#there are so many more interesting things to talk about in the world

[morverenmaybewrites]

Iced Coffee (Jason Todd x Reader)

Summary:

In which Dick Grayson tries to give Jason some relationship advice. And ends up learning a few new things about his little brother.

Pairing:

Jason Todd x Reader

(AO3)

Imagine Dick Grayson wanting to talk to Jason about his new girlfriend. That is, you.

Imagine Dick Grayson, talkative Dick Grayson, whose laughter and words bubbled easily from his throat, like air released from an opened soda can.

Imagine Dick Grayson, who's used to going into any situation utterly confident in his ability to coax a smile and a story out of even the grumpiest civilians.

And now imagine him being utterly on the back foot ever since Jason came back.

The smile that's more reliable to him than his own mask now feels more like a grimace whenever Dick is around his little brother. His jokes and short little stories meant to put people at ease dry up on his tongue, and he's often left with his mouth hanging stupidly open like a fish washed-up on Gotham Bay.

For all of his hard-earned people skills, Dick Grayson simply couldn't find the right words to reach his little brother.

Perhaps it's because his last image of Jason Todd was that of a prepubescent boy, growing so fast that their father barely had enough time to put clothes on his back before he's outgrown them again.

And now, in his place was a hulking giant that Dick had to crane his neck to look in the eye.

Perhaps it's Jason's voice, and the fact that before his kidnapping, he hadn't come into adult voice yet. It was still high-pitched and bright and excited whenever they bent their heads to look over maps of Gotham. This new Jason, on the other hand, had the voice of a man, harsh and gritty, like stone grinding against stone.

One that often made him seem far too old than his actual age.

Or perhaps it's the simple fact that a decade ago, the Joker took away Dick Grayson's little brother.

And the man who came back was now a stranger.

Dick tried, of course.

He tried his best, like anyone would, given his position. After all, how many people were given a second chance to make their family whole again?

It's just that he didn't know how.

While the previous Robin had been talkative and curious and hung onto every word Dick said as if it was gospel, this new Jason was quiet, taciturn.

He spoke with a wince, as if every word hurt him, and Dick had to work hard not to wonder why this was.

He wasn't usually interested in drawing up battle plans, often choosing to do missions alone.

Now imagine Dick Grayson, crammed in what feels like the world's tiniest Jetta during a stakeout, quietly trying not to go insane. He had never done well with silence, even before Jason had been kidnapped. He hated the idea of sitting in it, stewing in his own thoughts until he could feel them scratching along the inside of his skull.

But try as he might, Dick just couldn't draw his little brother into conversation. His answers, when he bothered to give them, were short and irritated. As final as a door slammed shut.

"So, you know much about this guy we're staking out?" Dick tried.

"About as much as you. Wanted for human trafficking." Jason paused, massaged his throat as if speaking two whole sentences hurt him.

Someone's phone pinged. They both looked at theirs.

After a minute, Dick tried again.

"Barbara said he used to work out of Peru. I wonder what made him move to Gotham. Got any ideas?"

Another ping. Jason looked down at his burner phone. Caught Dick's expression out of the corner of his eye and mutely shook his head.

"Well," Dick pretended to stretch, more to have something to do than anything else.

He decided to try a third time.

"Seen the Bloodhounds’ game last night?"

Jason looked at him as if he was speaking in tongues, and Dick decided that it was high time he tried shutting up for a while. He tapped his fingers on the wheel, fidgeted with the radio, trying to decide which station was the least likely to drive him insane over the course of what seemed to be a very long, very boring stakeout.

Dick settled on easy R&B. Leaned back in his seat, or at least pretended to, as he watched Jason fiddle with his phone.

"Barbara got any updates for us?" he asked as Jason read over a text.

There was an awful moment when Jason startled, and the first thing he did was reach for his guns. It must have been instinct, his hands flowing smoothly from one location to the next. And it was only the quiet click of the safety turning off that seemed to bring Jason back to himself.

Dick could practically see his little brother forcing himself to relax: the visible unclenching of his jaw. The conscious decision to let go of his guns.

And Dick tried, very, very hard not to think about how he must have spent the past few years, if his first reaction to being surprised was violence.

If he could somehow revive the Joker just so he could kill him again, Dick would do it. He could have sworn he could hear his own teeth grinding. The air in the car suddenly felt thick, the silence suffocating, as both of them tried not to acknowledge what just happened.

And just as Dick was mentally rehearsing his speech to get coffee and stale donuts from the shop across the street, Jason spoke.

"It wasn't," he said.

Dick blinked. The number of times that Jason initiated conversation was few and far in between.

"Pardon?" Dick said, wondering if he heard it right.

"It wasn't Barbara on the phone," Jason clarified, this time slower, as if he was talking to a particularly dim child.

"Alfred, then," Dick guessed.

"No. And I didn't."

"Didn't what?'

"I didn't watch the Bloodhounds' game last night. I was on patrol and must have missed it."

"Oh."

Dick wasn't even sure if Jason watched baseball anymore. It was just another conversational Hail Mary he threw out there. But at least Jason seemed willing to talk, even if it was in broken fragments. But if Jason was on patrol the night before, and he was on stakeout tonight then he must not have gotten much sleep.

"Want to get some coffee?" Dick said, jerking a thumb at the corner store he was eyeing earlier. "My treat."

While Bludhaven didn't have the abundance of street vendors and overnight kiosks that Gotham City offered, it at least offered similar 24-hour joints that could offer the same overpriced, watered-down coffee that one could get in Gotham City.

And in its own small way, it was like Dick Grayson never left home.

Josiah Johannes Salazar was almost certainly the made-up name of the man they were staking out. A small-time thug, at least by their usual standards, he mostly dealt in human trafficking and came under Barbara's radar after a rash of missing person reports were linked back to him.

A gifted art student from the local college.

A stand-up comedian who often performed to packed bars on rowdy weekends.

A used-car salesman from the Burrows.

Nothing out of the ordinary, really. Just your usual run-of-the-mill scumbaggery. Kidnapping people to be bought and sold on the flesh market. Or so, that was Barbara's current theory. An easy enough case. Sure to be closed by the end of the week. In fact, Tim already had several hopeful leads on the victims' possible locations.

Which was why it was such a mystery that Jason insisted–insisted!–on accompanying Dick on this particular stakeout.

It wasn't like he was unwelcome–Dick would jump at any chance to bond with his little brother again–it was just unexpected. Certainly, when he had rounded the parking spot where he kept the second hand Jetta, he hadn't expected Jason to be there, a duffel bag slung across his shoulder and a scowl on his face.

And as soon as Dick unlocked the car, Jason opened the door and planted himself so firmly in the passenger's seat that for a moment, Dick wondered if they really did have a prior agreement he forgot about. But now in the garish yellow light of the donut shop, one fact was becoming increasingly obvious���his little brother was tired. The lighting made him look positively jaundiced, and the shadows under his eyes were as fat as bruises. His clothes were rumpled, and Dick found himself wondering if he had changed into them immediately after his patrol.

The scar on his face looked more terrible than ever.

There was a sudden tension in Jason's shoulders that made Dick realize he was staring.

He immediately dropped his gaze.

Only to find an even more incredible sight.

"Hey, Jason..."

Jason frowned at him, and glanced around the shop to see if anyone was listening. But apart from the cashier, a pimply teenager flicking through skin magazines, the place was empty.

Jason never did like hearing them use their real names while out on missions. And it was only after careful assessment of the area did he finally speak.

"What?"

His response was short and irritated, a clear sign that he was beginning to weary of conversation. But Dick couldn't help himself.

"Are you drinking iced coffee?"

The cups in their hands were nearly identical, condensation beading on the cheap plastic surface, although Dick was sure that Jason didn't have the same obscene amounts of caramel syrup pumps in his. But back when he lived in the manor, Dick was sure that Jason was strictly a hot coffee kind of guy.

A hot black coffee and cigarette type of guy. The result of spending most of his childhood in East End. Alfred despaired at the state of his diet, and Dick would often hear him lecturing Jason on the dangers of nicotine and caffeine addiction.

Jason glanced down at his drink, seemingly unbothered. "Yes."

He seemed content to leave it at that, despite the fact that this new information had hit Dick with the force of a bombshell.

Jason drank iced coffee now?

What else did he like?

Did he like matcha? Chai? Perhaps those overpriced flattened croissants dipped in chocolate? Did Jason still like soft tacos from food trucks? Or did he prefer burritos now?

For a moment, Dick envisioned inviting Jason to go shop-hopping with him and Barbara, the way they used to back when Jason was Robin. Maybe even invite Tim along, now that Jason was finally speaking to him.

Eat questionable street food until their stomachs roiled with grease. Or even better, haul it all back to the Clocktower and make a movie night out of it.

He could even imagine Alfred, somehow unchanged, hovering at the edges, making sarcastic comments about everyone's cholesterol level.

Maybe he could even convince him to try a fry or two.

Maybe Bruce–

The ping of Jason's phone broke Dick out of his thoughts.

"Not an update," Jason muttered at him, before opening his phone to take a look at it.

There was the barest flicker of emotion on his face before he was deleting the message and pocketing it. But not before Dick caught a glimpse of what was on the screen: a grainy image of the interior of a pizza parlor outfitted like it was from the 70s. A bottle of cheap beer and what looked like someone's Scrabble tiles were front and center.

Dick blinked. "Jason..."

The iced coffee. The constant texts from someone.

How could Dick Grayson, son of the world's greatest detective, had missed it?

"Jason, are you texting your girlfriend?"

It was like an explosion had gone off in Dick's chest, like someone had shaken a can of soda and pulled the tab to watch the glorious release of carbon dioxide and sugar. Finally, after struggling all night to find something that he and Jason could talk about, finally Dick found something that he could relate to his little brother about: women.

"Fuck off, Dick," Jason muttered, but he knew his little brother enough to realize there was no heat in it. "It's none of your business."

"Holy shit, you totally are. And while on a stakeout, too!"

Dick felt giddy.

It was unfamiliar, this ribbing. But it was welcome. It felt like the sort of thing that a big brother should do.

"You know Bruce wouldn't approve," he prodded.

He made his voice sound deep, mimicking their father, "Distractions on the field can be a fatal mistake."

"I don't give a rat's ass about what Bruce approves of," Jason said with a shrug, but he failed to hide the amusement in his voice.

"Besides,” he added. “He flirted with Selina Kyle all the time. In full costume, the hypocrite."

Dick laughed, partly because it was true, partly because he was actually bantering–bantering!���with his little brother again.

Jason's phone pinged again, and this time Dick couldn't resist another jab.

"She's got you over a barrel, huh?" Dick said.

"What?"

"Are you in the doghouse?"

Jason frowned at him, and Dick decided to elaborate. "Whenever I took missions one after the other, Barbara would let me have it. Especially if it made me miss date nights. She used to send me these walls of text..."

Jason shook his head. "She's not angry with me."

"Oh." It was nice of you to be such an understanding girlfriend. "It's good that she understands. How long has it been since you took her on a date anyway?"

Jason looked uneasy, shifting his weight from one foot to the next.

"Two weeks," he muttered.

"Two weeks?" Dick was flabbergasted. "Dude, Barbara would definitely have put me in the doghouse for that."

A night on the couch at the minimum.

"I've been busy," Jason said defensively. "We're nearly closing in on this case."

Right. Dick nearly forgot. Josiah Johannes something.

"Well, maybe you should do something nice for her, at least," Dick insisted

"You know, remind her that you care."

He thought of his father, who used to buy bouquets of flowers for his mother, to give to her after every successful performance. The night of her death, there had been a large bouquet of orchids left in front of her dressing room mirror that went unclaimed.

Dick shook his head, dusting away the mental cobwebs.

"Got any ideas?" he asked.

Jason shook his head mutely.

"Come on, give me something," Dick said. "You must have some idea growing up."

Bruce, he knew, was notoriously tight-lipped, so it was unlikely that Jason got any ideas from him. But maybe, once upon a time, Willis Todd did something nice for his wife.

"The men in East End would tip an extra five dollars to whores they like,” Jason snapped.

Dick felt his heart drop to his stomach. He could feel a flush rising to his cheeks.

"Yeah, don't...don't do that..." he muttered.

They grow quiet for several minutes, sipping their coffee and occasionally throwing glances at the building they were supposed to be staking out. It was Jason who eventually spoke first.

"She's not upset," he said quietly. "I just...feel like I should do something for her."

It struck Dick then, that Jason looked woefully young. It was likely that this was Jason's first real relationship. And he had nothing to go on except what he had seen men do to sex workers in East End.

And Bruce...wasn't exactly a model for healthy relationships.

"How about flowers?" Dick suggested gently. "Those are always a classic.

Do you know what kind of flowers she likes?"

A pause.

"No."

"I used to date a girl," Dick began. "Bit of a gardener. She loved roses. She'd snip the ends and put them in water to make them last longer. She loved white roses best of all, because she'd try all sorts of experiments with dyes."

Jason didn't answer, fiddling with the straw of his drink. And when he next spoke, it was in a painfully unsure voice.

"Is that...something I should know?" he asked quietly. "Her favorite flowers?"

Suddenly, Dick hoped–wished–violently that this wasn't Jason's first relationship. That sometime after the Joker and before the Arkham Knight, he carved some semblance of peace for himself. Maybe met a girl or a guy during those few sunlit months in Santa Prisca. Dated. Fooled around. The kind of things that he should have done growing up. The kind of things that Joker stole from him.

"Not necessarily," Dick said, his voice soft. "But it doesn't hurt to pay attention. Girls like that sort of thing. Well, people, really. If she ever mentions something like that, just make sure to take a note."

The nod Jason gave him was oddly solemn, and Dick realized, with heartbreaking clarity, how much his little brother wanted to make this work with you.

"What about chocolates?" Dick suggested again, not wanting to dwell on darker thoughts. "I'm sure we can find a confectionary here somewhere..."

Jason snorted. "Sure. In Bludhaven, the peak of romance."

He grew quiet again, before saying, in hesitant voice: "She likes old movies. There was that one about an urban legend..."

"There you have it," Dick said, trying not to let the relief show in his voice.

"You can have a movie night or something! Hell, you can even go now. Make a surprise out of it–”

But the contemplative expression on Jason's face–the one that made him look so young–suddenly fell away, and what was left now was pure Red Hood.

"Can't," he said, in a tone that brooked no argument. "We're on a mission."

"For some two-time smuggler? Please, I can solve this case with my eyes closed."

Jason looked at him as if he was insane.

"What?" Dick asked.

"Dick," Jason said slowly, with gravity. "What do you know about Salazar?"

"Hm?" Dick was still mentally going through the catalogue of nearby confectioneries the two of them could go to. "Some human trafficker...don't worry we got Tim tracking down his victims."

"A sculptor who's selling out entire galleries as a student because her work is so lifelike," Jason said, a bite of impatience in his voice. "A comedian who's always performing to packed crowds because everyone says his jokes make their entire week. A used-car salesman who never misses a sale."

Jason paused, waiting for Dick to put the pieces together.

Dick had never thought of the victims that way, and now that Jason was pointing it out, it all did sound rather strange. The realization came to him with slow dawning horror.

"Jason..." he said. "You think he's trafficking metas?"

Jason sighed, and there was something weary in it. Dick remembered that his little brother hadn't seen you in two weeks.

"You think he might target her," he concluded. "That's why you're working so hard on this case."

Jason didn't answer. He didn't have to.

"Does she know?"

"No." Jason's answer was immediate. "It's just...a working theory, anyway. I don't want her scared over a theory."

"It might make her a little more careful if you told her," Dick nudged Jason with his shoulder. "It wouldn't hurt. Plus...well, it's not nice to keep her in the dark, you know?"

Jason looked at him, and for a moment, Dick could see the boy from the manor. The one that used to hang on to his every word as if it was gospel.

He pulled out his phone.

And sent you a quick text.

"Thanks," Jason said quietly. "I'm still...getting used to...all this."

And he gave Dick a small, grateful smile. Just the barest quirk of the corners of his mouth.

But it was there.

Dick smiled back. "You're doing great. Besides, working for two weeks straight on a case to keep your little girlfriend safe? You're a regular romantic. She's going to think you're from one of those old movies she likes."

The smile was gone. The scowl back in place. Jason shoved him, with perhaps more force than he intended to, but Dick rolled with it, laughing.

Maybe getting to know his little brother all over again wouldn’t be as bad as he thought.

[eldritch-spouse]

hey Pinniee.......so i recently stumbled across a new..........certain interest of mine.... and that may ormay not be gettting exteremely turned on when i drink and am encouraged to drink.....I feel like Gallon would like this for obvious reasons but....are there any others that mayhaps....indulge this certain interest of mine? the remasters are brilliant!!!! by the way! you're truly an amazing artist and i find myself thinking of your characters and world semi frequently (especially in unrelated situations and im just like????okay but theyd match my freak<3)

TW: Noncon on most of these

Who likes getting you stupid drunk?

Fank-e is an unlikely candidate, you'd think. But this robot has a particular obsession with seeing squishies out of their mind. That's why he always has stashes of psychostimulants and boosts- Generally many mind-altering substances. Logically, the machine doesn't do drugs, it can't. But it likes seeing you tripping the fuck out of orbit, and stuffing his hands everywhere while you're at it. Alcohol is really no different. Even when you get sick form it, Fank-e's still hovering over you in excitement.

In the same way Jayde doesn't mind buying affection, he also doesn't mind buying you a few drinks for it. Are you sure you can handle Hell's alcohol? Are you? Then show him. Take a few shots with the imp. He's got less body mass than you, so surely... Jayde loves the way you get sloppier with each sip, when you can barely hold yourself together and giggle at all his lame jokes. He likes how he can slide a hand into your shirt and you barely care. You're so pretty like this, letting him take you anywhere, touch you anywhere.

Lacai can and will use pheromones often, but sometimes, it's a bit of a challenge to use other means of getting someone into his hands. Drinks? Oh, he can afford some of the best, he knows places where the ambiance is just right and every glass is served to aesthetic perfection. Oh, just another one, Lacai promises that next one looks even more gorgeous. Take a photo of it, post it somewhere. Not many people get the privilege. One moment you're looking at your drink, the next the world is spinning and his tongue is inside your mouth.

Fasma is a bum. Misery loooves company. He's such a piece of shit for dragging a pretty thing like you down with him. Really, you've got a lot to look forward to, kid. You're not like him. But if there's anyone he'd love to have some drinks with, it'd be you. You're just too gorgeous, let him treat you to the finer stuff, make this old man some company. He's totally not grinning watching you get wasted, totally not going to slip his fingers into your skirt and watch you slump all open. Yer such a lightweight, he'd feel bad stealing from you even if he didn't like you.

Liter is heavy into alcohol. You're talking about the slime that got Gallon into his craft. Liter plies anyone he likes with drink and good vibes, he's a great talker too, so you're bound to stick around. While he's careful not to give you something crazy, what he does offer is sure to have you blackout hammered. It burns your throat but it burns so good, doesn't it? Yeah that one gets him in a mood too. You poor thing, come closer, he'll hold you so you don't fall, inside him...

Shags isn't a drinker. Buuuut, he shares a similar fascination to Fank-e, in a less intense manner. There's something about seeing the way you transform before his very own eyes, Shags always stocks up on the drinks you like, excitedly following your drunken rambling and engaging in your shenanigans. Please, have all you like, he can afford it, and it makes him so happy to see you so satisfied. Even the way you hold the glass is beautiful... He waits until you pass out somewhere, and promptly lets all his built up arousal seep off him like waves. You're in good hands, rest well...

Caius does enjoy getting blood drunk. And here's a funny thing- You don't even need alcohol to get drunk with him. Just let him feed a little too long and you'll see, that funny little lightheaded feeling that takes you over. He does so love caressing you in that state, singing your praises. Caius does, however, like joining festivities with his own drink, though always encourages you to have more with a blood-soaked grin. Oh what a joy you are like this! He loves jolly people- You're a magnet. And may the heavens damn him if the Magister isn't making the most out of it. Dance, dance with him...

Vorticia is a refined woman -When she's not pigging out at the table- She's incredibly fond of Gluttony's wines and whiskeys and all that good stuff. Flavored alcohol is especially to her tastes, and she knows you'll enjoy it too, you have an eye for this after all. There's nothing like long conversations across the halls, watching you stumble on shaky legs like a doe, until the Queen is carrying you to your chambers, still holding a glass to your lips. Doesn't she spoil you? Don't you like this?

Dishonorable mentions

Mooncalf. Everyone knows fae are indulgent, trapping you with food is common, but so is offering good alcohol. While Mooncalf is not typically the fae type you'd associate with liquor and such, he still delights in occasionally getting you drunk. You already belong to him, so why not celebrate, always?! Be jolly, be wild, be crazy with him, dance like a butterfly under the moonlight with him!

Rinx. He loves to watch you eat, he also loves to watch you drink, no wonder he likes watching you get drunk too. He's more excited and curious than aroused, but it's only a matter of time until he starts pawing at you, particularly if you're the type of drunk that gets a little frisky.

Patches and Stitches. One is a desperate opportunist, the other just likes to embarrass you, a match made in anything but heaven. Patches will subtly keep edging you new drinks, Stitches sloshes shots in his head and dunks them into your mouth like a horror show. You're wobbling your way into their hands regardless of who's piloting....

Cero doesn't so much enjoy the drunk part as he does the wardrobe malfunction that follows. Your helpless state as you slump there barely capable of making a phrase, dress askew, bra peeking, hair unkempt. You're hopeless. And he's steaming alive.

[redroomreflections]

Hotel California | Track 17: Something To Talk About

Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Natasha Romanoff, frontwoman of the punk rock band Velvet Rebellion, falls hard for a woman she believes is too good for her. Their intense relationship unfolds in the chaotic world of rock 'n' roll, where they struggle to balance fame, personal demons, and their undeniable passion for each other.

W/c: 4.7k

Chapter 17/20

Masterlist | General Masterlist

Note: the slightest bit of angst

Themes: love, fame, sex, drugs

Having the house to yourself meant one thing: self-pampering.

You’d spent the night soaking in a bubble bath, legs stretched out, a glass of cabernet in one hand and a half-read novel in the other. You could finally unwind with Isabella at her dad’s for the next few days. No school runs. No deadlines. No texts from Natasha asking where you stashed her favorite hoodie. Just silence, wine, and an overpriced lavender candle burning quietly in the corner. You ignored your inbox entirely, letting the notifications pile up while you binged three episodes of the trashiest reality TV you could find. Something with too many extensions, bad decisions, and too much lip gloss. Pure serotonin.

The house was quiet. Your skin was soft. Your phone had been blissfully undisturbed for hours.

Until it wasn’t.

That morning, you woke up and you missed your fiancée. She was on your mind in more ways than one. You would be seeing her in a couple of days, and you couldn't wait to have her in your arms again. You opened your phone to see what she was up to. The dozens of messages and Google alerts you received while sleeping were a surprise. There were more pressing matters. You tried to fight the blurriness to get a hold of what you thought was your mind tricking you.

Velvet Rebellion’s Natasha Romanoff Spotted Getting Cozy with Mystery Woman at Private Party

Your eyes scanned the line, finding all this a bit unbelievable. There was no way in hell you'd believe these were true. And yet, the images and description told a different story.

Multiple partygoers captured footage of Natasha with a brunette guest later identified as LA socialite Mia Crow. The two were seen sharing drinks and whispering closely at a Velvet Rebellion afterparty hosted by Tony Stark.

The photos you saw next were interesting, to say the least. Under different circumstances, you wouldn't have panicked. You'd have brushed these off as Natasha being friendly. Then you thought back to the night before when she hadn't answered your calls or texts. It was easy for the mind to spiral.

The next thing you saw was an incoming text from Monica. You loved your best friend, but you didn't need her to talk you off the ledge at a time like this.

Monica: Girl… get up. Have you seen what’s going around?

Check your Google Alerts. It’s all over IG stories, too.

I know the girl. Her name’s Mia. She’s thirsty. Don’t panic yet, but… this is not a great look.

Do NOT call her until you’re calm. You know how you get. I’m ten minutes away if you want backup.

You hit call on Natasha’s contact, fingers tight around your phone. It rang once before someone picked up.

But it wasn’t Natasha.

“Hello?” a voice purred. “This is Natasha’s phone.”

You blinked. “Sorry. Who the hell is this?”

A soft chuckle. “Mia. Natasha’s… friend.”

Oh. Friend.

You sat up straighter, eyes narrowing even though no one could see you.

You could feel the anger boiling up in your chest. You needed answers, and you needed them now.

"Mia,” you repeated, slow and flat. “Cute. So… is Natasha too busy to answer, or is she just passed out from being such a good hostess?”

“She’s… resting,” Mia replied, faux-sweet. “We had a long night. The house was packed. You know how these things go.”

You clenched your jaw, lips curling into a tight smile.

“Totally,” you said, voice thick with sarcasm. “Wild nights. Stray girls. Drunk texts. Very rockstar girlfriend, core of you.”

Mia laughed again, lighter this time. “Don’t worry. I’ll let her know you called. Maybe she’ll hit you back when she wakes up.”

You scoffed. “Oh, I’m sure she will. But just a heads up, sweetheart, next time you answer someone else’s phone, make sure it’s not the fiancée calling.”

The silence was golden.

Mia cleared her throat, stammering.

Before she could even open her mouth, you cut her off.

You didn't wait for a reply. You ended the call and tossed your phone on the other side of the bed, burying your face in your hands.

What the actual fuck?

You didn't even bother getting dressed. You were still in Natasha's oversized tee when you stormed down the hall, bare feet slapping against the hardwood floors. You weren’t the jealous type. Really, you weren’t. But you were also not stupid. You knew what these kinds of moments could turn into if you didn’t get ahead of them. Did you need to get ahead of them? Natasha wouldn't cheat. Of course, she wouldn't. You couldn't jump to conclusions.

You first went for that bottle of wine you cracked open last night. It was too early to do such a thing, and your mother would probably scold you for drinking at nine in the morning, but it was five o'clock somewhere, and you were beyond caring.

You needed the drink. Desperately. Pacing the kitchen, you ran a hand down your face, trying to breathe through it. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it looked worse than it was.

Still, you didn’t like being embarrassed, especially not like this.

Not publicly. Not loudly. Not when it could’ve been avoided.

You had connections. You didn’t throw them around lightly, but if you wanted to find out everything about a girl like Mia, you could. All it would take was a few texts—one call. You weren’t going to spiral.

You weren’t going to start a fight.

But you also weren’t going to pretend you were fine.

When Natasha called you back, and she would, she would have to explain.

And this time, sorry wasn’t going to cut it.

******

“Hello, hello? Natasha? Wake up! Are you in there?”

The pounding on her bedroom door sounded like a drumline. Natasha groaned from under the blankets, legs kicking uselessly at the sheets as if that alone could send Wanda away.

“Go away,” she mumbled, her voice hoarse.

Another round of fists on the wood made her wince. She dragged a pillow over her head, trying to block out the sunlight bleeding through the curtains and Wanda’s voice cutting through it.

“If I leave, you’re dead meat,” Wanda snapped. “Open the door or I swear I’m breaking it down.”

“Jesus,” Natasha muttered, pushing herself upright slowly, her head pounding from the drinks and noise. She rubbed her eyes, heart still steady, because whatever Wanda was yelling about couldn’t be that serious. She shuffled toward the door, unlocking it with a sigh. “You’re dramatic as hell, you know that?”

Wanda didn’t step in. She just stood there, phone in hand, mouth tight.

“You need to check your phone.”

"Why? Did someone die?"

Wanda just glared. "Check. Your. Phone."

Natasha blinked. Her brain felt foggy and slow, like she couldn't catch up. The only thing on her mind was getting back to bed. She wasn’t hungover enough for Wanda to stand in her doorway, demanding things. She turned to go back toward the room, standing at the nightstand, and realized her phone wasn't there. She tried to retrace her steps and uncover the sheets but found nothing.

Wanda followed her, watching.

"I can't find it," Natasha shook her head. "Shit. Just tell me what's going on?"

"You're in the press, dude." Wanda pulled up the article. "It's not looking good."

Natasha stared blankly. "What are you talking about?"

Wanda sighed.

"Look, we all had a lot to drink last night," Wanda started, carefully. "I wasn't going to say anything until I knew what happened. But... you guys were seen together. And people are talking. They're making assumptions."

"Assumptions?" Natasha grabbed the phone from Wanda's hand.

The headline alone was enough to make Natasha’s stomach sink:

“Rockstar Romp? Natasha Romanoff Spotted Getting Cozy With Party Guest at Velvet Rebellion Bash”

Below was a grainy photo of her. Laughing. Leaning in close to that girl, Mia, at the kitchen counter. Another slightly blurred photo of Mia’s hand brushing Natasha’s lower back as they danced. Nothing damning. Nothing explicit. But enough to look exactly how the internet wanted it to.

And the comments? A circus.

Natasha’s mouth went dry. She scrolled again, and her chest tightened.

Wanda was quiet, her arms crossed.

“I didn’t…” Natasha’s voice was low, like she was talking to herself. “Nothing happened. I went to bed. She tried something, and I shut it down.”

“I believe you,” Wanda said gently. “But it doesn’t matter what I believe.”

Natasha sat down hard on the edge of the bed, the phone clutched in her hand like it might burn a hole in her skin.

"Does she have my phone? Where's my phone?"

"I don't know, but that's not the point."

"That's exactly the point, Wanda," Natasha said, throwing her hands up. "I didn't do shit. If y/n sees this she's going to flip her shit."

"She hasn't called any of us yet," Wanda explained. "Maybe she knows this is out of your control. Maybe she trusts you."

"I hope so," Natasha groaned. "Can you see my phone's location?"

"Last location says here," Wanda flipped through the Find My Phone app. "Looks like it's in the living room. Maybe the girl left it there when she went home?"

"I'll look. " Natasha sighed.

Suddenly, Wanda was notified that something had been sent to her Instagram inbox. One of her friends who knew her and Natasha well enough had sent her something from Mia Crow's official Instagram account. She clicked on it out of curiosity.

It was a simple post—a carousel of photos.

The first was a dimly lit selfie — Mia pouting at the camera, the faint background unmistakably the house they were standing in now. You could even see Tony’s drumsticks in the back if you squinted. The second was her sipping from a red cup, surrounded by blurry figures. The third? A photo of her legs draped lazily over a coffee table, a velvet throw from the couch tossed across her lap.

The caption?

“Was just a wild night and nothing more 🎸✨ #RockstarEnergy #VelvetDreams”

The killer was in the next photo.

A screenshot of a DM exchange with blurred names, but it didn’t matter. The usernames were cropped enough to invite speculation without revealing anything directly.

mia_crow: appreciate you showing up tonight. the movie wasn’t much, but it meant a lot.

mysterioususer: Wouldn’t miss it. You were great!

The final photo?

A black screen with white text:

“Caught in the midst and can't lie / Every touch, you make it harder for me, baby.”

Lyrics from your hit single Obvious.

Wanda nearly dropped her phone. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

"I'm going to kill her," Natasha stared at the screen, her chest tightening. “That premiere was eight months ago. I went for five minutes. Took a picture, said congrats, and left. It was for a friend from the production crew. I barely remembered who she was last night. ”

“Doesn’t matter,” Wanda said grimly. “She’s painting a whole story and letting the internet fill in the blanks.”

Natasha’s jaw tensed. “I need to talk to Y/n. Now.” She had to find her phone first. She couldn't fathom why Mia was doing what she was doing. Why her? Why now?

"I'm going to call her." Natasha sighed, running a hand down her face.

Wanda patted her on the shoulder.

"Good luck. I'll get coffee. We're going to need a lot of it today."

"Thanks, Wan."

When Wanda left the room, Natasha scurried down the stairs for her phone. She ignored the mess of the house, half-eaten pizza, beer bottles, and red solo cups everywhere, to look under the couch cushions and behind the curtains. She checked the kitchen, the bathroom, even the balcony outside the main bedroom.

Nothing.

Her mind was racing. She felt like she was missing a piece.

"Where is it?" she muttered.

She was about to give up when she spotted a simple black phone sitting underneath a magazine on the coffee table. Mia had been here less than two hours ago. This was all going so fast that Natasha couldn't even wrap her head around it.

Her phone had a few missed calls and a horde of notifications. Surprisingly, none of them were from you. Was that a good sign?

Her hands started to tremble. She had to explain. She had to get hold of you. Fuck the press and the fans. The only person who mattered was you.

Without thinking, she called your cell phone.

Ring.

Ring.

Ri-

"Hi, this is y/n. I can't take your call right now, so please leave a message after the tone. Thank you."

Fuck. Voicemail. She hated that moment entirely too much.

"Hey, it's me. I don't know what you saw, but I can explain. It's not what it looks like, I promise. Please call me back when you get the chance. Love you."

It would have to do. She was going to try again later. She wasn't sure where you were or what you were doing. She could only hope that you'd call her back soon.

********

You moved the watering can from pot to pot slowly and deliberately. The sun was hot on your skin as you crouched down to check the rosemary that had been stubborn all summer. You weren’t angry, at least not outwardly. But your jaw ached from clenching, and the quiet in your backyard kept you from combusting.

You’d silenced your phone two hours ago. Monica had called. Twice. Stacy had texted something vague and loaded: “You good? Need backup?” You hadn’t responded.

The sound of the sliding glass door creaking open barely made you flinch. You knew the rhythm of Monica’s steps before she even said anything.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Watering my plants,” you replied, voice flat, not bothering to look up. "I gave you that key for emergencies." You rolled your eyes.

Monica leaned against the wall, crossing her arms. "Girl, this is an emergency. And you know it. I've been calling you. You didn't answer."

"I'm busy," you said pointedly.

"Right." Monica shook her head. "Like a woman who hasn’t been on every gossip site and Instagram feed since seven this morning?” Stacy stepped out beside her with iced coffee and sunglasses pushed into her hair.

You sighed. Leave it to your friends not to leave you alone with your thoughts. You didn't know whether to thank them or ask them to leave.

You stood and adjusted the flow of the watering can, aiming for the pot near the lemon tree. “They were looking thirsty.”

“So are the internet sleuths,” Monica muttered.

You arched a brow at that but stayed quiet.

“You saw it?” Monica asked.

"Mia's latest Instagram post? Yeah, I did." You shrugged.

"And you're still watering plants?" Stacy said. She shared a look with Monica. "This is growth from you. I don't know if I like growth from you." Stacy crossed her arms. “Has she called?”

“I don't know,” you replied. “I did, though. Mia answered Natasha’s phone like it belonged to her.”

“Ooh,” Monica winced. “That’s... bold.”

“Right?” You scoffed, wiping your damp palms on the front of your shorts. “She hit me with the fake sweet voice, too. ‘Oh, we had a long night.’ Like I won’t find out where she lives and repo her damn lips.”

That earned a laugh from both of them, but Monica stepped forward, her expression softening.

“Seriously. You okay?”

"No," you muttered. "I'm not. This is humiliating, Monica. It's bullshit. I want to scream, I'm so mad. But it's not just the press thing. I mean, that's part of it, sure. It's..."

"Natasha," Stacy finished for you.

"Exactly." You sighed. "I know Natasha. I know how this probably looks, but I also know she wouldn’t cheat on me.” You trailed off, setting the watering can down with more force than necessary. “It’s the public part. The optics. The fact that we’ve worked so hard to be private, and now some thirsty starlet is trying to turn us into messy headlines.”

“You’re allowed to be pissed,” Stacy said gently.

You looked out at the yard, toward the fence line Isabella had helped paint pink last summer. “I just don’t want to yell. Not right now. I don’t want to fight her. I want her to fix it.”

"Well, she can't fix it if you don't call or answer her calls again," Stacy said, handing you an iced coffee.

You sighed and took a sip.

"Yeah, I know." You took the cold coffee. "Thanks, Stace."

"Don't mention it."

"Okay," Monica clapped her hands together. "You go and call your girlfriend. We will be waiting right here if you need us.'

"Fiancée," You supplied.

"What?" Monica raised a brow.

"Fiancée," you corrected. "Natasha and I got engaged last week."

"Wait a minute. You what?!"

Monica and Stacy were stunned. Their faces were priceless. They couldn't believe what they were hearing.

Monica blinked first, then slowly put her iced coffee on the table like it might explode. “You got engaged last week and didn’t say anything?!”

Stacy’s jaw dropped. “Oh my god, were you gonna just casually drop that while watering your basil?”

You tried not to smile, shrugging. “We weren’t ready to tell people yet. We wanted to keep it just ours… for a little while.”

Monica pointed a dramatic finger at you. “Okay, that’s beautiful and romantic, and I love you. But I’m also offended on a spiritual level.”

“It’s giving betrayal,” Stacy added, placing a hand over her heart. “But also it’s giving congratulations, because holy shit, finally.”

You laughed softly, the tension in your shoulders easing just a little. “We didn’t want the press to get wind of it. And now with everything going on—”

Monica raised her hands. “Say no more. Seriously. That makes sense.”

“Still,” Stacy said, stepping forward to squeeze your arm. “I hope you know it’s a big deal. And no matter what happens with this PR mess, you’re not in it alone.”

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I know.”

Monica picked her coffee back up and pointed toward the house. “Go call your fiancée. Fix this. We’ll be here if you need a soundboard… or someone to write a very professional and legally vague Instagram caption.”

“And maybe after that,” Stacy added, “we plan a little engagement celebration that doesn't involve headlines or shady D-listers.”

You smiled. A real one, this time. “Yeah. That sounds good.”

You left them to their devices to grab your phone, sitting face down on the counter. You picked it up after seeing the voicemails and texts from Natasha. You needed to call her. Truly, all of this shouldn't be a big deal. So why did you feel so stupid and angry?

"Baby?" Natasha breathed on the phone the moment she picked up. "You have to let me explain."

You stayed quiet for a beat too long.

"Go ahead," you said finally, the words clipped. Controlled.

"Nothing happened. I swear. Mia showed up with a friend of a friend. I didn’t invite her. She was being flirty all night, but I shut it down. I went upstairs alone."

You said nothing.

"I didn’t know she had my phone until Wanda showed me the article. I didn’t sleep with her. I barely talked to her.”

"Right," you replied, voice still even. “And the posts? The pictures? The fact that she answered your phone, Natasha?”

"I didn’t know she had it," she said quickly. “She must’ve taken it when I left it downstairs. I found it on the coffee table under a stack of shit.”

"And that DM she posted?” you asked, pacing now. “That looked pretty friendly for someone you barely talked to.”

Natasha hesitated. Too long.

“It was from months ago,” she said. “We met at some screening. I forgot we even exchanged messages. It was just… surface stuff.”

You stopped pacing. “You forgot.”

“Yeah, baby, you know how these events are. You meet people. You’re polite. That doesn’t mean anything.”

You pressed your lips together. “You’re telling me you forgot messaging a girl who now just happened to be all over your party and your press?”

“That’s not what I—”

“Do you know how stupid I look right now?” you snapped. “There are pictures of our daughter on stage with you, and now this shit is what people see when they Google your name.”

Natasha exhaled. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. I didn’t think—”

“That’s the problem, Natasha,” you cut in. “You didn’t think.”

Silence. Natasha was gathering her thoughts before she blew up. You would almost smile at knowing her so well if it weren't for you getting angry.

"I don't know what else to say," Natasha's tone is annoyed now. "I told you nothing happened. I'm answering all of your questions. What exactly do you want me to say here other than I'm sorry?"

You took a deep breath. "I don't know."

“You don’t know?” Natasha echoed, her voice taut. “Because from where I’m standing, it sounds like you’ve already decided I did something wrong.”

You ran a hand over your face. “You’re not listening. I’m not accusing you of cheating. I’m saying this looks bad. It looks messy. And I don’t have the luxury of pretending it doesn’t.”

“I didn’t ask you to pretend,” she shot back. “I asked you to believe me.”

“I do,” you said, louder than intended. “But believing you doesn’t erase that my phone blew up at 2 a.m. with headlines and DMs. That's my friend texting me asking if we’re still together. I had to sit there and explain to Monica and Stacy why some girl answered your phone.”

Natasha let out a bitter laugh. “So what, you’re embarrassed?”

You blinked. “I’m humiliated. There’s a difference.”

That shut her up.

For a moment, the only thing you could hear was both of your breathing, heavy with frustration, too many things left unsaid sitting between you like a wall.

Then she sighed, quieter this time. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you either.”

You nodded, even though she couldn’t see you. “I know.”

Another beat.

“I love you,” she whispered.

“I love you, too,” you said, your voice soft, tired. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not still hurt.”

“Okay,” she said, and this time there was no fight in her voice. Just acceptance. “Okay.”

You didn’t know what else to say after that. So neither of you did.

The line stayed open, neither of you hanging up.

"I want to see you," She said in that voice that always made you swoon.

"I want to see you too," You said. You could see Monica and Stacy looking at you through the glass. You swiveled in your chair to turn away from them.

"What should we do about her?" Natasha asked. "This party was only supposed to be for friends. She showed up. I shut her down. I-"

"I'm not angry about the party. Not really. I'm mad that this got out of hand. That the media is using us for their gossip and entertainment." You leaned forward and put your head in your hands.

“I’ll book a flight tomorrow,” you said after a long silence, your tone shifting. You were calmer then, focused, the edge softening but not gone. “Early. I’ll be there by noon.”

Natasha exhaled in relief, and you could almost picture how her shoulders dropped. “I’ll pick you up.”

“And don’t say anything online,” you continued, slipping into your publicist voice. “No posts. No likes. No cryptic tweets. If anyone asks, we don’t comment.”

“Got it,” she nodded.

“I’ll be wearing my ring,” you added. “So should you.”

“Always planned to,” Natasha said softly.

You rubbed your forehead and closed your eyes for a beat. “We’ll walk into this together. Calm. United. If the press wants to turn us into a circus, we don’t give them the show.”

There was a pause. “That’s why I love you,” Natasha murmured. “You’re always three steps ahead.”

You smiled faintly. “Yeah, well, I’m one emotionally drained step behind. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I’ll be there,” she promised. "You're not going to do anything to that girl, right?"

You snorted, amused. "You say it like I'm in the mafia or something."

"Well, you're scary when you're angry."

"I'll keep that in mind," You chuckled. "But no, I won't do anything. I don't have to."

"Good," She breathed. "I love you. See you soon."

"Love you, too."

The call ended, and you returned to your friends, who had patiently waited for you. You waved them inside. You gave them the rundown of your plan.

"That's it?" Monica raised a brow. "You're going to play it safe?"

"Oh, no, it's not safe," You smiled. "Natasha and Velvet Rebellion have a huge fan base. My father and Uncle have huge fan bases that have trickled down to me and sometimes Harley by extension. They see that we're engaged, and the narrative changes. She’s an attempted thirsty homewrecker. Stans can be rabid."

Monica blinked, then slowly grinned. “Oh. You’re planning to let the internet do your dirty work.”

Stacy let out a low whistle. “Brilliant.”

“I’m not lifting a damn finger,” you confirmed, sipping what was now lukewarm coffee. “But the ring’s going to be on full display. Natasha picks me up at the airport. We walk in together. I wave. She smiles. End of story.”

“And Mia?” Monica asked, eyebrow arched.

“She won’t get the satisfaction of seeing either of us spiral,” you said, your voice cool. “But she’ll feel it. The way people turn when they realize you tried to play a role you weren’t cast for.”

“You’re scary when you’re calm,” Stacy muttered, half in awe.

“Good,” you said simply. “I want her to hear the silence. Let her scroll through her own comments, let her PR scramble. She’ll get her fifteen minutes and they’ll be hell.”

Monica raised her cup in mock salute. “To passive destruction.”

You clinked your cup to hers, eyes sharp. “To protecting what’s mine.”

*********

Natasha was a little nervous about picking you up from the airport the next morning. She’d parked her rental car in one of the short-term garages and waited patiently, hoping the paparazzi would at least give her peace in the parking structure. So far, they had. That gave her enough time to sip water, collect her thoughts, and brace herself for whatever version of you would be walking out those airport doors.

As soon as she got notified that your flight had landed, she knew it was go time. She stepped out of the car, walking quickly to the terminal entrance. You were already inside, standing near the baggage claim, looking around for your suitcase. Natasha’s eyes swept over you: crop top and sweatpants, hair tied up effortlessly, sunglasses perched low on your nose. You looked good. Really good. Like something out of a music video. And ironically, it matched her look perfectly: ripped jeans, a white tank, and her signature boots. Unplanned, but you looked like a unit. Like a duo.

Cameras were everywhere—clicking, flashing, humming as paparazzi pretended to give space while doing the opposite. But Natasha didn’t look at them. She only looked at you.

And with that, she crossed the floor toward you, nerves tucked behind her ribcage.

You looked up at her with that guarded expression she knew all too well, but your lips twitched at the corner. That was enough.

She didn’t hesitate. She stepped in close, hand brushing yours first, testing the waters, and when you didn’t pull away, she leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your temple. It was small. Intimate. Calculated.

The cameras went wild.

“You look good,” Natasha murmured low against your ear, her voice steady despite the adrenaline rushing through her. “Missed you.”

You let the tension hang for a moment before you spoke, voice calm but clear. “Did you park close?”

Natasha nodded, lips twitching. “Five-minute walk. Tops.”

You grabbed your bag and turned, adjusting your sunglasses as you slid your hand into hers. “Let’s give them something worth talking about, then.”

And just like that, you and Natasha walked side by side, rings flashing, heads held high, as the frenzy followed. No shouting. No statements. Just the calm, commanding kind of silence that only power couples could. 

----> next part

yall think natasha is off the hook?

[skarsjoy]

new interview from Vanity Fair at Cannes:

Alexander Skarsgård Is the Dom, Harry Melling the Sub, and Pillion Their Kinky, Sweet Love Story

The two stars and their director, Harry Lighton, learned many lessons making a movie set in a vivid queer subculture: “It emerges that you can’t just chuck a load of dicks on screen.”

By David Canfield, May 17, 2025

Alex quotes:

Alexander Skarsgård: When I got a little brief from my agents about the project, biker and sub-dom, it just sounded quite intriguing to me…and from our first conversations, he just felt a lot of confidence in me and his vision for the project. I definitely wanted to put on the leather gear and jump into the trenches with it.

In the film, most of the members of the biker gang in the movie are basically playing themselves—they are members of GBMCC. I’m forever grateful and indebted to them for their generosity and support and patience. They told us about their lifestyle, and how they socialize and about these gatherings, when they go out riding together, down to details in terms of the outfits, and the dynamics between the subs and the doms and what that would look like. I credit everything to those guys.

For the actors, what was your comfort level filming the sex scenes going in?

Skarsgård: You can’t just apply the kind of the sub-dom structure to every relationship. I talked to some people who are in sub-dom relationships, and certain aspects of Colin and Ray’s relationship rang very true to them. And others, they’re like, “Well, I know people who have that kind of relationship…” It was just important for us to figure out what worked for us, in between Harry and myself.

I knew that it was going to be graphic, and Harry was very clear on his vision for it—when and how nudity was going to be depicted. I felt that it really served the story, and it made sense to me. I was very, very comfortable with all that. We had a really terrific intimacy coordinator named Robbie [Taylor Hunt] who was there with us the whole way.

Melling: Alex is just the most generous, dreamy scene partner, so what could have been quite a daunting experience couldn’t have been more different, really. When you sort out the choreography of it, which is often the most difficult part—you sort out what everyone’s doing, where their hands are going—and then once action is called, you’re in the world of Colin and Ray.

Skarsgård: I fell in love with Harry from the first second I saw him. He’s just the sweetest, nicest, loveliest human being. I felt comfortable going as far as we needed to go in these situations with him. I also discovered a lot of things about Colin and Ray’s relationship that I didn’t anticipate discovering when we first started working on it. There were these tender, beautiful moments that just happened organically, and some moments that were weird and some moments that were funny. But he was incredibly game, very brave in just throwing himself out there.

Skarsgård: There are orgy scenes in the film, and with a combination of actors and non-actors with different levels of experience in that field, it was great to have Robbie there to kind of help and guide the team.

Skarsgård: The way it’s set up in the script, the audience knows as little about Ray as Colin does, and we kind of maintain that kind of level of mystery around the character. In terms of the specifics of the sub-dom relationship, he’s very clear and very upfront with Colin about what he wants, and that also creates an interesting trajectory for their relationship as the story and the love relationship evolve.

[nightwingsgypsyrep]

Oh my God @ev-arrested, I’m low-key tearing up. This is so much more eloquent than my ramblings could ever be!

The thing with my community is that it is so big and has a lot of variations. We’re not a nationality, we’re all over the world, of all ages and social classes. I’m sure no matter how you portray Dick, there will be some out there who relates to him. The great thing about comics is that it’s a mythos built up over decades.

I’m a Showman, aka a Carney if you’re American. I grew up speaking Romani, and before my family were fairground/circus, they were just gypsies (in their own words), but we have been doing fairgrounds/circuses for centuries, so there is an identifiable Showman culture - it’s why the government calls Showmen a cultural identity and Gypsy/Romani/Traveller is the ethnicity. That’s why I identify with both - I’m a Showman because that’s what I and my family do for a living, and have done for centuries, but in my blood I’m still a traveller/gypsy. In normal conversation, I use both terms, but here I tend to just use gypsy (despite this being the term I use the least irl) as it’s the most broad and requires the least amount of explaining (as both ‘traveller�� and ‘Showman’ have various different meanings, and are largely UK-centric terms).

Because I’ve got the fairground/circus background, I’m going to have different experiences than others who are Romani but not Showmen, and that’s a good thing; in the space of fandom, it lets us see so many different angles and provides so many layers to a well-loved character. Through this fandom, I’ve also spoken to other Dick Grayson fans who are Romani/have Romani heritage, from England where I live, to Spain, to America. We all have different experiences too. I’m hardly the gospel, and of course the comics - whilst referring to Dick as a Carney on a number of occasions, and obviously showing him being from the circus as one of his core traits - do emphasise the Roma aspect as well as the Carney aspect, which is interesting as irl I find that those on the fairground tend to fall on either side of the fence based on their own preferences and identity. In the comics, writers tend to use the terms almost interchangeably, which isn’t quite right, but at least they’re acknowledging both? Whether this is because the writers don’t actually understand how it fits in, or even that we (Showmen) exist, I don’t know, but I will say that Dick Grayson is the first ever example of another person from my background/culture/ethnic identity that I’ve ever found in any media, and it’s something which I find exciting, and want to help others enjoy if I can. Mostly I’m just ranting into the void, but everything I say is accurate to me and my experiences.

My aim with this blog, besides shit posting my own DC stuff (so excited for the James Gunn Superman), is just to give my interpretation of a character I love. Others may entirely disagree. That’s fine and welcome. I’m not trying to tell people how to enjoy this character, just maybe teach them something about my community, and if they enjoy it, they enjoy it. I’m a big believer in ‘let people enjoy things’ and it’s all just a bit of fun, at the end of the day.

As for the doxxing, it’s half a joke… I did a lot of charity work in my late teens, and my contract included a lot of talking to the press, so I’m sure someone could use that to find me and my info very easily, but tbh I was mostly thinking about how my friends and family would bully the shit out of me if they ever found this blog, haha!

Ok so might accidentally end up doxxing myself with this one but here we go…

The Himboification of Dick Grayson, and Why It Sucks From A Gypsy Perspective

Warning: this is a long one! Also tw for brief mentions of Dick’s canonical SA/rapes, and discussions of purity cultures.

And disclaimer: none of this is intended to slut-shame anyone, so hopefully it doesn’t come across like that. I’m just hoping to explain the weird sexualisation of gypsies in the media, vs our more conservative attitude to sex. This also isn’t meant to shame anyone or tell you how you must imagine Dick Grayson - if you like dark skinned, more-fem Dick, then you keep on enjoying that! This is just what I’ve noticed as someone who is a gypsy, and some patterns I’ve seen in how Dick is portrayed and received.

So, I have a lot of problems with the depiction/perception of Dick Grayson, and particularly the hyper-sexualisation we see. I am not alone in this, and I know it’s something which has been discussed a fair bit in the past.

Honestly, I don’t even know where a lot of this came from? It’s only really in the past decade or so that we start to see it emerge properly in canon; prior to this, whilst it was agreed that Dick is good looking, he was kind of able to get around as a normal guy, and was praised a lot more for his capabilities and athleticism than for his looks. But with the New 52, there seemed to be this shift where Dick is really reduced to his looks. The Grayson/Spyral comics are particularly guilty of this: so many times we see Dick called an idiot (even if somewhat affectionally), sexualised (even by teen-aged girls when he is in his twenties), and reduce himself to his looks (Dick himself even says something along the lines of ‘It’s a good thing I’m pretty’). You can argue that the whole point of Spyral is that Dick was undercover, but it’s something we still see today (I’m thinking the 2025 Valentine’s Day Damian storyline). We can dismiss this as being ‘out of character’, but with how it’s been a gradually accepted part of DC canon over the last decade especially, I don’t know how long we can reasonably make that excuse.

The gypsy perspective isn’t necessarily the main reason I hate this, it’s just one which I feel capable of offering. (if you’re new here, hi, I’m a traveller/gypsy/showman/whatever you want to call me from a fairground and circus family in the UK. I’ve always stuck to fairgrounds myself but a lot of my family were/are still with the circus so I’m not an idiot and it’s all closely related anyway. I also grew up speaking Romani so there’s that.)

Other reasons I hate it include: the double standards of objectifying Dick being treated as almost acceptable because Dick is a man; Dick as an SA/rape survivor; and the fact that it’s bloody stupid because Dick is a highly competent vigilante and detective - a partner of Batman, then Batman himself, who even on his sick days is solving cold cases for fun. He is a genius ffs.

But anyway, onto the potentially doxxing gypsy perspective.

I know that Dick’s ‘gypsy rep’ has been a bit touch and go over the years. Grayson’s run is quite infamous for her handling of this (the whole internalised racism she gave him during his Tevis mob era, and Bruce’s stereotyping in Gotham Knights still makes me feel icky), and it’s only recently that it’s really been discussed again, mostly being ignored by writers in between. However, I’ve also mentioned before that to me, the writer with the most accurate representation is ironically Morrison (because he wasn’t trying). The thing is, even if writers have kind of circumnavigated the whole ‘gypsy’ thing (a term I use because it’s common in the UK, and is one Dick uses himself, alongside ‘carney’ which is the American English version of the British ‘showman’, a subtype of “gypsy”), it’s been canon since Day One that Dick is from the circus. And due to how circuses work, especially with the hereditary nature and how it was more common for the gypsy family who ran the circus to perform in the 40s when Dick was introduced, even if it wasn’t explicitly stated, Dick Grayson has kind of canonically (or at the very least, subtextually) been a gypsy since his introduction.

So now that bit of house keeping is out of the way, why does the himboification of Dick Grayson really annoy me, as a gypsy/showman/carney myself?

So, the first issue I have is really the exoticism. There’s been a large push especially from fan-artists (though it has been very subtlety reflected in canon) to have Dick portrayed with darker skin, to more “accurately” portray him as Romani (spoiler: this is not accurate). There is a fantastic post which explains this further, but it’s actually kind of colourist to say that Dick Grayson is whitewashed. I’m a full gypsy, not a diddakoi or anything, and I’m pasty as fuck. Sure, my dad was often mistaken as South Asian in his youth, as his family are all very olive-skinned and tan dark in the summer, but my mum is white as a sheet (much to her own father’s annoyance) and I take after her. This is the case for a lot of us, especially in the North of Europe. And yet, I am still ethnically a gypsy. Dick does not lose his ‘gypsy card’ for being white. And the fact that many of the fandom view it as necessary for Dick to have a darker complexion to fit this perception of what a Romani person looks like (especially since this perception largely comes from gorjas who’ve never knowingly met a gypsy before in their lives) is not only inaccurate, but kind of problematic. I don’t mind seeing a darker Dick Grayson, but it’s how people act like he has to be dark skinned to be Romani which is frankly just incorrect.

This is doubly problematic when people use his being Romani to exoticise and sexualise Dick. Like with Esmerelda in the Hunchback of Notre Dame, I’ve often seen the fandom (and even canon, to some degree) use Dick’s heritage to make him seem other, and almost remove some barriers for proper conduct (i.e. be overly affectionate, etc). We see this kind of sexualisation with a lot of non-white characters, like Talia for example, and I think that the push for a visibly non-white, exotic Dick Grayson does fall in line with the same kind of racist hyper-sexualisation we see there. Alternatively, maybe this idea of a ‘sexy gypsy from the circus’ has its roots somewhat in real life, but actually results from major misunderstandings: until the sixties, it was common for circuses to have peep shows, with girls outside advertising it in their underwear; the misunderstanding comes in that these girls were not gypsies themselves (see my next point) but hired gorja staff who worked for or alongside us. It’s not unreasonable, then, that a child visiting the circus (and thus shaping their idea of what a circus is) up until the 60s might misinterpret this as being related to gypsies ourselves (songs like Cher’s Gypsies, Tramps, and Thieves, also add to this misconception that we’re the ones in the peep shows when we are not, even if that song is a bop) - if that child then worked for DC or was in the fandom, as writers/artists/fan-fic authors/fanartists in their 20s, 30s, 40s, 50s, from the 80s to the 2000s, they might have mistakenly thought this was part of our culture, and not a business running parallel to ours (I hope this makes sense?). This is just a theory, but one of the only places I can think of this stereotype coming from, besides just plain racism?

Anyway, this hyper-sexualisation is ironic because a big part of our culture is actually that it is a purity culture, with equal expectations on both sexes to maintain modesty and virginity prior to marriage (of course, it’s a bit more relaxed nowadays but the expectation is still there, even if you’re in your 30s and unmarried!). This is drilled into us from a very young age, so even if Dick was removed from his culture by the age of eight, in a real life situation, he would likely already be well versed in this aspect of our culture. As I mentioned earlier, even before Dick was explicitly stated to be a gypsy, I think it’s definitely possible to read a gypsy upbringing into his character, even if unintentional, as written pre-Grayson - there’s one discussion Dick has about his anxieties about moving in with Kory whilst unmarried (I forget which comic this is from), and I cannot help but feel this resonate with me as a gypsy.

Then there’s the element of dress. TV shows like ‘My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding’ have done a lot to convince people that we all dress immodestly, but first of all: MBFGW focuses on another subtype of gypsy, Irish travellers - not showmen/circus like Dick is portrayed to be; and secondly - it’s such a small percentage of the population who do dress like that, that it cannot be taken as truth. I’ve a fair few cousins who are half-Irish traveller, and none of them dress like that. You’re far more likely to find a gypsy man wearing a shirt, a jumper, a pair of jeans, and boots than any of the gelled hair and vest top combos you see on there.

It’s a big thing that Dick has some questionable fashion choices (which are often featured as justification for his supposed ‘himbo-ness’), and this is definitely true in canon (Discowing, that one polka dot shirt, the mullet era… oh Dick, you disaster), but I’ve seen a lot of people correlate that directly with his growing up in a circus. As someone from that background, let me tell you that is just a Dick thing. It has nothing to do with being from the circus, we all dress rather normally - I’m sat writing this in a blue T-shirt, a pair of navy jeans, and a pair of boots - aka the kind of thing Dick wears more often than not in later not-the-80s canon! The thing is, this kind of presumption is something I’ve experienced myself in real life. I was doing some charity work, and there was a press element - when the journalist found out I was a gypsy from a circus family, and that I had horses, I was told to come to the photoshoot in my ‘little pink sparkly dress or whatever it is I ride in.’ I ride in jeans and a T-shirt btw. They just presumed because my family owned circuses, I must do vaulting and perform and I don’t - I worked in the kiosk or on the rides. The point is, people make a lot of presumptions about us just because we’re from the circus, and it’s not accurate.

Then there’s also the fanon effeminising of Dick: often giving him softer, feminine features, make-up, etc, to make him ‘pretty’. Like with the skin-colour issue, draw Dick however you like. You do you. But don’t use his being a gypsy to justify that. Tbh, the vast majority of gypsy men I know are extremely masculine: physically, the cis-men of our community tend to be quite tall, stocky, with calloused hands and broad shoulders, by virtue of the fact that we have to build up everywhere we work, and that’s a lot of physical labour. In Europe, there’s a big drinking culture, and playing football, etc. Men also tend to dress quite masc and practically for blue-collar work. And whilst I am sure that there are some more gender-fluid gypsies out there (I have quite a few gypsy friends who are openly queer, or trans), I have seen so many posts on Tumblr with Dick presented as being quite soft and feminine looking, with make-up etc, and when people in the notes ask why he’s drawn like that, the artist replies ‘He’s Rom!’ and I just want to facepalm. You can be a gypsy and masc-presenting. You can be a gypsy and fem-presenting. However, being a gypsy ≠ being feminine, and I’m really sick of seeing it. As someone who studies ancient Persia (like, I have a degree in it and am writing an academic book), the similarities are so obvious with how the Greeks portrayed the Achaemenids as effeminate, and like with the Achaemenids, it’s just not accurate. Again, if that’s how you headcanon Dick, then that’s great, but let’s not pretend that Dick being a gypsy has anything to do with it.

So I’ve now discussed the sexualisation aspect of Dick’s character a bit (I’ve probably left something out but oh well), and now I’ll speak a bit about the ‘dumb’ part. This is a far more recent thing, I think, and I suspect it might be because: a) people have weirdly tagged Tim as the Smart!Robin (they’re all geniuses) and thought this somehow means the rest must be dumb?, b) because of how sexualised Dick is, they’ve gone full himbo (see: Dick in the Grayson comics saying ‘at least [he’s] pretty’). However, from a gypsy point of view, this really annoys me as well.

When travelling with the fairground/circus, it is difficult to get a stable education. We tend to go to school in the winter months, but in the warmer months, we are more homeschooled (maybe using education packs from our normal school), or at larger fairs/events, a special teacher may be present. It used to be common that if we were at a ground for two weeks or more, we’d be enrolled temporarily in a local school for that time, but this isn’t really realistic today. However, it is also true that traditionally, our schooling was quite halted. Whilst less common, it’s still fairly normal for us to leave school early - for example, I left school entirely aged 13 to work full time on the fairgrounds (yes this goes against child labour laws but nobody actually cares). As a result of this, a lot of us have very limited education (illiteracy is not unheard of in the older generations), so it’s not uncommon for people to mistake this for us being stupid. But the thing is, this isn’t true. My dad left school aged 11, and eventually got a gorja job in his late 30s - he is now the top in the country at his job. I left school when I was 13, but decided I wanted to go to university, so I sat my GCSEs without studying, got into college, and whilst also working a full time job, got my A Levels and got into what is ranked the number one university in the world. When I got in, people really could not believe that someone of my background could do it, so it was on national news and television. It’s not that other travellers/gypsies are incapable - for the most part, we just don’t see the point as we’ve got a job and a culture wrapped up in one which we want to keep alive and successful. The point is, it’s so common for us to be underestimated, and part of what I loved about Dick’s character is that he is unapologetically clever. But over the last decade especially, Dick is once again being reduced to just a pretty face. Now, growing up, it was a cultural expectation to take care of your looks, and whilst I think I always looked ok (washed hair every day, showered, ironed matching clothes), it was not my primary interest in the same way that it was for a lot of my peers. So having a character who was from the same background as me and allowed to be intelligent and respected for it in a way I sometimes wasn’t was really special. So to see that intellect being taken away from Dick, somewhat, does strike me. If Dick is reduced to just being pretty and flirty, that’s as stereotypical as it comes in my community, and I love it when he can be more. I’m not saying that Dick has to be super serious all the time (that’s what makes Dick’s character so great, even if he is a bit more serious in canon than in fanon, though to be fair that’s probably because canon is a lot harder on him than fanon), but he can be hot and flirty without being dumb and overly objectified.

I hope this makes sense and I also hope that none of my relatives or uni friends see this and immediately work out it’s me - there’s a reason I started a whole side blog to separate my silly little nerdy interests from anything my friends might see - but Himbo Dick Grayson is something which I can’t get behind. Let him be smart. Let him be hot but not overly exoticised.

[elbiotipo]

Do you ever think about how everyone keeps on thinking of assimov law of robotics as a good idea and something that we should actually program into robotics, meanwhile every asimov story about them was him thinking of interesting ways for a robot to bend or break them? Like the way people treat what was meant to be a plot device to facilitate interesting stories as a fundamental of robotics i just find funny

I haven't seen many serious takes on it (though maybe I should start checking out more sci-fi lately) but yes, that's my impression, that it was a plot device that even Asimov knew was flawed and impossible to enforce in real life, but it made for really great stories. One could see the laws of robotics as a fictional religion of sorts

The interesting thing about Asimov's robots (and other robots inspired by him) is that they are a fictional "people" much as Tolkien's Elves or Star Trek's Vulcans. Asimov's Robots are able to be sentient because of the "Positronic Brain", quite literally a plot device that allows them to be sentient. Their main feature isn't that they are robots and the mechanics of it because Asimov never really gets into that (mostly), it's mostly that they're artificial people, and the plot conflicts that arise from that.

This is why it's so obvious that the Three Laws are basically impossible to program or execute with our current knowledge of programming, it's because they aren't thought for real robots, but Asimov's Robots, with positronic brains able to understand them.

It's still really interesting to me because it reflects how the idea of AIs have changed through time. In the 50s and for most of the XXth century, the idea of artificial intelligence was basically that of artificial humans; a robot with a human-like body (or not, but an individual body) and an artificial brain. It was believed generally, or at least that what it seems to me, that the "body" part was easy, that soon, you could have robots in your home doing chores... but the brain part was the hardest one, if not impossible. An AI creating pictures or having a realistic conversation with a human was considered one of those feats that would take centuries of research if not impossible.

Look at how things turned out in real life, however. There are no real domestic robots outside factories, and nobody has yet managed to create mass-produced human-like androids. It turns out that the human form is very, very hard to replicate. And yet, I can now jump into a lot of websites and have a chat with a convincingly human-like *AI*, not only that, I can ask it to impersonate characters or people, create pictures for me, and create text that is nearly indistinguishable from human writing (as well as other feats like image, audio, text recognition, etc.) I need to stress that all that, which is now just arguments on the internet, was considered pure science fiction barely 10 years ago, an impossible feat for many. And yet, here it is. These "AI" or whatever you might want to call them or analyse them, are very different from the Asimovian (and popular) concept of AI as discrete individuals with a "body" and a "person". Where is the AI's "body"? Which one of its endless iterations is its real "self"? Okay, I'm digressing but I hope the contrast is made clear because it's interesting to me.

Soon enough, however, I think not more than ten or twenty years away, someone will finally create mass-produced human-like robots, and now that these AI tools exist, they will be equipped with them. And we will get bona-fide Asimovian Robots that can talk and interact with us, virtually the thing that science fiction has been telling us for decades will someday come. And given the world's reaction to "AIs" right now, I'm not sure I want to know how we will react to them.

[too-many-rooks]

I wish the blacksmith story line in Trosky had more of an ensemble cast like down at the mill. It makes sense in that the blacksmiths quest is more pointing you in the direction of interesting people and places, and the mill is more like a little thieves guild,

But it would be cool to know the rest of the blacksmith’s family more than just a woman labelled ‘wife.’

Maybe this is where I need to write a fic but like, going to the blacksmith has been basically the first thing I did both playthroughs because you get a bed and can earn money and it seems like you won’t, you know, immediately die going there. And Henry would know all that, know that he has a useful skill, and that it might be all that keeps him alive in the short term.

And so, realistically, still-incredibly-injured Henry, having just gone through the pillory-divorce, not having his weapons, his armour, his money, his horse, his dog, OR his lord, feeling absolutely knocked back to the boy he once was, going back to the forge. Something he couldn’t even bring himself to *do* while he was still in Sassau.

And then yeah, being an apprentice again!

How does that feel?

How does he fit in with the blacksmith, and his wife, and the housemaid, as the new apprentice?

The game lets us loose fairly quickly, (thankfully) but it probably takes a bit for Henry to just properly get off his feet enough to go back to his itinerant protagonist ways, and earn his keep. Henry’s old for an apprentice, but Radovan and his wife have no children, or perhaps their children are too young to work in the forge.

Radovan’s probably got him starting just running forge errands and making a bunch of nails or whatever till he lets himself prove himself by potentially wasting enough material to make a whole sword! So he’s hanging around for a bit, at least.

And how does it feel, being part of a blacksmith’s household again? How does it feel slotting into a family? How does it feel rising from his bed and knowing a day at the forge with a master to guide his hammer is all he need accomplish that day?

How does he get along with the Blacksmith’s wife? Is she suspicious of this smelly, seriously injured beggar her husband invited to live with them without consulting her? Or does she see a young man alone in the world with nowhere to go, and do her best to look after him? How does Henry respond to that?

If they do have children, how does Henry get on with them? He doesn’t have any siblings (as far as he’s aware at this stage 👀), Martin and his Mother never had any children after him, so does he even know how to talk to kids? (Side note; in this case, I feel, yes - that his animal-charming, slightly gormless doofy charisma would extend to being good with kids. Maybe one of his apprentice responsibilities is to be on ‘stop that toddler running into the forge to see daddy’ duty.)

I just… I have so many feelings about early-game apprentice blacksmith Henry 🥹

[star-light-artist]

Rogue One rewatch thoughts after all of Andor:

Wow!! They really set up exactly why Cassian knew to ask about what kind of weapon they were making, Jedha, & Galen Erso!! He literally just heard all of that from Kleya!! The writing is incredible!

They know where Saw is. They just need help getting through the door - just like how in Andor they were trying to meet with him & knew where he was, but Saw wouldn't hear them out.

Bail is wearing the same outfit he wore in Andor!!

I love Jyn so much - she hides her feelings but still obviously feels so much. The vibe is so serious & cool. So much of SW is lighthearted & the characters laugh & smile, which I love. But I also love how Jyn hardly ever smiles. She acts like she's in the genre she's in. Not overly grumpy, rude, or "I'm not like other girls" kind of way. But just because her life is hard & she has no one to trust - until later on in the movie. When she comes to trust & love Cassian. Then she smiles.

The world feels so vast & unique, yet so perfectly fitting in with Star Wars. It feels straight out of the 70s. I love that the Force & Jedi aren't at all a focus, yet they are stilp myths & an undercurrent to the culture & worldbuilding.

Andor ends with Cassian startling awake after a dream about his childhood. Jyn does the same here.

I love Chirrut so much - everything he does is profound & hilarious!

"It's not a problem if you don't look up." I love that she isn't perfectly moral. She doesn't constantly put others first. She's lost. She doesn't know her place in the galaxy or what she wants to fight for like Cassian does. She feels like a realistic, nuanced person who has been through great hardship. Yes, she's a good guy. But a person exposed to so much war, death, suffering, & paranoia would not be totally good, selfless, & idealistic. She is a victim of the world she lives in. Yet despite it all, when she figures out who she is meant to be and what she needs to do, she pulls everything together to be an unstoppable force for good alongside Cassian.

I love so much how Galen inspired Bodhi - telling him that he can be a better man if he chooses to do the right thing. He's a dad at heart, and without Jyn, he teaches Bodhi to do the right thing.

Cassian said, "You're the messenger," - oh, man, alive!! That's just what the Force healer told him!! Both Cassian & Jyn are the messengers, sent by the Force to bring Luke & Leia where they need to be.

Chirrut is such an interesting person - I'd love to know more about his religion. It's so strange that he prays to the Force. He's so very like the Force healer & Bix & Leia - the Force isn't a showy, powerful tool for them. It's instinct, guidance, a sense of someone's morality, & hope.

Cassian can't fall to the Dark Side, but he can darken his heart & become the evil he sought to destroy. If he had killed Galen, perhaps Jyn wouldn't have worked with him & the Death Star never would have been taken down. I love so much that Bix's words of regret over killing so many people finally reached him before it was too late.

Cassian loved Bix, but he had moved on, I think. The panic in his voice when he realizes Jyn is in danger is not something I've heard from him over anyone else.

Galen's confused, afraid-to-be-hopeful face when Jyn yells, "Father!" - I can't!! 😭😭 I love him so much. Such a sweet, loving, moral character who lost everything & had to live with that grief & the guilt of what he was doing for so many years. And he never gets to see his revenge. All he had was hope.

Cassian's speech about living for the rebellion - maaaan!! That's the Andor show he's talking about! He hasn't had the luxury to decide when he can be moral & when he needs to be ruthless. He snaps at Jyn because his conscience agrees with her.

Cassian gathers all his friends to help Jyn because he needs all his evil deeds - & Luthen's evil deeds - to mean something.

I would have loved to see Cassian sternly tell K2 that he needed to be their for Jyn! 🤣🤣 He loves her so much! 🥹

ANAKIN!!! A sarcastic diva as always!!

"We'll take the next chance on and on until our chances are spent." That sums up Cassian's life.

Jyn & Cassian are so cute in their matching Imperial couples costumes!! 🤣

I'm so torn between shipping Cassian with Bix or Jyn! 😭😭 Narraively, both love stories work so perfectly! Cassian falling for Jyn adds another layer to the tragedy because he never learned that Bix still loved him. He seemed unsure about seeing Bix again last time he saw Vel. I think he had moved on emotionally, but if he'd known that she still loved him & that he was a dad, he would have rushed back to them.

Someone once said that Cassian was meant to live with Bix and die with Jyn. I think that sums it up so beautifully. Cassian died so far away from Bix, but he didn't die alone or without love.

Baze gained his faith when he saw the faith his friend had even when facing death. 😭😭

Bodhi's panicked, maddened desperate final action just to tell the Rebels what they needed to do is so sad. Dying not for the mission itself, but just a step in it. One step. Without that step, though, it all falls apart. I wish we could have seen more of his relationship with Galen. His last words were, "This is for you, Galen."

Nemik's, K2's, & Kino's last or close to last words were "Climb!" That is what Cassian does, even when shot & dying. They died, so he could climb.

Cassian & Jyn died to send the plans and never got to see their revenge. But they had hope. That's what everyone who died in this movie had. Even after they die, we see the story continue in the final few minutes. Andor leads perfectly into Rogue One, and Rogue One leads perfectly into A New Hope.

[scoobydoodean]

Apologies if you’ve talked about this already but what do you think of the Sam being a Christlike figure analysis? I’ve never understood it

It's not something I take seriously, but I can see why some people with certain aesthetic interests choose to play in the sandbox with it.

The relatable characteristics:

Long hair in keeping with DaVinci's depiction. (Except Sam's hair is actually too short.)

Mom's name was Mary (but then that also means Dean's mom was Mary)

Sam sacrificed himself in Swan Song to save the world from the devil. (Everybody else fought the devil and sacrificed themselves in various capacities fighting him and others so meh)

Sam came back to life (Soulless, which definitely didn't happen to Jesus after an angel yeeted him out of the cage. Also Dean and Cas also came back to life after dying. Cas like a billion times. I suppose we can claim Dean is Lazarus tho bc of the title of 4.01 and his resurrection proceeding Jesus!Sam's)

Sam cast demons out of people which Jesus did a few times (though Jesus just did it with words, which anyone in SPN can do by saying an exorcism, while Sam exorcised demons with powers he got from drinking blood from demons, which isn't christlike at all)

One time Sam imagined himself being tortured by Alastair on the rack and his arms were in a t-pose and some people think this is very important for some reason (Many other characters were tortured at various points, including ones who actually got tortured by Alastair, not just imagining it bc they were hallucinating).

Then there's characteristics Sam clearly does not share with Jesus.

Sam is literally Satan's vessel.

Sam is clearly not god or the son of god

Jesus healed the sick all of the time and Sam does not do that (sounds more like Cas)

Jesus had a mountain of friends who followed him around and would do anything for him. (Sam simply does not have the rizz.)

Jesus's whole virgin birth thing.

Jesus raised his bestie Lazarus from the dead just by crying and telling him to come out of a tomb. (Sam could not bring Dean back no matter how hard he tried.)

Jesus was tempted by the devil while fasting in the wilderness but never gave in. Satan specifically tempted Jesus to demonstrate his power and divinity from a place of pride and boastfulness and Jesus would not do it. On the other hand, Sam was tempted by demons and gave into temptation, and one of the reasons Sam drank demon blood was specifically so he could feel more powerful and better than everyone else. Jesus's refusal to give into temptation and his sinlessness when he died on the cross is absolutely essential to traditional Christian canon, the Christian depiction of Christ, and the Christian view of salvation.

Note: Jesus is embraced in some other religious traditions and among some liminal Christian groups as only a prophet or an angel, but I think it's clear that the "Sam as a Christlike figure" take examines Jesus through the lens of traditional Christian canon shared among the major Christian sects where Jesus is God, is crucified for the sins of mankind, etc.

I think in particular, Sam being the vessel of Satan and Sam very specifically giving into the temptation of demons make the idea of him as a christ figure feel too clunky (and to many devout Christians, would make the idea outright offensive). It's more like Sam is "supposed" to be the anti-christ, but subverts the story despite all his issues to save everyone, which I actually think is way more fun. He isn't a christ figure and he doesn't need to be to save the day. That's way more empowering and meaningful for everyday people.

I think if people want to play in the sandbox with christ figure Sam because they're just really into that whole religious aesthetic, that's totally fine, but I also think it isn't hard to build similar analyses about Cas and Dean mirroring Jesus in equally compelling and clunky ways, so I find it funny how seriously some people take Jesus!Sam to the point that when one of my mutuals joked about christ figure Sam very subtly, they got this hilarious message.

Also see: The infamous Christ figure bracket... which—at the time—I voted against Sam in because I knew samgirls would get big heads about it and act like they were being persecuted for their beliefs. And then they proved me right. And I got a long rambling hate mail message about what a horrible mean bully I am for laughing at the insanity.

[bekaterrier]

Happy Audio Drama Sunday! Living is messy and we all make mistakes. Try to find the things worth saving in all the mess. Now let's go make some more mistakes!

@saffronandperi - Season 2: This season we got to hear our favourite fairy godmother and djinnia (and friends) play around in Wonderland! Poor Tristan does seem to attract trouble like crazy, and then everyone being affected by goblin shenanigans? So much going on! And to end on such a cliff hanger! Saffron and those innocent dragon eggs better get back safe. 🧚‍♂️

@monkeymanproductions MTO Phases Story 5 - Nima: This month's story is one that gave me goosebumps and brought tears to my eyes the first time I read it. Hearing it brought to life by Serena Rahhal, the original voice of Nima, made it that much more impactful. Returning to Palestine, to Jerusalem, to where Nima used to live... In particular, the mention of Rafah in the 20s, which is happening right now. MTO has always been about hope and resistance, and that comes through loud and clear. 🌘

@morrowforge Mage With a Mic Ep1 - The Warehouse and Ep2 - Creaks & Crones: A new AD where Mage Doughball, who's been sentenced to be the head of tourism for Thither, reports on different locations, events and people around the realm. I enjoyed the first two episodes so far, especially Doughball's snark – you can definitely tell he did not choose to be there. The world-building and the small bits we've heard of how the magic systems work sound really interesting and I'm looking forward to hearing more! 🎤

@vestaclinicpod Episode 24 - Chromatophore: Another Xael episode! And this time with the company of our special boy Sec! I did not realize that Xaelest harboured resentment towards Sec but I completely understand where she's coming from. Especially with what we learned this episode about why she stopped performing surgery... And then to hear that the scenario the examiners gave her was the same? How awful. And now she'll have to go back to the form she had when it happened in order to help NOSL11. Someone (Faye) needs to give Xael a hug, though I doubt she'd readily accept it.

As an aside, I absolutely love how descriptions are done in this show, how the expressions used feel so real. This particular line stood out to me this episode: "they tugged their forearm against the sky of their stomach". Isn't that such a gorgeous expression, knowing that ceresaurs' skin runs from milky blue to the rich indigo of twilight, and that star maps of their flights show up on their skin? Just beautiful. ⚕️

@forgedbondspod - Chapter 18: I've said it before and I've said it again, I want to punch Zeus in the face so bad... He was being his usual, awful, manipulative self this episode, and I hate how he, as king of the gods, keeps getting away with it. I don't trust him for one second. Poor Hera, dragged back into his terrible influence. No one even knows she went with him – Hera, tell someone, please! 💍

@monkeymanproductions Waiting For October S1 Episode 8 - Back Together: Season finale! Karo and Vonnie are back together for a much needed conversation after their solo adventures. I love how many different characters popped in as they were trying to find someplace to talk, and then October springing Halloween on them! The conversation was tough, but their love and trust was evident through the whole thing. Especially in the story that Karo told of how they make things work. It definitely had me tearing up. And then the ending!!! Let's go back to the mooooon!! 🎃

@re-dracula Week 2: Jonathan discovers lizard fashion and explores the castle. We all knew there was some creepy shit going on at the castle, and Jonathan was a little weirded out by some things, but now he knows about the creepy shit for sure. Seems like the new goal will just to be stay alive... 🦇

[ingravinoveritas]

Many fans also don't realize every role an actor takes doesn't mean they love it. They have bills to pay lol. Timothy Olyphant was once asked about a bad action movie he did and he was like "I have a mortgage to pay". Plus, many actors just like working no matter what the project is.

(This in response to this post for those who might've missed it.)

You are right on the money and absolutely correct, Anon. A lot of this goes back to things David himself has said previously, about being afraid of never having another job, feeling almost obligated to take any role or offer that comes his way, and so on. So obligation/pragmatism/a paycheck are just as often reasons that someone takes a job as anything else.

What's interesting to me is that I have not ever seen this kind of a reaction to any other role of David's. When he played Dennis Nilsen in Des, for instance, I can't remember anyone saying that David most definitely for 100% sure felt a certain way about playing the role, or that he couldn't be ambivalent about it or have mixed feelings in some way.

Yet with Rivals, there seems to be an almost hyper focus on needing David to absolutely love the role of Tony Baddingham, which in large part is likely because of Georgia's involvement with getting him to take the role. That if she loves it and is enthusiastic about it, David must also feel the exact same way...which is a strange thing, because that's not really how marriage or relationships work. Couples can have many similar viewpoints on things and share interests, but David and Georgia are still separate, individual people, and they are not always going to agree on everything or speak for each other.

A good way to look at this is if we compare Rivals to Good Omens. Both shows are based on books, and in both cases, David had read neither book prior to being cast in the productions. When David has talked about Good Omens and the character of Crowley, he has praised the writing of the book and the imaginative world that Terry and NG created...but in talking about the show, he has spoken at much greater length about Crowley as a character, and how this was such a "delicious" character to play, how he's put more of himself into the role with each season, how it's changed his life, and so on.

In contrast, when David has talked about Rivals, he has praised Jilly Cooper's writing/the world she created in the books and how it made it possible to step into that world in the show. But he has not talked at all about Tony Baddingham as a character other than to say he based his portrayal on one particular suspender-wearing, cigar-chomping TV executive. We know that David enjoys being part of an ensemble, but that and Jilly's writing are as far as he seems to go, and it seems clear that playing Tony specifically did not hold that kind of joy for him, nor spark that same level of enthusiasm.

It's also notable that in discussions about Good Omens and Crowley, many have said that they can't see anyone else playing Crowley (especially not opposite Michael's Aziraphale). In comparison, there have been many comments about David seeming "miscast" as Tony/how there are other actors who would have fit the part better.

I have wondered as well if there could be a deeper reason for this...that we know being an actor means playing roles/characters that are different from you. But to create that "believability" that we see means finding something in the character that inspires you/your performance and then building on that...and if David is struggling to be believable as Tony, then it could be that there is nothing in the character of a sleazy womanizer that inspires him. Again, in sharp contrast to the character of Crowley, who very much has and continues to inspire him and which is reflected in the performance he has given in the second (and soon third) seasons. Finally yes, the comment about actors liking to work also seems to be true, as David has been described as a "workaholic" on numerous occasions over the years (which again could be for a variety of reasons, either good or bad). So all of these things mentioned above can and likely did contribute to David taking the role of Tony, and especially agreeing to appear in the second season (as it's my understanding that the character does not even have a significant presence there). I'd be glad to know what others think as well, so feel free to leave your thoughts in the comments...

[pxnsneverland]

Riding With Devils | biker!Austin Butler x OC (part 2)

(gif source: yellenabelova)

Part 1 | Part 2

plot summary: Sophie Ann Sutton appears to have the perfect life as a high school senior in a small town during the 1960s. With straight A's, a thriving social life, and a scholarship to her dream college, she feels invincible—especially with her loyal best friend by her side. But everything changes when she crosses paths with Austin, the dangerously charming son of the local biker gang's leader. Their worlds collide in an electrifying romance that defies all expectations, pulling Sophie into a whirlwind of rebellion, excitement and danger.

pairings: austin butler x oc

word count: 5871

warnings/notes: I'm so glad so many people like this new story :) Don't be afraid to keep sending me things in my inbox, I love it!

Chapter 2: A Collision of Worlds

At 6:42 AM, Austin leaned against his motorcycle outside Devil's Mark garage, watching the sunrise paint the abandoned quarry in shades of amber and gold. The club's headquarters—a converted warehouse with reinforced steel doors and windows covered in chicken wire—stood as a fortress against the encroaching daylight. A cigarette dangled from his lips, the smoke curling upward in the still morning air. He hadn't slept. After dropping the princess off at her castle, he'd ridden for hours, pushing his bike to dangerous speeds along empty country roads, trying to outrun the image of green eyes and disheveled auburn hair that seemed burned into his retinas.

"You look like shit," Ray commented, emerging from the clubhouse with two steaming mugs of coffee. He handed one to Austin. "Late night?"

Austin accepted the coffee with a nod. "Something like that."

"The girl?" Ray asked, his voice carefully neutral. In their world, showing too much interest in anything was a weakness others could exploit.

"Just a ride home," Austin replied, taking a long drag from his cigarette. "Nothing worth talking about."

Ray snorted. "Right. That's why you've been brooding out here since five."

Austin shot him a warning look. Ray raised his hands in surrender, but his knowing smirk remained firmly in place.

The rumble of approaching motorcycles saved Austin from having to respond. Three bikes rolled into the lot, bearing his father and two lieutenants returning from whatever business had kept them out all night. Austin straightened, automatically adjusting his posture.

Frank Butler killed his engine and dismounted with the fluid grace of a man who'd spent more time on a motorcycle than off it. Despite being in his fifties, he moved with predatory confidence, his weathered face betraying nothing of the night's activities. The patch on his leather jacket—a grinning devil with a crown of thorns—gleamed dully in the morning light.

"Son," Frank acknowledged, his eyes scanning Austin's face. "You're up early."

"Couldn't sleep," Austin replied, keeping his voice level. "Thought I'd get a head start on the Hernandez bike."

Frank studied him for a moment longer before nodding. "Good. We need that cash flow. But first, come inside. We've got business to discuss."

Austin crushed his cigarette under his boot and followed his father into the clubhouse.

***

Sophie stared at her reflection in the vanity mirror, barely recognizing the girl who looked back at her. Her usually perfect hair was wild from the motorcycle helmet and wind, her carefully applied makeup smudged beneath eyes that seemed wider, more alive than they had been just hours ago. The clock on her nightstand read 7:15 AM. She'd managed barely four hours of sleep after climbing back up the trellis and collapsing onto her bed, heart still racing from the night's adventures.

"Sophie Ann! Breakfast in ten minutes!" Her mother's voice floated up the stairs, cheerful and oblivious.

Sophie ran her fingers through her tangled hair, trying to tame it into something resembling her usual style. Each tug brought back flashes of the night before—Jimmy's unwanted advances, Austin's unexpected rescue, the exhilarating freedom of speeding through darkness with her arms wrapped around a stranger. A stranger who had seen through her perfect-daughter facade with unsettling ease.

"Real," he had called her. The word echoed in her mind as she applied a fresh coat of lipstick, careful to choose the modest pink her mother approved of rather than the bold red she suddenly found herself craving.

Her bedroom was exactly as she'd left it—college brochures neatly stacked, unfinished essay waiting on her desk, clothes arranged by color in her closet. Yet something fundamental had shifted. The room felt like a costume she'd outgrown, a character she'd been playing for so long she'd forgotten it wasn't really her.

"Sophie! Your eggs are getting cold!" Her mother called again, impatience creeping into her tone.

"Coming!" Sophie replied, smoothing her hands down the front of her freshly pressed skirt. No trace remained of the girl who had clung to a leather-jacketed stranger on the back of a devil-painted motorcycle. At least, not on the outside.

Downstairs, her parents had already begun their morning ritual. Her father sat behind his newspaper, occasionally reaching for his coffee without looking. Her mother bustled around the kitchen, the perfect picture of domestic efficiency in her floral apron and sensible pumps.

"There you are," her mother said, glancing up from the stove. "You look tired, dear. Did you stay up late studying again?"

Sophie slid into her usual chair, avoiding her mother's scrutiny. "Just finishing that English essay."

"Well, don't push yourself too hard," her father said from behind his newspaper. "Though Harvard will certainly appreciate your dedication."

"Radcliffe, dear," her mother corrected automatically. "Women attend Radcliffe."

"Same difference," her father replied, turning a page. "It's all Harvard in the end."

Sophie pushed her eggs around her plate, her appetite nonexistent. Had Austin ever sat at a breakfast table discussing Ivy League aspirations? Did his parents map out his future with the same meticulous planning as hers? Somehow, she doubted it. The thought of Austin's life—so different from her own—made Sophie suddenly aware of how narrow her world had become. The familiar routine of breakfast, the predictable conversation, the expectations hanging heavy in the air—it all felt suffocating in a way it never had before.

"Sophie? Did you hear me?" Her mother's voice cut through her thoughts.

"I'm sorry, what?" Sophie looked up, realizing she'd been staring at her untouched eggs.

"I asked if you were ready for your debate team practice this afternoon. Mrs. Peterson called yesterday to remind us about the regional competition next week."

"Oh. Yes, of course." Sophie took a small bite of toast, trying to appear normal. "We're preparing rebuttals for the affirmative position on federal education funding."

Her father lowered his newspaper, nodding approvingly. "That's my girl. Always prepared."

The praise that would have warmed her just yesterday now felt hollow. What would her father say if he knew she'd spent the night clinging to a boy from the wrong side of town?

"Sophie, you're certainly distracted this morning," her mother observed, frowning slightly. "Are you feeling alright?"

"Just tired," Sophie replied, forcing a smile. "I should get going. I promised to meet Maggie before first period to review our calculus homework."

Her mother's expression softened. "Always so responsible. Don't forget your lunch."

Sophie collected her books and the neatly packed lunch, kissing her mother's cheek automatically before heading out the door. The familiar weight of expectations settled on her shoulders as she walked down the driveway, past the spot where Austin's motorcycle had idled just hours earlier.

***

The clubhouse's back room smelled of cigarette smoke and old leather. Frank Butler sat at the head of the scarred wooden table, his lieutenants flanking him like battle-hardened sentries. Maps and documents were spread across the surface, weighted down by empty beer bottles and a loaded revolver.

"The Southside territory is getting complicated," Frank began without preamble. "Hernandez is pushing his people further north, testing our boundaries."

Austin leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "You want me to send a message?"

A dangerous smile crossed Frank's face. "Not yet. First, we need leverage. Something to make him think twice before crossing us."

"What kind of leverage?" Austin asked, though he already suspected the answer. It was always the same in their world—find the weakness, exploit it, control the outcome.

"His nephew started at Millfield High last month. Football scholarship." Frank's eyes gleamed with predatory calculation. "I want you to get close to him. Find out what he knows about his uncle's operations."

Austin kept his expression neutral despite the unease settling in his gut. "You want me back in high school? I graduated two years ago."

"Not as a student," Frank clarified.

"As a mentor. The school's starting some program for 'at-risk youth.' The principal owes me a favor." Frank's smile didn't reach his eyes. "You'll be assigned to work with Hernandez's nephew. Three afternoons a week."

Austin pushed off the wall, tension radiating through his shoulders. "A school mentor program? That's not exactly my specialty."

"It is now," Frank replied, his tone brooking no argument. "We need eyes inside Millfield. The school's neutral territory - perfect for gathering intel without raising suspicions."

The other men around the table nodded in agreement, their expressions a mixture of approval and amusement at Austin's obvious discomfort.

"Besides," Frank continued, "you've always had a way with people. They trust you." He tapped his temple. "That's a gift, son. One you inherited from me."

Austin knew better than to refuse a direct order, especially in front of his father's lieutenants. Any sign of hesitation would be interpreted as weakness, and weakness wasn't tolerated in the Devil's Mark.

"When do I start?" he asked, resignation settling in his chest.

"Tomorrow. Three o'clock." Frank slid a folder across the table. "Everything you need to know about Miguel Hernandez Junior is in there. Study it. Become his best friend."

Austin took the folder, his mind already calculating the complications. Being back at Millfield High meant potentially crossing paths with the auburn-haired princess from last night. An unexpected variable in an already precarious equation.

"One more thing," Frank added, his voice hardening. "No distractions. This is business, not pleasure."

Austin met his father's gaze steadily. "Understood."

***

The halls of Millfield High bustled with activity as Sophie made her way to her locker. The familiar cacophony of slamming metal doors, squeaking sneakers, and overlapping conversations washed over her, but for the first time, she felt like an observer rather than a participant in the daily ritual.

"There you are!" Maggie appeared beside her, eyes bright with excitement. "I've been looking everywhere for you! Can you believe what happened last night?"

Sophie glanced around nervously. "Shh! Someone might hear you."

"Oh please, everyone's too wrapped up in their own drama to care about ours." Maggie leaned closer, lowering her voice nonetheless. "But seriously, Sophie. Austin Butler. The Austin Butler gave you a ride home on his motorcycle!"

"It wasn't a big deal," Sophie insisted, though the flutter in her stomach suggested otherwise. "He was just being... decent."

Maggie's eyebrows shot up. "Decent? The guy who allegedly beat Tommy Wilson so badly last year he had to transfer schools? The heir to the Devil's Mark throne? That's not the word most people would use."

Sophie frowned as she organized her textbooks. "I don't know what to tell you, Maggie. Maybe he's not what everyone says." Sophie hesitated, remembering the intensity in his blue eyes when he'd called her real. "Besides, it was one ride. It's not like I'm ever going to see him again."

"Never say never," Maggie sing-songed, nudging Sophie's shoulder. "Anyway, have you talked to Jimmy yet? He's been glaring at you from across the hall for the last five minutes."

Sophie glanced over her shoulder to find Jimmy leaning against his locker, surrounded by his usual group of friends. When their eyes met, his expression hardened, lips pressing into a thin line of disapproval.

"Great," Sophie muttered. "Just what I need."

"What exactly happened between you two? One minute he's all 'Sophie this, Sophie that,' and the next he's peeling out of Mel's like his car was on fire."

Sophie closed her locker with more force than necessary. "He got handsy. I said no. He didn't listen. Austin intervened."

"Handsy?" Maggie's eyes widened. "Jimmy Carson? But he's always so..."

"Poetic? Sensitive? Turns out that was all an act." Sophie adjusted her books in her arms. "Just like everything else in this town."

The first bell rang, sending students scurrying toward classrooms. Sophie started toward AP English, Maggie hurrying alongside her.

"Well, this is certainly a new Sophie," Maggie observed. "One motorcycle ride and suddenly you're seeing in different colors."

"I just—" Sophie paused, searching for the right words. "I feel like I've been sleepwalking through my life, you know? Following this perfect path without ever questioning where it leads."

Maggie's expression softened. "And now you're what?"

"I don't know what I am," Sophie admitted. "But I don’t know if I can pretend anymore.”

As they approached the classroom, Principal Winters emerged from his office, intercepting them with a raised hand. His perpetually worried expression seemed especially pronounced this morning.

"Ah, Miss Sutton, just who I was looking for." He straightened his tie nervously. "May I have a word? In private?"

Sophie's heart plummeted. Had someone seen her last night? Was her perfect record about to be tarnished by one impulsive decision?

"Of course, Mr. Winters." She handed her books to Maggie. "Tell Mrs. Peabody I'll be right there."

Maggie squeezed her arm supportively before disappearing into the classroom. Sophie followed Principal Winters into his office, mentally rehearsing explanations and apologies.

"Please, sit down," he said, gesturing to the chair across from his desk. He settled into his own seat with a sigh that suggested the weight of administrative burdens. "Miss Sutton, I have a proposition for you," he began, adjusting his glasses. "As you may know, the school board has approved our new mentorship program for at-risk students."

Sophie nodded cautiously, relief washing over her. This wasn't about last night after all.

"We're pairing our highest-achieving seniors with students who need additional guidance," he continued. "Given your exemplary record and leadership skills, I'd like you to be one of our inaugural mentors."

"I'd be happy to help," Sophie replied automatically, the perfect-student response ready on her lips.

"Excellent." Principal Winters beamed. "I knew I could count on you. The program begins tomorrow afternoon at three o'clock in the library." He shuffled through some papers on his desk. "You'll be mentoring Miguel Hernandez. He's new here—transfer student on a football scholarship. Bright boy, but he's having trouble adjusting to Millfield's academic standards."

Sophie's mind raced through her schedule—debate team practice, student council meetings, college application essays—but the familiar weight of obligation settled on her shoulders. "I'll make it work," she promised.

"There's one more thing," Principal Winters added, his expression growing slightly uncomfortable. "We've arranged for some... community members to assist with the program as well. Young adults who can provide a different perspective."

Something in his tone made Sophie pause. "What kind of community members?"

"Well, various backgrounds. People who might connect with these students in ways we educators cannot." He cleared his throat. "The school board believes in second chances, Miss Sutton. Remember that."

Before Sophie could press for details, the second bell rang.

"You should get to class," Principal Winters said, rising from his chair. "And thank you for your participation. I'm sure it will be a valuable experience for everyone involved."

***

By lunchtime, Sophie's encounter with Principal Winters had been pushed to the back of her mind. The cafeteria hummed with its usual midday chaos as she navigated toward the table where Maggie had saved her a seat.

"So?" Maggie demanded as soon as Sophie sat down. "What did Winters want? Are you expelled? Stripped of your class presidency? Forced to wear a scarlet M for motorcycle?"

Sophie laughed despite herself. "Nothing that dramatic. He wants me to mentor some new student as part of a program for at-risk kids."

"Boring," Maggie declared, stabbing at her mystery meat. "I was hoping for something juicier after your night of rebellion."

"Sorry to disappoint," Sophie replied, opening her perfectly packed lunch.

"Speaking of juicy," Maggie lowered her voice, "Jimmy's been telling everyone you threw yourself at him last night and he nobly declined."

Sophie nearly choked on her sandwich. "He what?"

"Don't worry, nobody with half a brain believes him. But..." Maggie hesitated. "...he's also claiming Austin threatened him at knifepoint." Maggie leaned closer. "The story gets more elaborate every time he tells it."

Sophie set down her sandwich, appetite vanishing. "That's ridiculous. There was no knife." She lowered her voice. "Austin just told him to back off."

"Well, apparently in Jimmy's version, Austin's entire gang surrounded him, and he barely escaped with his life." Maggie rolled her eyes.

Sophie glanced across the cafeteria where Jimmy sat holding court, his audience hanging on every word. Their eyes met briefly before she looked away, a chill running down her spine. "It doesn't matter," Sophie said, trying to convince herself. "By next week, everyone will be talking about something else."

"Maybe," Maggie agreed, though she didn't sound convinced. "Just be careful around Jimmy. Wounded pride can make people do stupid things."

The warning lingered in Sophie's mind as she pushed her lunch around.

***

Austin flipped through Miguel Hernandez's file for the third time that afternoon, memorizing details that might prove useful. Sixteen years old. Transfer student. Star running back with college potential. Mother deceased, father absent. Living with his uncle—Ricardo Hernandez, the Devil's Mark's primary rival in the regional drug trade. The irony wasn't lost on Austin. Here he was, preparing to mentor a kid while simultaneously planning to use him against his family. Just another day upholding the Butler family legacy.

"You actually going through with this school shit?" Ray asked, entering the garage where Austin was working on the Hernandez bike.

Austin closed the file. "Not like I have a choice."

"Your old man's playing a dangerous game," Ray said, leaning against the workbench. "School's neutral ground. Has been for generations."

"Tell me something I don't know." Austin tightened a bolt with more force than necessary. "But orders are orders."

Ray studied him for a moment. "This have anything to do with that girl from last night? The one with the trellis?"

Austin's hand slipped, knuckles scraping against metal. "What about her?"

"Just wondering if you know what school she goes to." Ray's tone was deliberately casual. "Millfield's a small town."

"Drop it, Ray," Austin warned, wiping grease from his hands. "She's not part of this."

"If you say so." Ray pushed off the workbench. "Just remember—your father sees everything. And what he doesn't see, he finds out."

After Ray left, Austin stared at the motorcycle he was repairing, mind drifting to auburn hair and green eyes that had looked at him without fear. Most people in Millfield crossed the street when they saw him coming. Sophie had wrapped her arms around him, held on tight as they cut through the darkness together. The memory stirred something dangerous in his chest—something that had no place in the life his father had mapped out for him. Austin wiped his hands on a shop rag and closed the Hernandez file. Tomorrow he'd walk back into Millfield High, a place he'd been all too happy to leave behind. Only this time, he wouldn't be the troubled kid everyone avoided. He'd be there on official business, sanctioned by the same administration that had once threatened to expel him on a weekly basis.

Life had a twisted sense of humor sometimes.

***

Sophie's Wednesday passed in a blur of classes and extracurricular obligations. By the time the final bell rang, she was already mentally rehearsing her approach for the mentorship meeting. Miguel Hernandez would need structure, encouragement, and clear academic goals—all things Sophie excelled at providing.

"Don't forget student council at four-thirty," Caroline Peters reminded her as they packed up their calculus materials.

"I won't," Sophie promised, though her mind was already on the library and her new mentee.

The halls emptied quickly as Sophie made her way toward the library, her sensible loafers clicking against the polished floor. Through the windows, she could see the football team assembling on the field for practice, their burgundy and gold uniforms bright against the green grass. One player stood slightly apart from the others, his stance suggesting reluctance rather than team spirit. Miguel Hernandez, she presumed. Sophie pushed open the heavy library doors, the familiar smell of books and floor polish greeting her. Principal Winters stood near the circulation desk, speaking quietly with a middle-aged woman Sophie didn't recognize. Several students were already seated at tables—mostly underclassmen with varying degrees of discomfort on their faces.

"Ah, Miss Sutton," Principal Winters waved her over. "Perfect timing. Let me introduce you to Mrs. Ramirez from the community outreach program. She'll be overseeing our mentor partnerships."

Mrs. Ramirez smiled warmly, extending a hand. "Sophie, it's wonderful to meet you. Principal Winters speaks very highly of your leadership abilities."

"Thank you," Sophie replied automatically. "I'm looking forward to helping Miguel adjust to Millfield's academic standards."

"Yes, well—" Principal Winters began, but was interrupted by the library doors swinging open again.

Sophie turned, expecting to see her assigned mentee. Instead, her heart stuttered to a halt as Austin walked in, leather jacket exchanged for a simple white t-shirt that did nothing to diminish his commanding presence. Their eyes locked across the room, and for a moment, Sophie was back on that motorcycle, arms wrapped around his waist, wind whipping through her hair.

"Mr. Butler," Principal Winters greeted, his voice slightly strained. "Thank you for joining us."

Austin nodded, his expression betraying nothing as he approached the group. "Wouldn't miss it," Austin replied, his voice carrying that same quiet authority that had silenced Jimmy at Mel's Diner. His eyes flicked to Sophie again, a brief spark of recognition before his expression returned to careful neutrality.

Sophie felt rooted to the spot, her carefully prepared mentor introduction forgotten. Austin was here. In her school. In her carefully constructed world of academic achievement and extracurricular perfection.

Mrs. Ramirez seemed oblivious to the tension crackling between them. "Wonderful! Now that most of our mentors are here, let me explain how this will work." She gestured toward the tables. "We've created mentor teams—one student and one community member paired with each mentee. This provides our at-risk students with both peer support and real-world perspective."

Sophie's stomach dropped. Surely they wouldn't...

"Miss Sutton, you and Mr. Butler will be co-mentoring Miguel Hernandez," Principal Winters announced, confirming her worst fear. "Miguel should be joining us shortly—Coach Evans is releasing him from the first part of practice."

Austin's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "Co-mentoring?"

"Yes," Mrs. Ramirez beamed. "We find the dual approach quite effective. Students relate to their peers, while our community mentors provide valuable life experience."

Sophie finally found her voice. "Mr. Winters, I thought I would be working with Miguel individually."

"Plans evolved after our morning conversation," the principal explained, adjusting his glasses nervously. "The school board felt the team approach would be more... comprehensive."

Austin's eyes narrowed slightly at the principal's discomfort, but he said nothing.

"Why don't you two get acquainted while we wait for Miguel?" Mrs. Ramirez suggested, already turning her attention to other arriving mentors.

Left alone, Sophie and Austin stood in awkward silence, the library's hushed atmosphere suddenly oppressive.

"Princess," Austin finally acknowledged, his voice low enough that only she could hear.

"Don't call me that," Sophie whispered back automatically.

A hint of amusement played at the corner of his mouth. "Would you prefer Miss Student Council?"

"Sophie is fine," she replied, smoothing her skirt in a nervous gesture. "What are you doing here?"

Austin leaned against a nearby bookshelf, the casual posture at odds with the institutional setting. "Community service. Turns out I'm a valuable resource for wayward youth."

"Are you serious?"

"As a heart attack." His eyes traveled over her—neat blouse, pressed skirt, sensible shoes—taking in every detail of her. "You look different in daylight.”

"Different how?" Sophie asked, immediately regretting the question. She didn't need to give him any more ammunition.

"More..." Austin tilted his head, studying her. "Uptight."

The word hung between them, uncomfortably accurate. Sophie crossed her arms, trying to regain her composure. "Well, we should establish some ground rules for this mentorship. I assume you have no actual experience with academic tutoring?"

A slow smile spread across Austin's face. "You'd be surprised what I know, Princess."

"I told you not to call me that," Sophie hissed, glancing around to make sure no one overheard. The last thing she needed was for people to start associating her with Austin Butler and whatever nickname he decided to bestow upon her.

"But I like it," he replied. "So, what's the plan here? You handle the books, I handle the street smarts?"

"I'll handle everything," Sophie countered. "You can just... observe."

Austin's laugh was low and rich. "That's not how partnerships work."

"This isn't a partnership," Sophie insisted. "It's a school program I'm participating in for my college applications, and you're here for... whatever reason you're here."

Something flashed in Austin's eyes—a momentary hardness that reminded Sophie exactly who she was dealing with. Not just the boy who'd rescued her at Mel's, but someone with a reputation that made teachers nervous and students cross the hallway. Before Austin could respond, the library doors swung open again. A tall, broad-shouldered boy in a football jersey entered, looking as uncomfortable as Sophie felt. His dark eyes scanned the room warily before Principal Winters waved him over.

"Miguel," Winters called. "Come meet your mentors."

Miguel approached with the cautious grace of an athlete, his posture suggesting he'd rather be anywhere else. Up close, Sophie could see the tension in his jaw, the wariness in his expression.

"Miguel Hernandez," Principal Winters began the introductions, "this is Sophie Sutton, our student council president and one of our top academic achievers. And this is Austin Butler, a... community volunteer."

Miguel's eyes widened slightly at Austin's name, a flicker of recognition—and something else—crossing his face.

"Butler?" Miguel repeated, his voice carefully neutral. "As in—"

"Just Austin is fine," Austin cut in smoothly, extending his hand. After a moment's hesitation, Miguel shook it, their grip lasting a beat longer than necessary.

Sophie watched the exchange with growing unease. There was something happening beneath the surface—some current of understanding passing between the two young men that excluded her completely.

"Well!" Mrs. Ramirez clapped her hands together. "I'll leave you three to get acquainted. Remember, this first session is about establishing goals and building rapport. Your mentorship folders have suggested activities."

As Mrs. Ramirez walked away, an uncomfortable silence settled over their table. Sophie reached for the mentorship folder, grateful for something to focus on besides Austin's unsettling presence. "So, Miguel," she began, adopting her most professional tone, "Principal Winters mentioned you're having some difficulty adjusting to Millfield's academic standards. I've prepared a study schedule that should help you balance football with your coursework."

Miguel glanced between Sophie and Austin, his expression guarded. "No offense, but I don't need a 'study schedule.' Coach already has me on academic probation. I just need to pass American History."

"History? That's one of my best subjects," Sophie brightened, ignoring Austin's barely concealed smirk. "We can start with your current unit. What period are you studying?"

"Civil War," Miguel answered flatly. "But like I said—"

"The Civil War is fascinating," Sophie continued, pulling out a notebook. "I created excellent timelines for that unit last year. We could—"

"I think Miguel was about to say he doesn't need color-coded flashcards," Austin interrupted, leaning forward. "Right, Miguel?"

Miguel's posture relaxed slightly. "Something like that."

Sophie felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment. "I'm just trying to help."

Austin turned to Miguel, ignoring her discomfort. "So, football scholarship. You must be good."

"Good enough to get out of my neighborhood," Miguel replied, something hard flashing in his eyes.

"And which neighborhood is that?" Austin asked casually.

Sophie watched the exchange with growing suspicion. Austin's question seemed innocuous, but there was an intensity to his attention that didn't match simple mentor small talk.

"Southside," Miguel answered after a slight hesitation. "Near Riverfront."

Austin nodded as though this confirmed something. "Tough area."

"You would know," Miguel said, the words carrying a weight Sophie couldn't quite decipher.

The tension between them was palpable, charged with unspoken recognition. Sophie cleared her throat, determined to regain control of the session. "Perhaps we should focus on establishing a study plan," she suggested, pulling out the activity sheets from the folder. "The program guidelines suggest we each share our strengths and how they might help Miguel."

Austin leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. "Ladies first."

Sophie straightened, falling into her familiar role of academic achiever. "Well, I maintain a 4.0 GPA, I'm president of four clubs, and I've already been accepted to Radcliffe early decision. I can help with any subject, especially history, literature, and mathematics."

She turned to Austin expectantly, a challenge in her eyes. Let's see you top that.

Austin's smile was slow and knowing. "I speak Spanish fluently, know more about local history than any textbook you'll find in this library, and I've never lost a fight.”

Miguel's eyebrows shot up, a reluctant smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Never lost a fight? Not even once?"

"Not when it mattered," Austin replied, his eyes briefly meeting Sophie's before returning to Miguel.

Sophie felt her carefully constructed mentoring plan crumbling. This wasn't how academic guidance was supposed to work. "Fighting skills aren't exactly relevant to passing American History," she pointed out, struggling to keep the irritation from her voice.

"No?" Austin leaned forward. "The entire Civil War was about knowing when to fight and when to negotiate. Knowing your enemy's weakness. Controlling territory." He turned to Miguel. "What's your grade in the class right now?"

"D minus," Miguel admitted. "Mr. Peterson doesn't like my 'perspective on historical events.'"

Austin nodded knowingly. "Peterson's still teaching? Man still thinks the Confederacy was just misunderstood."

"You had him?" Sophie asked, momentarily forgetting her annoyance.

"Unfortunately." Austin's mouth twisted. "Got sent to the principal's office for questioning his version of Reconstruction."

Miguel looked at Austin with new interest. "That's exactly what happened to me last week. I said the Black Codes were just slavery by another name, and he got all red in the face."

"Because you're right," Austin said. "And Peterson can't handle being challenged, especially by students he thinks should be 'grateful' to be at Millfield."

The way Austin said it—with such casual certainty about the teacher's prejudice—made Sophie uncomfortable. She'd always found Mr. Peterson strict but fair. Had she missed something obvious?

"Look," Austin continued, "Peterson gives extra credit for primary source analysis. Find accounts from former slaves about life after the Civil War. He can't argue with firsthand testimony, even if it contradicts his sanitized version."

Sophie stared at Austin, genuinely surprised by his insight. "That's... actually good advice."

"Don't sound so shocked, Princess," Austin replied, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Some of us learn outside classrooms."

Miguel glanced between them, curiosity replacing his initial wariness. "You two know each other or something?"

"No," Sophie said quickly.

"Yes," Austin said simultaneously.

Miguel raised an eyebrow. "Which is it?"

Sophie shot Austin a warning look. "We're acquainted. Briefly."

"Very briefly," Austin agreed, his tone suggesting exactly the opposite. "Just long enough for a midnight ride."

Miguel's eyes widened. "For real?"

"It wasn't like that," Sophie hissed, her cheeks burning. "It was—I was—" She stopped, realizing any explanation would only make things worse.

Austin took pity on her. "Relax. I'm just messing with you." He turned back to Miguel. "So, American History. Peterson's a problem, but not an insurmountable one. What else?"

"English," Miguel admitted. "We're reading The Great Gatsby, and it's putting me to sleep."

Sophie seized the opportunity to regain her footing. "Gatsby is actually fascinating when you understand the social context. It's about the American Dream and how it's ultimately—"

"Bullshit," Austin finished for her. "It's about a guy who reinvents himself to impress a girl who's never going to love him back because she's too caught up in her own world."

Sophie blinked, momentarily speechless. The analysis wasn't wrong, just... unrefined.

"That's what I said in class," Miguel nodded. "Mrs. Bennett said I was 'missing the nuance.'"

"Bennett wouldn't recognize nuance if it tattooed itself on her forehead," Austin muttered. "She's still teaching that green light crap?"

Despite herself, Sophie laughed. "The green light is a legitimate symbol."

"Of what? Gatsby's permission to proceed?" Austin shook his head. "It's just a light, Princess. People see what they want to see."

There was something in the way he said it – a hint of bitterness beneath the casual dismissal – that made Sophie wonder what Austin saw when he looked at her. A spoiled rich girl? A challenge? Or something else entirely?

Miguel was watching their exchange with growing interest. "So how'd you two meet? For real?"

Before Sophie could formulate a suitable lie, the library doors burst open. Jimmy Carson strode in, his eyes scanning the room until they locked on their table. His face darkened as he spotted Austin.

"Great," Austin muttered. "Poetry boy."

Sophie tensed as Jimmy approached, his usual languid stride replaced by something more purposeful. He stopped at their table, ignoring both Miguel and Austin to focus entirely on Sophie.

"Student council emergency meeting," Jimmy announced, his voice tight. "Caroline sent me to find you."

Sophie frowned. "There's nothing on the schedule."

"Last minute. Budget issue." Jimmy's eyes flicked to Austin. "Unless you're too busy with your... community service project."

The way he said it made it sound dirty, dangerous. Sophie felt her face flush with anger.

"Actually, we're in the middle of something important," she replied, surprising herself with the firmness in her voice.

Jimmy's expression hardened. "More important than your responsibilities as president? That's not the Sophie Sutton I know."

"Maybe you don't know her as well as you think," Austin commented, his tone light but his eyes cold.

Jimmy's hands clenched into fists. "Nobody asked you, Butler."

"Yet here I am, answering anyway." Austin leaned back in his chair, the picture of relaxed confidence, though Sophie noticed the subtle shift in his posture.

Miguel watched the exchange with the wariness of someone who recognized the prelude to violence.

"Jimmy," Sophie intervened, standing up to place herself between the two young men. "If there's really an emergency, I'll be there in a few minutes. But I need to finish this session first."

Jimmy's eyes narrowed. "Since when do you put anything before student council?"

"Since I made a commitment to this program," Sophie replied, her voice steady despite the tension thrumming through her body. "I'll be there as soon as we're done."

For a moment, Jimmy looked like he might argue further, but something in Sophie's expression made him reconsider. "Fine. Don't be too long." His gaze shifted to Austin. "And watch yourself, Butler. School property is neutral ground, but that doesn't mean you belong here."

Austin's smile was razor-sharp. "Thanks for the civics lesson, Carson. I'll be sure to take notes."

Jimmy stalked away, the set of his shoulders radiating frustration. Sophie sank back into her chair, suddenly exhausted.

"Well," Miguel said, breaking the uncomfortable silence, "that was intense."

"That was nothing," Austin replied, though his eyes followed Jimmy until the library doors closed behind him. "Your ex?" he asked Sophie.

"No," she said firmly. "Just someone who thought he was entitled to more than I wanted to give."

A look of understanding passed between them—brief but electric—before Sophie turned her attention back to Miguel.

"Let's get back to Gatsby," she said, determined to salvage what remained of their session.

Stay tuned for part 3!! Click HERE to view!

[sanzako]

This is wonderful!

I want to add about the kind of puzzles you can encounter from different Zeldas and how that can affect the way each Link tackles a challenge (sadly I don't have much experience with the 2D games). These are all based in the regular editions (no Master Quest or HD) and my very subjective experience, so beware.

Ocarina of time (and Majora's Mask)

OoT was the first Zelda game I played, back in the N64. Most of the puzzles are solved by observation and heavily using the item you get in that particular dungeon. I remember having to travel some dungeons back and forth, revisiting many places I have traveled tons before but now with new information, an item, or key in order to advance. My bf is playing this game for the first time and now I realize how many things are not obvious at all. The game is full of hints, but sometimes they are very subtle and meant to be discovered by a trial and error process. You need to explore and it's not weird to stumble upon the solution by sheer luck (for example, he discovered you can fly with a Cucco by accidentally falling off a roof with one over his head). Time probably is used to find weird things everywhere that hopefully will make sense further in his adventure (then there is always the paranoia that maybe you are meant to solve them right now, and you are just not smart enough to do it.)

Wind Waker

Uhh, I did play this game, but I am not the best to talk about it due to some external, strenuous circumstances xD (I played with a broken controller that drifted to the left). The only thing I could say is that you don't want a vast sea where you can only move to the west haha.

Twilight Princess

Similar to OoT, but I think the puzzles are in general much more linear. Midna usually tells you where to go and how to do stuff, so it is hard to get stuck (I actually managed to get stuck in very stupid ways so maybe Midna was onto something). It followed the formula of "new item advances the plot", and you have to travel all over the world to do stuff, but most of the time just once (or you return but for something very small). I will have to replay this game to remember more.

Skyward Sword.

Fi spoiled a lot of the puzzles for you, which I guess in-universe made her extremely useful, but as a player was kind of frustrating. I think this game was more focused on the motion mechanics and dexterity skills than in solving puzzles. Still the mechanics were pretty interesting and it was pretty common to return to places you have already traveled, but now with some new challenges. It became a little repetitive, but it gave you the opportunity to appreciate those places. Also, the dungeons are gorgeous.

Breath of the Wild.

Oh boy. I think what sets it apart is it's biggest strength and weakness. Most Zelda games have only ONE way to solve a puzzle. Part of the challenge is to guess what the developers wanted you to do next. Not in this game. The freedom they give you means that you can solve a puzzle in many different, unorthodox ways. That's lateral thinking, baby! The bad thing is that most puzzles are auto contained in small rooms and can be solved from the get-go. The complexity and need to learn a large dungeon layout rapidly goes down. This means that Wild would probably be very frustrated with an unsolvable puzzle that needs a particular specific item that he will get later on. Probably he would just think how unfair is that if he has a pretty heavy claymore or boulder breaker with him, why does he need a sacred-fire-goron-magic hammer hidden in the deeps of a volcano to activate the switch that is right here.

Legend of Zelda I (NES)

I just recently started playing this one for the first time. What I found pretty interesting is that the items that you need to advance are not always where you would expect them. It's so, so easy to miss a plot relevant item just by going straight and not exploring everything. Unlike future installments that practically forces the important stuff upon you, this game is happy to let you fail for not being curious enough. Also, due to the memory constraints, you are basically out of any instructions and directions in-game. That makes it very confusing unless you have the manual (fortunately it is available in archive.com). There are a lot of hidden stuff that are really really hard to come-by. For example, there are some trees that you can set on fire that hide caves, but they are not marked in any way, and if you set on fire the wrong tree, nothing happens, not even a small indication that what you are doing may do something (the normal trees don't burn, so it's not hard to conclude they are not programmed to respond to fire). I think this is the reason why Hyrule seems to have a supernatural ability to find hidden stuff, this game basically requires that from you (unless you use guides, like I had to, specially in the overworld).

I have played small sections of the Oracle games, Minish Cap and Phantom Hourglass, but not enough to give a review. Hopefully I will play more of those at some point!

And of course, your mileage may vary, the experience playing Zelda games may be drastically different from one fan to other. Still, hope it helps!

Fellow Linked Universe fans, I have a favor to ask of you.

I keep thinking that I don’t know as much about the Links as I think I do because I’ve only played one of the games, so if any of you wouldn’t mind, pick your favorite and rant about their adventure!

If not, that’s okay, I’m still doing as much research as I can on them. I just want to also hear it from other fans as a sort of backup or confirmation thing for me to read later.

Thank you for your time!

[recurring-polynya]

How do you compare and contrast rukia’s relationships with ichigo and renji?

Rukia and Ichigo:

She saved his life and then he had to put up with her

After some amount of initial frustration, built an intense friendship over a short period of time based mostly on admiration of each other's ideals and character

Rukia takes a mentorship role early in their relationship. Later, he greatly surpasses her in power, although she still occasionally gives him encouragement and support (largely by yelling at him)

Ride or die for each other

Tend to see each other for relatively brief, emotionally charged situations, with separations in-between. Although Ichigo was unhappy during the period that it seemed he might never see her again, this generally seems to work out for them. ("This isn't going to be the last time I say [good-bye], so who cares how many times I say it?")

Come from different planes of existence. Frequently find each other's views and behaviors to be weird and nonsensical, usually in a teasing way.

Can fight as a team, or part of a larger team, but show no particular preference for doing so. Ichigo tends to team up with most of his friends (and sometimes enemies) but his nature as the extra-powerful protagonist often has him fighting solo.

During the initial course of their friendship, they had a lot of solo time, but once Ichigo's shinigami powers become general knowledge, they are more likely to be seen as part of a larger group.

As far as we know, their relationship has no romantic or sexual aspects to it. This is a shounen, so they wouldn't show that anyway, but obviously through the power of fanfiction and wishful thinking, all things are possible.

Rukia and Renji:

She saved his life and then he had to put up with her

After some amount of initial frustration, built a strong friendship over a long period of time based on shared experiences, common ideals, and admiration of each other's character.

Although they have periods where one or the other pulls ahead or falls behind, are generally equal in power and rank. (Rukia yells at him just because she can)

Ride or die for each other

Work in the same organization, have a shared social circle, and (based on filler episodes) hang out regularly. Were both deeply lonely and unhappy during the period where they separated due to societal pressures.

Are very frequently the exact same flavor of batshit insane.

Will often preferentially team-up during combat scenarios, even though they are in different squads. Have basically been joined at the hip from the end of the Soul Society arc onward.

Sometimes they have to put up with Byakuya, but spend a lot of time (which is to say most of the Blood War and two New Year's episodes) one-on-one.

Are married, cohabitate, and have a child. This is a shounen, so they wouldn't show it, but Occam's razor would suggest that they are romantically and sexually attracted to one another. Obviously, once again, through the power of fanfiction and wishful thinking, all things are possible.

[simcardiac-arrested]

ATTENTION: HAVE YOU SEEN THIS TREE? IF YOU HAVE, YOU MIGHT HAVE FALLEN INTO SOME SORT OF RIP IN THE FABRIC OF TIME

alt version because i also liek it :)

[vaguely-concerned]

bunter keeping peter from being swallowed up by an evil bog with the kind of hysterical strength otherwise only known by mothers deadlifting cars to save their tender babes is something that can actually be so personal