is fucked and all wrong. Who went and decided that he should be a Bellator while someone like Henry isn't?

Because he does associate Henry with nobility in a big way. When Henry goes to ask Hans what he should do about Erik's offer of a duel, Hans thinks it over and then comes back with this:

These are different times. Are they? Or is it just Hans' heart that has changed here? Because right after this, he asks Henry to stay. To forgo honor and nobility and not put himself in unnecessary danger.

The aftermath of the silver heist likewise serves as a painful reminder of what is waiting for him on the other side of all this: a marriage that he doesn't want to a woman he doesn't know. What benefits remain of nobility? All he'd see by this point is obligations. No one listens to him, no one cares what he has to say except for Henry. All the bluster is ultimately meaningless. He doesn't belong with the other nobles, and all his best attempts at fitting into the mold fail him. All his life he's spent his time trying to be like those around him, trying to be someone he isn't, and it's never good enough.

The people he feels most comfortable around, Henry and Godwin, are both people with ties to nobility while wanting as little to do with titles and related obligations as possible. They both have social mobility to a certain extent. The opposite of nobility, to Hans, is freedom.

Shorty after the attack by the Praguers, Hans goes to wait for Henry in front of his room. When Henry asks him how he's doing, because he's clearly got experience leading troops, Hans laughs it off:

If there was any doubt left that he views himself as an incapable Bellator, this is excellent proof, backed up even more later on following the suicide mission:

This is what being a noble has gotten him. People's judgments and expectations, obligation to marry and carry on a family line, and the ability to play God and decide who gets to live and who dies. All he wanted was to protect people. Instead he gets to send them to their deaths.

This will come up again in part two, but it bears mentioning here as well. After getting laid, Hans vents to Godwin about how much he hates that no one ever treats him like an adult. He's a noble and an adult, and none of it ever seems to matter:

Who's "they"? Because the rest of what he says mentions that he thought the Trosky delivery would make "them" take him seriously. This isn't just about Hanush. This is about all nobles. That he'd finally fit in.

But he doesn't, and he won't.

When Hanush arrives at Suchdol, he highlights that everyone there is a hero for their deeds there, but it doesn't matter. Hans once more has his noble obligations shoved down his throat, which effectively feels like the last straw in this disillusionment. Nobility has granted him nothing but pain and any child of his would suffer the same fate. There's even some easily missed idle dialogue you can walk in on where they're arguing about precisely that. It doesn't matter what he does, how heroic he is, how many good deeds he performs, at the end of the day none of it ever mattered (read left to right):

It always strikes me in that conversation how unbelievably bitchy Hans sounds here. The "I'm glad you noticed" could not be cuntier. He is not happy. And even then, Hanush barely offers him any guarantees.

Effectively, this leaves Hans open to questioning the harmony of society as it was taught to him and, in questioning it, realizing that that harmony never existed to begin with. He spends the whole game realizing that the social order he's been subjected to and thought he fit into perfectly is not only illogical but also something he has despised his whole life. This is discovered not only because he was shown an alternative in his own shift into more of a Laborator beside Henry (who to him embodies the qualities of a Bellator far better than he), but also in his own queerness.

It doesn't escape me that there's something to be said about Suchdol here. During the siege, Henry and Hans effectively live outside of the bounds of nobility or social stratification. Everyone is equal in the face of Hunger and Despair. And it's only in this space, this place outside of what is and isn't deemed acceptable by society, that Hans finds it in himself to kiss Henry. To breach every code of conduct he's ever known. Because they're already in the space outside of social acceptability. Hell, the entire Devil's Band is situated in precisely this space just by going against Sigismund. You couldn't ask for a more perfect environment for Hans to step outside of the bounds that have held him since birth.

This is even shown even more starkly with this anon's point in mind about how it goes if you don't romance Hans:

This is unjust. Henry is only in danger because he's not a noble. There's something to be said about agency here, but that discussion has to wait for part three of this analysis triptych. Nothing about this social stratification serves him any longer, all the more so when he romances Henry. It's also why he seems so uncertain about the two of them when Henry returns, and they are meant to return to reality and the expected social order.

This social order that was meant to bring with it harmony for all is the same social order that would demand that he marry and beget an heir. Why should he try to fit himself into this cookie cutter mold if he never fit to begin with? As we see with Barnaby especially, being discovered as queer spells an existence at the fringes of society if not outside of it entirely. Queerness is inherently and by definition at odds with social order, thus returning us to the nobility vs. freedom dialectic. And regardless of which of the two Hans ultimately chooses, obligation or what his heart wants, that disillusionment can never be undone.

Part 2, Part 3

[jjwolves]

RAVEN LIKE A WRITING DESK

What: 4 Coral Glasses X Reader Headcanons Where She Shares a House with You

Who: Coral Glasses from ENA Dream BBQ (By Joel G)

How Much: ~1000 words, ~4 mins

Credits: Image Banner -> Joel G

Warnings: None

Coral Glasses is a bit reluctant to move in with you at first. That's a big leap. For her, every single life decision is like carefully tiptoeing around deep puddles of soda in a desperate effort to keep her pants dry. And now you're asking her to stand next to the road and hope, no, pray, that a taxi doesn't zoom past and drench you both in Sweet Shrimp Energy: Code Pink?! The thought alone has her sweating! "Ah, I'm sorry, but--but! I'd like to, but--the way you're looking at me makes me think that you have a lot of expectations for this. I don't even know if I'm in the right job, let alone housing unit..." The pen that was tucked behind her ear comes loose and falls into her coffee. She sighs, resigned. You didn't want to force her into anything, but before you can rescind the offer in order to honor her comfort, she begins acting like there's no other option. Suddenly, it's a fact of life. "I'm too anxious to be a breadwinner... Huff, I'm not cut out for this at all. I'm not cut out for this life. Ugh... Well, if I'm going to be living with you, I'm going to have to ask... Do you have room for 100 business outfits?" Confused, you ask if she... wants this? She seems kind of put off by the idea. She responds to this with confusing resignation. "You want me to, right? Want me to, eh... live where you live?" You say yes, but only if she wants to(?) "Yeah, I mean... I already packed my stuff, so..." You get the feeling that this is going to be a trend.

She wasn't joking about the 100 business outfits, all of which are identical. The closet belongs to her now, out of necessity if nothing else. Besides the closet, she's slow to warm and integrate into the new living situation. You're over the moon that you get to spend so much time with her, seeing her every morning and every night. Beneath the weird faux resignation and constant analysis paralysis that Coral Glasses suffers, you can see a glimmer of someone who really loves you back and wants this as much as you do. You see it in the awkward, pale hand on your shoulder, and the tasteful outfit she arranges and leaves out for you in the morning. You see it in the fact that your plants stay watered even when you forget to water them, somehow. It's never acknowledged by her, though, because most of the time? Coral Glasses is just doing her best to take up as little space as possible. She keeps her clothes to the closet. She keeps all her papers crammed into a corner on your desk. Her briefcase is left directly next to the front door. Sometimes, you wake up and find that she had migrated from the bed and to the couch overnight. You don't know how to broach this subject with her. All you know is that you feel kind of guilty--it's not like you created these rules or anything, but it's clear that you're going to need to be the one to help her integrate a little. How can you tell a coral reef to grow out further than it already has? And would that be love, or would that be entitled?

You try to draw closer to Coral Glasses in lots of little ways. You put colored bookmarks into her folders to better organize them, doodling little marine creatures on them. The next time she opens the binder, a small, gentle smile graces her lips as she nervously adjusts her glasses. "Oh. Thanks, this is so cu--er, c-convenient. This is really efficient now. So. Thanks." One night, she comes home especially drained and frazzled from work, stumbling through the door with her suitcase in hand, trudging up the stairs like a zombie and collapsing into bed after dropping the case at the foot of it and slinging her suit jacket over a nearby chair. Already in bed yourself, you stir slightly as Coral Glasses unconsciously angles herself awkwardly in order to weakly grasp a hand in two of hers. It's not a normal sleeping pose at all. You don't notice that a miracle happened that night until you wake up to see that your beloved enterpreneur is still in bed with you, and on top of that, she was apparently comfortable enough to slap her suitcase next to the bed and put her clothes wherever was convenient. Also, your hand is really really sweaty. You silently realize that you may be the only person in the world who would be thankful to Runas for a messy room.

It seems like that moment of overwhelming fatigue was what was needed to crack open the oyster's shell, so to speak. After that fateful night, it seems like Coral Glasses is finally growing into your home. Her papers are scattered across your desk at any given moment and rings of coffee are stained onto the covers of any notebooks left unattended in the Business Radius. A business jacket is almost always hanging off of the chair next to your desk. And, yeah, you usually wake up to a soaked bed and clothes, especially if Coral Glasses was cuddling you while you were asleep. You love that girl, but your bed is permanently infused with the smell of seawater mixed with some sort of chemical toner. You joke one morning about it raining in your bedroom. Her coral's pulse slows for a moment. Then, much unlike her, Coral Glasses gives you a smirk which drips with irony. "But you knew what you were getting into." And then she pecks you on the forehead with a very clammy-feeling kiss before heading upstairs to get ready for work. You think you might have created a monster. A really sweaty, nervous monster who laid out an outfit for you overnight identical to hers. You'll pretend to be clueless... But secretly? You're more than OK being twinsies with her. She can never know.

[3liza]

everyone arguing with material analysis/assertion about how art is a "luxury" has rarely if ever spent rent or food money on art, if they even pay rent or buy their own food, and if they did that would be considered extremely dysfunctional, and thats what i/we mean. artists are not providing a necessary service.

our plane crashes in the Andes and you are not particularly excited about my "can draw that Playboy centerfold of Marge Simpson from memory" like that is not an essential survival skill. lots of extremely skilled workers work in luxury artisan and craft jobs, it's not an insult to say even a very famous and very talented and influential artist is not producing a commodity necessary for the furtherance of human life. none of us are doing that, no matter how we stretch and strain the definitions of "essential" or even things like "morale" or "group identity". i will burn my copy of Finnegan's Wake to stay warm and thats what it comes down to.

i get foamy crazy snarling and biting about the idolization and obfuscation of what artists actually do because it is a labor issue! the public conception of artists as people possessed of a divine talent they dont consciously work to develop like any other skill, and the public idea that we are simply pleased and privileged to make art all day and "not work", something people say to my face every time i get asked "what i do", is largely responsible for the absolute dogshit reality of how subsistence and working class artists have to survive. we usually dont have health insurance unless we're so poor we qualify for medicaid AND live in a state that will enroll us. most of us are too disabled or crazy to go to a real job every day. most of us have tried, over and over, to enter the normal workforce, and have failed, and been forced to develop alternate skills that allow us to make rent in the ten hours per month we're actually functional. many of the artists i know work from bed because standing up is dicey. this has been turned into a charming eccentricity of famous artists and writers instead of people wondering why a person would need to stay in bed all day and take the enormous bother of bringing their stupid pens and paper and writing board or typewriter or whatever to their bed instead of just getting up and getting dressed and going to work. ive done this, i spilled ink in my sheets. its a huge hassle.

and artists play along with this mystique because people dont want to buy paintings from sadlords! they want to buy paintings and books and marge simpson nudes from cool guys who get a lot of chicks and wear rockstar outfits and party a lot, because of the transitive properties! of course!!! this is basic marketing!!!!! and if the artist doesnt play along they turn into Sad Story Artist where they're doing emergency commissions and posting about how sick they are all the time. this is not cool or fun or sexy. it's a sand trap and its very hard to recover from. im struggling with this right now!

famous and successful artists and writers are constantly ending up 60-90 years old with cancer and multiple sclerosis and dementia, being the subject of some sort of public, last-ditch, humiliating GoFundMe because painting paperback covers fr 60 years means you dont get a pension, you often dont even have kids who can take care of you, you dont have life insurance, you dont have health insurance. 'died penniless and alone' is one of the stereotypical artist endings for a reason, that is not fiction. this happened to more artists than i can list on two hands. look up what happened to Peter S. beagle, the guy who wrote The Last Unicorn. you write a book like that you should be set for life, right? NO. thats not how it works

i'm not saying 'all artists are disabled and working class or poor' because that isnt true, observably. nepo babies and trust fund artists exist, obviously. but they take an outsized portion of the spotlight when the public thinks of the concept of "artist". they are not actually the norm. the average artist is probably making under 40k and living in extremely precarious circumstances and has had periods of homelessness, illness, extreme debt and/or bankruptcy.

this is true even for the 'successful' artists. having one or two or ten good projects and being a household name does not save you from just not having the safety net provided by a normal career path. i was very close with a major, famous 2000s network television creator and team that you have heard of. they won awards, they changed culture entirely, they were a big deal. one of them was turned down for a half dozen projects by the same network that made millions or bilions on their franchise over several years (each pitch is completely unpaid btw, imagine carefully preparing a PowerPoint for morons for months at a time for no reimbursement and thent he morons ask you if you can put a teenage witch looking for her lost cat in the alps in it and you're like, haha, well, it's a 4 part hard sci fi miniseries set on Europa and takes place entirely inside a pressurized lander settlement, i mean Ridley Scot said he was interested already and he pitched a bottle episode about a carbon monoxide poisoning, soooooo....and the executives look at each other and they're like "it's jst not really what we're looking for right now, thanks for coming in" and you go to coffee bean and tea leaf and kill yourself and thats sort of what its like. i made that example up it didn't actually happen i'm using an illustrative example), worked on a canceled film, and just. gradually ran out of money. thats what happens. that guy ended up slowly selling off all his belongings, getting roommates in a one bedroom apartment, and then eventually having to just live on a friend's couch for years. famous guy. you probably know his name. another major member of that same team ended up in GoFundMe/commission hell for years (might still be there) because they had to take care of their two dying, dementia patient parents by themselves. these are people who go to GenCon and sign autographs for four hours at a time. THE PUBLIC IS NOT AWARE OF THIS SHIT and i'm sick of it. im sick of going to a gallery opening night ("vernissage") and drinking bad wine and having a guy with an email job that pays six figures and benefits tell me being able to push "undo" on the computer is cheating. that's a real example, that has actually happened to me. more than once.

artists currently have zero labor protections whatsoever. all of us are undercutting each other in an unregulated market and relying on welfare and private insurance and not having families or buying houses. zero security until we get so old all our illnesses and dysfunction finally ground us permanently and then we get turned into a charity case by fans (humiliating) or just fade away into ghosts and die

whats my punchline? idk i dont have one. it's possible and likely that any given artist you meet is permanently in precarity and will be until they die, even the famous ones. the culture of selling art demands that artists do not admit to this in public unless shit gets really really bad. i guess my point is you should know this, as a person who looks at or listens to or reads things that people have made for your amusement, not for your survival

[room-surprise]

Analysis of Laios and how he hugs/interacts with people, pre and post-manga.

Reading body language in real life is basically pseudo-science most of the time, however, these aren't candid photographs of real people I'm analyzing, they are drawings purposefully made by Ryoko Kui to tell us something about Laios and his relationships with other characters.

These illustrations are designed on purpose to communicate information. So what do I think they say?

Here's the illustration of how things are at the start of the manga:

NAMARI AND CHILCHUCK

They're both rough towards Laios, expressing displeasure with him, using violent physical touch to get his attention or punish him for something.

TOSHIRO

His reaction to Laios is totally passive. He isn't turned towards Laios, but he isn't turning away either. He's staring up into space with a look of discomfort, suggesting he wishes Laios would leave him alone... But that he is too polite to openly reject him.

We know this is partially a cultural issue: because Toshiro is Japanese, he considers it catastrophically rude to tell someone "no" in a blunt way. He is trying to communicate his discomfort and disinterest to Laios, but Laios isn't understanding Toshiro's signals.

Meanwhile, Laios is turning his whole body towards Toshiro, his eyes are wide open, he's smiling. He's very eager to interact, in a way that he isn't with any other character on this page except Falin.

MARCILLE

They are having a neutral interaction. Neither of them seems excited or interested in each other, but they are talking seriously. Marcille is gesturing at Laios in a way that seems scolding, they are standing at a polite distance, and Laios is standing at his full height, perhaps even leaning/straining away from Marcille slightly. There is a physical object (Marcille's staff) acting as a barrier, and it's physically pushing Laios away from her.

But it is worth noting that he has his hand on the staff, suggesting that he's not letting himself be pushed away any further, that he's having a reciprocal interaction with Marcille, not a passive one where he just stands there and gets lectured. Laios is participating and engaged.

FALIN AND SENSHI

The only people having unambiguously positive interactions with Laios on this page, which makes sense since they are the two people who are the most friendly towards him at the start of the manga.

Laios and Falin are touching hands, smiling and their bodies are turned towards each other, showing enthusiasm and a mutual interest. This is less intense than the hug in the post-manga illustrations, which maybe suggests that there's something distant and unresolved between them here, like resentment and guilt.

Laios and Senshi are closer to each other than Laios and Marcille. Laios is sitting or crouched down to get closer to Senshi's height, and they are both smiling and turned towards each other. Senshi may even be laughing!

Here's the "post-manga" image...

What a huge difference!

All of these interactions are basically positive, so I'll just go left to right, top to bottom. Also for some of these, we can't see Laios' friends full reactions, so I'll focus on what we can see, and how Laios is behaving.

SENSHI

They share a gentle hug. They both have their arms wrapped around each other, so the desire to touch is mutual. Laios bends to reach Senshi, and has a calm, content smile on his face while they hug. Laios rests his head on top of Senshi's head, showing trust and intimacy and a desire to be physically even closer to Senshi than just hugging. Senshi isn't pulling away, so I think that's a good indicator that he doesn't mind it, and possibly even likes it!

Which is a big change from how he felt violated by Laios touching his chest earlier in the manga, even though Laios was trying to heal him... I think Senshi isn't someone that easily lets others touch him, so this is a big improvement.

CHILCHUCK

The size difference makes this hug awkward, but that's not the only reason! Laios has both hands on Chilchuck and he is bending down in order to reach him, suggesting that he wants to embrace his friend, however Chilchuck is not straining to reach Laios, and he is only using one hand to touch him, suggesting that Chilchuck doesn't want to embrace too closely. Chilchuck is willing to allow a hug, and he is willing to touch Laios back, but he doesn't want it as much as Laios does.

I think Laios is aware of this, because he isn't trying to push the hug to a higher level of intensity. He's holding back to the level he thinks Chilchuck is comfortable with.

MARCILLE

They share a happy, but not overly intimate hug. Their chests and bodies are pressed together, but they are turning their heads away from each other.

Laios' hands are resting side by side on Marcille's back, and it seems like she is hugging him back in a similarly loose way. His arms are not overlapping, and they aren't squeezing or grabbing each other, just holding on lightly while pressing their chests together.

TOSHIRO

What a fascinating set of drawings!

I'm going to assume that the color drawing is what happens first, and the black and white line drawing is what happens afterwards, solely because if the black and white drawing is meant to just be Laios' fantasy of hugging Toshiro, then surely he would imagine Toshiro hugging him back enthusiastically, and not a more passive reaction like Kui drew.

Kui wrote a note here to remind readers that hugging is not considered normal in "the East", where Toshiro is from, to give context to why the character seems so uncomfortable.

Laios is approaching Toshiro at high speed, arms open and reaching for Toshiro, eyes wide, with a happy expression. He clearly wants to wrap Toshiro up in a big, enthusiastic hug.

Toshiro is sweating with discomfort, and he has a hand pressed against Laios' chest, attempting to stop him… However, the arm is not extended and his elbow is bent at an acute angle, and it looks as if no force is being applied. Toshiro perhaps feels a need to offer a token protest, but he isn't really trying to stop Laios.

In the black and white hug drawing, Laios has both arms wrapped tight around Toshiro, much tighter than Senshi, Chilchuck or Marcille, and he's pressing their bodies together and resting his head on Toshiro's shoulder. He's turning his face towards Toshiro's neck, and smiling serenely.

Toshiro's body is stiff, he's sweating, and his arm is held at a rigid 90 degree angle… But he isn't using it to push Laios away, just holding it uselessly at his side. Perhaps he is half-way towards returning the hug, thinking about lifting his arm a little higher and resting his hand on Laios' back, but he isn't sure if he wants to do that yet.

Toshiro is bending his body towards Laios, and allowing himself to be pressed against the other man. He's staring out into space with a neutral expression that suggests either discomfort or surprise. I think we're meant to understand that he has given up fighting against the foreign, offensive hug, realizing that it isn't offensive for Laios, and therefore it might be okay to allow it...and it might actually be more offensive if he rejected the hug.

FALIN

Falin has thrown herself at Laios with considerable force, and Laios has his arms overlapping across Falin's back. They are both squeezing each other tightly with their arms, and even Laios' hands are gripping Falin tightly. There is an overjoyed look on Laios' face, and I think this embrace shows how Laios has healed through the course of the story.

KABRU

Since Kabru is one of Laios' newest friends, it makes sense that the hug would be the least intimate.

The two of them have a complicated relationship in the manga, but the complete world bible shows that Laios has finally accepted that Kabru is genuinely his friend and not just trying to use or manipulate him. He's made an effort in the post-canon to reach out and try to be Kabru's friend in return, and Kabru has forgiven Laios for not listening to him in the past.

Kabru is turning his body away from Laios, which puts his shoulder towards Laios' shoulder at a perpendicular angle, forcing distance between them. Laios is fully facing Kabru, and has one arm behind his back, a hand resting on Kabru's shoulder, and another hand resting on his chest. The hand on the chest is attached to an arm that is bent at an obtuse angle, holding Kabru at a distance, with no indication that he is trying to pull Kabru in. Both hands are relaxed, like in the Marcille hug, indicating that Laios' grasp is loose.

This arm position is pretty unusual for an embrace. It allows Laios to keep Kabru at a distance where he can see him, and control where he moves, and how close he's able to get to Laios… and Kabru isn't returning the hug in any way, instead allowing himself to be touched and held in place.

Their bodies aren't pressed together, and Kabru's arm is down at his side, neither encouraging Laios nor pushing him away.

Laios has a big smile on his face, and he looks enthusiastic. Kabru on the other hand has a calm smile. In my opinion his expression is less enthusiastic than Marcille's.

I think Laios can't tell how Kabru feels about the hug, and so he's holding himself back. He's not blinded by emotion like he is with Toshiro, so he's not flinging himself at Kabru… And because Kabru is such a new friend, Laios is also probably hesitant to get too close to him.

There may also be some lingering trust issues, if Laios still isn't completely certain if Kabru genuinely likes him or not. Laios has often had trouble telling if people really like him, or if they are just being polite (Toshiro), or using him (former party members), so it makes sense that it would take awhile for him and Kabru to become truly comfortable with each other..

[alpacaroni-and-cheese]

Leah, Fatin and Choice.

Not to wax lyrical about a TV show that was cancelled over two years ago, but The Wilds is pretty good, actually.

All 8 of the main characters (yes, eight, the boys don't count) are some of the most complex, layered and interesting characters I've ever seen. Each of them, on a surface level, seem to be one-dimensional.

Shelby, for example, is the goody-two shoes Christian flawless pageant queen. But she isn't, not really. She's a closeted, anxious mess, who is about one or two mental breakdowns away from shaving her head at any given time. She cares far too deeply, leaving her heart exposed and vulnerable.

Or take Rachel; on the outside, she's hard on everyone, angry and resentful, and bound for diving for America in the next Olympics. But in reality, she's burnt out. She might be hard on everyone around her, but she's hardest on herself. She suffers from bulimia, brought on by a few ill-advised words from her diving coach, and isn't even on the team anymore. She is angry, and she is resentful, but I think she has good reason to be. So when she does release that anger, it's an inspiration for us all.

You can do this kind of analysis with all of the characters, but the two I want to focus on in particular are Leah and Fatin.

Leah, the boring, ordinary, average girl from the Bay, who thinks too much and leaps before she looks.

That doesn't even scratch the surface of who Leah is.

She's whip-smart, and not in the "knows the first 20 digits of pi" Hollywood style of smart. She notices things and tucks them away in her brain until she has a moment to herself where she can ruminate, drawing connections where maybe there aren't any, and draw conclusions based partly on evidence and partly on a near-infallible trust for her gut.

She analyses. Not in the (BBC) Sherlock kind of way where she just magics up the answer out of thin air, but in her own way. She sees something is out of place, and digs around in the rocks and dirt, bloodying her fingers and knees until she can figure out what's wrong.

She gets taken advantage of by a man far older than her, and lies about her age so he'd sleep with her. She's hopelessly, helplessly tied to this pathetic man, every aspect of her life tethered to him. So when he finds out the truth and removes every part of her from his life, she is left drowning in his wake. She clings to the book he wrote and the sick annotations he left for her like it's a lifeline, when it's actually pulling her further beneath the waves.

Leah broods, she ruminates and she analyses, until something gives way.

She runs headlong into walls until either they break, or she does.

Next, let's talk about Fatin.

Promiscuous, princess-y Fatin, who's never done a day's hard work in her life.

In 1x05, Fatin runs away from the group. In 1x04, she was (metaphorically and a little bit physically, albeit accidentally) mauled by Leah. Her soft underbelly exposed and prodded. The others have all made judgements on her character, and in their eyes she has come up short. So, she chooses to remove herself from the equation, and runs away, like a thief in the night.

She finds a waterfall, practically saving all of them from dying slowly of thirst. And Leah, who pushed her, shoved her, rejected her last episode, spearheads the campaign to find her, after a little encouragement and wake-up call from Dot.

Fatin is not used to forgiveness. We see her mother let things go, but her mistakes are not forgiven, and most certainly not forgotten. Her hurt is minimised and dismissed by her mother, so she turns to her father for support. He is her best friend and confidant. He always has her side.

But then she discovers the photos. Her father has been cheating with lots of women over a long period of time. He has been lying to and betraying their family for years. She lashes out and chooses to send his nudes to everyone in his contact list, not thinking it through properly. When this is inevitably drawn back to her, her father turns on her, and her mother just sits and watches.

She isn't familiar with forgiveness, so when Leah offers it to her the first time she chooses to willingly accept it, offering it back in turn.

Leah makes the choice to burn Jeff's book, severing the tether holding her beneath the water. She's free, and can breathe.

Fatin becomes her confidant, listening to Leah's theories about the island and offering reasonable explanations for what's going on, and it works for a while.

But Leah becomes obsessed with the island. She's convinced something is wrong, and works herself to the bone to discover the truth, at the expense of her own safety and sanity.

Fatin reaches out to her, tries to wade through the darkness clouding Leah's thoughts and pull her back into the light.

But she fails.

When Leah runs into the ocean, desperate to find a way out, Fatin can do nothing but watch. Rachel overcomes her fear of the water and drags Leah back to the beach. Dot wants to sedate her, just to be safe, but Fatin refuses. Leah's had enough choices taken away from her, so she lets Leah choose.

Fatin, who knows how damaging it is to have your autonomy stolen, gives Leah this choice. Fatin, who knows Leah had many decisions made for her in the past, lets her decide for herself. She lets Leah make the choice to live.

[ewingstan]

Going into Ward, one of the things that interested me is that pretty much everyone who read it, no matter what the felt about it as a whole, seemed to like what it did with Tattletale and incorporate it into their understanding of the character. To a certain extent this makes sense, outside of Amy people's problems with Worm usually aren't that characterization had been changed. But few other aspects of Ward have been talked about with so much relative positivity, or influenced so much retroactive analysis of Worm.

After reading her interlude, I'm starting to understand why.

From the bat we're given blunt and effective portrayals of how alone Lisa feels. Half of her descriptions of other characters focused on how they reminded her of people she's lost. The Heartbroken are primarily described by the ways they do and don't resemble Alec. Aiden by how he does and doesn't resemble Taylor. Imp and Rachel get mentioned but don't get to make an appearance at all, furthering the effect—reminders of her closest connections are everywhere, but the connections themselves are nowhere. She's left with the "expanded Undersiders," and is painfully aware of how they either dislike her or will never form a close connection with her.

There's a lot more emphasis here on how her power is a separate entity than there was in Lisa's Worm interlude. She's snarking at it, talking about it as something that interjects, drawing a clear divide in her head between what it figures out and what she figures out. Is that her knowledge of its nature developing, or simply a new way of looking at how it always worked?

The framing in the passage above seems to suggest that its encouraging her to distance herself from others, pushing her to interact but specifically feeding her information that will prevent close connections. Questions of agency and identity aside, I do like this as an aspect of powers-as-coping-mechanisms: she was triggered by failing to save someone she was close to, not recognizing the signs that he was unwell. Her power helps her see the signs she couldn't before, but it also seems to try to prevent those close connections from forming so she can't be hurt the same way. Not that its successful. Can't stop betting on losing dogs and all.

What she calls people internally is interesting. I figured she had been calling Sveta "Garotte" earlier to needle her, but she continues to call her that in her own thoughts, as does her power. Valkyrie gets to be "Valkyrie," and Vicky isn't called a cape name at all. There's a few ways to interpret this; I'm tempted to say that Lisa sees Victoria as a relic of pre-Gold Morning days, and sees Sveta largely in that context. Though I also feel like there's some refusal to see her or Rain as people who are separate from what they've done in the past. A lot of the comments I've read while reading the last few chapters are people debating whether she should've gone "white-hat," and I get the sense that she sees something dishonest in that. Leaving behind the things you've done isn't something she can do—even Lisa Wilbourn can't leave behind the failures of Sarah Livsey.

That might be something to think about in the context of Victoria claiming Tattletale is awful because she represents "giving up on something better." Its kind of baffling in that context; many people have pointed out that cutting the number of overdoses in half was way better than anything the heroes ever did, but Victoria resents that TT saw merely halving it as acceptable. She prefers methods that highlight a certain attitude towards a problem over methods that are effective at dealing with a problem. Having zero tolerance for overdoses and being able to do fuck-all about it becomes preferable to halving it, because not giving up on an ideal world is better than actually making the world better. As little regard as I have for Victoria's position, it seems that the text is giving it some credence by positioning Lisa not just as pursuing the methods that will make an actual difference, but also as rejecting the idea of "something better." Sveta can't be more than Garotte, overdose rates can be halved but not lowered further. Its weirdly reifying of Victoria's position, making Lisa a foil to it rather than a reflection of an entirely unrelated worldview.

There's a few team leaders in the parahumans-verse who get characterized as encouraging and benefiting from chaos within their ranks. Jack Slash had a self-image of himself as a master manipulator who knew just how to keep the Nine at each others throats to keep them in line, though of course his power was pulling heavy duty there. Trickster exulted in sowing chaos, but while he could use it to his advantage when working alone it explicitly got in the way of the Travellers as a whole during their operations. Lisa incorporates aspects of both; she seems to be cultivating a "this chaos is all part of my design" air for Faultline and Victoria while actually always being on the cusp of losing control of her own team. It seems less like something she's doing deliberately and more like something she has to deal with, even if she later frames it as part of preparing Aiden or something similar.

Man, her relationship with Aiden. First explicit mention of Taylor we've had since the beginning and its for a blunt confirmation that she sees herself as failing Taylor in the same way she failed Rex, and is terrified of doing with Aiden. It feels both like she's holding him at arms length and that she's desperate for a close connection with him.

[alpaca-clouds]

How to Play Wicked Grace - The Rules

Alright. As promised, I will finally go into trying to fully construct how to play Wicked Grace. I spent this week overthinking this game and annoying pretty much everyone I know with my ramblings about this game. I went so far mainly about what the full deck looks like, and about the card values within it. And let me quickly update the list of cards, as I changed around some of the card names to fit better with the established lore.

So, let me quickly for once list up the cards. In my analysis the Wicked Grace card game is a card game with a deck of 4 suits, each of them featuring 15 cards, making the deck 60 cards in total. The suits are Serpents (also called Drakes), Angels (also called Spirits), Knights (also called Blades) and Songs.

Other than with a Poker Deck, the cards are not mainly the same in every suite, but unique to every suite, as rather than focusing on numbers, they are focusing on mythological and magical themes. The cards are:

Serpents:

Serpent of Temerity

Serpent of Mercy

Serpent of Avarice

Serpent of Empathy

Serpent of Deceit

Serpent of Insight

Serpent of Insight

Serpent of Sadness

Serpent of Loyality

Serpent of Decay

Serpent of Night

Serpent of Snummer

Serpent-Entwined Dagger

Serpent of the Forgotten

Serpent of Judgement

Serpent of the Lotus

Angels:

Angel of Temerity

Angel of Mercy

Angel of Cupidity

Angel of Charity

Angel of Treachery

Angel of Truth

Angel of Pride

Angel of Fortitude

Angel of Death

Angel of Day

Angel of Spring

Angel-Drawn Bow

Angel of the Fade

Angel of Declarations

Angel of Hearts

Knights:

Knight of Temerity

Knight of Mercy

Knight of Greed

Knight of Compassion

Knight of Duplicity

Knight of Wisdom

Knight of Anger

Knight of Bravery

Knight of Life

Knight of the Dawn

Knight of Winter

Knight-Wielded Shield

Knight of Ages

Knight of Sacrifice

Knight of Roses

Songs:

Song of Temerity

Song of Mercy

Song of Gluttony

Song of Relief

Song of Lies

Song of Sincerity

Song of Dispair

Song of Hope

Song of Rebirth

Song of Twilight

Song of Autumn

Song-Praised Staff

Song of Fires

Song of Ascension

Song of Lilies

Other than suits, the cards have themes. I am going to assume that primarily the cards usually are considered to have three different themes: Emotions/Spirits, Cycles of Nature, and Higher Powers. I am going to assume the Flower Cards are going to be considered Jokers, and can be counted to each theme as wanted.

However, within each theme, there is also always cards that are very closely related in the Cycles of Nature and the Higher Powers, while among the Emotion themes at least the positive and negative emotions can be grouped together. Just keep that in mind, as I go into the further rules! 😊

I reckon that the game given that it seems to have 60 cards could be played with up to 12 people, though in that case I am going to assume the rules would need to be adjusted given that you definitely can swap out cards. It might however be – we see that in the scenes – that in those cases there might just be a way of exchanging cards between the players.

How to Play

However, assuming we have six or less players, I do reckon that the game usually goes like this:

The deck is shuffled.

Everyone receives five cards.

Every player can switch cards, putting cards from their own hand onto the table and either drawing from the deck, or taking cards from the pile of cards discarded by other players before. (I am going to assume, that the cards are always face down and that playing them face up, as you can see it some people do in the game, is considered cheating.)

Every player gets a chance to switch out cards in the same order (probably clockwise or counter clockwise).

Once a person places a bet, everyone else can either go along or forfeit.

After the bet is placed, everyone has one chance to swap cards one more time – after that last swap deciding on whether to hold the bet or not.

After everyone has either gone in or dropped out, the cards of everyone in are compared and the person with the highest rated hand gets to take the betted money (or whatever everyone is betting on).

I am assuming this will then be repeated until nobody has anything left to bet with. As it often is with such gambling!

Now, the final question is: Who wins?

Winning Hands

Firstly, the table I am using above can be found in GoogleDocs. You can use it, if you want to.

Now, it does seem reasonable to assume, that generally speaking some of the rules of Poker apply. We know that much from the dialogue. To be exact we know:

Having two of the same suit is a pair, and gives points.

Having three of the same is a triple and gives points.

From this I am going to assume that having four or five of the same suit also gives points.

If two people have the same number of cards o the same suit, the person who manages to get cards not just of a suit, but also of the same “theme” will win a tie.

It also seems to be reasonable to assume that each card has an individual point value, so the higher valued cards will with a tie also win out over lower valued cards.

Additionally, the dialogues in Inquisition imply heavily, that the suits also have different values – however, we have no idea how those values go. My personal hunch would be Serpents < Knights < Angels < Songs, just based on mythology, but it is just a hunch.

We also know, that there have to be some sort of combinations like in Hanafuda, where certain combinations of three or more cards have also their own values.

So, generally I will assume that the following combinations will give you points:

Five cards of the same suit will have the highest value.

Followed by four cards of the same suit.

Followed by a triplet and a pair.

Followed by just a triplet.

Followed by two pairs.

Followed by one pair.

Again: you will get more points, if they are from the same theme.

Also, I am going to assume that if you collect:

All four seasons

All four cycles of life

All four times of day

All four aspects of Rule

All four weapons

All four concepts

That is going to be also worth some sort of points. However, I am not fully sure whether those are worth more than five of the same suit. Mathematically they should be (it is a lot harder to get four specific cards out of 60 than any five out of twelve from the same set of 60), but we also know that not always to gambling rules follow math.

However, we also know that there are special combinations (again, like Hanafuda) that have specific point values). The one we know is this hand from Isabela:

“I have three angels: fortitude, truth, and charity, and the knight of dawn. I win!”

So, I am going to call this combination “The Brave Knight at Dawn”, because those kinds of combinations usually are going to have some sort of name. I am also going to assume that it needs the knight of dawn and the angel of fortitude, but will do with any other two positive emotion angels.

I am also going to assume one other thing: I am thinking that these combinations might actually differ depending on where in Thedas you are. Because in games where there are more storytelling heavy combinations, this is a thing that happens a lot in real life: There are combinations that makes sense in a very specific context, but not in others. And if you really wanna have fun, given that in most DA games the characters come from different backgrounds, you totally could write a story of a fun game of Wicked Grace, that ends up being a big ass argument about which combinations are legal and which are not. I would find that hilarious!

Some ideas about combinations:

The Coronation: The Knight of Roses, the Song of Ascension, and the Angels of Day and of Hearts

The Last Betrayal: The Serpent-Entwined Dagger, the Serpent of Judgement, the Angel of Treachery and the Song of Twilight

The First Day of Spring: Angels of Day and Spring, Songs of Lilies and Hopes

Execution of the Innocent: Serpent of Judgement, Angel of Death, Angel-Drawn Bow, and Song of Dispair

The Age of Dragons: The Serpent of the Forgotten, the Song of Fires, the Angel of Pride, and the Knight of Rage

I hope you get what I am trying to get at. As I said, technically we just know that some sort of those combinations exist. And given we only know one of them that exists in canon, we can pretty much come up with whatever. :P

But yeah, I am going to assume these are generally speaking the rules of how this game is played.

And I am also going to assume that there are at least five other games played with the same sort of deck. I might at some point think about those as well – but not today. For today, I will just leave it at this, and hope I helped someone to clear this out for some sort of fanfic.

You will excuse me? I definitely have to write a fic about how Spite learns to play this game xD

Thank you again @carabas, because without your write up, I could not have managed this. Also thanks to Salem, Benji, and Kay (who are all not on tumblr for some reason), who spent the last week listening to me ramble about this for about six hours total, and helped clearing out the finer details.

[abstractfrog]

HI I JUST SAW YOUR INCREDIBLE SHERLOCK AND CO COMIC YOU MADE AND I WOULD LOVE FOR YOU TO TALK ABOUT THE PROCESS AND THE SYMBOLISM AND INTRICACIES AND EVERYTHING PLEASE ‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

GOD THANK U ok if i actually talked about EVERYTHING i would be here forever and ever, there were things about the process where it kept surprising me and i kept adding stuff.

I talk about my general comic process here , it started out mostly the same for this one. Analysis of the script, sketches, panel and colour blocking

The scene from Mr Sherlock Holmes presented me with a unique challenge (for me) because...usually I pick scenes from the podcast that are instantly visually stimulating. This scene is NOT that. It's sort of unclear and confusing and even the emotive narrative is sort of hard to pick out. Those things I had to sort of decide for myself. It's hard to draw a whole scene like this without first deciding what the scene is about, what its purpose is. If you go back and listen to the episode along with the comic you'll notice all sorts of changes and tonal shifts - that's because of me and my decision making.

I decided that the direction I wanted to go in was to show John having his realization about himself, his podcast, and Sherlock, showing him getting pulled into, yes, Sherlock's world, but also the world of the podcast as an adaptation. I knew i could do this just with colour, but if you've seen my other comics, you know i almost always use colour to show shifts. I guess I had some insecurity about doing the same thing over and over again so I pushed myself to think of other ways I could accomplish it visual. Enter: rendering technique

I will say I didn't expect this effect to make John seem so SAD and MISERABLE, i only wanted to show him getting pulled in, but its effective for his emotions in this scene as well. Scanning drawings into the computer sort of flattens the paper texture, so I started adding photos of the pages of A Study in Scarlet to make him feel more paper-y. And then, of course, realised i could use that to further elaborate on John's inner thoughts, backgrounds, and motivations. People are welcome to interpreted that how they like and i've seen a number of variations, but to me it operates on sort of a meta level, showing the inevitability of what John is going through. He's a Watson, he's always going to follow Holmes, he's going to try and figure him out, and that's why you sort of see a back and forth between acd and pod Watson, highlighting the ways in which they are similar, and then, John breaks off and becomes his own character, still with those foundations but also entirely different.

there's one piece of text that i haven't seen anyone pick up on or mention and I'm starting to think it's gone unnoticed because it's in an unexpected spot. I won't mention what or where because it is, for now, a very indulgent little secret.

I notice a lot of people are getting a kick out of Sherlock playing with the speech bubbles, which I am so pleased by because I almost didn't do it! I thought i was maybe breaking something in the comic but it was so fun that i didn't care and I'm so glad it came across well. It operates on a lot of levels, it shows his thought process, it plays into that fourth-wall medium play i've got going on, and it feeds into the web metaphor as well as visually showing him roping John in.

on the topic of Sherlock, I feel a lot of people are rather focused on John, which is understandable (he's the main event) but Sherlock has a lot of details I love too.

For instance, him pushing his hair back and putting on a coat when the officer arrives, almost like he's shifted modes, and then his hair falling back down when he gets excited and John starts to understand.

I really love this moment of Sherlock seeing John's potential for interest in mysteries when he's trying to solve the matter of what Sherlock Does, and being surprised and flattered for a moment (until John messes it up again)

John copying Sherlock's pose <3

There's deliberate things in the character design as well, things like the fact that once John comes into colour, it reveals that he's actually wearing more colour than anyone else in the scene, and the fact that the grey in John's hair only appears post-greyscale. Things you are welcome to read into. And there are, of course, the socks, which I've seen people pick up on.

Those are the main things for now so i might leave it there, but thank you so much for your ask and i'd be pleased to elaborate further on absolutely anything!

[lostsoulaltair]

OnS Analysis - What lies beyond the relationship of the Sanguu Sisters and how it connects to the new Black Demon Mitsuba will wield.

Hello everyone, it's been quite a while, the new chapter is drawing closer thus, I gave some thought about two characters in specific, that's correct, Mitsuba Sanguu and Aoi Sanguu.

Therefore, let's begin!

P.S: Theories, analysis and thoughts are held in a neutral view and ships are excluded.

So far within the story, we've known that the relationship between Aoi and Mitsuba has been distant, Aoi's first appearance in the manga dated back in Chapter 39 already displaying that distance between the Sanguu sisters.

The next time we see Aoi along what she thinks about Mitsuba is back in chapter 45

Lastly the last time a brief interaction between the sisters comes is back in chapter 70.

Ultimately, it is revealed that Mitsuba wanted to be recognized by her sister, sadly such wish ended as a mere dream.

But, there's one thing that always bothered me when it came to their interactions...at first it was, was Aoi disappointed in Mitsuba for not following the Sanguu's raison d'etre. But Aoi's attitude is awfully abnormal, what do I mean?

Usually when there's disappointment between characters such as the case of Tenri Hiragi with Shinoa, Seishiro or Kureto; the case of Shikama and the sired Progenitors or the newest case being Rigr Stafford and Ferid Bathory, usually the natural course of action is discarting the ones labeled as "failures or disappointing results".

But with Aoi Sanguu is different. Back in the first chapter she appeared, her reaction towards Mitsuba was distant, it wasn't as she was glad to see her sister; what am I trying to get at?

Had it been a mere case of just anger towards traitors, her attitude would have been much different when she first encountered her sister in the battlefield.

But given that Mitsuba is now getting a power boost by receiving a Black Demon.

This opens a new possibility. What do I mean?

It is well known that the only way for humans to wield a Black Demon Cursed Gear is that those humans must have gone through experiments in order to do that. So far the only ones that ended up in success to be wielders of black demons are:

Kureto Hiragi - Raimeiki

Mahiru Hiragi (former wielder of Asuramaru)

Shinya Hiragi - Byakkomaru

Guren Ichinose - Noya (formerly) Mahiru-no-Yo (currently)

Shinoa Hiragi (she's qualified given that she can take any demon into her heart)

Yuichiro Hyakuya (Asuramaru and Mikaela)

Shiho Kimizuki (Kiseki-O)

Yoichi Saotome (Gekkoin)

The ones above are the only ones qualified to wield such type of cursed gear, but now, how will Mitsuba wield said class of gear considering that she used to wield a lower class of demon.

The answer lies in the possibility that she too was a test subject and Aoi Sanguu was fully aware of such event.

Mitsuba's past is pretty much shrouded in mystery but in contrast to her, Aoi's reactions reflect something more than just disappointment, it goes as if she expected something further from Mitsuba given that she does state that the Sanguu Family has no need for "the incompetent". While the term is harsh, it reflects latent power or ability but if the person mentioned does not exploit such abilities, within this universe, it may suggest as to why Aoi labels Mitsuba such way.

Mitsuba, being born in the Sanguu family carries a lot of expectations given that the Sanguu Family is filled with powerful members and just some of said abilities are seen in display in very few combats from both sisters.

Nevertheless, whenever Mitsuba finally unlocks her full potential, it will depend on the author and how she works with her new demon. What do I mean?

In contrast to other demons of lower rank, black demon series have trials that may endanger the possible wielder, furthermore, they're more willing to fight for dominance along being interested into their targets.

As a personal thought, I do hope the squad is actually preparing or hiding somewhere else so Mitsuba can actually come up with her own trial along detailing more about her. Given that demons from the black series tend to be more special, I do wonder whenever Ky Luc will lurk on Mitsuba's memories or not.

What do you think? Let me know!

[stolitzsings]

This is a sort of response to a post I've seen floating around, drawing parallels between the chains in Blitz’s trip that bind him to Stolas and the chains that bind Husk, Angel, and Fizz to Alastor, Valentino, and Mammon respectively. I'm not commenting on that post directly bc I avoid Discourse (tm) at all costs for the sake of my health, and I don’t want to get drawn into an unproductive argument that will mess with my anxiety for a week. I'm not trying to start a fight, just get my thoughts out on why I feel that comparison is inaccurate, and hopefully provide some helpful context and nuance.

So! Let's start with a few disclaimers! First of all, I'm not going to debate the moral purity of any of these characters. I just don't think it's an interesting or valuable critique. On a related note, I am not trying to excuse any of their behavior. I'm happy to admit that my favorite characters in this show have hurt people and are sometimes total assholes. Stolas treated Blitz very poorly at the beginning of their relationship, frequently pushed or even ignored boundaries, and was just kind of a dick about things. My objection to a direct comparison between Stolas and the other characters mentioned above isn't because I think Stolas hasn't done anything wrong; I just think that saying they're similar without further clarification or commentary ignores the nuance of the situation.

Read on below the cut, it's gonna be another long one folks!

Let's start by examining the "agreements" forged by Val, Mammon, and Alastor. I think it's important to note that, in their cases, the person they got to sign their contract could have been anyone. Husk and Angel could have been any sinners, Fizz could have been any imp. They aren't interested in them as people; they were only using them to gain more power for themselves. The only thing that matters to them is, "What can you do for me?" Angel and Fizz quite clearly become cogs in the machine of Val and Mammon's businesses, and Alastor only thinks of Husk as a tool to be leveraged in specific situations to further his own mysterious goals. Each of them has demonstrated to their subjugates that they own them, body and soul. They have signed legally and spiritually binding contracts that essentially surrender their autonomy to a more powerful demon.

Stolas and Blitz’s agreement is... not that. In the most literal sense, they don’t appear to have made any sort of binding deal. They just made a verbal agreement, which I sincerely doubt has anywhere near the force of a signed soul contract. Additionally, Stolas did not ask for and does not seem to want that sort of total control over Blitz. He very clearly does not view this as any sort of power exchange (which may actually be part of the issue, since it leaves him blind to Blitz’s discomfort with their class difference), he sees it as "favors for favors." While this agreement is inherently unbalanced due to Stolas's status, it's worth noting that they’re both putting something on the line here. The other three risk practically nothing (if the person bound to them fails they can always get a new one), but Stolas IS taking on a real risk by letting Blitz access the living world illegally using his book. Again, that doesn't make his actions right, and probably helped him to justify them, but it does set their relationship apart from the others.

In my opinion, some of Stolas's greatest flaws are his thoughtlessness and his ability to justify his own actions to himself. This manifests in the fact that he clearly doesn't see the ways in which their relationship is hurting Blitz. He convinced himself that this was just an equal exchange, and a continuation of the dynamic Blitz established in their first encounter as adults: "I fuck you, and you give me the book". As he becomes more aware of his feelings for Blitz, though (stay tuned for a deeper analysis of this progression later), he also begins to realize that Blitz isn't happy with this relationship. And this, as @masonshmason pointed out, is the central fact that separates Stolas and Blitz from the other relationships. Stolas did not realize- or chose to ignore- how he was hurting Blitz. Once he came to terms with it, though, he understood that he had to make things right. He specifically says this in "Just Look My Way"; "I will try to make amends/ For making you means to an end". None of the others could say this, because in their case, that was the POINT. Angel, Fizz, and Husk were ALWAYS a means to an end, intentionally trapped for that purpose.

We also need to talk about the CONTEXT of the scenes in which the chain imagery appears. For both Angel and Husk, the chain is at least semi-literal, a physical (and perhaps supernatural) manifestation of the way their souls are bound to an overlord. In "Two Minutes Notice," Fizz purposely CHOOSES to represent his relationship to Mammon as chains around his wrists. However, Blitz's scene is part of a drug trip after being forcibly dosed with hallucinogens. It does not exist in any literal sense, nor is it a representation of Blitz’s conscious, literal thoughts. What it DOES do is showcase Blitz’s deepest fears and his greatest flaws through symbolism and metaphor. Blitz is not literally afraid of being forced to wear a clown costume; he is afraid he'll never escape his past traumas or Fizz's shadow. THIS is the context in which Blitz sees himself being chained by Stolas: a bad trip all about his fear of intimacy and vulnerability.

Stolas appears in this trip as someone elevated high above him, something he's climbing towards, reaching for, even though it means being chained to him. It's directly preceded by his ex girlfriend and his former best friend berating him for how he pushes people away even though he hates being alone. Then Stolas directly asks him, "Are you afraid to love people, Blitzy?" Furthermore, the WAY in which he is framed is alluring, slightly hazy, golden and tempting. It couldn’t be further from the ugly, slime-covered past he's fleeing. It's a new start, a chance for something better that seems too good to be true. This trip is all about Blitz’s inability to be vulnerable with another person. The chain around his neck is a representation of the fact that, by getting closer to Stolas, he's giving Stolas the power to hurt him emotionally.

And man, there's a part of him that wants to give Stolas that power. At this critical moment, he's not baring his teeth in defiance or anger. He's blushing, just slightly, and he looks... nervous. Blitz's instinct, when things get too real, is to cut and run. Hurt them before they can hurt you. Abandon them before they have the chance to leave you. It’s how he tanked his relationship with Verosika. This is a manifestation of what might happen if he stays. This is the sort of trouble he can't fight his way out of.

This is the emotional climax of the scene. There are so many ways they could have gone with this if they wanted to represent Blitz being chained and trapped by his agreement with Stolas. If that was the fear--if that was the POINT--they could have had the chains wrap around him until he couldn't move, or glow white hot and burn into his skin, or a million other more direct metaphors. But the chains aren't the thing that hurts him. It's the feathers: the thing that's left behind after Stolas abandons him, sing-songing "you're going to die alone" right alongside two other people who he loved and who now want nothing to do with him.

Finally, let's look at Blitz’s reaction to this scene. It's a moment of revelation for him, in which he realizes he's pushing everyone away and starts to make an effort to change. It's why he's a bit more open with Moxxie in the next scene. The trip sequence ALSO inspires him to get closer to Stolas, indicating that the trip didn’t make him realize "I'm trapped and I need to get out of this" in the same way Fizz did. Rather, he realizes that he doesn't want Stolas to leave him like everyone else, and he wants to start feeling out what it would be like to deepen the connection between them. As I've mentioned in other posts, their kiss at the end of "truth seekers" represents a level of intimacy that we haven't seen before; it's teasing, affectionate, shows Blitz’s interest in making Stolas happy, and takes place in front of M&M, who have repeatedly teased him about their relationship before.

In summary, while the image of chains may have been invoked in all four of these relationships, they don’t necessarily mean the same thing across the board. Blitz and Stolas's relationship differs substantially from the others in its dynamic, and the context of their scene also sets it apart. It's important to look into the details and the nuance of their relationship to interpret what's going on under layers of trauma and unreliable narration.

[seravphs]

ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — IDOL! GOJO x ROCKSTAR! FEM READER

Gojo loves the untouchable. You’re an off limits rockstar who thinks he’s an idiot. The only thing he can do is take that as a challenge, right?

wc — 6.8k

tags — non detailed mention of idol industry EDs, pride and prejudice type energy tbh, reader is a little superior about being in a rock band and not “selling out”, Gojo has an annoying habit of pointing out their hypocrisy, sneaking around because you’re public figures, nsfw jokes, minor nongraphic blood

Gojo’s not your usual type. He’s too pretty for that, with those long lashes like a doll’s. They’re stark against his pale skin when he flirts with you, peering alluringly at you through half closed eyes like the cheap tricks that get his fangirls to scream will work on you. 

He’s too easy to break for your taste, but from what you hear on Twitter, that’s why people like him. There’s something charming about the gap in his image that draws people in. People are dying for a taste of vulnerability because he's so cocky, but it's easy to make him beg.

There’s a million clips all over the internet of the moments he’s caught off guard, carefully hoarded instances in his career where a genuine embarrassed flush comes over his cheekbones, made into gifs and Tik Toks and YouTube videos. 

That’s not your thing. 

You like people with tough hearts and tougher reputations. People who could take the beating of public opinion without a flinch, not some soft spoken idol who needs his management to hold his hand through an apology. You like your fans, but they know their limit with you.  

It’s not love, not like with an idol. It would never be, you made sure of it. You’d quit before you ever issued an apology for dating someone. 

You hate to be a stereotype almost as much as you hate the idea of becoming a pushover, but you’ve dated a string of bad boy exes who were all exactly what you would expect for the lead singer of a rock band. A little rough around the edges, dark and smoldering. Men who would wear your red lipstick marks like a badge of honor. People who had never even heard of something like an idol image. 

Maybe that’s why no one saw it coming. You were safe, established. Gojo was out of your usual pitch. 

It’s too bad for the fans that you’ve always been a bit of a daredevil. Trying new things has never scared you. You’ve always been willing to test your limits to find the gold in the muck. That’s how you grow. 

That’s how you ended up here, sitting thigh to thigh with the boy wonder of the idol industry. 

“Aren’t you playing a dangerous game here?” You ask as he nudges even closer to you, far beyond what you’re sure his fans will permit. You’ve heard horror stories about the lengths people will go to if they see their idols even look at someone of the opposite gender. 

“Why, you scared?”

“You wish. You’re the idol here. It’s your reputation on the line.”

He smiles at you, saccharine sweet. “I don’t like letting other people control me.” 

That earns your begrudging respect, even if his bony knee is knocking into yours. He’s so lanky it makes you a touch concerned. Shoko’s girlfriend is an idol, and she’s constantly sneaking her food under her manager’s notice. 

That’s another reason why you could never be an idol. Letting someone else dictate your life like that sounds like hell. It was hard enough to convince you to be here in the first place. 

Your band doesn’t do promotion, least of all you. It’s all homegrown talent and homegrown fans, but you’re in stasis. Your growth has plateaued. Like all artists, you’re beholden to bills to pay to keep the music going. You’re big enough to know when you have to make sacrifices. 

It’s nothing personal. That’s just the industry, from pop stars to idols to bands like you. If nothing else, you all share the solidarity of giving anything for the music. You just think you have a harder limit for anything than idols do. 

The host kicks off the segment before you have time to do further analysis. 

“Welcome back to Hot or Not, the variety show where we pit your favorite internet heartthrobs against each other! Please welcome today’s guests - they may not be the duo you expect!” 

The camera pans to you and Gojo. His smile is instant, soft and natural, as real as if he were genuinely overjoyed to be here. You have to give him props for that, at least. He’s good at his job. 

As soon as the camera pans to you, his expression flickers and returns to bored disinterest. He yawns, his teeth pearly white. Veneers, maybe. His tongue flicks around the sharp tip of one canine, his smirk nearly fanged. There’s the feature he’s so famous for, the one that has him edited into cat reaction memes all across the internet. Kitty Gojo and his kitten fangs. 

He’s a grown man. You think you’d jump off a building before you let your teenage girl fans put cat ears on you and coo at you. 

To each their own, you guess. Gojo didn’t seem that perturbed by it. To be fair, he didn’t seem perturbed by anything. 

“Let’s start with Gojo! Remember, if you don’t feel like answering a question, we’ll put you in a surprise challenge with your partner.” 

“Sure,” he says easily. “I’m an open book.” 

“Let’s start easy. What’s your favorite song off your new album, Blue Spring?” 

Gojo makes a face. “Pass.” 

“Sorry, maybe you didn’t understand the question-“

“No, I got it. That’s boring,” he says. “Give me the challenge.” 

You’re amused despite yourself, and fighting not to let it show. There’s the troublesome personality you’ve heard so much about. He wouldn’t be half so popular if he wasn’t so pretty, but that attitude and that face made for a dangerous combination. 

The host is trying to salvage the situation with an easygoing laugh. Backstage, you hear someone mutter, “Gojo is gojo-ing again.” 

It’s all so funny until you realize he’s dragging you into his mess as they set up the challenge. 

Your host explains the rules too quickly for you to catch in their entirety, but it’s something along the lines of a staring contest. You’re supposed to do everything in your power to make the other lose a straight face, with words or actions. 

“Are you allowed to do this?” You joke as they start strapping the electrodes on you to measure your heart rate. 

“What do you mean?�� Gojo’s mussing his hair up so he looks more artistically roguish. 

“You know, just being an idol and all. I figured you wouldn’t be able to do things like this without your fangirls jumping on you.” 

“Ah,” he says, scooting his chair closer to you. You’re knee to knee as they finish the last details of fiddling with machine. “You’re one of those types?” 

“And that means?” 

“You think I’m an idiot because I’m an idol.” 

“I didn’t say that,” you protest, watching the monitor to make sure your heart rate isn’t jumping with your words. It’s just a game, but you’re competitive. 

“No, but you’re thinking it. What else? Maybe you think idols are also soulless grifters?”

You wince. It’s not that you think so terribly of idols, per se, you just understand and recognize their need to please their company. They’re products before they’re people. 

“I got it right, huh?” He’s pleased with himself. 

“Am I wrong?” You retort. “You’re really going to tell me you love singing your overproduced pop music for the tween girls who will buy anything you put out as long as you’re pretty enough?” 

“Aren’t you here too? Lot of talk for someone who’s sitting right next to the sellout. You know what they say about birds of a feather…”

It’s all in a whisper, so no one else hears - or sees your startled reaction to find out the pampered show dog has a little bite in him. You could retaliate, but if you’re being honest? 

This makes you respect him more. 

He’s right, anyway. You did sell out by being on this show. 

The machine beeps. He smiles, slow and sweet - or at least it would be if you didn’t already know there was an edge to it. “I win.” 

“Wow!” You’ve never found the host more annoying. “That got heated at the end, didn’t it, folks? Do you mind sharing what Gojo said?”

You smile at the camera in a way that feels more like you’re beating your teeth. “It’s a secret.” 

You’re not mad at him. If anything, you’re impressed. The person you’re really disappointed with is yourself.

So he’s not what he thought you were. So he challenged your biased preconceptions on idols. So what? 

It doesn’t mean anything, but you can’t get him out of your head. 

The rest of the show is an easy and welcome distraction from your inner turmoil over the possibility of maybe potentially tolerating an idol. Throwing out witty answers and being neck to neck with Gojo in winning mini games is much preferable to having to experience emotions. It’s only when it’s over that the problems start. 

You watch as he gets up, biting your lip and debating to yourself. It’s only when he’s halfway out the door that you make your decision. You’ve always been a do or die kind of girl. 

“Hey. Want to get dinner?”

You just want to make sure he’s eating. No other reason. 

His manager frowns behind him. 

“We’re in a weird spot,” he says. “The only thing around are convenience stores.” 

“That’s fine,” you say. “We can get instant ramen.” 

“I’ve never had instant noodles,” Gojo says. 

“Seriously?”

“No, not seriously,” he scoffs. “Just what kind of lives do you think we lead?”

“Deprived ones,” you toss over your shoulder as you lead him towards your monster of a customized car. 

“Oh, no,” his manager is beginning, but Gojo is already sliding comfortably into the passenger seat. His poor manager looks nervously at you as you turn the keys. “Are you sure that thing is safe?” 

“Don’t worry,” you tell him. “If this thing crashes, I’m in here too.” 

You don’t think that reassures him, but your own manager will handle it. You pull out of the parking space and head for the road. 

Gojo’s impatient. He tries the handle almost before you’re done parking. You’re like that too - always ready to move. This time, you’re one step ahead. You lock the door before he can leave. He gives you a startled look and glances outside again, clearly weighing his options. 

“Relax,” you say. “I’m not a crazed fan. Put these on before we attract an actual stalker of yours.” 

You toss him a hat, sunglasses, and a mask. You’ve started keeping them in your car ever since you’ve been hanging out with Shoko and her girlfriend, who was famous enough to get recognized in the street for her autograph. He wrinkles his nose but obediently puts them on. 

It doesn’t do much to hide his overall air of Gojo-ness. He steps into the store like he owns it, which he very well could.

The steam rises from your bowls and coats Gojo’s sunglasses. You’re surprised he can see inside, but he has no trouble navigating. He tells you he has 20/20 vision. 

One thing leads to another and suddenly he’s bragging about his perfect grades when he attended school. He’s a natural genius, which isn’t really a surprise. 

“I thought you were supposed to be a bad boy,” you tease. His glasses are slipping down his nose. You reach out to push them back up before anyone notices. His eyes are rather remarkable, after all. Anyone would be able to tell who he was at a glance. 

“Me?” He gives a choked laugh. It sounds nice. You’ve haven’t heard it before, not during the show. He was more polished then. The ways in which he rebels against being an idol show up unexpectedly.  “Nah. That’s all Getou. He’s the one with a hidden face. You wouldn’t believe what he’s like when the cameras are off.” 

“Somehow I don’t believe you,” you joke. 

“I’m serious,” he whines. “I’m pretty sheltered. Grew up rich, you know?” 

Who doesn’t know? The Gojo name is pretty famous. One of the biggest conglomerates in the entire world, it broke major news outlets when the heir chose to be an idol instead of the next president. 

He’s always been in the public eye, but kept separate like art at a museum. You have a nasty tendency of wanting to ruin things that you’ve been purposefully warned away from. It’s sort of a thing of yours, a bad habit you haven’t put too much effort into breaking. The more impermissible something is, the more likely you are to try, like a cat knocking a glass of water off a table. 

Corruptible isn’t the exact right word, but it’s what comes to mind. You want to mess him up a little. Put your grubby rockstar hands on him and leave smears behind so his fangirls see his tainted reputation. You don’t, of course. It’s just a passing thought that you wouldn’t risk actually jeopardizing his career for. 

It would just be nice to see him live a little more freely. 

The temptation clears with the last of your noodles disappearing into your mouth. There are things that are off limits for both of you. Those are just the sacrifices you’ve made for your dreams. That’s all there is to it. 

It’s so good you sigh at the loss of it, mourning your empty bowl. Gojo’s almost done himself. The minute he finished his noodles, he lets out a breath to mirror yours, then laughs once he catches himself. 

“Come on,” you say. “Let’s get you home.”

You think that’s the end of it. There’s no reason to go any further. You met an idol and he obliterated your previously held prejudices. You’ll never meet again. 

That’s not quite how it works out. 

When your manager offers you another chance to see Gojo, it’s nonchalant. “Remember that idol you were partnered with on that variety show? I know you don’t like those types, but you seemed to tolerate him well enough. There’s another-“

A yes flies out of your mouth so quickly it’s embarrassing. 

Your manager pauses. His eyes narrow. “Didn’t expect you to be so eager, but okay.” 

Your face burns with embarrassment. This isn’t like you at all. Even with your exes, you had been cool and level headed. Always the prize, never the one to give chase. 

He’s interesting, you try to rationalize it to yourself. You like interesting. Life was mind numbing without a kick, and he was the latest thrill. It didn’t mean anything more. 

It’s another variety show. Apparently the two of you had been so popular as a pair that they wanted more. 

Gojo’s in the makeup chair when you arrive. The artist is scolding him for blinking while she applies his mascara. He’s whining about his dry eyes. 

“Don’t be a baby,” you say, dropping into the chair next to him. 

“But that’s what I’m best at!”

“You’re so weird,” you laugh. 

The makeup artist groans. “Please don’t encourage him.” 

Only Gojo would take that as encouragement. He rolls his eyes and receives a light swat across the shoulder for his troubles. You play around on your phone while you wait for her to be free, but soon grow bored. Instead, you watch her swipe powder across Gojo’s face and dab cream onto the apples of his cheeks. 

“Stop staring,” he says. 

“How do you know I’m staring? Your eyes are closed.”

“I can feel it.”

“Well, you’re wrong.” 

“You’re such a bad liar,” he says, and you know he’s just messing around at this point because you’re an incredible liar. It’s your best quality. 

Falling into banter with Gojo is as easy as breathing. It’s no trouble at all to replicate it on the show. From the shadow, your manager gives you a double thumbs up. Dork. 

Sometimes it’s hard to remember that you’re doing this to drum up popularity for your tour. You’re not the only one having trouble. Gojo pulls you aside after filming wraps up to give you his personal number on the phone he’s not supposed to have. 

At night, you get an alert that you’ve received something from Gojo. It’s not a message. It’s a notification that you can save three tickets to your digital wallet. 

A speech bubble pops up. 

Come to my concert, he says. I got you VIP seats. 

Gojo’s impressed you, but you still don’t know about the rest of his band. You’re not sure you want to watch pretty men lip sync and grind on the stage for two hours, but when you tell Shoko, she offers to bring Utahime. That’s conveniently three, so you might as well. 

VIP seats don’t include backstage, so you’re surprised when security comes to retrieve you. There’s no backstage pass for this concert, actually, confusing you all the more. 

Shoko flaps her hand dismissively at you, encouraging you on. By her side, Utahime is trying to feed her snacks. Satisfied that they’re comfortable, you follow the guard to Gojo’s dressing room. He leaves you there without a word. 

After five minutes of waiting for something to happen, you knock. Instantly, Gojo’s voice invites you in. 

He’s sitting in front of the dresser, fiddling with his earrings. You’ve noticed seven piercings in total - three on his right lobe, two on his left, and one conch on either side. Before you knew him, you would’ve been surprised an idol would be allowed to get so many. Now you know he bends the rules whenever he’s able. 

“Pass me that?” You hand him the disinfectant. “Thanks. I didn’t think you were coming.” 

“Then why’d you send me tickets?”

“Thought my roguish good looks and natural charm would win you over,” he says with a smile that says he’s only half joking. 

“You’re insufferable,” you say as you bat his hands away from his ear. “Let me do that.” 

His hair is soft as cygnet down as you brush it behind his ear. There’s something innocent about his expression like this, watching him from above. His eyes are closed, breaths soft and even as he waits for you. 

The silver pools in your hand as you thread it through his ear, a waterfall released when it hooks on. He wears a lot of silver, you’ve noticed. His stylists favor colors that should wash him out but only make him look more angelic. Pale blue silk trims his form, encrusted with embellishments to make him look prince-like. There are sparkles in the inner corner of his eye, soft blush on his cheekbones to make him look sweet. 

He’s anything but when his eyelids flutter open and he notices you watching. A smile almost cruel tugs at his lips. His hand reaches for you as if- 

There’s a knock on his door for the last curtain call. 

“That’s me.” He stands up, brushing his lap off without a trace of anything other than professionalism. He’ll leave you wondering what he was going to do. It’s terrible how good he is at this, though you suppose it’s his job to leave people wanting more. “Keep an eye out for me on stage, will you?”

It’s hard not to. Your eyes are polarized to him. Even when something else catches your attention, like fireworks or confetti, he pulls it back. Greedy, that one. 

You’re not the only one. The crowd lives for him. There’s something electric about him on stage. He naturally draws attention with that height and attitude and face, but what happens when he’s performing is inexplicable. You’d call it a religious experience if you believed in a god. 

Fate has never factored into your life, but now you’re starting to consider worship. Gojo performs like he was born to be an idol. 

Keep an eye out for me, he says, as if you’d have any trouble. You’ll dream about him tonight. The way his mouth fits so sensuously over the words of a love song snags your thoughts like a fishhook. Sick desires run through your blood, each more depraved than the last. 

You want to watch him shed his beautiful silk skin for you, become nothing more than man again. You must retract your prior confession. There’s no longing for the altar in you, only a love of sacrilege. 

Gojo asks for coffee easily, as if you’re two normal people and not celebrities with a lot to lose if you were caught together. You can’t let him outdo you, so you agree. These are the reasons why your manager curses your recklessness. Shoko calls it bravery, when she’s feeling sweet on you. 

The second message comes a second later. 

Gojo Satoru 11:25 I only said it to see if you’d agree Here’s my address lol can’t believe you said yes  Attachment 

You think he gives his address out too freely for a man worth 30 million. The feeling only intensifies as you get out of your car and thank your driver. His gates are pearly instead of the standard matte black, a stark declaration of wealth. He’s practically asking for an incident to happen. 

Security buzzes you in. Someone in a white dress - an honest to god maid - leads you to a mini kitchen where Gojo’s waiting. His hair is wet and dripping down his back where his powder blue shirt is darkened to a navy. You thought you had gotten used to overblown displays of money after your first three years in the music industry. Clearly, you were mistaken. 

He looks up as you enter, reading a trashy tabloid as he stirs whipped cream into a tall glass of something that looks more like a sugary heart attack than coffee. 

You’ve never seen his bare face, you realize. Even that moment when you had walked in on him and the makeup artist, he had been nearly done. He looks practically the same without makeup. People with genetic good looks like him only need to enhance their appearance the tiniest amount. 

What really strikes you is how earnest he looks, soft and open-hearted, though that might be because you’ve caught him in his home. This is what you wanted - him without his skin on, naked and without pretense. He’s wearing cotton pajamas and white slippers. 

“I thought you’d come later,” he says. “Sorry I got started without you. I was feeling something sweet.” 

“I’m early, though?”

“I’m always late,” he says with a one shouldered shrug. “Thought you might be too. Guess you’re not my perfect girl after all, huh?” 

You shove his arm off the armrest of his chair to perch on it, ignoring the perfectly good chair across from him. This is better, anyway, easier to talk to him. “Don’t be absurd. I’m everyone’s dream girl.” 

Gojo chuckles. “I like confident women.” 

There’s been a question on your mind for a while. You knew his group was popular, but all this? Maybe you should’ve become an idol after all. 

“Where’s the rest of your band? I thought idols shared rooms.” 

“Some do,” he says. “Not so much when you make it big. But this is my family home, so none of that applies.” 

Gojo Satoru of the Gojo conglomerate. How had you forgotten? It shouldn’t be so easy to ignore something like that. 

Gojo shifts the conversation easily, but you notice. So he doesn’t like the connection, then. “How was the concert?”

“Don’t fish for compliments,” you say, stealing a sip of his drink before it reaches his mouth. It’s too sweet for anyone’s standards. You spit it back into the cup. He takes it from you, eyes it consideringly, and takes a sip anyways. 

Your mouth drops. “You’re so gross.” 

“Only for you, baby,” he moans, humor like a teenage boy. “Call me names again.”

You roll your eyes at him. 

“It’s fine, it’s just saliva. Now tell me the truth. You couldn’t take your eyes off me, could you?” 

They’d probably sooner pop out of your head and roll away than leave the sight of him, but you can’t tell him that after all you’ve said about idols. Instead, you push off your seat to go rummage through his cabinets. He has a fully stocked coffee cart in this room and the very latest espresso machine, all to choose his diabetic monstrosity instead. 

“You don’t need to respond,” he says cheerfully. “Your silence tells me everything I need to know.” 

“Do you think you know me that well?” You shoot back. His fridge is so big you think you could fit into it. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you’ve registered that he’s moved from his seat as well, and now stands just behind you. 

“Of course I know you,” he says. “I understood you the moment we met.” 

“You’re very confident,” you note. 

You have a weakness for confident men. 

“So you liked my concert. Can I come to yours?” 

You imagine Gojo in a mosh pit for a second. It sends you into a laughing fit while he stands there, bemused. You can’t shake the incongruous picture of him, with his face like a carefully crafted porcelain doll, getting rowdy and wild with your fans. Ridiculous. Never in a million years.

“We don’t have VIP seats,” you warn him. 

“So?” 

“So it can get dangerous.” 

“Aw, you do care about me.” 

“I care about the fat lawsuit your company’s going to send me when their moneymaker breaks his leg at my concert. It’s not happening.” 

“You scared?” 

“No, but maybe you should be.”

“Come on,” he says. When had he gotten so close? It’s distracting. “I know you’ll take care of me.” 

Gojo had invited you to his concert. It’s only right to return the favor. An idea starts forming in your head, though you’re not sure it’s a good one. You tell him anyway.

Usually when soundcheck is over, you have a little bit of downtime to relax backstage. You’re expecting someone tonight, however. 

A rough knock on the door announces Satoru Gojo, spoken in your security guard’s rough voice. Well, he really introduces him as pretty boy idol, but you can guess who it is. 

He looks discomfited, a rare occurrence, as he closes the door behind him. 

“What’s with you?” 

“You’ve got groupies,” he says, looking rattled. 

You fight a smile. 

“Don’t laugh,” he pouts. “They’re insane. One of them tried to chase me here.” 

You can’t help yourself. A giggle bursts out of you. When he tries to leave, you pin his hand to the handle and coo reassurances at him so he won’t. 

When you head out the door, he surprises you by grabbing your hand. It’s as nonchalant as anything he does, so you rise to the challenge he sets by refusing to react to it. You only separate once you reach the stairs; him to the spot you’ve made for him behind the barricade, you to the stage. 

This is one of your favorite venues, moody and atmospheric. The lights are dimmed to your preferred setting, but your eyes adjust quickly. Your crowd is restless tonight, shifting on their feet as whispers follow raucous laughter through the crowd. Noise on noise, the way you like it. 

The wood of the floor is a little sticky beneath your boots as you walk. That’s history gumming the soles of your shoes, generations of artists before you. You’re starting to feel it now, the electric thrum of pure joy in your blood. 

Shoko is strumming light tunes on her guitar to warm up, her eyes closed. You hope she doesn’t take it too hard that Utahime couldn’t make it tonight, though you know if she’s upset, she’ll channel into her music. 

The crowd settles as the hour draws closer. Shoko’s fingers are liquid now, running through chords effortlessly. You wrap the cord of the microphone around your hands, letting the tension build mindlessly. A stage is like home to you. The crowd plays in the palm of your hand, energy ebbing and flowing as you will it. 

It starts with a guitar solo from Shoko. By then, the crowd is already burning with excitement. The first burst of sound from the speakers has them roaring, cheering even though there’s no lyrics to it. The smallest smile touches her lips as she plays to the crowd, showing off exactly why she’s lead guitar for the greatest band in the world right now. 

You step in on her heels, your voice rising over the music. Back before you knew how this felt, you almost quit singing, annoyed by the sound you were forced into. This is more your tempo. The almost guttural curl to the ends of your words, the rasp of your hoarse voice - this is beautiful to you. 

The crowd is yours. Anything that goes on is within your jurisdiction, higher than any judge or god. You notice everything in your realm. 

People are starting to move now, their bodies falling victim to the music. Their mouthes form the vowels and consonants of the lyrics as their bodies shudder and jerk, chained to the rhythm. Bodies ricochet off each other, love taps of respect for your aggressive voice, soaring above it all. 

In the corner, there’s a violent eye of a storm. You think it’s a particularly enthusiastic dancer - perhaps a circle is about to form - before you realize what’s actually going on. 

A fight is breaking out. You catch a glimpse of snow white hair, realize it’s near the barricade, and your stomach drops. 

It’s Gojo and another man, ignoring the security guard trying to separate them. You try to stay professional and play through it, but then you see red. 

Gojo’s hand flies to his face, his nose dripping with crimson. He doesn’t look any more injured than that, but you’re angry enough to step in now. Shoko stops as soon as you hold your hand out, the music veering into a screeching crash. 

“You, in the black tee!” You realize you should’ve been more specific when what looks like the entire crowd looks down at their equally black shirts. “No, the one that just punched Gojo Satoru. Yeah, you, asshole! No fighting at my gigs! Especially not my guests!” 

He had the audacity to yell back. “I was just showing him a warm welcome!” 

You climb off the stage. Gojo didn’t show any fear while he got hit, but there’s concern in his eyes now as you drop to the ground by him. 

“Wait,” he says, “wait, wait. I don’t think you should-“ 

“Shut the fuck up,” you snap, pushing him behind you until his back hits the stage. “Let me handle this.” 

You get in the man’s face. His eyes are bloodshot - drunk, probably. “Who do you think you are, starting shit at my shows?”

“You’ve sold out,” he slurs. Definitely drunk. “He doesn’t belong here.” 

“You don’t get to tell me who can or can’t come to my goddamn show,” you snarl, vicious and low. “Get out.” 

“You can’t-“

“Get out before I make them drag you out.” 

When he doesn’t move, you motion security over. “Does anyone else have any complaints?” 

The crowd is eerily silent for something that was moving like a beast with one mouth before, singing in unison. You clamber back on stage, turning around to grab Gojo’s hand. 

“What?” He says. 

“Up. Now.” Your tone brooks no argument. You haul him up with you. He stands awkwardly as you drag him towards your mic stand, your arm slung around his shoulder. There’s still blood on his face. 

“Gojo Satoru is a very dear friend of mine,” you announce into the mic. You see the confused looks in the crowd. Even Shoko seems wary. This wasn’t on the schedule. “If you're a real rock fan, you'd know that music is more than genre. I get it! I didn’t think idols were anything more than corporate shills either-“ 

“Harsh,” he whispers under his breath, unable to control himself even now. 

“But he proved me wrong. He’s a real performer, just like I am, and I expect the same respect for him that you give to me.”

This is your crowd. They listen. Someone whistles. 

You sit Gojo down, right by your feet. He gives you a bemused smile as the concert starts again, you moving around him like one of your props. He spends most of the concert lounging back, watching you through half lidded eyes. 

It might’ve been enough excitement for one night, but you’ve always been the type to push your boundaries. When the idea springs into your head, you act on impulse, not giving yourself too much time to think about it as you pull Gojo to his feet. 

You’re really manhandling him tonight, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He’s only a little startled as you pull the mic away from your face to get into his space. 

You misjudged the distance. Your forehead knocks into his, just enough to sting, but not really hurt. “Do you want to try something?” Your voice is a whisper to not get picked up by the mic. 

“Give it to me,” he says, and his smile is a bloody thing. 

When you angle the mic towards him, you’re careful about not hitting him this time. 

His voice works surprisingly well for rock. You weren’t sure he could pull off such a sound change, but he surprises you every time, matching you best for beat. 

When he pulls back, your hand snakes into his hair and yanks him towards you and the mic again. He sings wholly at your command, being jerked around by your desires. It’s an inferno on stage, sweat pouring down both your faces. Behind you, the crowd is screaming so loudly it nearly deafens you. 

Not a bad encore, you think as you towel off in your dressing room. Shoko left for a cool down with a bottle of ice water right before you, her post concert ritual, but the look she shot you says that you need to talk. You’ll deal with the consequences later. 

For now, it’s enough to have Gojo shaking with leftover adrenaline against you as you sit him down in your chair. You press a bottle of ice against his face, watching him shiver. He’s still pretty with all the blood. Prettier, somehow, like some teenage wet dream of a vampire from a young adult novel. 

You want to lick the sweat out of the hollow of his collar bones. Instead, you talk to him to rid yourself of your insane thoughts. It’s always a little crazy in your head after a good stage. 

“Well?” You demand. “How was it?” 

He tilts his head, considering. It makes you nervous. Now that you know how good of a performer he is, it almost feels like a test to receive his judgment. 

“I think I’m in love with you,” he says, slowly. 

“That good, huh?” You smile, trying to ignore the aching pressure behind your ribcage. You shouldn’t care so much what he thinks. Why does it matter? 

“Yeah,” he says. “When are you free? I gotta plan our date.”

“Huh?” 

“That was so sexy,” he says. “I was thinking about taking it slow, but I’m not going to last if I wait. I want to date you. I want to marry you.” 

He’s starting to worry you. “Did you have a heat stroke or something? That’s really fast. Really, really fast, Gojo.” 

“I’ve never been more clearheaded in my life,” he says. You only believe him when the medic clears him of any injuries, even the nose. 

“We can talk about marriage later,” you say. “Why don’t you tell me about the date for now?”

Two weeks later, you’re Gojo’s plus one to his first movie premiere. It’s his debut as an actor, and it couldn’t be a better one. He escaped most of the negative pushback that usually comes with transitioning between those two industries, being naturally good at everything. Still, he had worked hard, and you’re proud of him. 

It feels like you’re the only one, because the man himself doesn’t even care about his accomplishment. He’s too busy being delighted about hiding in plain sight. The cameras flash at you as you walk across the red carpet, arm in arm with Gojo. Your stylist had coordinated with his. It could almost pass for a couple’s outfits.  

“You know,” he says conspiratorially. “When you defended me at the concert, I got hard.” 

“I didn’t need to know that.” 

“It was really hot.” 

“You know there are people who can read lips, right?”

“I wish they would figure out what I’m saying.”

“Alright,” you say, rolling your eyes. “Let’s get inside.” 

Dating Gojo is nothing like what you’d expected and everything like you’d expected. He keeps surprising you, doing wild things to get your attention that you never thought an idol would be willing to get their hands dirty with. He might be even more of a daredevil than you are, constantly pushing the boundaries of what you both can get away with before you’re found out. 

In a way, it’s almost like you’re asking for it. You’re both straining at the bit to claim each other. It doesn’t come as a surprise when it does happen, then. 

“Huh,” Gojo says over ramen. “We got papped.” 

Utahime, understandably, freaks. “What? That’s not funny.”

“Oh yeah?” You say. “Are the pictures good at least?”

“You know we always look good. Could’ve gotten a better angle, but whatever.” 

Utahime’s working herself into a minor tizzy in the corner. “Guys, I need you to be more serious about this. This is bad! This is so bad!”

Shoko looks up from her phone and chips on the couch, lying flat on her stomach. “Hate to agree, but she’s right. What are you going to do about it?”

“Nothing,” you shrug. “What’s the point? There’s nothing we can do about it. They have the evidence.” 

It had been a good run. Two blissful months of peace and quiet. Sneaking around had been fun, giving you that thrill you loved every time someone failed to recognize you and Gojo behind your stupid sunglasses. Still, it was bound to fail at some point. You’re honestly surprised it lasted for as long as it had. You can’t be mad. Two months is more than you could’ve asked for. 

“Well,” Gojo says. “Wee-llll.” 

“Spit it out,” Utahime gripes at him. 

You take another bite of ramen, content to let them argue without you. 

“There is something we could do,” Gojo hedges. 

“You’re so annoying,” Shoko says. 

“No one thinks you’re funny,” Utahime chimes in. 

“Hey! She thinks I’m funny!” Gojo frowns. “Tell them you think I’m funny.” 

“Sorry, babe. I never lie to my girls.” 

“Whatever,” Gojo sighs. “Guess you don’t want to hear my genius idea then.” 

“Don’t be a brat,” you tease, knuckling his head. He loves it when you roughhouse with him. 

“What if…” The hesitation is real this time. You can tell the difference between when he’s faking it or not. He’s a good showman, but you know him. You place an encouraging hand on his knee. 

“What if we went public first?” He says it all in one breath. 

You take a moment, turning the idea over in your head. It would wrest back control of the narrative to your team. Even if you might get backlash, it wouldn’t be at someone else’s hands, beholden to their mercy. You like it. 

“Sure,” you say. 

Gojo gapes at you. ‘That easy?’ His thoughts are written all over his face. 

“Why not?” You offer him one of your easy smiles. “I’ve always wanted to say you were mine, anyway.”

[isthiscoinsidenceorasign]

She's Theirs: By Your Side

Title: By Your Side

Summary: Nick experiences Sub-space for the first time.

Word Count:  12,310

Warnings: Sub-space, fluff, light flirting, some suggestive dirty talk. A teeny bit of praise kink if you squint.

Tags: fluff

Author Notes: Hey y'all! Here's chapter nine. This chapter I feel is more emotional than some of the others. But I feel like it really moves the story along and further solidifies Nick, Jake, and Bradley's bond. If you'd like to be tagged in future chapters let me know. And if there's anything you'd like to see in the story don't hesitate to tell me. Maybe I'll be able to put it in!

Nick stared at the flight simulator data scrolling across her screen, the numbers blurring together like runway lights through fog. Last night with Jake and Bradley had been... transcendent. The way they all connected on a more deeper and romantic level.The way they made her feel so loved, so cherished, so safe. But now, sitting in her ergonomic chair at the Naval Air Systems Command facility, she felt hollowed out, a fighter jet running on fumes.

"Boss, these thrust calculations from Jones look off by at least three percent," One of her subordinates said, dropping a stack of papers on her desk.

"So fix them," she mumbled, reaching for her fourth coffee of the morning. Her hands trembled slightly, not from the caffeine but from the emotional crash that had been building since she'd woken up alone in her apartment. Jake and Bradley had needed to report early—some classified briefing they couldn't get out of. They both gave her kisses and told her to go back to sleep. She did but when she woke up her mood had only gotten worse.

“Are you okay Boss?” Her coworker asked out of concern.

"Fine, just tired," Nick replied, forcing authority into her voice. Her colleagues didn't need to know she'd spent half the night with her body tangled with two of Top Gun's finest pilots. "I'll look at the thrust data after I finish the stabilizer analysis."

She turned back to her screen, but her mind drifted to Bradley's hands, calloused yet gentle, holding her own soft ones. To Jake's mouth against her neck, whispering promises that had made her gasp and arch against him. To the way they'd taken care of her, the way they wiped her tears away when she became emotional.

Thinking back to last night and how vulnerable she became brought tears to her eyes. She tried to blink them away yet they still threatened to fall. Something had to be done to get her emotions in check.

Nick hastily dabbed at her eyes with her sleeve, grateful that most of her team was focused on their own work in front of them. The vast room hummed with the sound of dozens of engineers working, the tap of keyboards, machines running, and low murmurs of technical discussion creating a white noise that usually soothed her. Today, it felt like static against her raw nerves.

She glanced at her phone, sitting face-down beside her keyboard. The device seemed to pulse with an energy of its own, a tether to the two men who had systematically dismantled her carefully constructed walls. Nick had always prided herself on her compartmentalization skills—it was what made her such an effective engineer. Emotion in one box, intellect in another, never the twain shall meet. But last night, those boxes had been thrown open, their contents scattered like clothes across her bedroom floor.

She knew they agreed to keep a healthy distance from each other on the base, as to not draw suspicion. But right now all she wanted was to be near them.

Without second guessing herself she turned her phone over and pulled up there group text.

Nick: Hey what are you guys doing?

A few minutes passed before Jake and only Jake responded.

Jake: Just some paperwork Darlin’.

Nick: Can we find a place on base to meet?

Jake: Is everything okay?”

Nick stared at Jake's message, her thumb hovering over the keyboard. Was everything okay? No. She felt like she was spiraling out of control, like a jet with compromised ailerons. But how could she explain that in a text?

Nick: I just need to see you both. Please.

She set the phone down and tried to focus on the stabilizer analysis again. Numbers and equations that normally made perfect sense to her now seemed like hieroglyphics. Her phone vibrated against the desk.

Jake: Maintenance hangar 4. 15 minutes. It's empty until 1400.

Nick felt a rush of relief so intense it made her dizzy. She quickly saved her work, smoothing down her navy-blue blouse as she stood.

"I need to check something in the test bay," she announced to no one in particular, grabbing her security badge and phone. "Back in thirty."

Once she stepped into the hallway, she nearly sprinted toward the hangar. Like Jake had said—the place was deserted.

The cavernous space of Hangar 4 swallowed her footsteps as she slipped inside. Afternoon sunlight streamed through the high windows, catching dust motes in golden beams that cut across the concrete floor. The massive doors were sealed, leaving the hangar in a strange limbo—not quite dark, not fully illuminated. A perfect metaphor for how she felt.

"Nick?"

Jake’s voice came from behind a partially disassembled F/A-18. He stepped into view, flight suit unzipped to his waist, white t-shirt underneath. His brown eyes swept over her, immediately registering her distress.

"Hey," she managed, her voice smaller than she intended.

"Is everything okay?"

Nick opened her mouth, but all that came out was a strangled sob.

Jake closed the distance in swift, unthinking steps, reaching her before she could fold in on herself completely. The scent of him wrapped around her—coffee whiskey and warm vanilla, rich and grounding, like late-night conversations and steady hands on cold mornings.

"I got you," he murmured against her hair, one hand cradling the back of her head. "What happened, darlin'?"

Nick clutched his flight suit, burying her face against the solid warmth of him. "I don't know what's wrong with me," she choked out. "I can't focus, I can't think straight. I keep thinking about last night, and—" She broke off, unable to articulate the storm inside her.

"Where's Bradley?" she whispered, hating how needy she sounded but unable to stop herself.

"I don't know. Haven’t seen him since our briefing this morning. Did he not respond to the group chat?" Jake’s thumbs brushed away her tears.

"No. Can you try him? I need both of you."

Jake nodded, pulling his phone from his pocket while keeping one arm firmly around her. "I'll call him."

The ringing echoed in the empty hangar, unanswered. After several rings, it went straight to voicemail.

Jake slipped the phone back into his pocket and guided her toward a small alcove where maintenance equipment was stored. He cleared space on a workbench and lifted her onto it, positioning himself between her knees, hands steady on her waist.

"He didn’t answer," Jake said as she sniffled. "Probably in a test flight." His thumbs made soothing circles on her hips. "He'll be here as soon as he can."

Nick nodded, trying to steady her breathing. The trembling wouldn't stop. She felt pathetic, falling apart like this—over what? A night of intimacy? What kind of aerospace engineer, what kind of Maverick’s daughter, unraveled because two men had shown her tenderness?

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "This is stupid. I shouldn’t have pulled you away from work."

Jake’s eyes narrowed. "Don't. Don't apologize for needing us." His voice was firm but gentle. "Talk to me, Nick. What's going on in that pretty head of yours?"

She inhaled shakily. "I woke up alone and I just… spiraled. Last night was…" She struggled as more tears spilled.

Jake sighed. "Do you know what sub-drop is?"

Nick nodded.

"I’ve read about it," she admitted, wiping at her eyes. "But I didn’t think… we weren’t even doing a scene. It wasn’t like that."

Jake’s expression softened as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "From what I read, it doesn’t have to be a formal scene, darlin'. Any intense emotional or physical experience can trigger it. And last night was pretty damn intense for all of us."

Nick leaned into his touch, craving the contact like oxygen. "I’ve never felt like this before. Like I’m coming apart at the seams."

"That’s because you’ve never let yourself be this vulnerable before," Jake said, his usual cocky grin momentarily replaced by something softer. "You let us see all of you last night, Nick. Not just the brilliant engineer or Maverick’s tough-as-nails daughter. The real you."

Fresh tears welled in her eyes. She lowered her head, a sob overtaking her.

Jake pulled her closer, pressing his forehead to hers. "Hey, hey… I’ve got you."

"It’s just—" Nick’s voice cracked. "I’m not supposed to be like this. I’ve always been independent, in control. And now I can’t even make it through a morning without falling apart because you two aren’t there."

Jake’s hands came up to cradle her face, his thumbs gently wiping away her tears. "You know what I think? I think you’ve been in control for so damn long, you’ve forgotten what it feels like to let go. To trust someone else to catch you."

Nick closed her eyes, leaning into his touch. "It’s terrifying."

"Scarier than flying supersonic?" His voice

held a hint of teasing.

A small laugh escaped her. "Way scarier."

The hangar door creaked open, and they both froze. Nick's heart pounded against her ribs as she instinctively tried to pull away from Jake, but he held her firmly, his body shielding her from view.

"It's just me," Bradley’s deep voice called out, and Nick sagged with relief.

He appeared around the corner of the alcove, his face lined with concern. Still in his flight suit, his hair was slightly mussed, as though he’d been running his hands through it.

"I got your messages as soon as I finished my flight," he said, his eyes sweeping over Nick’s tear-stained face. "What’s wrong?"

Jake kept one arm around Nick’s waist. "Our girl’s having a rough morning."

"Sub-drop," Nick murmured, her voice small. "At least, that’s what Jake thinks is happening."

Understanding dawned on Bradley’s face.

Without hesitation, he stepped closer, settling at Nick’s other side. His hand cupped her cheek, thumb brushing away a fresh tear.

"I should’ve checked in earlier," he said, his voice rough with regret. "We shouldn’t have left you alone this morning."

Nick leaned into his touch, drawing comfort from the warmth of his palm. "It’s not your fault. You had to report. I just… I didn’t expect to feel like this."

"Like what?" Bradley asked gently.

"Empty. Shaky. Like I’m free-falling without a parachute." Her voice trembled as fresh tears welled up. "I can’t focus on work. I can’t stop thinking about last night."

Jake and Bradley exchanged a look over her head, a silent conversation passing between them.

"Come here," Bradley murmured, guiding her off the workbench and into his arms. His broad chest was solid against her cheek, anchoring her. Jake moved behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist just below Bradley’s. She was completely sandwiched between them.

"We’ve got you," Bradley whispered against her hair. "You’re safe with us."

Nick closed her eyes, surrendering to their hold. The emotions she’d been trying to keep at bay surged forward, spilling out in uncontrolled sobs.

Bradley’s steady heartbeat thumped against her ear, while Jake’s breath warmed the back of her neck. Neither of them rushed her or hushed her tears. They simply held her, creating a cocoon of warmth and safety in the cold, echoing hangar.

"That’s it," Jake murmured, his lips brushing her hair. "Let it all out, darlin’."

As her crying ebbed, Nick became aware of Bradley’s hand making slow circles on her back, matching her breaths. Jake’s fingers traced soothing patterns along her hip, grounding her further in their presence.

"I don't understand why this is happening," she whispered, her voice hoarse. "I've had sex before. I've had relationships. Why is this happening.” She asked, still finding fault with there earlier explanation.

"It's not just sex," Bradley said softly, his voice resonating through his chest against her ear. "What happened between us last night was more than physical."

Jake’s arms tightened around her waist. "We connected on a whole different level, Nick. All three of us."

She sniffled, her breathing still uneven. "I've never… felt so much at once."

"That's why you're crashing now," Bradley said, his fingers threading gently through her hair. "Your body flooded itself with dopamine, oxytocin, adrenaline—and now those levels are dropping. Your system is trying to recalibrate."

Nick pulled back slightly, looking up at Bradley with red-rimmed eyes. "Is that the pilot talking, or did you actually research this?"

A faint smile touched his lips. "It was Jake actually. After you said you were into BDSM he did some research and passed it along to me.”

Nick blinked in surprise, turning slightly to glance at Jake over her shoulder. "You researched this? For me?"

Jake’s usual cocky smirk softened into something genuine. "Of course I did. The moment you mentioned it that first night, I wanted to know everything." His fingers traced a slow, reassuring path along her spine. "I wasn’t about to mess this up by being uninformed."

A fresh wave of emotion swelled inside her. These men—these impossibly strong, skilled pilots—had taken the time to understand what she needed before she even fully understood it herself.

"We both did," Bradley added, his deep voice rumbling against her. "Jake sent me articles about the lifestyle—sub-space, aftercare, sub-drop, all of it. We wanted to..."

"Be prepared," Nick finished for him.

He nodded. "For when you were ready."

Nick’s eyes welled up again. "That’s so sweet of you both."

"Shhh, it’s okay," Bradley murmured, pulling her closer.

Jake’s hands slid up from her waist to her shoulders, kneading gently at the tension there. "You need aftercare, darlin’. Even if we didn’t plan a formal scene, what happened between us was intense. We should’ve stayed with you longer this morning."

Nick swallowed hard, hating how right they both were, how much she needed this. "I've never let anyone see me like this before," she whispered.

"Like what?" Bradley asked, his fingers still threading through her hair.

"Weak. Needy." The words felt sharp against her throat.

Jake’s hands stilled on her shoulders. "Is that what you think this is? Weakness?"

She nodded against Bradley’s chest, unable to meet their eyes.

Bradley gently tilted her chin up, forcing her to look at him. His gaze was steady, filled with concern—and something deeper.

"This isn’t weakness, Nick. This is trust." His voice was quiet but unwavering. "Do you know how much strength it takes to let someone see you like this?"

Jake moved to her side, his hand resting protectively on her lower back.

"Most people spend their lives building walls, never letting anyone in. But you trusted us enough to let us see you."

Bradley’s presence against her chest was grounding. "Trust requires more strength than independence ever will."

"He’s right, darlin’," Jake added, his breath warm against her ear. "You think we don’t need this too? That we just walked away this morning and went about our day like nothing happened?"

"You didn’t?" Nick blinked away fresh tears.

"Hell no," Jake said fiercely. "I was distracted all morning. Couldn’t focus worth a damn during the briefing."

Bradley nodded. "I nearly botched a routine landing because I couldn’t stop thinking about you—about us."

Nick searched their faces for any hint of dishonesty but found none. "Really?"

"Really," Bradley confirmed, gently brushing away a tear. "I kept checking my phone between flights, worried about you. When I saw your messages, I told the flight instructor I had a family emergency."

Jake’s lips quirked up. "Which isn’t far from the truth, if you think about it."

The word _family_ lingered between them, heavy with implication. Warmth unfurled in her chest, pushing back against the hollow feeling that had threatened to swallow her whole.

"Family," Nick echoed softly, testing the word on her tongue. It felt right, even though what they shared was so new—so undefined.

Bradley tightened his arms around her. "Well, maybe not family exactly. More like—"

"Boyfriends and girlfriend?" she asked, hopeful.

Jake and Bradley exchanged a look over her head, another silent conversation.

"Is that what you want, darlin’?" Jake asked, his voice softer than she’d ever heard it. Gone was the cocky fighter pilot who strutted across the flight deck like he owned it.

Nick took a shaky breath. "I… I don’t know what this is between us. But I know I don’t want it to end."

Bradley cupped her face, his calloused thumb stroking her cheek. "Neither do we."

"So, you're both my boyfriends?"

Jake chuckled softly. "I think we’re a bit beyond conventional labels, but yeah—if that’s what you want to call it."

Bradley’s eyes softened. "Boyfriends. Partners. Whatever you want to call us, we’re yours, Nick."

The declaration settled something deep inside her, a restless part of her soul finally finding anchor. She leaned forward, pressing her forehead against Bradley’s chest, reaching back to grip Jake’s flight suit.

"I’ve never done this before—a relationship with two people. I don’t know the rules."

Jake caught her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm. "We’ll figure them out together. Make our own rules."

"Right now, though," Bradley said, voice gentle but firm, "we need to take care of you properly."

Nick nodded, suddenly aware of how drained she felt. The emotional storm had passed, leaving her exhausted but lighter somehow, as if a weight had been lifted from her chest. "I'd love that, but we all have work to get back to."

Jake’s thumb traced the delicate bones of her wrist. "Work can wait. You're more important."

"I can't just disappear," Nick protested weakly, though the thought of returning to her desk and facing those thrust calculations made her stomach clench. "I told them I’d be back in thirty minutes."

Bradley reached for her phone. "Text your team. Tell them you’re consulting on a mechanical issue with the F/A-18s. It’ll buy us the rest of the afternoon."

Nick hesitated, torn between duty and the undeniable need for comfort. "I shouldn’t—"

"Nick," Jake said, gentle but firm. "You wouldn’t fly a jet with compromised systems. Don’t try to function when you’re emotionally depleted."

She relented, typing out a quick message to her team lead. When she finished, Bradley took her phone and slipped it into his flight suit pocket.

"What did you have in mind?" Nick asked, her voice small but steadier than before.

Jake’s smile was warm, lacking its usual edge of cockiness. "First, we’re getting you out of here."

"And we’re going to make sure you eat something," Bradley added, his arm still protective around her shoulders. "When’s the last time you had a real meal?"

Nick realized with a start that she’d skipped breakfast, too wound up to eat. "I… had coffee?"

Jake shook his head, exchanging a concerned look with Bradley. "That settles it. Food, hydration, rest, and touch," Bradley said softly. "Physical contact helps with the drop."

"Won’t it look suspicious if all of us leave?" Nick asked.

"I already told them I had a family emergency," Bradley said. "That’ll cover me."

Jake’s hand slid to the small of her back, his touch firm but gentle. "I have to meet with your dad and Cyclone, but as soon as that’s done, I’ll be out of here."

"So how about I take you back to your place, get some food and rest into you, and Jake meets up with us later?" Bradley offered.

Nick leaned into Bradley’s solid warmth, considering his suggestion. The thought of being alone again made her chest tighten, but having Bradley with her sounded like exactly what she needed.

"Okay," she whispered, nodding against his chest. "That sounds good."

Jake stepped closer, tilting her chin up with his finger. "I’ll be there as soon as I can, darlin’. I promise." His green eyes were intense, searching her face. "Two hours, tops."

Nick nodded, feeling steadier than she had all morning. "I’ll be okay. Bradley will take care of me."

"Damn right I will," Bradley affirmed, his arm tightening around her shoulders.

Jake leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. The tenderness of it made her eyes sting with fresh tears. "No more crying," he murmured against her mouth. "I hate seeing you cry."

She sniffled and lowered her eyes. "I’m sorry."

"Don’t be sorry," Bradley murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple. "It’s not weakness to feel things deeply."

Jake reluctantly stepped back, his hand lingering on her arm. "I need to go before Cyclone sends out a search party, but I’ll be thinking about you both."

Nick watched as he straightened his flight suit, slipping back into his Hangman persona. But his eyes—soft when they met hers—betrayed the man beneath the callsign.

"Text me when you get to her place," Jake told Bradley.

Bradley nodded. "Will do."

Jake was about to turn away when Nick called his name. He paused as she detached herself from Bradley and rushed to wrap her arms around him.

"Thank you, Jake."

Jake closed his eyes as he held her, one hand cradling the back of her head. "Anytime, darlin’," he murmured against her hair. "That’s what boyfriends are for, right?"

The word sent a warm flutter through Nick’s chest. She pulled back just enough to look up at him, surprised to see vulnerability in his usually confident gaze. Rising onto her tiptoes, she kissed him again, pouring her gratitude into it.

When they separated, Jake’s eyes had darkened. He cleared his throat and glanced at Bradley. "Take care of our girl."

Bradley’s gaze softened, the weight of the moment settling over him. "You know I will."

With visible reluctance, Jake stepped away, his hand trailing down Nick’s arm until their fingertips parted. He gave her one last look before slipping out of the alcove, his footsteps echoing across the hangar floor.

Bradley sighed, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. "Why don’t you grab your things? I’ll meet you at my car."

Nick nodded, drawing a deep breath. The emotional storm had passed, leaving her drained but somehow lighter. "Okay. Give me ten minutes."

Bradley’s hand cupped her cheek one last time. "I’ll be waiting. And Nick? It’s going to be alright."

She managed a wobbly smile before stepping back, straightening her blouse and running a hand through her disheveled hair. "I know. I know, and it’s all thanks to you and Jake."

Nick's apartment welcomed them with cool silence, the afternoon sun filtering through the partially drawn curtains. Bradley guided her inside with a steady hand at the small of her back, his presence solid and reassuring.

"Go change into something comfortable," he said, his voice low. "I'll make us something to eat."

Nick nodded, suddenly aware of how constricting her work clothes felt against her skin. She padded to her bedroom, the emotional exhaustion making her movements sluggish. After closing the door, she leaned against it for a moment, taking a deep breath.

Once she was out of her work clothes, she rifled through one of her drawers for something clean and soft to wear. Her fingers landed on Bradley's TOP GUN sweatshirt, and a small smile tugged at her lips. She had worn it after the rainstorm ruined their picnic, and the next morning, she had refused to take it off.

Nick slipped the sweatshirt over her head, inhaling the faint scent of Bradley that still clung to the fabric—a mix of clean laundry and the smoldering spice of his cologne, rich with black pepper, tobacco, and vanilla. It was sharp yet warm, unmistakably him, settling around her like an echo of his presence. The oversized garment swallowed her frame, the sleeves hanging past her fingertips. She paired it with soft sleep shorts and headed back to the kitchen, her bare feet silent against the hardwood floors.

Bradley stood at the stove, having shed his flight suit jacket, leaving him in a white T-shirt and uniform pants. The sight of him moving so effortlessly in her space sent a wave of warmth through her chest.

He turned at the sound of her approach, his eyes softening as they swept over her appearance. "Nice sweatshirt," he said, a small smile playing at his lips. "Looks better on you than it ever did on me."

Nick tugged at the hem self-consciously. "It's comfortable. And it smells like you."

Bradley's expression warmed further as he turned back to the stove. "I'm making grilled cheese and tomato soup. Nothing fancy, but it's comfort food."

Nick slid onto one of her kitchen barstools, watching his sure movements as he flipped a sandwich in the pan. There was something unexpectedly intimate about watching him here—not in the cockpit of a fighter jet, not suited up for training—but standing at her stove, completely at ease in her home.

"Thank you," she said quietly. "For being there for me today."

Bradley glanced over his shoulder, eyes steady. "You never have to thank me for that."

He slid the perfectly golden sandwich onto a plate and ladled steaming soup into a bowl beside it. After placing the meal in front of her, Bradley brushed a strand of hair from her face, his calloused fingers gentle against her skin.

"Eat," he encouraged, his voice soft but firm. "Your body needs fuel, especially after an emotional drop."

Nick picked up half the sandwich, suddenly aware of the hollow ache in her stomach. She hadn't realized how hungry she was until the rich aroma of melted cheese and butter hit her senses. The first bite nearly made her moan.

Bradley moved around the kitchen with quiet efficiency, making his own sandwich and texting Jake as promised. Once his food was ready, he settled onto the barstool beside her, their knees touching.

"Better?" he asked after she'd eaten half the sandwich and several spoonfuls of soup.

Nick nodded around a bite of her sandwich. “Not one hundred percent, but definitely better.”

Bradley went to dunk his own sandwich in t

he hot soup when his phone vibrated.

Bradley checked his phone, a smile playing at his lips. "Jake’s getting ready to head into his meeting. Just wanted to see how you're doing before it starts."

"Tell him I'm okay," Nick said softly, watching Bradley’s fingers tap out a response. "Tell him I miss him."

Bradley’s smile deepened as he typed. "Already did."

They ate in companionable silence for a few minutes, the simple meal warming Nick from the inside out. With each bite, she felt more grounded, the shaky, hollow feeling gradually receding.

"I feel so stupid," she finally admitted, staring into her half-empty soup bowl. "Breaking down like that at work."

Bradley set down his spoon and turned to face her fully. "Nick, look at me."

She reluctantly raised her eyes to meet his.

"What happened today was a physical and emotional response to something intense and new. It wasn't weakness. It wasn't stupid." His voice was firm but gentle. "It was your body and mind processing everything that happened between us."

Nick swallowed a lump in her throat. "I just hate feeling like this. I used to get panic attacks a lot, and this felt very similar. I always felt ridiculous every time I got one."

Bradley’s expression softened, his brown eyes warming with understanding. "There’s nothing ridiculous about your body's natural responses. Panic attacks, sub-drop—they’re both physical reactions to emotional states."

He reached over, taking her hand in his. His thumb traced gentle circles against her palm, the callouses on his fingertips creating a delicious friction against her skin.

"You know what pilots learn in training?" he asked, his voice low. "That our bodies will react to stress whether we want them to or not. Fighting those responses only makes them worse."

Nick leaned into his touch. "So what do you do instead?"

"We acknowledge them. Accept them. Work with them instead of against them." Bradley’s fingers intertwined with hers. "The strongest pilots aren't the ones who never feel fear—they're the ones who feel it and fly anyway."

Something about his words resonated deep within her.

Bradley’s fingers tightened around hers. "When I get up in that cockpit, I feel afraid sometimes. So does Jake, though he’d probably rather crash than admit it."

Nick’s lips quirked up slightly. "Yeah, that sounds like him."

"The point is," Bradley continued, "we don’t overcome fear by pretending it doesn’t exist. We acknowledge it, respect it, and then make it work for us instead of against us." His thumb traced the delicate bones of her wrist. "Same goes for what you're feeling now."

Nick stared at their intertwined hands, processing his words. "So I should just... accept that I had an emotional crash?"

"Accept it. Understand it." Bradley’s voice was steady, reassuring. "And know that Jake and I are here to help you through it."

She nodded slowly, finishing the last of her soup. "That was perfect. Thank you."

He smiled. "What would you like to do now? I can run you a hot bath, set up the hot tub, or tuck you into bed with some TV."

Nick considered his suggestions, the warmth of the food in her belly making her realize just how physically and emotionally drained she truly was.

"A bath sounds amazing, but..." she hesitated, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.

"But?" Bradley prompted gently.

"Would you join me?" The vulnerability in her voice was unmistakable. "I don’t want to be alone right now."

Bradley’s gaze grew tender as he reached for her hand, squeezing gently instead of tucking her hair away. "Of course I will."

He stood, gathering their empty plates and placing them in the sink before leading her toward the bathroom. Nick let him guide her, watching as he moved with practiced efficiency, turning on the faucet and testing the temperature with his wrist.

"Do you have any bath salts or oils?" he asked, glancing around the ne

at bathroom.

Nick pointed to a cabinet beside the sink.

Bradley opened the cabinet, revealing a small collection of bath products. He selected a bottle of lavender bath oil, pouring a generous amount into the running water. The scent immediately filled the bathroom—herbal, calming, familiar.

"Lavender helps with stress," he said, catching her questioning look. "My mother used to swear by it."

Nick smiled softly at this glimpse into his life. "Your mom sounds smart."

"She was," Bradley said simply, a flicker of old grief passing across his features before he turned back to the filling tub.

The intimacy of the moment struck Nick—not the physical closeness they were about to share, but this quiet emotional openness. Bradley rarely spoke of his family, of the mother he'd lost too young and the father whose shadow still loomed large over both their lives.

Steam curled into the air as Bradley turned to her. "May I?"

Nick nodded, lifting her arms slightly as Bradley’s hands found the hem of his sweatshirt. He pulled it over her head with gentle efficiency, his gaze steady. There was nothing heated in his expression—just tenderness, quiet care, something that made her chest tighten.

Instead of tucking her hair behind her ear, Bradley smoothed his palm down her arm, reassuring in its warmth.

When his fingers brushed against the waistband of her sleep shorts, Nick caught her breath. Bradley paused, his eyes searching her face.

"Is this okay?" he asked, his voice low.

"Yes," she whispered, trusting him completely. "It's okay."

He slowly slid the shorts down her legs, his touch reverent. When she stood before him in just her underwear, Bradley pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.

"You're beautiful," he murmured against her skin.

Nick's eyes stung with unexpected tears. Not from embarrassment or vulnerability, but from the simple, honest care in his voice. Bradley seemed to notice, his thumbs gently wiping away the moisture before it could fall.

"No more tears today," he said softly, echoing Jake's earlier words.

Nick nodded, reaching for the hem of his t-shirt. "Your turn."

Bradley allowed her to undress him, standing still as her fingers worked at removing his clothing. Unlike their passionate encounter the night before, this disrobing was unhurried, tender. When they both stood naked, Bradley tested the water once more before stepping into the tub and holding out his hand to help her in.

She took his hand and let him help her into the tub. Once her feet were firmly in the water they both sat down, letting the warmth envelope them.

"This is nice," Nick murmured, her head resting against his shoulder.

Bradley's hands moved in slow, soothing circles across her shoulders, his thumbs working at the knots of tension there. "You're carrying a lot of stress here," he observed, his touch gentle but firm.

Nick closed her eyes, surrendering to his ministrations. "Hazard of the job. Staring at screens, blueprints, and leaning over engines all day."

"Hmm," Bradley hummed against her hair, his breath warm against her ear. "And the emotional crash probably didn't help."

She sighed, sinking deeper into the water. "No, it didn't."

Bradley's hands continued their gentle exploration, working down her arms, then back up to her shoulders. His touch was therapeutic rather than sexual, focused entirely on her comfort and relaxation.

"You know," he said softly, "what happened between us last night wasn't just physical for me and Jake."

Nick's eyes remained closed, but she tilted her head slightly, listening.

"I've never experienced anything like that before," Bradley continued, his voice low and intimate in the steamy bathroom. "Not just the sex, though that was... incredible. But the connection. The three of us together."

Nick felt a flutter in her chest at his words. "Me neither," she admitted. "It was like... like flying, but better."

Bradley chuckled softly, the sound rumbling through his chest against her back. "Better than any flight I've been on that's for sure.”

Nick laughed softly, the sound breaking the tension that had lingered around her all day. "That's saying something, coming from one of Top Gun's finest."

Bradley pressed a kiss to her damp shoulder, his lips lingering against her skin. "I mean it, Nick. What we have—what we're building together—it's special."

The sincerity in his voice wrapped around her like a warm blanket. Nick leaned back further into his embrace, letting the water lap gently around them. For several minutes, they simply existed together in comfortable silence, the only sounds the occasional drip from the faucet and their synchronized breathing.

"Bradley?" Nick finally whispered, her voice barely audible over the quiet splashing of the water.

"Hmm?" His fingers traced lazy patterns along her upper arms.

"I'm scared." The admission fell from her lips before she could reconsider it.

“About what beautiful?”

Nick swallowed hard, gathering her courage. "About this. Us. What happens when everyone finds out? What happens when my father discovers I'm dating not one, but two of his pilots?" She shifted slightly to look up at Bradley's face. "What if it interferes with your careers? With my job?"

Bradley's arms tightened around her, his expression thoughtful. "Those are valid concerns," he said, his voice low and steady. "But we'll figure it out together."

"My dad would lose his mind," Nick whispered. "He's always been so protective, and this... this would be beyond anything he could have imagined for me."

Bradley's thumb traced gentle circles on her shoulder. "Mav loves you. It might take time, but he'd come around."

"And what about the Navy? The fraternization rules—"

"Technically," Bradley interrupted gently, "you're not apart of the Navy. And Jake and I aren’t dating each other. We’re just dating you.”

Nick considered Bradley’s words, chewing her bottom lip thoughtfully. "So... just to make sure I understand—we're not two separate relationships happening at the same time. This is something different. Something that's ours."

Bradley met her gaze, his expression steady. "Exactly. It’s not about being separate. It’s about the three of us building something together."

The water lapped gently around them as Nick let his words settle. "And you two are okay with… sharing me?"

Bradley’s grip on her tightened slightly, reassuring. "It’s not about sharing, Nick. It’s about us being what each other needs. Jake and I—our connection is different. Not romantic, not sexual. But we trust each other, and we’re both committed to this."

Nick tilted her head, watching him carefully. "So you’re... becoming friends?"

Bradley huffed a quiet laugh. "I don’t know if I’d go that far."

Nick smirked. "You sure about that? Because from where I’m sitting, you seem like friends."

Bradley's lips curved against her temple in a slow smile. "Maybe you're right. Maybe this thing with you is changing everything."

Nick felt a flutter in her chest. "And what exactly is this?"

Bradley’s voice softened, his thumb tracing lazy circles against her damp skin. "It’s something that matters. Something worth protecting, worth caring for. Something worth fighting for."

The sincerity in Bradley’s voice made Nick’s throat tighten. She turned in his arms, water sloshing gently over the edge of the tub as she shifted to face him. His brown eyes were warm, open—revealing a vulnerability she rarely glimpsed beneath his composed exterior.

"I feel the same way about both of you," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "And it terrifies me how quickly this happened. How intense it feels."

Bradley brushed his thumb across her cheek, his touch grounding. "Some things don’t follow a timeline, Nick. What we have... it may have happened fast, but that doesn’t make it any less real."

Nick leaned into his touch, the warm water enveloping them like a cocoon. It made voicing her deepest fears easier. "What if I’m not enough? For both of you?"

Bradley’s expression softened, his gaze never wavering. "That’s not possible. You’re more than enough."

"But what if—"

"Nick," Bradley interrupted gently, his hands framing her face. "The way you connect with each of us is unique. What you share with Jake isn’t the same as what you share with me, and that’s exactly how it should be. You don’t have to be everything to everyone."

She closed her eyes, letting his words settle. "And what if it all falls apart? What if we can’t make it work?"

"Then we’ll face that together too." Bradley’s voice was steady, grounding. "But I believe this—us—is worth the risk."

Nick searched his eyes, finding nothing but sincerity. Slowly, she nodded, allowing herself to believe in the possibility of them—this unconventional trio navigating uncharted waters together.

"The water’s getting cold," she murmured, suddenly aware of the dropping temperature.

Bradley pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. "Let’s get you dried off and into bed. You need rest."

The water was indeed cooling, breaking the spell of their intimate conversation. Bradley stood first, water streaming down his muscular frame as he reached for a towel. He wrapped it around his waist before grabbing another and holding it open for Nick.

"Come here," he said softly.

Nick rose from the bath, suddenly feeling shy despite their intimacy the night before. This vulnerability was different—emotional rather than physical. Bradley enveloped her in the towel, his movements gentle as he patted her skin dry.

"Let me take care of you," he murmured, running the soft fabric over her shoulders and down her arms.

Nick allowed herself to be tended to, Bradley's careful ministrations soothing something deep within her. When he'd dried her thoroughly, he reached for his discarded sweatshirt.

"Arms up," he instructed softly.

Bradley's hands were gentle as he guided the sweatshirt down over her body, the soft fabric falling to mid-thigh. The tenderness in his movements made Nick's heart constrict. This wasn't the rushed passion of last night, but something equally intimate—a quiet demonstration of care that spoke volumes.

"Better?" he asked, his voice low.

Nick nodded, suddenly overwhelmed by exhaustion. The emotional rollercoaster of the day, combined with the warmth of the bath, had drained what little energy she had left. Bradley seemed to notice, his arm coming around her waist to steady her.

"Let’s get you to bed," he said softly, guiding her toward the bedroom.

The cool sheets welcomed Nick as Bradley helped her settle in. She expected him to join her, but instead, he tucked the comforter around her and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"Aren’t you going to lay in bed and watch TV with me?" she all but pouted.

Bradley’s expression softened at her tone. "Of course I am. I just need to grab my phone, see if Jake messaged us."

He disappeared briefly, returning with his phone in hand. After quickly checking the screen, his expression warmed. "Jake’s meeting is running longer than expected. He says to tell you he’ll be here as soon as he can escape Cyclone’s clutches."

Nick smiled sleepily, lifting the comforter in invitation. Bradley slid in beside her, now wearing only his boxers. The heat of his body immediately warmed the space as he reached for the remote on her nightstand.

"What do you want to watch?" he asked, his arm coming around her shoulders.

Nick nestled against his side, her head finding the perfect spot on his chest where she could hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. She watched as he scrolled the guide, speaking up when he landed on a show she liked. "I love The Big Bang Theory. Can we watch that?"

Bradley smiled, clicking on the episode. "Sure."

Nick snuggled closer as the familiar theme song played, the warmth of Bradley’s body and the soothing hum of the sitcom lulling her into a state of peaceful relaxation. His fingers traced lazy patterns on her shoulder through the sweatshirt, each touch grounding her further.

"Thank you," she murmured against his chest, her eyelids growing heavy.

"For what?" Bradley’s voice rumbled beneath her ear.

"For today. For understanding. For being exactly what I needed." Nick’s words were slightly slurred with approaching sleep.

Bradley pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "You never have to thank me for that."

She fought to keep her eyes open, wanting to savor this moment of perfect contentment, but the emotional exhaustion of the day was catching up with her. The last thing she remembered before drifting off was the steady sound of Bradley’s heartbeat beneath her cheek and his voice softly humming along with the TV theme song. His fingers continued their gentle exploration, tracing idle patterns across her arm and back. The sensation was both comforting and intimate, lulling her deeper into relaxation.

"Sleep if you need to," Bradley murmured, his lips brushing against her hair. "I’ll be right here when you wake up."

Nick wanted to respond, to thank him again for his unwavering support, but exhaustion pulled her under. Her breathing deepened as she surrendered to sleep, secure in Bradley’s protective embrace.

She drifted through layers of consciousness, vaguely aware of Bradley adjusting the blankets around her, of his phone vibrating with incoming messages, of his voice—low and soothing—as he spoke to someone, presumably Jake. The familiar sounds anchored her as she floated into a peaceful slumber.

The soft click of the front door roused Bradley from his thoughts. He glanced up from the living room, where he’d been quietly unpacking the last of Nick’s boxes while she slept, to see Jake entering the apartment. Jake had changed into civilian clothes—dark jeans and a fitted white Henley—with his Wayfarers perched atop his head.

"How is she?" Jake asked immediately, his voice low as he set his keys on the counter.

Bradley nodded toward the bedroom. "Sleeping. She was wiped."

Jake’s usual cocky demeanor had softened, concern flickering in the lines around his eyes as he peered through the partially open bedroom door. "Has she been out the whole time?"

"Pretty much," Bradley confirmed, folding the empty cardboard box and setting it aside. "She crashed right after our bath."

Jake raised an eyebrow. "Bath, huh?"

Bradley shot him a look. "Not that kind of bath, Hangman."

Jake smirked but shook his head. "Sorry—force of habit." He reached up, pulled his sunglasses from his head, and set them down next to his keys before running a hand through his hair. The casual gesture did little to mask his concern. "How bad was she when you got here?"

"Better than at the hangar," Bradley said, moving to the fridge and pulling out two beers. He offered one to Jake, who accepted with a nod. "The food and bath helped. She opened up about some of her fears."

Jake twisted off the bottle cap and took a long pull. "Fears about us? About this… thing between the three of us?"

Bradley leaned against the counter, nodding. "Mostly about her dad finding out. And how it could affect our careers."

"Valid concerns," Jake admitted, his tone unusually serious. "What did you tell her?"

"That we’d figure it out together." Bradley’s gaze met Jake’s over the rim of his beer bottle. "That this is worth it."

A slow smile tugged at the corner of Jake’s mouth—nothing cocky, just something real. "Good answer."

He took another swig of beer before setting the bottle down and heading for the bedroom doorway. "I’m gonna check on her."

Jake moved quietly into the room, his footsteps barely audible on the carpet. Nick lay curled on her side, her face peaceful in sleep, Bradley’s oversized TOP GUN sweatshirt swallowing her petite frame. Like this, she looked younger, vulnerable in a way she rarely allowed herself to be when awake.

He lowered himself onto the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb her. His hand hovered over her shoulder before brushing a strand of hair from her face with unexpected tenderness. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, lingering for a moment before pulling back—but Nick stirred just as he moved to stand.

"Jake?" she murmured, voice thick with sleep. Her eyes fluttered open, slowly focusing on his face.

"Hey, darlin'," he said softly, his usual swagger replaced by something gentler. "Didn’t mean to wake you."

She reached for his hand, fingers curling around his. "You’re here."

Jake’s smile warmed. "Course I am. Told you I’d come as soon as I could."

Nick shifted, making room for him on the bed. "How was your meeting with my dad?"

"Boring as hell," Jake admitted. "Cyclone wanted to go over new protocols for a possible mission. Even Mav looked like he wanted to bolt."

"Sounds awful," she slurred.

"Go back to sleep," he murmured. "We’ll wake you when it’s dinner time."

Nick stared at Jake through half-lidded eyes, her exhaustion winning out. "Mkay," she whispered, drifting off once more.

Jake watched her sleep, her features relaxing as unconsciousness reclaimed her. He stayed there for a long moment, simply observing—the way her lashes fanned across her cheeks, the steady rise and fall of her breath. Something unfamiliar tightened in his chest—an emotion he wasn’t quite ready to name.

When he finally returned to the kitchen, Bradley was leaning against the counter, nursing his beer with a thoughtful expression.

"Still out?" Bradley asked.

Jake nodded, retrieving his own beer. "Like a light. Woke up for a second, but crashed again." He took a long pull from the bottle. "Never seen her like this."

Bradley exhaled, rolling the bottle between his palms. "Sub-drop hits everyone differently, I guess. I never even heard of it until you sent me that article." He took a sip. "Today was the first time I actually saw it happen."

"Me too."

Jake settled onto one of the barstools, his usual swagger momentarily set aside. "You know, when I first met Nick, I thought she’d be just another conquest. A challenge." He shook his head, a rueful smile playing at his lips. "I had no idea…"

"That she’d get under your skin?" Bradley finished, his expression knowing.

"Yeah." Jake ran a hand through his dark hair. "Or that I’d be sharing her with you, of all people."

Bradley raised an eyebrow. "Having second thoughts?"

"Hell no," Jake replied without hesitation. "What we have… it works. I don’t know how, but somehow it just does."

They fell into a comfortable silence, the hum of the refrigerator, TV, and Nick’s steady breathing the only sounds filling the apartment. Despite their initial rivalry, despite the unconventional nature of their situation, they had become close. Maybe even friends, though neither would say it outright.

Jake’s gaze drifted toward the bedroom door. "What do you think about ordering dinner? She’ll probably be hungry when she wakes up."

Bradley nodded, setting his beer down. "Good idea. Thai? She mentioned liking that place on Third Street."

"Perfect." Jake pulled out his phone and started scrolling through a delivery app. "Pad Thai for her, green curry for me, and…" he glanced up at Bradley. "What about you?"

"Red curry, extra spicy," Bradley supplied.

Jake’s lips quirked up in a half-smile. "Should’ve guessed. Always gotta one-up me, don’t you, Rooster?"

There was no bite to the words, just the familiar rhythm of their banter. Bradley shook his head, a small smile playing at his lips. "Not everything’s a competition, Hangman."

"Says the guy ordering his food as a test of endurance," Jake muttered, his eyes still on his phone as he placed the order. "Food will be here in forty-five minutes."

Bradley finished his beer and set the empty bottle on the counter. "Should we wake her when it gets here?"

Jake glanced toward the bedroom, his expression softening. "Let’s see how deeply she’s sleeping. If she’s still out, we can always reheat it for her later."

He stood, stretching his tall frame. Bradley’s gaze flicked toward him briefly, noting the effortless strength in his movements. For a moment, neither spoke, something unspoken settling in the space between them. They were different in nearly every way—Jake with his cocky confidence and impulsiveness, Bradley with his steady pragmatism and careful thought. Yet somehow, they had landed in the same place.

"I never thought I’d say this," Jake admitted, his voice quieter, "but I’m glad you’re here, Rooster. For her. She needs both of us."

Bradley nodded, a flicker of surprise passing over his features at Jake’s sincerity. "She does. In different ways, but yeah… she needs us both."

Jake exhaled slowly. "When I saw her crying in that hangar today… I’ve never felt so damn helpless."

"I know," Bradley said quietly. "That’s why we need to be better prepared next time. Make sure she never crashes that hard again."

Jake met Bradley’s gaze, something unspoken settling into place between them. "Agreed. Whatever she needs, whenever she needs it."

Bradley extended his hand, the gesture simple but weighted. "Partners?"

Jake grasped it firmly, his green eyes steady. "Partners."

The word lingered between them, carrying more weight than either had expected. Not just partners in caring for Nick—but in figuring out what this meant for all of them.

The moment was interrupted by a soft sound from the bedroom. Both men turned as Nick appeared, Bradley's oversized sweatshirt hanging to mid-thigh, her dark hair tousled from sleep. She blinked in the kitchen light, looking between them with groggy curiosity.

"Hey," she murmured, her voice still husky. "What are you two plotting?"

Jake's trademark smirk returned as he released Bradley's hand. "Just ordering dinner, darlin’. Thai food from that place you like."

Nick padded barefoot into the kitchen, drawn by the casual domesticity of the scene—her two pilots, relaxed and chatting as if they'd been doing this forever.

Jake sat back down and patted his lap. "Come here, sleeping beauty."

A sleepy smile curved her lips as she crossed to him, letting Jake pull her onto his lap. She settled against his chest, legs draped across his thighs, and sighed as his arms wrapped securely around her waist.

"How are you feeling?" Bradley asked, standing beside them, his hand resting gently on her shoulder.

Nick leaned into his touch while remaining nestled in Jake’s embrace. "Better." She looked between them, her expression soft with gratitude. "I really mean it—thank you both."

Jake pressed a kiss to her temple. "No thanks needed, darlin’. That’s why we’re here."

Nick traced a lazy pattern on Jake’s sleeve, voice tinged with curiosity. "Did you two have a heart-to-heart while I was sleeping?"

Jake chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest against her. "Something like that."

"We've come to an understanding," Bradley added, his hand still resting on her shoulder.

Nick raised an eyebrow. "Should I be worried?"

"Not at all," Jake assured her, arms tightening slightly around her waist. "Just making sure we're on the same page about taking care of you."

"I don’t need to be taken care of," Nick muttered, though there was no bite to her words.

Bradley brushed a strand of hair from her face, his expression soft. "Everyone does sometimes. Even the strongest people."

"Especially the strongest people," Jake added, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. "Because they’re usually the last ones to admit it."

Nick looked between them, these two men who had somehow become her anchors. The day’s emotional turbulence had stripped away her usual walls, leaving her too raw for pretense.

"I’m not used to this," she admitted quietly. "Letting people see me when I’m not… together."

Jake’s thumb traced small circles against her hip. "Well, get used to it, darlin’. Because we’re not going anywhere."

"Promise?"

Bradley knelt before her, taking her hands in his. "Promise," he echoed, his voice steady. His dark eyes held hers, something in them making her breath catch. "You don’t have to be strong all the time, Nick. Not with us."

Jake tightened his hold around her waist, his chest solid against her back. "What he said," he murmured against her hair. "We’ve got you."

Nick felt a prickle of tears—not the overwhelming storm from earlier, but something gentler, warmer. She blinked them away, a small smile tugging at her lips.

"I guess you’re stuck with me then," she said softly.

"Wouldn’t have it any other way," Jake replied, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

The warmth in their voices settled around her like a security blanket, replacing the hollow ache that had consumed her earlier.

"So," she said, clearing her throat, "you ordered Thai?"

"From that place on Third you like," Jake confirmed, fingers tracing idle patterns against her hip. "Should be here in about half an hour."

"Perfect," Nick murmured, leaning back against Jake while keeping her hands linked with Bradley's. "I'm starving."

Bradley smiled, giving her hands a gentle squeeze before rising to his feet. "Good. You need to eat."

"Yes, sir," she teased, some of her usual spark returning.

Jake chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest against her back. "There she is. Our girl’s coming back to us."

"All thanks to you two."

Jake kept his arm around Nick's waist, his fingers playing idly with the hem of the oversized sweatshirt she wore. "You know, that's becoming my favorite look on you," he murmured, his breath warm against her ear. "Bradley's clothes, bed-head, and that sleepy smile."

Nick felt a blush creep up her neck. "I must look a mess."

"You look perfect," Bradley countered, leaning against the counter as he watched them, his gaze warm and appreciative.

Jake nodded, his hand sliding to her thigh, just below the sweatshirt’s hem. The touch was possessive but gentle, his thumb tracing small circles against her skin. "Exactly what I was thinking."

Nick smirked, tilting her head slightly. "I bet I’d look just as good in something you own."

Jake’s eyes flickered with interest, the corner of his mouth tugging into a familiar smirk. "Darlin', you’d look incredible in anything of mine." His fingers traced higher on her thigh, just beneath the sweatshirt's hem. "Though I gotta admit, seeing you in nothing but my dog tags would be something else."

Nick's breath caught at the image, heat blooming low in her belly despite her lingering exhaustion. Bradley watched them, his expression warming as he observed their interaction.

"I think that could be arranged," Nick replied, her voice taking on a teasing lilt. The emotional rawness from earlier was receding, replaced by the comfort of their easy banter.

Bradley moved to the refrigerator, pulling out a bottle of water. He uncapped it and handed it to Nick. "Which we can save for another night. Tonight should be all of us, especially you relaxing."

Nick accepted the water gratefully, taking a long sip. The cool liquid soothed her throat, reminding her how dehydrated the emotional day had left her.

"You're right," she admitted, leaning back against Jake's solid chest. "I don't think I have the energy for anything more strenuous than eating Thai food and watching a movie."

Jake's arms tightened around her, his chin resting on her shoulder. "Whatever you need, darlin'. We're just happy to be here with you."

The sincerity in his voice, so different from his usual cockiness, made something warm unwind in Nick's chest. She glanced at Bradley, finding the same genuine care reflected in his steady gaze.

"How about we move this to the couch?" Bradley suggested, nodding toward the living room. "More comfortable than kitchen stools."

Jake stood with Nick still in his arms, lifting her effortlessly as she let out a surprised squeak. "Show-off," she mumbled against his neck, though she made no move to protest as he carried her to the living room.

"You love it," Jake replied, his voice warm with affection as he settled onto the couch with Nick in his lap.

Bradley followed, carrying Nick's water and his own. He sat beside them, close enough that his thigh pressed against Jake's, Nick's bare feet naturally coming to rest in his lap. Without thinking, his fingers began to massage her arches, drawing a contented sigh from her lips.

"That feels amazing," she murmured, her body gradually relaxing further between the two men.

Jake's arms remained securely around her waist, his chin resting on her shoulder as Bradley continued the gentle foot massage. The three of them fit together with surprising ease.

“I never realized til now what tiny feet you have.”

Nick wiggled her toes under Bradley's touch, a small smile playing at her lips. "Are you saying I have dainty feet, Rooster?"

Bradley's fingers worked magic on her arches, his touch firm yet gentle. "I'm saying they're perfectly proportioned to the rest of you."

Jake nuzzled against her neck, his breath warm against her skin. "Everything about you is perfect, darlin'."

Nick rolled her eyes, but couldn't suppress the warmth spreading through her chest at their words. "You two are incorrigible."

"Big word for someone who just woke up," Jake teased, his lips brushing against her pulse point.

The doorbell rang, interrupting their moment of domestic tranquility. Bradley gave her foot one final squeeze before standing. "That'll be dinner."

Nick made to move from Jake's lap, but his arms tightened around her waist, keeping her firmly in place.

"Where do you think you're going?" Jake murmured against her ear, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down her spine.

"To get plates?" she offered, though she made no real effort to escape his embrace.

"Bradley's got it," Jake said, pressing a soft kiss to the sensitive spot just below her ear. "Your job right now is to stay right here and keep letting us take care of you."

Nick relaxed back against Jake, watching as Bradley paid for their food and brought the fragrant bags to the coffee table. There was something mesmerizing about seeing these two skilled pilots—men trained for precision and control—engaged in something as simple as unpacking dinner.

Bradley opened the containers, releasing the spicy-sweet aroma of Thai food into the room.

He went to hand Nick her meal, but Jake took it instead, flicking open the container and grabbing a fork.

"What are you—"

"Open," Jake interrupted, his tone casual but firm.

Nick blinked at his sudden command, but the tenderness in his expression made her comply. She opened her mouth, and Jake carefully fed her a bite of pad Thai. The flavors exploded on her tongue—sweet, salty, tangy, with just enough warmth to settle deep in her chest.

"Good?" he asked, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.

Nick nodded, swallowing before speaking. "Perfect." A blush crept up her cheeks as she glanced between Jake and Bradley. "But I can feed myself, you know."

Bradley settled beside them, opening his own container of red curry. "We know," he said simply. "But tonight is about taking care of you."

Jake offered her another bite, which she accepted with less hesitation. There was something unexpectedly comforting about being fed this way, cradled in Jake’s lap while Bradley sat close enough that his presence grounded her.

"But what about your food? Won't it get cold?"

Jake chuckled, taking a bite of his own curry before offering Nick another forkful of pad Thai. "I can multitask, darlin'."

Bradley watched them with a soft expression, his usual intensity mellowed in the relaxed atmosphere. "We both can."

Nick accepted the next bite, gradually surrendering to their care. The Thai food was exactly what she needed—warm, flavorful, soothing. The three of them ate in companionable silence, the only sounds their quiet appreciation of the meal and the occasional clink of utensils against containers.

"This is nice," Nick finally murmured, leaning back against Jake’s chest. "Weird, but nice."

"Weird how?" Bradley asked, raising an eyebrow.

Nick gestured vaguely with her hand. "Being fed like I’m a toddler."

Jake chuckled, the vibration rumbling through his chest against her back. "Not like a toddler, darlin'. Like someone precious."

"Someone who deserves to be taken care of," Bradley added, his gaze warm as it met hers.

Nick felt her cheeks flush at their words. She’d always prided herself on her independence, on never needing anyone. But here, nestled between these two men, she found herself surrendering to their care with surprising ease.

"I’m not used to this," she admitted softly, accepting another bite from Jake. "Being the one who needs taking care of."

"Get used to it," Jake murmured against her hair. "Because we’re not stopping anytime soon."

Bradley reached over, his hand finding hers. "Not ever, if we have anything to say about it."

The simple declaration settled something in Nick’s chest, and again she wanted to tell them she loved them. But just like last night, she kept it to herself.

Nick’s heart skipped a beat at Bradley’s words. The intensity in his eyes matched the quiet certainty in his voice. She glanced back at Jake, finding the same conviction in his expression, though tempered with his characteristic playfulness.

"So this is really happening," she said softly, more statement than question. "The three of us."

Jake’s arm tightened around her waist. "Oh, it’s happening, darlin'. Has been since that first night."

Bradley nodded, his thumb tracing gentle circles on her palm. "I think we all knew it then, even if we couldn’t name it yet."

Nick took another bite of pad Thai, using the moment to collect her thoughts. The emotional rollercoaster of the day had left her raw, exposed in ways she rarely allowed herself to be. Yet here, nestled between these two men, she felt strangely protected.

“Do you want anymore?” Jake asked.

Nick shook her head, setting the half-empty container on the coffee table. "No, I'm full. Thank you."

Jake pressed a kiss to her temple, his lips lingering against her skin. "Good girl."

The simple praise sent a warm flutter through her chest, different from the heated desire his words usually evoked. This was comfort, security—a feeling of being treasured.

Bradley finished his curry and set the container aside, his hand returning to rest on her ankle. His thumb traced idle patterns against her skin as he watched her with those steady brown eyes.

"What do you want to do now?" Jake asked, his voice low and gentle. "We could watch TV, or just talk, or if you're still tired..."

Nick considered the options, acutely aware of the warmth of Jake’s chest against her back and Bradley’s steady hand resting near her ankle. The emotional exhaustion had faded, replaced by a comfortable relaxation.

"We could watch the Dodgers game in bed," she suggested, settling deeper into Jake’s lap. The storm had passed, leaving behind a peaceful calm that felt both foreign and familiar.

"You heard the lady," Jake said to Bradley, his voice warm with affection. "Dodgers in bed it is."

Bradley gathered their empty containers, clearing the coffee table with efficient movements. "I’ll clean up dinner while you two get settled."

Jake tightened his arms around her waist. "Ready for bed, darlin’?" he murmured, his breath warm against her ear.

Nick nodded, allowing him to lift her effortlessly.

Jake carried Nick to the bedroom, her arms looped around his neck. The intimacy of the gesture wasn’t lost on her—this cocky pilot, known for his swagger and bravado, cradling her with such quiet tenderness.

"You don’t have to carry me everywhere, you know," she murmured, though she made no move to pull away.

Jake’s lips curved into that familiar half-smile as he set her down gently on the bed. "Maybe I just like having you in my arms, Mitchell."

There was something in his voice—a vulnerability beneath the teasing tone—that made Nick’s heart flutter. She watched as he moved around her room with unexpected familiarity, finding the remote and fluffing pillows against the headboard with one hand while the other rested lightly at her side.

Jake adjusted the pillows behind her, movements careful and deliberate. "Comfortable?"

Nick nodded, pulling Bradley’s sweatshirt down over her thighs as she leaned back against the headboard. "Perfect."

Jake's eyes darkened as they swept over her, taking in the sight of her bare legs and tousled hair. "You have no idea what you do to me, looking like that."

Before Nick could respond, Bradley appeared in the doorway, his tall frame filling the space. He was dressed casually in a t-shirt and boxers, his gaze sweeping over them. "Everything okay in here?"

"Better than okay," Jake replied, his eyes still on Nick. He straightened, moving to the other side of the bed. "Our girl's all settled in."

"I just need my boys to cuddle me."

Bradley's expression softened at her words. In three easy strides, he crossed the room and settled onto the bed beside her, the mattress dipping under his weight. Jake was already kicking off his shoes and shucking his jeans, leaving him in a fitted henley and boxer briefs.

"Your boys, huh?" Jake repeated, a pleased grin spreading across his face as he slid under the covers on her other side. "I like the sound of that."

Nick found herself enveloped between them—Bradley's steady warmth on her left, Jake's lean strength on her right. She sighed as Bradley reached for the remote, finding the Dodgers game already in the bottom of the first inning.

"Who's winning?" Jake asked, his arm sliding around her waist, pulling her closer.

"Dodgers up by two," Bradley replied, his hand closing gently over Nick’s, holding it against his chest.

Nick nestled between them, the familiar hum of the baseball game creating a comforting backdrop to the quiet intimacy of the moment. Bradley's thumb traced lazy circles on the back of her hand while Jake’s fingers idly played with the hem of her sweatshirt. The ease of it struck her—how quickly they'd fallen into this pattern of casual touch and shared space.

"This is nice," she murmured, her head finding the perfect spot against Jake’s shoulder.

"Mmm," Jake agreed, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Though I never pegged you for a baseball fan, Mitchell."

Nick smiled, watching as the Dodgers' pitcher struck out another batter. "My dad and I used to watch games together when I was growing up. It was our thing, especially after my parents divorced."

Bradley's grip on her hand tightened slightly. "Maverick doesn’t strike me as a baseball fan."

"Oh, trust me, he is. Whenever the Dodgers needed some extra luck, he'd bring out his lucky bat."

"His lucky bat?" Jake laughed, the sound rumbling through his chest against her. "Captain Mitchell had a lucky bat? Now that’s something I never expected."

Nick smiled at the memory, sinking deeper into the comfort of their embrace. "It was an old wooden thing from when he played in high school. He’d wave it around during crucial plays, convinced it channeled good energy to the team."

Bradley’s thumb kept tracing soft patterns against her knuckles. "Did it work?"

"Sometimes," Nick said with a quiet laugh. "But I think it was more about us believing it worked. Those were some of my favorite memories with him—just the two of us, eating hot dogs and waving that ridiculous bat around."

Jake’s arm tightened slightly around her waist. "You two really are close, huh?"

"We are. Not that my mom and I aren’t, but I was always a daddy’s girl," Nick admitted, a hint of a smile playing at her lips. "Even when he was deployed, he’d send me postcards from every port. Sometimes just a line or two, but I kept every single one."

Bradley’s expression softened as he listened. "That explains a lot about you."

Nick turned slightly to face him. "What do you mean?"

"Your determination. Your loyalty." Bradley’s voice was gentle. "The way you never back down from a challenge."

Jake’s fingers traced idle patterns near her hip. "And your stubbornness," he added with a

smirk. "Definitely got that from Maverick."

Nick jabbed Jake playfully with her elbow. "Watch it, Hangman."

"He's not wrong," Bradley added with a smirk.

Nick scoffed. "He's going to kill you both when he finds out about this, you know."

Jake chuckled, though a flicker of genuine concern passed beneath his bravado. "Worth it."

"Absolutely worth it," Bradley agreed, his voice steady.

Nick lifted her chin. "Well, if he or anyone tries anything, I'll protect you both."

Jake laughed, eyes crinkling with amusement. "You'll protect us? From Maverick? That's adorable, darlin'."

Nick narrowed her eyes, though the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her. "I'll have you know, I can be very intimidating when I want to be."

Bradley’s arm curved around her shoulders, pulling her in. "Of course you are, baby."

Nick huffed, a petulant frown crossing her face. "Okay, so maybe I couldn't physically intimidate him. But I have other weapons in my arsenal."

Jake arched a brow, clearly intrigued. "Do tell, darlin'."

"Emotional manipulation," Nick said, her grin mischievous. "I've been wrapping my father around my little finger since I was born. One tearful 'Daddy, please,' and he melts like ice cream in July."

Bradley chuckled. "I can actually see that working. The man who never backs down from anything, completely defenseless against his daughter's tears."

"It's my superpower," Nick confirmed, nestling deeper between them. On the television, the Dodgers scored another run, but none of them were paying much attention anymore.

Jake stifled a yawn, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. "Sorry," he murmured. "That meeting with Cyclone and your dad drained me."

Nick studied his face, noting the faint shadows beneath his eyes. "You're tired. Both of you probably are after dealing with me all day."

Bradley’s fingers threaded through her hair, his touch soothing. "We're fine. Tonight is about you."

"No," Nick said firmly, surprising both men with the sudden authority in her voice. "Tonight is about us. All of us." She shifted, pulling the blankets higher around them. "You’ve both been taking care of me all day. Let me take care of you now."

Jake shook his head. "I'm fine, darlin'."

"No, you’re not," Nick countered. "You should get some rest."

Jake looked ready to protest, but Nick pressed a finger to his lips. "No arguments. You’ve been up since dawn, had a full day of flying, sat through hours of meetings with my father and Cyclone, then rushed over here to take care of me. You’re exhausted."

The gentle authority in her voice seemed to catch Jake off guard. He caught her hand, pressing a kiss to her palm.

"Yes, ma'am," he murmured, a tired smile playing at his lips.

Nick reached for the remote, lowering the volume on the game. She adjusted, making herself the center point between them, and guided Jake’s head to her shoulder.

"Rest," she murmured, her fingers threading through his dark hair. "I’ve got you now."

Jake’s resistance crumbled under her touch. With a soft sigh, he nestled against her, his arm still draped protectively across her waist. Bradley watched them with warm eyes, his own exhaustion becoming more evident as he allowed himself to relax.

"You too," Nick told him, extending her other arm in invitation.

Bradley hesitated only briefly before settling against her other side, his head finding the perfect spot on her shoulder. The weight of both men against her was comforting rather than overwhelming, their solid warmth anchoring her in a way she’d never experienced before.

Nick pressed a gentle kiss to each of their foreheads, a tender gesture that felt both new and strangely familiar. "Sleep," she whispered, fingers tracing soothing patterns through their hair. "Let me take care of my boys for a change."

Jake mumbled something against her neck, already drifting off. Bradley lasted a bit longer, his hand still holding hers, but soon his breathing deepened as well. Nick found herself the only one awake, cradled between these two men who had shown her such unwavering tenderness throughout the day.

The baseball game continued on the television, the distant cheers and the announcer’s low commentary creating a soft backdrop. But instead of watching the game, she found herself watching them.

Taglist:

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[whoevenheckinknows]

Rogue Bouquets (JayDickWeek 2025 Day 1)

AO3

Fandom: Batman All Media Types

Rating: T

Warnings: No archive warnings apply

Relationship: Dick Grayson x Jason Todd

Characters: Jason Todd, Dick Grayson, original character

Tags: Jaydickweek2025, Jaydickweek, Jaydick week day 1, fake relationship, mutual pinning, Dick Grayson is nightwing, Jason Todd is Red Hood. canon divergence, batarang incident never happened, Jason never revealed his identity to the batfam, cuddle pollen, mistletoe, this fic doesn't take place anywhere near Christmas time, first kiss, getting together, identity porn, identity reveal, I've only had Teeky for a day but if anything were to happen to her I would kill everyone in this room and then myself, you can't convince me that Jason is not the street kids' collective dad, No beta we die like Jason Todd, Do not post to other sites, POV Third Person

Summary:

There's a tension between Nightwing and Red Hood. Everyone sees it, even the rogues. The citizens of Gotham decide to try to get the two together as thanks for all the work they do for the city. The rogues like the excuse to cause more chaos. The vigilantes just want to be left alone to do their jobs.

~~~

Dick doesn't know who the Red Hood is. Doesn't stop him from pinning for the man. And apparently the entirety of Gotham has taken notice. So him and Hood decide to fake being together. Hopefully this will stop people from doing stupid shit to try and get the two together… and stop the rogues from attacking more so they have to interact with each other.

Dick's sure everything will be fine.

A/N:

I didn't almost forget to post this on time, I just spent the entirety of my Easter writing 6k of omegaverse smut for tomorrow…

I hope yall enjoy this though!

Quick canon divergence explanation: Jason never confronted Bruce or revealed himself to the family. He has an uneasy truce with Batman, who of course doesn't like him killing. Nightwing wouldn't leave him alone though, and eventually they became friendly with each other.

Royalty AU | Fake Relationship | Mutual Pinning

~~~~

Something must be in the air of Gotham, Nightwing thinks to himself. A new pollen, or toxin or something. There's no other explanation for the sheer stupidity he's consistently witnessed over the last week of patrols. Citizens not clearing away from rogue attacks. Rogues attacking more often, but less intentionally destructive than usual. Weird comments made from both parties all the while.

Yeah, something must be in the air in Gotham.

Nightwing stands on a rooftop ledge, staring down into the city. He has a break from the craziness, for now, and so he simply watches and waits for the next thing to draw him away.

Boots land softly on the opposite side of the roof and Nightwing knows instantly who it is.

"Did you get the results?" The mechanized voice wastes no time with pleasantries as he gets straight to business. Nightwing rolls his eyes fondly before turning around.

"Yeah, I did." He flops down on the ledge and pats beside him for the other man to sit. Hood doesn't hesitate to do so. Nightwing takes a moment to appreciate Hood's thighs brushing against his before continuing. "Analysis shows no anomalies on either bouquet."

"So what?" Hood growls. "You're telling me someone just decided to give each of us flowers, no Ivy pollen involved. I don't believe it."

"We're still doing further testing, but it seems that way." Nightwing pulls a foot up onto the ledge, leaning his chin on the knee as he looks over to Hood. "What I want to know is why they were addressed as if we gave them to each other."

"No fucking clue, Birdbrain."

~~~

They get their answer two nights later, when they're working together to take down Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn. The two are fighting some of Ivy's plants when Nightwing's opponent opens its flower wide and sprays him right in the face with pollen.

"Fuck. Hood, I've been hit with something."

"Why the fuck don't you have a rebreather on?"

"These aren't her usual pollen plants! I didn't think I needed to."

"Of course she's going to change what the plants look like! Otherwise her plants would never fool anyone." As the two bicker back and forth, they don't notice their non-human opponents shrinking away and retreating.

"Look at 'em, Pammy. Already fightin' like a married couple." Harley squeals, causing the two vigilantes to cease their argument to look over at the two.

"I see it. Maybe now they'll finally get their act together."

"What the fuck are you two talking about?" Hood growls. Nightwing can't help but be reminded of an angry puppy. A cute one that he just wants to pet and cuddle and never let go of. Wait. What's stopping him from doing just that?

Nightwing takes a small step towards Hood, whose back is facing him as the other man looks at the rogues. Harley is the one to answer his question.

"You two 'av been dancin' 'round each otha for weeks now. Everyone's been tryin' to get ya two ta finally get your shit togetha."

That gives Nightwing a pause, only a few feet away from Hood. "What the heck does that mean?"

Hood whirls around to face Nightwing, taking a step back. "Geezus, Wing. Don't get closer. We don't know what the fuck you've been dosed with."

"But you're completely protected, the pollen can't get to you." Nightwing pouts. "And I really want to give you a hug right now."

"It's just a harmless cuddle pollen. Nothing serious." Ivy states flippantly. Nightwing takes that as permission to jump on the other man's back.

"Fuck, dickhead. You still shouldn't fucking spread the shit around." Even as he says it, he grabs Nightwing's legs around his waist, preventing him from falling.

"Have fun you two!" The rogues retreat with matching grins. Hood makes a move to follow them, but Nightwing wraps himself tighter around the larger man. Hood sighs, the modulator barely picking it up, before gripping Nightwing's ankles.

"Let's take care of you first, Birdbrain."

Hood takes him to a nearby apartment, probably one of his safehouses, bringing him directly into the bathroom. He places him down onto the toilet. Nightwing goes to whine, but Hood cuts him off.

"Wash that shit off best you can, Wing. There are some bags for you to put your contaminated costume in under the sink, and I'll be back with clothes for you to put on."

Hood leaves and Dick starts working on removing his costume. The bags are right where Hood said they are, and he grabs one to start shoving the costume pieces inside. He keeps his mask on, of course, even as he starts washing off in the shower.

The warm water feels nice, like a warm embrace that clears everything dirty and wrong from his skin. It's not quite enough to stave off the burning need for affection he feels in his veins, but it's enough to make it through the entire shower without any side effects of the pollen.

Dick finishes up his shower and steps out. There's a fresh towel and set of sweats sitting on the counter next to the sink. Quickly putting them on, he has to hold back a whine as he feels the warmed fabric on his skin. Almost like they were warmed up in the dryer just before being given to him. It surprisingly helps with the effects of the pollen, a bit more than the shower did. It feels like he's being hugged by the fabric, surrounded everywhere with its warm material. Dick feels a rush of warmth in his chest at the realization that Hood went out of his way to warm these up for him.

Dick steps out of the bathroom with his bag in hand, only to freeze in his tracks at the sight in front of him. The apartment is small and open, so Dick can see right to where Hood stands in front of a stove heating up a kettle of water. His helmet is still in place, but he too has stripped down and is now only in a pair of sweatpants and a tank top. Dick knew that Hood must have hidden quite the figure under his armor, but to see it in the flesh makes him want to just reach over and caress those muscles. Dick is about eighty-five percent sure that's not just the pollen talking either.

Hood hears him enter the room and glances over. "Why the fuck do you still have your mask on? That's the piece of your costume that got the brunt of the pollen."

Dick raises an eyebrow as he starts moving towards Hood. "Are you asking me why I'm keeping on the one part of my costume that keeps my identity a secret? Sound like a hypocrite when you still have your mask on."

"One, my mask is keeping me from breathing in any of that shit. Two, your identity ain't a secret from me, Dick."

Dick's eyes widen as he stops in his tracks. "Wh-what? When? How?"

"Relax, Birdbrain. I've known who you are for a long time. If I was gonna do anything about it I'd have done so by now. Now, go back in there and wash your fucking face properly. Tea'll be ready by the time you get out. Domino solvent is under the sink where you found the bag."

Dick obediently goes back into the bathroom, too shocked to refuse the order. Only taking a brief moment to question why Hood has domino solvent when he wears the helmet, he drips the stuff onto his hand to rub around his mask. Peeling it off carefully, he shoves the mask into the bag with the rest of his costume before washing his face thoroughly.

This time when Dick leaves the bathroom, Hood doesn't spare him a glance. Dick takes advantage of this as he makes his way over to the bigger man. Once he's right behind him, Dick wraps his arms around Hood's waist, humming in content as the warmth satiates the pollen in a way the water and clothes could never dream to replicate. He feels the muscles beneath him tense as he rests the side of his head between Hood's shoulder blades.

Hood doesn't speak for a moment before Dick hears a sigh through the helmet. "You're lucky I didn't spill any boiling water on either of us, jackass."

Dick hooks his chin over Hood's shoulder to see the man place the kettle back down on the stove, from where he had been pouring the water into two mugs. Oops.

"Sorry, Hood. I've just never seen you out of costume before, and the pollen didn't help with me just wanting to jump you." Dick freezes, blushing a little at the wording. "Or, well, jump on you… Uh. Touch you? Hug you!"

Hood laughs, the modulated sound sending flutters through Dick's chest. "Sure, Birdbrain. Whatever you say."

Hood peels Dick off of him and gestures to follow as he picks up the mugs and starts walking away. Dick trails behind him as the man makes his way over to the couch, setting down the mugs onto a coffee table in front of it. Hood plops onto the sofa and lounges back, resting his arms on the back casually.

Sprawled out on the couch as he is, Dick gets a good view of the other man. His sweatpants are loose, but even still Dick can see the outline of muscled thighs as they spread comfortably apart. His bare arms on the top of the sofa are as thick as his thighs, but the pure muscle is all on display for Dick to ogle. Fuck, to be wrapped tightly by those arms. Or those thighs for that matter.

The tank top, unlike the sweatpants, is on the tighter side, and holy shit. His pecks stand out through the shirt, showing their definition and size and Dick just wants to sit down between Hood's thighs and spend hours caressing and massaging all over his chest and abdomen. It takes everything in his power to stop himself from doing just that.

The silence goes on as Dick just stands there staring at Hood, until finally Hood tilts his head. Dick can only imagine that the face underneath is lifting a single eyebrow at him. "Well? What are you just standing there for? Get over here."

Dick snaps out of his staring. "Huh?"

"We need to talk about whatever the fuck Ivy and Harley were talking about. And you need physical contact to help the pollen wear off. So get over here and drink your damn tea." Hood lifts his arm slightly, as if indicating for Dick to fit himself right into. Dick doesn't hesitate at the invitation, immediately plopping himself on the couch and snuggling into Hood's side. He sighs at the contact and Hood moves his arm from the back of the couch to Dick's shoulders. Hood uses his other arm to grab a mug of tea.

"Here" he says, handing it to Dick. Dick grabs it, holding it close with both hands and taking a tentative sip. He can't hold back the moan he lets out in response. Not only is the tea prepared exactly how he likes it (he's not going to question how in the world Hood knows that information), but the heat of the beverage floods his insides, filling his body with a feeling not dissimilar to an internal hug. The pollen effects fade to a barely there tingling as he's covered in warmth head to toe, inside and out. Dick closes his eyes and basks in the feeling.

They sit like that for a few minutes, Hood taking sips of his own tea as Dick settles into the embrace. Eventually, he speaks up. "So."

Dick opens his eyes, looking up at where Hood's face would be if he wasn't wearing the helmet. "So?"

"Those fuckers did this on purpose."

Dick nods. "It seems that way. But why?"

"Didn't you hear what Harley said? 'Everyone's trying to get you two to get your shit together', or something like that. But what the fuck does that mean."

Dick takes a sip of his tea, mulling it over in his head. Who is everyone? And what did she mean when she said for the two of them to 'get their shit together'? Dick thinks back on the past few weeks, about anything out of place that could be a clue…

Dick stiffens.

"The bouquets." Dick feels Hood tense beneath him. "Why they were made to seem as if we sent them to each other. And all the other weird shit that's been going on." His mind lines up everything that's happened recently with this new information, puzzle pieces slotting into place with every event he thinks of. The bouquets. The Riddler's puzzles that required the two of them to work close together only to lead to nothing in the end. Ivy and Harley trying to force them to cuddle via pollen. It paints a picture he's not sure how he feels about. He doesn't get to voice his conclusion before Hood beats him to it.

"Fuckers are trying to set us up together?"

"It's the most likely conclusion. But why? And why are Gotham citizens and rogues working together on this shit. What the hell is the point?"

"I'm not sure, but it has to stop." Hood growls and Dick can't help the pang of disappointment in his chest. With how the other man spoke, Dick's certain the man isn't even entertaining the idea of giving the people what they want.

"Oh?" Dick's glad his voice doesn't betray his feelings in the single word.

"I've got too much shit going on to get caught up in some game these people are playing. And I'm sure you do too. How many actual crimes have you helped with in the past few weeks compared to things that were, in hindsight, a part of this stupid ruse."

Dick thinks it over and winces. "Not many."

"Exactly. There are people out there who actually need our help, and instead we're being distracted by some teenage level bullshit."

"So what should we do?" Hood doesn't respond right away, and Dick takes the time to try and find a solution himself. How could they get the citizens and rogues of Gotham to back off? An idea hits, but Dick's pretty sure Hood will reject it immediately. He glances up subtly at the helmet, wishing not for the first time that he could see the other man's face to see just what the man is thinking or feeling. Dick decides fuck it, he might as well voice his suggestion. Just in case.

"What if," Hood tilts his head to show he's listening. Dick swallows. "What if we make them think they succeeded."

Hood doesn't respond, and Dick rushes to continue. "It's just, who knows how long they will go until they finally give up. And it's like you said, we could be spending the time actually helping people instead of being distracted by this city's version of matchmaking. And, if they think they won, they might be more open to explaining why they did this in the first place. Like. Why the hell are Gotham's citizens and rogues working together? Are they even working together, or did both groups coincidentally get the same idea at the same time? And where did they even get the idea of us together? How would they benefit from us-"

Hood places his hand on Dick's mouth. "You're rambling, Birdbrain. I get the picture." Dick keeps his mouth shut as Hood removes his hand.

"It's not… the worst idea." Hood finally relents after a few moments of thinking it over. "But how the fuck do we convince them?"

"There's only so much we can do in costume that could make people think we're a 'couple'" The air-quotes Dick puts up are to remind himself as much as Hood. "Being seen together more often. More casual touches. Pet names. Stuff like that."

Hood nods thoughtfully. "It'll take time for word to spread. So there's going to at least be a few more attempts before they realize they've succeeded. Now that we know what we're looking for, we can gather information on just what they're expecting and why."

"Sounds like a plan." Dick is going to end the conversation there, before a thought hits him. "We need a way to contact each other, so we can coordinate patrols together and share information."

"Next time we cross paths, I'll give you a com that connects to my helmet."

"Okay." Dick nods, before curling further into Hood's side. The silence that follows is nice. Dick breathes in the scent of Hood, the musky smell of sweat and gunpowder that Dick shouldn't find as pleasant as he does. He closes his eyes, and despite knowing it's probably not the best idea, it doesn't take him long to drift off to sleep.

When Dick wakes up, he's laying down fully on the couch, a pillow beneath his head and a weighted blanket on top of him. He's also alone. Knowing the pollen has probably warn off by now, Dick slides out from under the weight of the blanket and the heavy feeling meant to simulate a hug. He looks around, recognizing immediately the sight of a burned safehouse when he sees one. Any personal belongings are long gone, and the place has been wiped clean of any evidence of someone living here.

Dick pushes down the pang of disappointment at the sight, at the thought that Hood didn't trust him enough to know about even one of his safehouses. That he didn't feel like he could stay, even just for the night.

Dick sighs as he makes his way to the kitchen to grab a glass of water, only to pause at what greets him. On the counter next to the sink is a box of munchkins, an insulated coffee cup, and a small box. He glances inside the box of munchkins, taking note of the fact that there seems to be quite a few missing. Shrugging and popping one in his mouth, Dick turns his attention to the coffee cup. He opens the sliding lid and takes a sip. The sugary concoction hits his tongue and he doesn't stop a fond smile from spreading onto his face. Exactly how he likes it, once again.

Dick takes his time to eat and drink before worrying about the other box. After finishing the munchkins and drinking most of the coffee, he washes his hands and picks it up. Lifting the lid, Dick's greeted with the sight of a note, written in small neat letters.

Here Birdbrain

Dont bother tryin to

call during the day

I won't answer

RH

Dick smiles as he lifts the note to reveal a com piece. He grabs it and puts it in his pocket before collecting his things and leaving the apartment, not bothering to clean up too much knowing it'll be emptied out soon.

(It's only after Dick retrieves his costume from decontamination in the cave and goes through his pockets to check everything over that he makes the realization. One of the pouches in his belt is chock full of antidotes for all sorts of Gotham concoctions. Including cuddle pollen. Why did neither one of them even think of injecting Dick with the antidote? Why did Hood go through the effort of offering Dick a shower, warming his clothes in the dryer, making him perfect tea… cuddling with him on the sofa, all to alleviate the effects of the pollen instead of just injecting him with the antidote and calling it a day?)

~~~

Nightwing and Red Hood patrol together a few nights later. The two of them go over the details in the days leading up to it. They plan how they're going to act, and how they're going to get information from whoever tries something next.

It doesn't take long for something to happen. The two are sitting on a rooftop ledge talking and bickering and just enjoying each other's company as they take a break from traversing the rooftops. It doesn't feel much different from how they acted before, if Nightwing thinks about it. Their thighs brush together just like the night they went over the results of the bouquet analysis. But this time, it's more deliberate. Intentional. Their conversation is the same as any other time they see each other, with some bickering, some bantering, some flirting. The only real difference is the unfamiliar pet names they sometimes drop into their words. You never know when someone might be listening in Gotham, after all.

They're interrupted by noise coming from a nearby alley. They stand up in sync and make their way to the rooftop overlooking where the sounds came from. But when they look down, they see nothing. Either whatever skirmish they heard is over already, or this could be another coupling attempt. They look at each other and nod, swinging down silently to investigate.

Nightwing sees nothing, but he hears Hood let out a sigh. "Teeky, I see you."

Nightwing looks over to where Hood's gaze leads, and sees a little arm not quite hidden behind a dumpster. How had Nightwing missed that?

A little girl, probably slightly younger than a teenager, steps out, smiling shyly up at Hood. She doesn't seem scared of him, more embarrassed that she was caught. "Hiyah, Mr. Red Hood."

Hood pinches where his nose would be in the helmet. "Teeky, what are you doing away from your brother? You should be in the alley, already asleep."

"Nothiiiiiing." She responds unconvincingly. Her eyes flicker up quickly before returning back to them. Nightwing glances where she did and can't hold back a snicker at what he sees. He's pretty sure this is the most unsubtle attempt yet.

"What are you laughing at, Birdbrain?" Nightwing simply points up. Hood looks up as well and heaves a loud sigh.

"Teeky, it's nowhere near Christmas. Why is there mistletoe hanging on that fire escape?"

"Oh will you look at that." The surprise in her voice is unsurprisingly fake. "Well, you know the rules. Ya gotta kiss when you're under mistletoe!" She looks so proud of herself.

"Teeky." Hood speaks slowly. "You do realize I wear a helmet right? Can't exactly kiss with this thing on."

Teeky's face drops as the pride leaves her face. She looks so dejected, Nightwing swears she's about to cry. Well, he can't have that now can he. Besides, they have a ruse to keep up.

"But Sweetheart, look at her! She went through all this for us. And besides." Dick steels his resolve as he leans over to Hood and plants a kiss on the cheek of his helmet. "When has the helmet stopped me before?"

Dick has to fight to keep his blush from showing on his face. God, he wishes he could see Hood's reaction right now.

Meanwhile, Teeky's face lights up like the sun. She pumps her fist in victory. "Yes! I knew it would work! Everyone told me it was stupid, but they should never have doubted me."

Nightwing chuckles as he crouches down to talk to the girl, putting his hands on his knees. A celebrating kid, after all, is a good way to gather information. "What exactly were you hoping for, kiddo?"

Her excitement doesn't fade as she responds excitedly. "To get you two together, of course. Everyone's been trying. Us street kids, the working girls, the people of Gotham, even the rogues have agreed to help."

"And why is that?"

"To thank you two!" Nightwing's eyes widen and he glances over at Hood. He can tell from the other man's stance that Hood is just as confused by the answer as he is.

"For what?" He looks back at the girl to ask.

"For always helping us. You both are always helping us. You save Gotham and everyone in it." Teeky looks over to Hood. "And you protect those of us who can't protect ourselves. You both deserve to be happy. So we wanted to help you."

"And us being together makes us happy?" She nods enthusiastically at his question.

"Yeah. It's obvious you're two crushing on each other." Nightwing can't hide his blush this time, and he refuses to look back at Hood. "So we all decided to help push you along."

"And what about the rogues?" Hood speaks up for the first time since Nightwing kissed his cheek, his voice soft even through the modulator as he crouches beside Nightwing.

"They heard about what we were doing and, well. Ms. Isley and Dr. Quinn thought you two would be so cute together. And Mr. Nigma just liked the excuse to make new puzzles." Hood nods his head as if that makes sense. Nightwing's not so sure it does but doesn't say anything.

"Well, Teeky." Hood places a hand on the little girl's hair and ruffles it. The sight of Hood interacting so gently with the kid makes Nightwing's heart flutter a little. His face probably looks fond as Nightwing looks at Hood, but if Hood questions it he'll just say it's an act. "You can tell everyone that you succeeded. Nightwing and I appreciate the help."

The girl somehow beams even brighter up at him. She nods her head before racing off to spread the word. As soon as she turns the corner out of the alley, Hood's posture slumps even as he stands up from his crouch. They're both quiet for a moment before Nightwing decides to speak.

"She's cute. One of your alley kids?" He asks as he straightens from his crouch as well. Hood simply nods. Another moment of silence.

"You know, I don't think I've ever gotten the answers needed for a case this quickly before." He tries to joke. Still not a sound from Hood.

"Ok. What's wrong, Hood? Was it the kiss? Was it too much? I figured since it's just the helmet it would be fine, and hey it worked out in the end so really-"

"Why?" The single word cuts Nightwing off. He gives Hood a moment to collect his thoughts. "Why do you spend so much time with me?"

Nightwing's confused. "What do you mean? We're friends, aren't we?" He ignores the part of him that aches to be more.

"But why? I'm a Crime Lord. I murder people for fucks sake. You bats are against that shit."

"Well yeah." Nightwing starts slowly. "But you only kill those who truly deserve it. And you protect kids and the working girls, and everyone who can't protect themselves. You have a strong moral code despite what some people think about you. You're kind and funny and I enjoy the time we spend together. I like being friends with you, Hood. I like you."

Nightwing hopes he didn't sound too earnest at the end there, but realizes he doesn't really care if it gets his point across.

"You shouldn't." Hood growls. "Fuck, Wing. You don't even know who I am."

"I already told you." Nightwing takes a step towards Hood, pointing a finger into the man's broad chest. "I know how thoughtful you are, that you show you care through acts of service. Like when I was infected with pollen. You warmed a towel for me, made me tea just how I like it, covered me with a weighted blanket before you left, bought me munchkins and coffee so I would have something when I woke up. A bad person wouldn't do any of that. So yeah, I might not know who you are under the mask, but I do know that you are good, in all the ways that matter."

The two stand there in silence, Nightwing still with his finger in Hood's chest. He wishes once more that he could see Hood's face, if only to see his emotions, to know what's going on in that mind of his. See if his words made any difference.

When Hood finally reacts, it's only to gently grasp the hand in front of him. Nightwing feels the man's larger hand complete engulf his own as he moves it down to Nightwing's side and lets go.

"I'll…" The modulator makes it difficult to decipher the emotions in Hood's words. "I'll see you later, Wing."

Hood turns away, pulling his grapple out before shooting it and flying off. Nightwing doesn't follow. He can tell the man needs some time to think, and he's pretty sure he does as well.

~~~

The next few patrols they run into each other, they don't talk about it. They silently continue to play their part as a couple, albeit with less kissing involved. As willing as Nightwing would be to kiss the other. The matchmaking attempts slow in frequency as word spreads that the two are 'together'. Still, they keep up the act even as the attempts completely stop.

Currently, the two are fighting some goons trying to smuggle weapons into Crime Alley. Nightwing missed this. It feels so good to actually be stopping crime once more, as opposed to being tricked into someone's schemes. Nightwing is his usual chatty self, with Hood sometimes snarking back in response. Nightwing missed that too. Outside of their couple act, the two don't interact as much as they used to. It feels like Hood is pulling away from him, not playing along with banter and keeping his distance from him when there's no one else around. At this point, Nightwing is putting all he's got into what little playful conversation he can get with the man in moments like this.

Nightwing jumps back as a goon attempts to kick him in the crotch. "Woah there, buddy. Only one man's allowed to touch me there, and it sure as hell ain't you."

A choked sound is heard from Hood's modulator, and Nightwing grins. He slams his escrima into the goon's head, rendering him unconscious. Looking around, he sees Hood just about finished with his own goons. He watches as Hood fights with a brutality he can't help but find attractive. The way his muscles flex under his uniform and the way his body bends in ways a person his size should not be able to do. Soon his last goon is on the ground, and Hood makes to tie them up. Nightwing blinks. Oh, he should probably tie his own goons up instead of staring at Hood, huh?

After his goons are secured, and GCPD is called, Nightwing turns to find Hood once more. By the looks of it, the man is just about to try and leave without a word. And… Nightwing doesn't think he can take too much more of this silent treatment.

"Hood, wait!" Hood hesitates, and Nightwing takes the chance to race over to him. He places his hand on Hood's shoulder, as if that alone will stop the man from fleeing. "Can we talk? Please?."

Nightwing can feel Hood's calculating gaze, even if he can't see it. He sees more than hears Hood let out a sigh as he nods. Nightwing nods back, and the two grapple up onto a nearby rooftop.

Hood turns to face him, his arms crossed. Nightwing is worried for a moment that he's angry or annoyed. But as he looks closer at the man he realizes his posture is closer to defensive than anything. Scared. As Nightwing tries to process that information, Hood speaks up.

"We need to break up."

Nightwing blinks at him in shock, all thoughts thrown out the window at the sudden request.

"Wha-what?"

"You heard me, Birdbrain. We need to break up. End this charade. The citizens got what they wanted. But oh no it didn't work out and we broke up not long after. It happens to the best of us."

Nightwing doesn't know how to respond, the only word slipping out is "Why?"

"Because, we can't keep this ruse up forever. We're not actually dating! And the only times we speak to one another are when we're putting on this farce of an act."

"You're the one who's avoiding me!" Nightwing is almost yelling as he grows frustrated. "I want to hang out with you, Hood, but ever since our argument, I hardly see you anymore."

"Why do youeven want to so badly? I'm not worth your time, Wing. I'll never be good enough for you."

"I already told you, you stubborn asshole." Nightwing is getting angry. Why can't Hood get it through his thick skull that Nightwing likes him. That he lo… That he cares about him. He continues before he can focus too much on his little mental slip. "You're so amazing. God, Hood. I don't know how else I can say it. You're so kind, and caring, and capable, and talented-" and Nightwing needs to shut up before he gets out of hand with his compliments "and hot-" too late "and strong and..and… just… Fuck Hood. I wish you could see yourself the way I do."

There's a stunned silence following Nightwing's words, and he's worried he went too far this time. Eventually, Hood speaks up softly. "You can't even see me."

This fucking man. "Then let me see you. You already know who I am. What's stopping you from letting me know who you are? Only fair, after all."

Hood's shaking his head before Nightwing even finishes speaking. "I can't."

"Why not?"

"You don't understand. I can't. You can't see who I am. You'll hate me, be angry at me for keeping it from you. Regret spending time with me."

"Do I know who you are?" Hood doesn't reply. "Hood, please."

Still nothing. Slowly, Nightwing reaches a hand towards Hood's helmet. He cups it softly. "Please. Can I see you?"

"Fuck, Dickhead." The words are choked, pained and sad despite the modulator. Almost like Hood is… crying? And. Something about that name. That name. It feels familiar, but Nightwing can't quite figure out why.

Hood reaches up, and places his hands on top of Nightwing's gently. Then, he slides them back to press some buttons on the helmet. Dick moves his hands away as the helmet makes a clicking sound and Hood goes to take it off. Before he does though, he speaks one last time. "I'm sorry, Dickie."

The helmet comes off, letting Nightwing Dick finally see the face beneath.

Dick has to hold back his surprised snort when he's greeted by the sight of a domino. Why was Hood so worried if he just has another mask under the helmet? But then, Dick looks closer, his amusement slipping away. He recognizes him. Sure, his eyes are covered, but fuck, the face staring back at him is one he's used to seeing in a domino. Probably saw more in a domino than out of one.

The face before him is lacking the baby fat he expects to see, and his hair has a streak of white that he knows wasn't there the last time he saw him. He can't see his eyes, although he does see water lining the edge of the mask indicating tears. Fuck. It can't be possible. But there's no other explanation.

Dick reaches his hand back up, pausing when the person in front of him flinches, as if expecting Dick to hit him. Dick slows his movement as he cups the cheek softly and whispers out a name.

"Jason?" Jason (and God this is Jason in front of him, Red Hood is Jason and yeah Dick will need to process that later but right now he needs to reassure him, let him know that everything will be alright) flinches again at the sound of his name, even as Dick's hand on his face remains gentle. Dick strokes his thumb over Jason's cheekbone, marveling at that fact that he's real and Dick is touching him, Jason is alive.

Jason doesn't say anything, looking at Dick as if waiting for something. If his previous words are any indication, he's probably waiting for Dick to get angry, yell how much he hates him, hit him, anything like that. But. Dick doesn't want to do any of that. He just wants to pull Jason into his arms and never let him go. He realizes there's nothing stopping him.

Dick moves his hands away from Jason's face, only to throw them around the man (and holy shit, Jason is a man now. His Little Wing isn't so little anymore). Jason stiffens, not moving to return the hug.

"Jason. You're alive. You've been alive and Red Hood this whole time."

"Now do you understand why we can't keep pretending to be a couple?" Dick keeps his arms wrapped around Jason's neck as he leans back in the embrace to look up at him. This is the first time Dick is hearing his voice without the mechanical filter of the helmet, and if he had any doubts about this being Jason they've dissolved completely at the sound. His voice is rough and wet from crying, but it's undeniably Jason's.

Dick then processes the words. "Oh Jay." He whispers, rubbing his thumbs along the back of Jason's neck soothingly. He feels Jason shiver at the touch, and smiles fondly. "Jay. I'm going to say this once, so listen up. You're still the same man you were before you took the helmet off. None of what I said before has changed."

"But-"

"Hush. I can go on and on about every little detail I know about you, that have nothing to do with you being Jason Todd. Although, I guess that does explain how you knew my tea and coffee preferences. And really, all of the things I've listed are traits you've always had, even as a kid. You're still kind, and talented, and funny, and you still have such a strong moral code. The only thing that's really changed is that you've grown up. And…" Dick debates his next words, before deciding fuck it. He said it once already, and Jason taking the helmet off definitely hasn't changed how hot Dick thinks the other man is. In fact, seeing his face, knowing just who he is, Dick can't help but think Jason's even more attractive than before. He takes a moment to give Jason a once over before continuing. "…I gotta say you've grown up nicely."

Dick is so glad he can see the man's face now. Because without the helmet, he can see exactly how his words affect Jason. His whole face goes bright red, his eyes widening and his mouth dropping in shock. Dick wants to kiss that shocked look right off his face.

"What are you saying, Dick?"

"I'm saying that I don't care that you, Hood, are Jason Todd. Or that you, Jason, are the Red Hood. Goddamnit, I've been crushing on you for months now. This isn't going to make that magically go away."

"You've… been crushing on me?" Dick stares at him.

"Jason. The entirety of Gotham saw me crushing on you and decided to try and get us together. What the hell did you think that was about?"

"I thought they just saw my crush on you." And fuck if Dick's heart doesn't skip at the words. "I never thought you could actually like me like that. You always saw me as nothing more than an annoying little kid who stole your colors before I died. And I wouldn't have allowed anything to happen between us before revealing that's who I was first. Which, for your information, I had no plans to do." Jason is finally starting to relax into Dick's hold, his hands going to hold Dick by the hips.

"I'm glad I could convince you, then." As he speaks, Dick slowly leans closer. His next words are a whisper, merely centimeters away from Jason's mouth. "Because now, I'm able to do this."

Dick kisses him.

The kiss is slow, Dick's lips sliding softly against Jason's as he takes his time tasting the other. Jason reciprocates easily, moving his own lips against Dick's tenderly, savoring the feeling. Their breaths mingle together as they share the air in the minuscule space between them. Dick can feel Jason's thumbs rubbing at his hips, just as his own were rubbing the back of his neck before. He sighs in content into the other's mouth.

The two still have a lot to talk about. How Jason's alive. Why he never came home. Why he became the Red Hood. What do they do now. But that can all wait until later. Because right now, Dick is kissing the man he's been in love with for months now. And Goddamit he's gonna enjoy it.

There's no need to rush.

~~~~

END NOTE:

Ivy and Harley on the neighboring roof: *high-five*

I hope y'all enjoyed! I don't really have much to say, so I guess I'll just see y'all tomorrow.

If there's any errors, feel free to say in the comments. Or if you just want to talk.

Come talk to me elsewhere

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[sunshine-jesse]

In defense of Andrew Graves: Facing Yourself​

Alt title: Andrew Graves: The Will to Plow Her

I think my analysis of Andrew is one of the best essays I've written so far. But since then, I think I've expanded my understanding of his character in a way that urges me to add on to my prior essay. What I intend on doing is further fleshing out my reading of Burial, and going deeper in detail on why I think Decay ends up panning out the way it does. This essay will end up sharing a lot of text with my prior one, but will add enough scattered throughout that I think it merits a complete reread instead of just scrolling down and seeing what's new.

I've focused a lot on Ashley in my past writings. She's my favorite character in the story (and depending on how episode 3 pans out, maybe ever) and I'm pretty mortified by how some parts of the fandom have reacted towards her, so I pretty much made it my life's mission to push back against that. From highlighting the ways Andrew mistreats her, to coming up with justifications for her behavior that aren't just being a manipulative bitch, I really wanted to prove that a more favorable picture of her could be painted than most were willing to.

But in doing so, I've left Andrew in the dust.

In highlighting his flaws and the ways he mistreats Ashley, I think I've implied a level of intentionality to his actions that I don't believe he has. When I say that Ashley did nothing wrong, it's in direct response to the idea that she holds the most responsibility and agency in how their dynamic plays out, when in reality, I believe she has very little. Most of her actions in-story are in reaction to a variety of stimuli that come directly from Andrew, that he has control over and are aware of how Ashley feels about. His refusal to use clear and direct language to deny her most toxic tendencies causes her more and more stress as time goes on, and instead of giving her clear answers he opts to be catty, passive-aggressive, or, at his worst, threatening. Never direct and never clear, except when establishing boundaries over his name after the choking scene. Andrew fails to help Ashley be better in some frankly depressing ways throughout the whole story, especially in their childhoods, so we never get to see where she'd fall short if given a better influence.

...

Kind of. More on that later!

In mentioning his thing about preferring to be called Andrew instead of Andy, I also implicitly mention one of the places where Ashley falls short in their dynamic and could stand to do better: recognition.

This scene says a lot. It's the most heartbreaking scene in the game, if you ask me, and probably the single most profound and well-written moment in the entire story. I could write a whole 2000 word essay on it alone, but I've already said most of what I have to say about it through what I've said in other essays, so I'll spare you all that. Instead, I'll use it to highlight something:

"I had fun."

Their dysfunction is fun to her. She's so used to abuse and alienation that even the most awful, stressful (as far as we know) route of the game is still fun to her. And that's not a sign of her being a secret evil sociopath or whatever; that's actually not abnormal behavior to develop for a lifelong victim of abuse. Those highs and lows, those strong emotional highs and lows are -addicting-. They're -fun.- Part of why abuse victims get into so many abusive relationships is because it's easy to pick up on those patterns of thought and take advantage of them, and the cycle of abuse is often furthered when a victim of abuse tries to draw out mutually abusive behaviors in someone with no interest in having that kind of dynamic.

This is where I'm willing to acknowledge Ashley's manipulative tendencies. Not just as a matter of controlling Andrew for its own sake, purely out of jealousy or possessiveness, but as a matter of trying to further the only dynamic she's ever known in her life. Better the devil you know, right?

That push and pull- that emotional rollercoaster- is all many of us know. And it's all Ashley knows. This dynamic is something she's so used to that she reacts incredibly harshly to any attempt to change it, because she doesn't know that things can be better. Because of this, she refuses to engage with who Andrew really is, and tells herself- and him- that she *hates* Andrew:

This scene is almost as heartbreaking as the above one in a lot of ways.

Andrew putting his foot down about the Andy/Andrew name dichotomy wasn't arbitrary and it wasn't just about his comfort. It was about Andrew giving a clear indication about what needs to happen for their relationship to improve. He's recognizing the cycle between them and wants to put a stop to it, because he's confident that things between them CAN get better and evolve into something healthier. Ashley, not understanding that their dynamic can get better, because their "fun" little push and pull of abuse is all she knows, rejects that. She rejects the unknown, and says- in Andrew's mind at least- that she'll never accept that new dynamic, nor will she accept who he really is.

Ouch. No wonder he looks so sad in that screenshot.

They have a conflict of understanding here, and I think it's fair to pin most of the responsibility on Ashley. Andrew was clear in what he wanted, and Ashley just... Didn't. She didn't see the importance of it ("...whatever that means in practice") and didn't really ask. This gap in communication, perfectly displayed in this scene, is likely what causes the Decay ending. He wants things to be better, and wants to treat Ashley better, and whether or not he understands the ways in which she communicates with him is in part what determines what he sees her as.

But there's a lot of evidence that he always wanted things to be better, that he always wanted to treat her better. But external factors have made it very, very difficult, and I think there are two key points in which he started to shed the importance of those external factors and seek that better relationship, both of which happening in the apartment: The killing of the warden and the 302 lady. In the first case, he was forced to do it to protect Ashley in a way he hadn't done before, or depending on how you look at it, since the death of Nina. But the intentionality was the key point here. After this point, he calls Ashley Leyley, which may or may not seem important at this point, but it's something I'll draw attention to later, so keep that in mind.

Next is the killing of the 302 lady, which is the much, much bigger point. We don't learn much about it until later on- as at first he just gives an excuse about the nail gun that doesn't line up with what we see on the map- but during the dream, it's revealed it was a calculated, intentional killing that he did to make sure there was no evidence left behind, and because Ashley (supposedly) would've wanted him to do it anyway. I say supposedly because Ashley herself doesn't seem to ever want Andrew to kill for her past Nina's death, because he only ever kills for her to defend one or both of them. If you want more evidence that violence for violence's sake isn't something she wants, look at this part in the final dream:

A knife isn't what opens the door, despite it being placed on the ground in that very map. While it seems obvious that the knife (violence) would be the key to solving the puzzle, it's put there explicitly to show you that it isn't. It's not what she wants; what she wants is a flower.

So, why is this important? Why am I centering Ashley- again- when this essay is supposed to be about Andrew?

It's because these two killings are when Andrew's self-delusion over who he really is starts to break down. It's still there, mind, as he still relies upon Ashley as an excuse to justify it, but, as well as what I've said before, the name ultimatum is an implicit confession that the normalcy he finds comfort in is starting to lose its grasp on him. There's a lot that's been said about Andy being something close to a "moral impulse" for Andrew, given his child self's reaction to Nina's death being the only thing he does that approximates a normal moral response to his and Ashley's actions, but if you do think that- which I think is a reasonable thing to think even if I don't necessarily agree- there's something you must also keep in mind:

-He- is the one who doesn't want to be called that anymore. -He- is the one who wants to let that moral impulse go, and Ashley is the one making it difficult.

That reading is assuming that Andy is a moral impulse, which I think is... either wrong or too simplistic. Every time I see that reading, it's from someone who's trying to paint him too sympathetically and absolve him of most moral responsibility. I also find it infantilizing to equate morality with childhood in such a way? But that's another tangent that I didn't sign up to talk about. What I do think, however, is that it's a useful framing device to display his own relationship with morality; the allegory to his child self doesn't have to be there for the general pattern to exist.

When Ashley starts to grill Andrew over the killing of the 302 lady, he gets mad. Very mad. Ashley sees it as pointless, as him covering his own ass, but he genuinely did it for her sake, because he thought that's what she wanted, and that it'd make her happy. But what makes her happy isn't violence- or any similarly extreme action for that matter- it's attention and validation. Something he's always reluctant to give her, despite the fact that he always chose her over the alternatives. But despite making that choice, it's always empty and meaningless, because in Ashley's mind, he never did it for her sake.

And hoo boy, does he not like it being framed like this.

He is perfectly willing to do whatever it takes to keep them happy and safe... but only for her sake. It has to be for her sake. He still needs that traditional role, and he still needs to have a narrative in which he's the good guy- a protector. Because it can't be for his sake. It can't be because that's what he wants. He has to uphold that romantic (in the literary tradition sense) ideal. His darkly romantic idealistic streak colors many of his actions and beliefs. This is most plainly visible in his quip about a double suicide being romantic, but it's also visible within the symbolism present within his dream, such as how he can only pave his own path in blood unless Ashley lights the way. It's visible within his appreciation for poetry, and it's visible with how the cultist within the dream speaks in Shakespearean English.

But the transient nature of this ideal is also revealed within this dream, because there's never a cohesive, guided path, even with Ashley there to light it up. Contrary to Ashley's dream, where you literally have maps showing you where to go, Andrew's dream has many more dead ends and no map to guide him. The symbolic role he acts out gives him no clarity, and there's no overarching narrative; merely a bunch of disconnected symbols.

This is contrasted with Ashley's dream, which has narratives so clear that the story literally gives the dream an episode title.

In a sense, he wants to view himself as an actor acting out a role in a story. He wants his life to be poetic, to represent something greater, and to have a cohesive narrative. This is why he's so disconnected from his true desires: He's more concerned with acting as a representative of an ideal than a person with agency. But every time the mask drops, every time he stops acting, his true self becomes visible. He naturally settles into being comfortable around Ashley, in treating her with warmth and kindness, and their banter becomes much less toxic. As intent as he is on acting out his role, it does nothing for him, and as his dream sequence shows, it doesn't even form a cohesive narrative, because he can't act one out. It's too contrary to who he really is, and what he really wants. But that idealization doesn't just apply to himself, it also applies to Ashley. Specifically, who Ashley is, vs who he wants her to be.

In his unique dream sequence, he sees two versions of Ashley; the child version of her- Leyley- and the adult version of her- Ashley. And the differences in the ways he interacts with the two of them are stunning. Leyley is an obstinate, annoying child. She's the one he NEEDS to take care of, and he hates that. He hates Leyley for what she did for his childhood. He hates that he needs to provide for her. He has the option of trying to kill her, even, over something as small as a candle!

But in the room with all the murders, the gilded cage, he sees Ashley as an adult. This version of Ashley is stuck in a closet that he himself has to open- and to choose to see. Their interactions are calm and friendly. She teases him a bit, sure, but she's still helpful, and they have fun together. He doesn't need her, and she doesn't need him. He needed Leyley- needed the candle- but here, there are other limbs strewn about for him to take. And, crucially, he doesn't even have the option to kill this Ashley for one of the limbs.

And during the choking scene, he lets her go the moment she acknowledges that he doesn't need her anymore. This is the first time we know of that he seems comfortable enough to set a clear boundary, which is acknowledging that their prior dynamic is dead and that they're now Andrew and Ashley, not Andy and Leyley. It's a bit late to express a clear boundary -after- literally acting like he was going to kill someone, but it's the first time we know of that he sets a clear standard for what, in his mind, would improve his relationship with Ashley.

After all, what he wants is to want her, not need her. He wants Ashley for Ashley's sake. Not for what she can provide him. He doesn't even need her for sleep, he just wants her. But Ashley has trouble acknowledging this, because he's never before shown that WANT. Only a NEED. She keeps trying to find ways to make him need her, because she's never seen what his desire for her is really like. She's only ever seen him desiring someone else, someone other than her.

She's only ever seen him as Andy, because she's never truly seen Andrew, only the violence he can inflict on others. But Andrew can see both:

He can see Leyley, the needy, bratty child who always needs his attention, that he needs to provide for. The one he hates and wants to get rid of. The one he kills for to protect.

And he can see Ashley, the one who engages in friendly and cute banter with him. Who comforts and shows him physical affection. The one he loves. The one he kills for to make happy.

He just can't choose which one he wants to see. Every outside influence- from his parents, to Julia, to Nina- makes him see her as Leyley. Ashley herself makes him see her as Leyley too, whenever she brings up all the things he did for her, and calls him Andy, his child self, instead of Andrew, his current self. And as long as he sees that child, he feels like one too, and can never give Ashley anything that comes from the heart.

But he really, really wants to see Ashley as an adult. He wants to take pride in her, how much she's grown, and how driven and competent she really is.

But god damn, does that bitch ever make it hard, because there IS no real difference between Ashley and Leyley. She's grown and changed over time, taking more adult (and stereotypically feminine) responsibility upon herself, but the fact that her temperament and personality hasn't changed much obfuscates that growth. When you talk to Ashley in the closet during the dream after getting the limb, Andrew asks Ashley to come out of the closet, but she refuses to come out because he won't invite Leyley over to play, which is a pretty strong metaphor for how he interfaces with different aspects of Ashley's personality and refuses to accept others. But the reality is that he needs to accept both, or rather, see her whole self as Ashley, rather than just the parts he likes.

In the end, it's him who has to make the choice how to see her. Ashley can only see what she's been shown, but Andrew can choose.

And in the basement scene, he makes that choice.

If Ashley refuses to leave him alone with their parents, that's it. In one of the most critical and important moments of his life, she couldn't give him the space needed to make up his own mind. She couldn't treat him as an adult. She couldn't see him as Andrew. If she does give him that choice, she chooses to acknowledge that Andrew is an adult who can be trusted to make his own decisions, even though she (perhaps foolishly) believes that this choice lines up with her own interests. And frankly it does either way, but in accepting their mom's offer, her chooses to see her as Leyley once and for all. He chooses not to reciprocate what Ashley showed him. He does it because he needs to, not because he wants to. Because it's his duty, not his desire.

This is what results in the Decay ending. Through his inability to see Ashley as an adult, he surrenders his agency and views all of his actions as an extension of his responsibilities, his role, which he no longer wishes to uphold. He dissociates fully from who he really is, acting in accordance with that disconnected, barely-cohesive narrative that exists only within his mind. The game starts to resemble the heartwrenching tragedy that many seem to take for granted that it is, as their dynamic fully doubles down on its painful toxicity. And, in an example of a poetic book end, Ashley's dream shows a double suicide, closing the book on their tragic tale.

It's tragic. It's heartwrenching. It's poetic. It's beautiful.

...Except it's not. Not at all.

It's actually fucking stupid, pointless, and brutal, and Burial shows us that. When we view their spiral as beautiful, we project the same darkly romantic ideal that Andrew possesses onto the story.

But the actual reality is horrifying.

Ashley spends most of Decay terrified of Andrew, the one person she found comfort in. He acts cold, distant, and aggressive towards her, showing pointless cruelty instead of any warmth. All she wants is comfort; all she wants is to not die. She doesn't want to engage in this death spiral at all, and, in her dream sequence, shows none of the same willingness to die alongside Andrew that Andrew does with her. The moment we stop focusing on the end of the Decay dream sequence, which has very striking imagery, and if you choose not to shoot, one of the most beautiful scenes in the game, we can see it for what it really is:

A scared animal running away from a predator.

The moment you see Decay through Ashley's eyes, and not the perspective of some romantic ideal, Decay becomes terrifying, tense, and painful. There is no catharsis to be had in this tragedy. It's easily avoidable as long as Andrew chooses to engage with reality, and not the empty promises of his mother and incoherent narrative of his ideal.

Finding beauty and meaning in tragedy is how we cope with the harshness of reality. But there is no coherent narrative to the tragedies we experience, just like there's no coherent narrative to the ideal Andrew wishes to uphold. It's something we create- that he creates- but it's not something that actually exists.

And when Andrew casts aside his desire for that ideal, and the responsibilities it shackles him to, it grants him clarity that he never had before. He sees the world for how it really is, and acknowledges that nobody- the least of which their mother- is as different from Ashley as they pretend to be.

They're no better than her, and he's tired of people pretending that they are. People are all the same, no matter what ideals they try to uphold and represent. They still sacrifice others in the name of advancing themselves, still punch down whenever they can, and still lay blame on those beneath them rather than try to take control of their lives. They just use those ideals to justify themselves, but Ashley, and now Andrew, reject even the need for that justification.

This is why I believe the story is nihilistic. Not in that it asserts the inherent meaninglessness of life, but in that it grapples with the ideals we uphold and how they obfuscate the reality of the world we live in. The story, intentionally or not, highlights how ideals are often but a pretense we use to justify what we were likely going to do regardless, and how holding to them too strongly can lead to our ruin- and how monstrous they make us look to those who do not share them.

Consequently, this is how I view the part of the fanbase who thinks Decay is a good ending.

(the characters themselves represent existentialism rather than nihilism but i couldn't really fit that analysis in here without it feeling forced so i might cover that another time)

From that point on, their relationship becomes a lot more friendly, lighthearted, and playful. They ironically start acting more like children, but to quote CS Lewis:

"Critics who treat adult as a term of approval, instead of as a merely descriptive term, cannot be adult themselves. To be concerned about being grown up, to admire the grown up because it is grown up, to blush at the suspicion of being childish; these things are the marks of childhood and adolescence."

He's not ashamed of being playful with Ashley, or showing affection towards her. He's grown up. He finally sees her, and himself, as an adult- although he still doesn't show that in full until much later on (more or that later). But in Decay, he still sees her as a child, and to an extent, probably himself. Let's compare the ways in which he reacts to being called Andy. In Decay, he lashes out at Ashley and gets angry, even threatening her. But in Questionable Burial, he calmly says that Andy is dead and doesn't need Ashley's comfort, but still tries to reassure her that she's still needed. He's not ashamed of or hostile towards their prior dynamic, because he's grown past it. He still acknowledges Ashley's need to feel needed, but here, he recognizes its importance to her, whereas he was hostile towards it before.

It's a display of respect towards her feelings.

This interaction doesn't happen in the Sane ending, however. He doesn't play games with her and is just a lot less fun to be around all together. Why is that? Because he still hasn't yet shaken viewing Ashley as Leyley there. He still views her as a burden, as someone who needs taking care of. He's calmly accepted that, too, mind you, but he lacks respect for her because she's still a child, in his mind. But in Questionable?

The vision did more than just make him extremely embarrassed and lay his deepest desires bare. It forced him to recognize Ashley as an adult. When choosing between "Never" and "Never say never," if Never is chosen, the burden of thought is lifted off of him. But if Ashley chooses "Never say never!", he has to reckon with the fact that Ashley is an adult, someone who can consent to those kinds of things. Someone who MIGHT. Someone who has agency, and can make her own decisions. And more importantly… someone who can trust him to make his own.

Whether he desires sex or not is secondary; he's always had those feelings and has always been ashamed of them. But now that the part of him where that shame came from is dead and buried, there's no childish impulse to grow up. There's no attachment to the hate and bitterness he had before. Look at what he worries about when he picks up that she's uncertain or confused about who he is now:

​

It's her feelings.

He wants to be fun to be around. He wants to make Ashley happy. He loves her, and not as a romantic interest or even as a sibling. He loves her independent of all that baggage.

He loves her as a person.

Their relationship runs contrary to societal ideals in some pretty huge ways. So contrary, in fact, that it's hard for some to accept it as anything good, that it can ever be best for the people involved. It's incestuous. It involves them killing and eating their parents. It involves them distancing themselves so much from society that it's hard to believe they'll ever fit in it again. It's chaotic, it's messy, it's codependent, and maybe even toxic. And yet, here they are. They're coexisting. They're happy. They're healing. They're navigating the world in the only way they can: together.

Meanwhile, in Decay, Andrew refuses to allow himself to get closer to Ashley. He surrenders all agency to her, buys into his own narrative, drinks his own Kool-Aid, and may or may not condemn one or both of them to death in the process. Like it or not, the only path where Andrew takes ownership of his life is the one where he's closest to his sister. It's the one where he decides where they will go next, the one where he decides his own feelings matter, and acts in accordance with what he wants instead of how he thinks he should act.

His agency, his freedom, and his growth don't happen in spite of his codependency; they're happen because of it. They can't grow alone. They can't heal alone.

In reading the story, one must interrogate how important those societal ideals are in the face of the realities of what makes people happy. Are those ideals worth upholding in spite of this? Can we really allow people to fall through the cracks in the name of social norms? Can we blame people for taking rash actions when the social contract has failed them?

Or are we so blinded by those ideals that we can't see that people can be happy while blatantly disregarding them?

All I know is that in Burial, Andrew, having cast aside normalcy, now appears to be truly happy for the first time in his life.

Who are we to take that from him?

[greyvear]

Delta Zakuro - The Red Herring Turned Retcon that Worked Perfectly

AKA - this is propaganda to make @usedtobethelegendcreator watch Rise. This contains spoilers for the whole season, I would recommend reading just far enough that you're convinced to watch the whole show.

In many ways, Rise is the season used to change how we, the viewer, are supposed to view Resonance. It's worth taking a moment to review where we were at the end of s3:

Feeling the pain your bey feels/any form of possession was bad, akin to torture for whoever was being controled

seeing the "summoning" animation come up from beneath the Blader and not bey was bad

Shu and Spryzen were (maybe?) one in the same, and Shu using some kind of possession power during his battle with Phi was bad. Also possibly what lost him that battle using narrative analysis and such.

Anyway, these things will change (or at least take on new context) by the end of this analysis if I do my job right.

When we first meet Delta, he's shown right alongside Dante. There is absolutely nothing off about him, aside from maybe being a bit quiet/confused (who wouldn't be when faced with Dragon Boy?). He's clearly being set up to be important and angsty, Valt's student well as set up in contrast/evny of Dante. This is not strange, this is basic sports anime.

Throughout the next few episodes, we get the sense that Delta is the "Shu" character of the season, if a bit more distant from Dante than Valt and Shu being best friends. A cool and aloof Blader who doesn't say much, with a weird hair thing and red eyes. It doesn't get much more obvious than that.

All of this, of course, is done to connect Delta and Shu together in the educated viewer's eyes. Rise might be the most disconnected season, but old fans were still watching it. We were meant to predict where Delta's story was going.

All of this is only proven more true when we see Delta at the end of the bey carnival. He's slowly being set up to be an early season villain (or even the main villain of the show), when he says things like "Only one star can shine the brightest" combined with the glowing eyes and menacing fire drifting from said eyes. This, the astute viewer notes, is bad. It's a sign of possession, and that - we've been told - is bad.

We see Delta battle Dante, and learn that he's out to devour all light or something like that, I'm paraphrasing. Crucially, he's the first blader other than Dante we see talk with their bey this season. We see how Delta's relationship with Devolos is almost toxic and controlling, with Devolos ordering him around. This could easily be an allegory/further explanation of the possession we're so familiar with by now.

In this battle, he is also connected to Red Eye and Phi even further, his bey spinning both directions as well as using a version of Dread Canon Crush. And that's not even talking about the giant glowing eyes silhouette of Devolos at the end of episode 7.

The menacing signals only continue from there. I don't need to list every single scene of Delta seeming possessed/going down that road. And that's not even talking on his whole "I'm gonna eat all the light" thing, calling other beys his prey, etc.

But the signs really kick into high gear when Delta battles Blindt. These few episodes are when you really realize "oh, yeah, they're doing this plot for the third time." When Delta's eyes glow outside of a spooky mansion in...Switzerland? and Blindt proceeds to draw the dude's soul, only to reveal Devolos on the canvas.

It's a spooky moment, made all the worse by the fact that Delta seems surprised too. Throughout this battle he only falls deeper and deeper into darkness, he and Blindt both use each other as food - for their bey or art respectively. By the end of it, Delta seems almost subsumed by Devolos, disappearing in a ball of fiery wrath and transforming into his bey.

Something that I think is important to keep in mind is that no characters admonish Delta like they did in Turbo - not yet at least. It's fully on the viewer to ascribe morality onto his character arc. And while almost every beyblade fan (even those whose first introduction is Rise) can tell it's bad, the why is left up to us to decide.

Is Delta acting as a villain because he's slowly slipping down the path of possession (but then, who is going to get possessed? Devolos clearly is the one far more in control here. But this show rarely puts the blame on the beys - it was all Phi and Aiger's fault in Turbo.) Is it bad because he's trying to be the only shining star? How is that any different from just trying to be the best Blader in the world. Its not even like he's that violent, he hasn't been trying to break any beys. Even his whole semi-cannibalistic tendencies aren't really that dangerous to anyone. Dante and Dragon as well as Blindt and Balkesh are fine, their bonds haven't been affected like that burst-only battle where Pheonix absorbed Hades.

Really, the only thing off with Delta is that he's got a big spooky bey, big spooky music, big spooky eyes, one crazy painter saying they've got potential for darkness, and is in a toxic situationship with his special soul partner. And, yeah, that last bit should get fixed. And I'm not trying to say that Delta wouldn't have ended up breaking beys like Phi, but where he is right now, he's not actually dangerous. If anything, Devolos is more of a villain, possibly controlling its partner like Spryzen Requiem.

Anyway, let's move onto the show's third arc - the Battle Island thingy.

For the next few episodes, Delta and Devolos flirt with some kind of fusion. They still talk to each other, but it's clear that in that battle with Blindt they were acting as one in the same. The show is accelerating their darkness arc, with Aiger commenting on it.

This is the point where Delta does start to become a small bit of a villain. Nowhere on the same level we've had in the past, but he does end up bursting a bey so that it ends up in the river, and walking away coolly. (I think its worth pointing out, this is the worst thing Delta does to a person that's not him or his bey.) Other characters begin to note that something seems off with Delta - Aiger being the key one, growling at bit at his Resonance. Tango - Dante's uncle and resident wise man of the season - also comments a bit later on, about how tense a battle between Aiger and Delta has become. Finally, Pheng comments on Delta's chi twice - once saying that it felt like Delta was looking at him like something to eat (again, paraphrasing) and another saying that Delta was pushing away Dante's attempts at friendship.

Worst of all, Delta is slightly mean to Dante!

(I don't want to sound like I'm excusing this, because Delta is very dismissive of this kid who just wants to be his friend. By the same token, Dante wasn't taking "no" for an answer about that friendship. In real life, honestly they were both just being messy people.)

All this should be taken into account, but it should also be mentioned that Delta's behavior has not changed. He is no more angry than he was before, no more quiet than he was before. It's a noticeable difference to other possessed characters who always had some shift in behavior when they were at their worst.

This is the part where the experienced viewer notes that their expectations have been fulfilled. Delta has begun following the path that the expected, having watched seasons 2 and 3. They are (as was I) relatively confident that the whole thing will end with Dante showing Delta the true meaning of friendship, all the possession will stop, and happy endings and rainbows as the show runs out of plots.

Until Arthur walks in.

During Aiger and Delta's battle (in which Delta - despite being on side of the stadium we're supposed to root for - is repeatedly treated like a villain by Aiger and the other members of the cast in the know) Arthur Perigrine walks in and proceeds to just wreck everything.

Now, slight side tangent:

Yes, Arthur is a static villain, with dumb motives and not super interesting

Yes, he is ultimately forgotten by the plot

Yes, this is actually an effective storytelling mechanism. His story of trying to take over the blading world functions as a background to Gwyn, Dante, and Delta's arcs.

Yes, it is possible they could have done it a different way and introduced Gwyn earlier but I don't think that they needed to. There needed to be some background tournament/battle for this whole story to take place, and giving Gwyn an evil person to follow helped to highlight how lost he really was in the world, as well as show how strong he really was as he straight up ditches Arthur repeatedly.

In conclusion, Arthur was never supposed to be good (I think), he was supposed to be there and that's ultimately fine.

Back to the main event:

Once Arthur shows up, Delta is no longer a villain - kind of. He still has a lot of the signs of someone dark but his arc has noticeably been derailed. He's acting more like the protagonist of his own story, working to take down Arthur as his newest threat. He is also immediately shown to be on the "light" side of that whole light/dark fight that Rise is sort of dealing with.

Anyway, before we get to the big changing point, we need to talk about the Dante-Delta-Arthur battle.

In this Delta and Dante are forced to team up to battle Arthur. In it, Dante and Delta both summon up their bey avatars from beneath themselves - one of those signs of possession I mentioned earlier. And this is a sign that Rise is trying to play around with the previously established lore. Because Delta doing this is one thing, but Dante? our boy who's only emotion is "happy" Dante? That doesn't make sense. Turbo had Aiger go down a dark path, thus showing that it wasn't something for impressionable kids to do. But Dante? we've only ever been told to look up to Dante.

Anyway, Delta and Dante don't work together, and they lose their battle against Arthur. Some stuff happens and, eventually, Delta and Devolos show up to battle against Arthur in Arthur's giant evil tower place thing.

This half of the episode opens with Delta pushing Dante away (at sunset, le gasp!) and Gwyn telling Delta that he would lose the battle. We see Delta and Arthur having a verbal beef, and get a scene between Devolos and Delta. (So many names)

In this scene, we get the feeling that Delta and Devolos aren't fully on the same page, like has been hinted at earlier. Delta wants the best possible hyperflux, Devolos wants its meal, they're working together more out of circumstance than anything else. This still makes for a powerful combination, capable of defeating many foes. But, as Valt will later point out, they don't have a "bond" like many other Bladers do.

Ultimately, this proves to be their downfall. We get a lot of dark imagery and music focused on Delta in this scene, almost as if to say - this is a toxic situation, this is bad, this is just the possession stuff all over again. Delta loses this battle, and Devolos shatters completely.

Devolos's death breaks Delta. He leaves the pieces there, on the floor, and it is only Dante, placing them back in his hand, that makes Delta take them. He moves like a puppet with his strings cut, and goes completely mute for the next...honestly probably two weeks at least considering travel time and such. We don't seem much of him for the next few episodes, only a short scene at BC Sol.

In it, Valt tries to keep Delta going, placing bread in his hand and telling him to fix Devolos, to which Delta says nothing but lets out a single gasp. It's a really heartbreaking scene, but the light also comes back, filling the room with hope.

Delta, predictably, then goes to rebuild his bey, slowly and methodically, working light and dark for a few days. Valt periodically checks in on him, and, eventually Master Devolos is completed. Delta also has a revelation that Dante was just trying to be his friend and maybe that isn't a bad thing afterwards, in which he hears his inner monologue for the first time in a while.

When Delta shows back up to beat Arthur, something is different. He lets Dante hug him, lets Dante hold his bey, and is just a bit more talkative than he used to be. I mentioned above how there was no shift in behavior when Delta is at his worst, and this is still true. I honestly don't think this is supposed to highlight that Delta was possessed then and isn't now, because it really feels more like a person who is trying to just be a little friendlier than any great magic weight being lifted off their shoulders. It's a mundane change, if that makes sense.

Plus, all those other signs of possession? The glowing and flaming eyes and such? Those are still there.

And here is where it should all click. Because Delta is, crucially, still slowly fusing with Devolos. The only difference is that they're now on the same page. I saw another post on here, a while back, about how this scene shows that Delta is finally standing up to Devolos, finally valuing his own wants and needs and I think that is true. Devolos and Delta are working together, complete with Devolos overlaying Delta outside of battle.

This is, basically, the crux of my point. Delta and Devolos are becoming one in the same, later episodes only highlight this. There's a scene where Delta is saying something along the lines of (again I'm paraphrasing here) "You are you...you have to do what's best for you" and the camera lies on Devolos itself. The bit where Delta gives Dante Devolos's ring saying, again something like "I wanna fight by your side", later transforming into Devolos. And, sure, that could all be different interpretations that were just supposed to highlight how Delta has come into his own.

The episode The Greatest Tag-Battle Ever is not really open to interpretation, but I digress.

Basically, what this all boils down to, is the fact that Delta was a Red Herring. He was built up to be the big villain, built up to be someone to be saved from darkness by the power of friendship (which he kind of was), only for him to fully turn to the side of the heros.

But that's not bad

Remember that bit I said before, about how it was weird that Dante was acting possessed because he was supposed to be our role model? By the end of the season, Delta is another hero, another role model, and he's definitely possessed. Which is weird if we're not supposed to take that at as a positive thing.

But what if we were supposed to take that as a positive. What if Delta's character arc was a long, elaborate, and throughout retcon? It was used to change this possession as something that was evil and twisted into something that was a mark of the strength of the bond between Blader and bey - provided no one is getting hurt, after all.

This is why Rise put so much effort into showing the way that Delta and Devolos's bond changed. when they eventually became one in the same, they were friends, they had a bond that was strong and healthy. And that's why Delta's actions remain positive, why he never breaks a bey, why he doesn't visibly seem in pain.

Weather or not this was planned to always be the end message I have to admit I'm not sure. If you look back at seasons 1 and 2 (and even 3, don't worry, we're getting to Shu in a second) there are signs that a lot of the bladers are possessed in some way. The Supreme Four (and Free) are the most obvious examples of this, but Valt does it a bit too as do smaller Bladers (I think Boa? Can't quite remember).

I said at the beginning that Shu's battle against Phi was meant to be seen as a morally grey moment, the reason he lost being because he gave into Spryzen's possession. But Valt's reaction doesn't make sense for that, because Valt encourages Shu in this scene where he definitely knows what's going on. The Requiem Project was definitely bad, but was Shu and Spryzen's bond in season 1 or even before that? Probably, but not definitely.

If the writing team knew by the time they were starting (or, really, even near the end) of making Turbo that they were getting a 4th season, then this was definitely intended to be the end message. All the stuff from Turbo was set up to be deconstructed. And if it wasn't, then that doesn't make it bad writing. Like I said, Delta's arc would be a retcon, but one that makes sense within universe and doesn't necessarily take away from what we had before. Aiger and Phi and Red Eye are still villains, and almost stronger ones too because it's not the bond they had with their beys that made them evil, it's their choices.

And, from here, Beyblade Burst really leans into the idea that this possession/fusion is the ideal in some form or another. The Hizashi brother's exhibit it at the end of Surge, Free leans heavily into the imagery in every single appearance, Shu is allowed to straight up mirror some of what he did as Red Eye (albeit for other reasons, but still) and his scar glows a lot.

Most of all? Beyblade Burst Quaddrive, where Valt, in what was originally going to be his final battle before Quadstrike came around (tbf I don't know if the writing team knew about s7 by then) uses some of this possession imagery in a battle with Rashad that, well, go watch it if you haven't you'll see what I mean.

So, in conclusion, everyone is possessed, Delta's character arc is a masterclass of storytelling and subverting expections, if you made it this far you have my permission to eat a cookies, and @usedtobethelegendcreator GO WATCH RISE BECAUSE YOU HAD THE GALL TO SAY IT WASN'T SOAKED IN RED EYE'S SHADOW. NO. IT'S WORSE. RED EYE'S SHADOW HANGS OVER THE VIEWER, DELIBERATELY INFLUENCING OUR UNDERSTANDING OF THE STORY AND THEMES TO SUBVERT EXPECTATIONS. THIS DUDE CAN'T STOP HAUNTING THE NARRATIVE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!