#they should never have been forced to learn how to handle guns

[hollyhomburg]

Hobi in run jin episode from yesterday is making me feral. The way he's holding the rifle. 🫠😩💦

ahhhhh i'm having feelings on it too, just maybe... other ones

[aleniaaa]

"Plan B" Rafe Cameron x JohnB's!sister!reader SMUT

summary: Maya Routledge finds herself stuck with Rafe Cameron in Barbados.

warnings: age gap (18-21), unprotected p in v (wrap it before you tap it!), guns, violence

a/n: hey y'all bit longer than my usual fanfics; please repost if you like it :** kisses on y'all's foreheads

words: 3,9k

After being transported from the so-called "Poguelandia" to Barbados, I decided to make a run for it. I had to get away from the Pogues. Even though I was a Pogue by blood, I never truly felt like I belonged with them. My dad didn’t care much for me or my brother. He was always obsessed with finding treasure, chasing after some fairytale fantasy. When I saw those same legends starting to get into my big brother’s head, I realized how much he had changed. His obsession, along with his girlfriend Sarah, made me think that maybe they had both lost it.

Escaping from them wasn’t too difficult, not with the chaos and noise of the city. I found myself walking through a market, trying to steal some fruit—honestly, it was the only skill I’d ever learned from my dad. But out of nowhere, someone grabbed me from behind. I felt a hand clamp over my mouth, silencing any attempt to scream. I was helpless, and no one came to help. The more I struggled, the more I felt myself slipping away. Soon, everything went black, and I drifted off into unconsciousness.

When I woke up, I was no longer in the market. I was in a strange, well-furnished room. But what struck me first were my clothes—I was now wearing a beautiful red silk dress. Panic surged through me. What was going on? Anxiety gripped me, and I froze in fear, unable to move. My mind raced, but all I could think was, "This isn’t how I’m going to die." After a moment of sheer shock, I forced myself to stand and rushed to the door. I yanked on the handle with all my strength, shouting, "HELP! PLEASE LET ME OUT!" But there was no response.

I went to the window, desperate for any hint of what was going on. All I saw were fields stretching for miles, nothing but endless grass in every direction. I collapsed onto the bed, trying to think of how I could escape this place. As if on cue, the door opened. A man, armed and speaking in a foreign tongue, gestured for me to follow him. I had no choice but to obey, my legs trembling beneath me.

He led me to a large living room where I was confronted by a man who looked like he belonged in charge. "Hello, Miss Routledge," he said, his voice smooth and controlled. "I apologize for the inconvenience of your trip here, but the circumstances left me no choice. Please, sit." He gestured toward a chair in front of him, and as I hesitated, he introduced himself. "I am Mr. Singh."

I glared at him. "What do you want from me? Let me go!" My voice trembled, but I couldn’t hold back the anger.

"You see, Miss Routledge," he began, his Caribbean accent thick and authoritative, "you have something that belongs to me. And I would greatly appreciate it if you returned it to me."

I shook my head, confused. "I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t have anything."

He smirked, his eyes narrowing. "Now, Miss Routledge, I know you’re lying. And do you know what I despise the most? Lies." His tone grew colder.

"I’m not lying! I don’t know what you’re talking about!" I protested, my heart pounding in my chest.

"The diary," he said, his voice sharp. "I know you have it—or at least, you’ve had it. Where is it?"

It clicked. He was talking about that treasure-related diary John B had been obsessing over. I wasn’t interested in any of that. "Look, if it’s about that nonexistent treasure, I don’t have it, and I don’t want it. You should talk to my brother, not me. He’s the one obsessed with it," I explained, trying to keep my voice steady.

"Very well," Singh said with a cold smile. "Take her away."

Before I could react, two guards grabbed my arms, dragging me aggressively toward the door. I kicked and screamed, trying to break free, but it was no use. As they pulled me away, I heard Singh's voice behind me, calm and sinister. "Even if you don’t have what I’m looking for, maybe you’ll still serve as bait."

The door slammed shut, and my heart sank. I had no idea what was coming next.

I was lying on the bed, trying to process everything, when I heard the door creak open. To my surprise, the last person I expected to see walked in: Rafe fucking Cameron, dressed in a sharp suit. He froze when he saw me.

"What are you doing here, May? Are you trying to ruin my deal?" he snapped. I blinked, momentarily thrown off guard. Rafe was the only one who ever called me "May"—everyone else always called me Maya. For some reason, he liked to shorten it. There was something in his tone—anger, annoyance—something that made me uneasy.

"What the hell are you talking about? I’m literally kidnapped here!" I shot back, my confusion rising. "How the hell did you even get here?"

He looked at me like I was the crazy one. "What do you mean you’re kidnapped? I’m here to close the sale of the cross." His voice was calm, but I could tell he wasn’t lying. My suspicion that he was behind this situation faded a bit.

"Yeah, some pilot found us on a deserted island, and it turns out he’s mixed up in all this. He wants some diary my brother has and is trying to use me as bait," I explained quickly.

Rafe sighed, rubbing his face. "Jesus Christ, you Pogues always try to get your hands on things that don’t belong to you."

I felt my anger rise. "Hey, I’m not like them, okay? I didn’t ask for this, and I don’t give a damn about any treasure! So don’t talk to me like that."

He took a deep breath, as if trying to calm himself. "Alright, listen. I’ll talk to this guy and try to make a deal. You stay here, and be good. Afterward, I’ll figure out a way to get us out of here. Sound good?" He pointed at my face, making sure I was listening.

I nodded, and he left. Rafe was gone for about 25 minutes, meeting with the man. When he returned, I could see the worry in his eyes.

"And?" I asked, eager for answers.

"Ugh, we’re in deep shit," Rafe muttered. "He thinks I’m after the treasure, too, and offered me some shady deal for the cross."

"What about getting us out of here?" I pressed.

"Yeah, Plan B," he said, looking serious. "They won’t let us go. We’ll have to break out or something. Listen carefully. There’s one guard outside the door. You need to get his attention, and I’ll hide. Once he comes in, I’ll grab his gun and take him out, alright?"

I nodded, feeling the tension building. Minutes later, I screamed at the top of my lungs, "Help!"

The guard didn’t waste any time. When I went silent, the door opened, and he stepped inside, gun pointed toward me. "Hey, what’s going on here?" he called out, walking in the direction of the bathroom.

That’s when Rafe sprang into action. He lunged at the guard, landed a punch to his face, grabbed the gun, and then slammed his elbow into the guard’s stomach for good measure. The guy went down hard, unconscious before he could even react.

"Okay, follow me." Rafe led the way, taking out a guard on the way out. I placed my hand on his back, trying my best to stay calm despite the fear bubbling inside me.

"I’ve got a boat at the port that can take us to OBX," Rafe said, glancing back at me. "I can drop you off anywhere you need." His offer was a surprising shift from the usual cold, distant Rafe I knew. It was a kind gesture, and for a moment, I felt a flicker of something warmer.

We climbed into a truck loaded with hay, both of us relieved to have escaped. Rafe leaned back against the wall of the vehicle, a small smile creeping onto his face as he glanced at me.

"You know, May, I never took you for a Pogue. You're better than them," he said casually.

"Thanks," I replied, unsure of how to react. The truth was, Rafe had always been my secret crush, the one no one knew about. But because he was a Kook and I was a pouge, I never let myself think of anything more.

Hearing him say that, though, made me feel almost equal to him for a moment. It was nice, in a way, to know he saw me differently.

When we arrived at the port and boarded his yacht, Rafe was busy preparing it for the journey ahead. I watched him for a moment, and after a while, he noticed my gaze.

"What? Why are you looking at me like that?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Like what?" I replied, a little taken aback.

"Doesn't matter," he said with a chuckle.

As the yacht sailed, the quiet between us stretched until Rafe broke it with some small talk. "So, how's school? You're a senior, right?"

"Yeah, it's alright," I answered. Rafe was 21, and I was almost 18, so he was already done with school.

"You want something to drink? It's gonna take us about two days to get to OBX," he offered.

"Sure, what do you have?" I asked.

"Whiskey, wine, beer, or water," he said, glancing at me.

"Beer would be great, thanks," I replied.

He handed me a cold beer, and as the sun started to set, we spent the evening talking. After a few beers, I started feeling the effects, my head spinning just a little. Rafe seemed to be handling it better, even though he had been drinking too.

"You know, I had a pretty big crush on you back in the day," I said, laughing lightly.

"Really?" he asked, a little surprised.

"Yeah, I used to look for you around school," I admitted, feeling a bit embarrassed.

A moment of silence passed, and then Rafe turned toward me, his expression softening. "I didn't know that," he said quietly. He leaned in a little, and for a second, the world seemed to slow. He looked into my eyes and kissed me. Lightly grabbing my face, deepening the kiss.

I reached my hand to unbuckle his belt. My underwear was soaking and I was ready to take him. Before that I had slept with my now-ex-boyfriend but he didn't make me feel so horny as Rafe in that moment. I don't know if the alcohol made me this confident but I sat on top of him, straddling his crotch. I felt his arousal on my ass. I continued kissing him and his hands were exploring every inch of my body.

Slightly squeezing my boobs, pinching my nipples through the dress, stroking my back. I unbuttoned his cotton shirt and started placing small pecks on his refined abs. "Wait" he suddenly stopped me "I didn't bring condoms" he looked at me with concern.

"Fuck it, I don't care." I said quickly. I was too aroused to stop now. His hand slid under my dress and found my panties. One of his fingers slid inside me and I let out a small moan. With his fingers pumping inside me I took his pants off massaging him through black pair of boxers. When he felt I was close to orgasm Rafe withdrew his hand and pulled me in for a kiss. Meanwhile I took out his cock and palmed it. He was moaning. "Shit, May" I lined his dick with my entrance and slowly lowered myself on it.

I grabbed his torso to steady myself and when I adjusted to his large size I started rocking my hips back and forth. "Ohh Rafe You feel so good." I was breathing heavy and my vision started to blur from pleasure. "You make me feel so good Rafe. If I knew your dick was so good I'd make a move sooner." I felt his finger circle my clit.

I picked up the pace and started moving my hips faster. "Fuck May I'm so close right now." He painted and I felt his dick twitch inside my coochie. I squeezed him and cummed, leaving a white ring around him.

Soon after he also came and I felt his warm release. I rode out the last bits of his orgasm and got off him, laying next to him trying to steady my breath and heartbeat.

"Damn John B would freak out if he knew I fucked his little sister." he smiled with his eyes closed. I playfully smacked his chest laughing with him.

[the-teufort-nine]

My TF2 Fic Rec List [ Fanfics I've Read That You Should Too]

*cracks knuckles* right, let's get started! X Reader fics are not included bc I already did a list of them for an ask. Mind the tags and ratings, as always. I'll add to this as I collect more, but its decently long as is

Symbol Key:

** = Incomplete

~~ = Personal favourite

++ = Under 10k

SpeedingBullet:

~~Running Blind by TheTriggeredHappy

(( Scout's eyes are badly damaged in battle and for some reason, Medic's gun can't fix him. Until they figure out how to heal Scout, he needs someone to look after him and keep him safe.

Sniper is given the job.

[3rd person limited, Scout's POV, some character development done on a whim] ))

The SpeedingBullet fanfic. If you like Scout X Sniper, and you haven't read this one yet, I don't know what to tell you. You are severely missing out on not only a great romance story, but also fantastic team dynamics. Also has an available Podfic!

++From a Hospital Bed by SlightlyLessThanAnon

(( Jeremy wakes up in the hospital, his brain struggling the find coherent thoughts as the world churns around him, in and out of consciousness.

He finds the team may care about him a little more than he thought they did. ))

Short but sweet. More whole team fluff than strictly SpeedingBullet. Very cute.

~~Golden Brown, as well as its sister fic, Take Me Out by Ali_Ker (Alina_Kerrin)

(( After seeing his co-worker in a new light, Scout is faced with unknown feelings and a new, distracting perspective on things. ))

This lovely author can be found here under the handle @alikerao3

Grouped these two together because they are they same story, but told from the perspectives of Scout and Sniper respectively. Definitely a bit of a heavier read, especially for anyone who has dealt with Catholic guilt or internalized homophobia, but my God is it worth it. Don't just read one thinking it isn't worth it to read the other fic. Read both. Also, check out the song that inspired the title.

~~Going Through The Motions by AussieBookworm

(( Working under RED can be repetitive at times - but nothing like this. After a curse is fired his way, Scout is forced to live through the same day over and over and over again. It should be easy for someone as perfect as Scout to break the curse, right? As long as he doesn't have to confront the things he's been feeling towards Sniper it should be a piece of cake! ))

Possibly my absolute favourite TF2 fic right now. Scout gets character development out the ass, Demo has a prominent, important role, and there's a plot twist so good it had me tweaking out. TW for Suicide as a method used to get out of a time loop. Absolutely incredible, and it needs more love.

Gills and Gunpowder by popkeeki

(( Monsters are becoming increasingly rare. Between getting pushed to the periphery of society or being targeted by traffickers, life is hard when you are not (entirely) human. Like many others, Scout tries to keep his true form a secret. It has never really been a problem. That is, until a nosy teammate catches him mid-swim. ))

SpeedingBullet Mermaid AU!! Good luck finding a fic with this premise that also reaches this level of quality.

**~~Pet by Anonymous

(( Sniper's terrified of losing the one person he has in his life. It turns out there's a convenient solution to that: just make sure he has no way out, and the rest will follow.

Scout wakes up in a van he knows all too well, loopy and hungover, and Sniper's waiting for him.

*

Or: Learning to live with claustrophobia in small spaces Or: Making the best of assisted living Or: You can’t outrun a fucking bullet ))

Are you like me? Do you enjoy Scout whump and Yandere!/Possessive Sniper? SpyDad? Do you want more of it in your life? If the answer is yes, than Pet is for you! No NSFW, just pure, delicious kidnapping and one-sided love.

General Fanfic Recommendations:

++Something's Up With Respawn by Camelot_taurus, Old Works (HarveyDangerfield)

(( Respawn starts to glitch, and the Administrator sets Engineer to work fixing it.

It doesn't take long for him to find out exactly what's going ))

Super funny, weird little oneshot. Basically, Respawn starts glitching and producing fucked up, Paperjam Dipper-esque clones of the Mercs.

++Mask Off by MatryoshkaDoll413

(( Scout is sick. Really sick. 'If we can't get this fever under control it's the hospital or the morgue' sick, and Respawn can't help him this time. They'd already tried that. He's gotten so delirious he's fighting Medic every second he's awake, not really lucid enough to remember so much as his own name, much less that of any of the team. Medic is ready to put him under full sedation and try and work things out from there, but Spy has an idea. ))

Wholesome SpyDad fic. Spy actually acts like a dad for once, for his sick little bunny.

~~++Scout, Respond by MatryoshkaDoll413

(( Scout wakes up in a dark, unknown place, with rocks bearing down on him and a spotty recollection as to how he ended up there in the first place. The only thing that keeps him sane is the voice of his team in his ear, telling him to talk, to breath, and, more than anything, to stay awake. ))

Scout gets trapped beneath a collapsed building, and receives comfort from his team over his headset while they race to dig him out. Super cute, definitely a must read, and I've done so more than once.

pick it all up (and start again) by bugbee

(( The clues had always been there, he had just never wanted to see them. Maybe neither of them had, instead content to deny the truth before their eyes for the rest of their days because it was better than confronting the alternative. Except Scout had died, and Spy wasn’t able to keep on pretending for his last moments. A part of Jeremy was glad for it, despite the simmering rage and betrayal and hurt. So when he tried to look God in the eye and tell Him that Tom Jones was his father… He couldn’t. Not really.

(Scout discusses his parentage with God, and stays dead for a little while longer. Well. A lot longer. On the plus side, he gets to attend his own funeral reception.) ))

An alternate take on Scout's death from the comics. Very Scout centric, obviously, and ends happily.

~~A Little Bird Told Me… by the_soup_specter

(( Medic learns a secret— something personal, powerful, big enough to cause a rift in the team of mercenaries that could tear two of them apart. And for once in his life… he’s not sure how to proceed.

With no better ideas, Medic decides to ask his fellow mercenaries for advice. But as dueling viewpoints begin to pile up, will he be able to make a decision before the team is changed forever? ))

Medic learns Spy is Scout's dad, and spills the beans. Everything turns out ok, but man the aftermath initially ain't pretty.

~~seven times he has to explain (and one time he doesn’t have to) by conner_is_alive

(( the trans scout obsession has me in a vice

also if i don’t vent my trans sadness i will literally rip a government building down brick by brick lmao ))

The fic that made me a trans Scout believer. If you're on the fence about that headcanon, maybe give this fic a read.

**~~Kith And Kin by BOREDGrace23

(( Mick never thought much of the BLU team. They were just clones, after all. Designed to be their opponents in a meaningless war.

That's why when he woke up, his vision blurry, his brain blistering from a headache like he'd just woken up from a hangover, and several burning questions about what had happened, he thought it was strange that they hadn't killed him already.

//

Or, BLU are clones and RED are decidedly not. They’re then forced to work together when their teams disappear. ))

If you like Emesis Blue, or horror in general, go read Kith And Kin. And when you finish, go give @boredgrace23 some love for such an incredible fic.

**++Der Junge by UpInFlamesWriting

(( Everyone on the team knows that Scout & Medic do not get along. They're like Sniper & Spy, except less bloodthirsty about it. Medic scares Scout, & Scout doesn't give Medic a reason to like him. When the two of them start being more than friendly all of a sudden, the team starts to worry, especially when it becomes obvious that Medic & Scout are keeping secrets from them. Scout & Medic are not about to tell the rest of the team that they are a pair of transsexual men, especially when Medic agrees to help Scout in his transition. For all the weirdness that goes on in the base, the world is not kind to queer people, & they aim to keep the reason behind their friendship a secret, even if it kills them. ))

Trans Scout and Trans Medic solidarity fic. I need more of this.

Eight Mercenaries and A Toddler by ChaosandMayhem

(( When Respawn malfunctions and their annoying Scout is turned into something far more precocious, it'll take all of the RED team's wits and patience to look after him. At the same time, Engineer must find a way to turn Scout back into an adult before the BLUs-or anyone else-realizes what's happened. No pairings, just a bunch of exhausted trained killers and one hyperactive child. ))

An Ancient Text from 2012 and the only FF.Net fic on this list, EMaAT is a classic for me. Lot's of Spy backstory, if memory serves. Quotes from this live rent free in my mind.

PracticalEspionage:

++Under the Lake by Her_AngelEyes

(( Engineer goes fishing. Hilarity ensues. ))

Don't let the description fool you. This is a non-con/mind break fic. If you like darkfic stuff, than this is for you~

[thevoiceinyourheadx]

I'll Be Your Shield, Your Shelter From the Storm

Simon Riley x reader

Content warnings: depressing thoughts, mentions of past abuse, death, military shit, un beta'd and the first thing I've written in years so it's all over the place. Probably more character analysis than fic idk

Minors DNI

Not me processing via fanfiction 🫣 Apparently getting hurt makes me write, who knew 🤷‍♀️ Maybe I should torture myself more often (please no)

He was a protector, a role he'd placed himself into from an early age, putting himself between his father's fists and his mum or his brother. The physical threats he could handle. He'd made sure he'd never be weak again, never have to watch the people he cared about be hurt.

But how was he supposed to protect you from something that wasn't physical? What was he supposed to do when the enemy to protect you from was your own mind?

He was familiar with those kinds of thoughts - I wasn't big enough, wasn't strong enough, wasn't fast enough - I wasn't enough. He'd lived with them for most of his life; every time there was a new bruise, a new hole in the wall he cursed himself for not being enough. When he'd joined the army he'd done so with the purpose of never feeling that way again. He'd never be small or weak; he could be the protector he wished he'd had as a child. And for a while, it had worked - he'd fulfilled the role he'd set for himself, he'd gotten his family out, he'd fixed it, fixed them.

And then - Roba.

And all the years of hard work, of the person he'd built himself into, crumbled around him. He'd failed, so completely that there was nothing left for him to come back for. He couldn't protect, and he couldn't fix - he wasn't enough.

He'd never truly dealt with the thoughts - he just pushed them to back of his mind, focused on the here and now, the job, the target. He knew he was good at his job - the proof was in the body count, the successful mission reports stacked high on his desk. He didn't need to process his trauma or whatever bullshit the military-ordered psychologists spewed - he just did. He put everything he was into fulfilling the purpose he'd failed his family in, to being a protector for the weak, to keeping the world clean as his captain would say - even if he barely believed it anymore.

The only thing he had left was his sense of justice - he would find those like Roba, like his father, and he would make sure they never hurt anyone else again - for all those like his mother, for all the Tommys and Beths and Josephs. And for all those he couldn't protect, he could at least avenge.

But then he'd found you.

The only spot of sunshine in his otherwise grey existence, someone who made him want- want to hold, want to talk to, want to be around and want to care. It was like the part of him that had died in Manchester, buried alongside the last people he'd cared about, had been resurrected, and for once he didn't want to fight it.

But the threats to your wellbeing weren't physical - the demons stalking you didn't carry guns or raised fists. They brandished words like knives, cutting into your mind and carving away at your happiness, at your light. And he whilst he'd never allowed himself to dwell on his own thoughts, he saw how they festered away in you, and he wanted to fight them for you. Wanted to tear them from your skull, to smash them to pieces and force them to tell you that they were all lies, that you were enough.

That you were more than enough, that you were everything, the only thing good in this world and the person who turned his life from existence to living.

But if he couldn't force your own mind to tell you this, he'd just have to do it instead. He would spend every moment he had reminding you of everything that made you special, that made him eager to return home to you, of how kind and beautiful and cherished you were, until you managed to believe it.

He didn't know how to fight the demons in his own mind, but he could learn how to fight yours for you.

And perhaps he'd let you do the same for him.

---

I've been doing a lot of introspection recently so of course I had to torture my blorbo of the month by giving it to him, then fix it by making him and reader learn together. Ignore how all over the place it is, I rambled it out in like an hour

[pinkiemachine]

How would you do Batman, I'm just wondering because Batman's my favorite character

OH HO HO!! I HAVE WRITTEN SO MUCH ABOUT BATMAN!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!

*ahem*

His show is called BATMAN: GOTHAM FILES, and I have the basic outline for each and every one of the seasons! There’s 9 total, plus a movie finale. Here we go!

SEASON ONE:

Most of us should know basically what Bruce’s backstory is, so I’ll keep this part brief. Bruce Wayne was eight years old when his millionaire mother and father were gunned down in front of him in an alleyway in Gotham City. They never found the killer. The family’s loyal butler, Alfred Pennyworth, took care of Bruce from that point onward. Bruce started taking self-defence classes in-between going to the schwanky Gotham Academy and learning how to run his father’s business, Wayne Enterprises (a massive conglomerate that was famous throughout all of America, but especially the East Coast.) The young man had hardly healed from his traumatic experience, though, and after graduating college (something he was practically forced to do by Alfred), he decided not to stay in Gotham. He hated the city. Instead, he took off in a plane… and secretly never intended to come back…

EIGHT YEARS LATER…

It was a welcome surprise when Bruce Wayne turned up in Gotham, seemingly in a much happier headspace and eager to finally, finally take his father’s business seriously. The Prince of Gotham had returned. Months after that, there was a new legend lurking in the streets of the city. Something called “the batman” or “the bat.” Criminals were getting caught and arrested left and right, and half of them were scared out of their minds about this spectre. The police force didn’t know what to make of it… except for one Captain Jim Gordon. He knew that the legend was true… and occasionally, he would sneak into his office and scare the living daylights out of him. He and Batman had been working together for a little while now, (we get an episode later that explores how they first met), but Gordon doesn’t know who he really is under the mask, and no one else in the force thinks that Batman is even real. But Gordon is eager to help him because the police force is falling apart. They’re completely unable to do their job and keep the streets safe, so Gordon agrees to help Batman stop crime in its tracks. He wants to make Gotham safer for his wife and daughter.

Shocking literally no one, the audience discovers that Bruce Wayne is Batman, working out of a massive secret base underneath Wayne Manor—his ancestral home. But, he must balance the life of a vigilante with the life of billionaire Bruce Wayne, which can be difficult at times. We get several episodes just laying the ground work. Who runs the company when Bruce isn’t around? Lucious Fox. Who manages Bruce’s affairs and schedule? Alfred. Who makes all the gadgets and gear that Batman uses? He does. Using plenty of materials and goods he can buy since he’s a billionaire. When did he learn how to make all this stuff? Hmmmmmm….

We meet our first few villains—Penguin, Two-Face, Scarecrow, Poison Ivy, Mr. Freeze, Riddler, etc—Batman is still trying to track down who murdered his parents, and we’re having a generally good time until THE MID SEASON FINALE. You see, there’s a circus coming to town.

Haley’s Traveling Circus was famous on the East Coast, being one of the oldest circuses in the country, as well as boasting the Fabulous Flying Graysons! A family trapeze act! However, this smiling troop of clowns was actually hiding some pretty dark secrets. When they arrived in Gotham City, they were asked to help out known mob-boss Tony Zucco with some… not-so-nice things. John Grayson, head of the Flying Graysons, had been feeling conflicted about how much behind-the-scenes shady dealings the circus had been involved with over the years. So, he thought that maybe if he just let the tiniest bit of evidence leak to the police, maybe they could handle everything and the Graysons wouldn’t be caught in the cross fire. This is what brings Batman to the scene. He investigates the circus, meets the Graysons, including their son, Richard, aka Dick, and eventually goes on to solve the mysterious crime, pinning it on Tony Zucco and getting certain members of Haley’s Circus arrested. (The ones actually involved in the crime.) However, Zucco manages to avoid jail time. Not only that, but he discovers who snitched on him. That night, after the case has been solved and Bruce shows up to catch the Flying Graysons perform, everything is going great until the unthinkable happens: the lines on the trapeze snap and Mr. and Mrs. Grayson go falling to their deaths.

Dick Grayson is an orphan… and he’s angry. He’s about 11 years old, but he’s smart enough to know what’s going on. He knows why Batman was coming around asking questions, he knows who Tony Zucco is, and he knows that his father made him very unhappy. After the police have arrived, but before social services do, Dick sneaks out and climbs to the top of the building with the Bat-Signal on it (yes, by this point in the story, that’s a thing). He flashes it on and off, rain pelting down, until the caped crusader arrives. He demands to know if this was Zucco’s fault. Batman refuses to say anything, but Dick doesn’t care. He says he’s going to make Zucco pay, whether Batman helps or not, and he tries his hardest to remain true to his word. After that night, Dick runs off through Gotham several times, trying to get in touch with Zucco and attempting to enact revenge, meanwhile Batman has to keep swooping in to keep the kid from getting himself killed. He recognises the pain he’s in—he completely understands his anger—and realises that he needs a teacher—a mentor—a father figure who can lead him through all of this and keep him out of trouble. So, as Bruce Wayne, he decides to adopt Dick. At first, Dick doesn’t want anything to do with this stranger—he’d rather stay with his circus family if he’s going to stay with anyone—but then, in court one day, Bruce says something—something only Batman said to him once—and all of a sudden, it clicks in Dick’s mind. He instantly asks to be placed in Bruce’s care and not a few hours after arriving at Wayne Manor, Dick manages to discover where the Batcave entrance is. Sneaking down there, he plans to become his own kind of vigilante, just like Batman, and get revenge… until Bruce catches him and tries to knock some sense into him.

It’s here that Bruce has to confront his own past. His sense and reason are saying, “Don’t let the kid try to enact revenge!” But then, he has to ask himself, “why am I still hunting down the man who killed my parents?” He has to tell himself, “it can’t be about revenge. Only what is just and fair.” When/if he finds the killer, he will turn him over to the authorities and let him face proper punishment. Zucco… he’s too powerful. There needs to be a lot of incriminating evidence against him before the police can take action, and even then, that’s not what Dick wants. Dick wants Zucco gone. Permanently. THAT is what needs to be dealt with inside of Dick. Bruce refuses to let this boy make himself a killer. Instead, he decides to channel that anger and drive into training him. You see, when Bruce vanished for eight years, it was during that time that he met many teachers and learned many new skills. Through bettering himself and learning these skills, he felt he had grown as a person and had worked through some of his emotions. It was therapeutic. He hopes it will be the same for Dick. He also teaches him about the justice system and detective work so that they can bring down Tony Zucco WITHOUT killing him. Little by little, over the course of the next year, Dick starts to turn into the infamous side-kick Robin, following Batman on small cases and learning about fighting crime… from a distance. (Mostly.) Dick does have a knack for getting into trouble.

On the personal side of things, Dick still needs to adjust to living in Wayne Manor, going to a new school (Gotham Academy) navigating being a wealthy, famous person’s adopted son, etc etc. And then… Ra’s Al Ghul shows up. Now it’s time for Bruce’s past to be revealed. He had traveled the world, and he did have many teachers, but none quite as legendary as the Demon’s Head, leader of the League of Shadows. A secret organisation (cult, really, Bruce later realised) that had mastered martial arts, ninjutsu, and so much more. Each member was a peak specimen of the human race, with no genetic weaknesses or flaws, especially their leader, Ra’s. Bruce had been one of his top students, but then he had revealed his grande scheme for the world. Ra’s wanted to wipe out the rest of humanity (which he deemed as impure and flawed) and then the only people who would be left to inherit the Earth would be his perfect family and his perfect followers! All he was missing was a male heir to his throne. His daughter, Talia, most perfect of his children, had fallen in love with Bruce during his time in the Shadows, but before anything serious could come of it, Bruce had snuck out and left the League, meaning never to come back. Now, though, Ra’s had found him and wanted him to marry his daughter. Bruce refuses. Ra’s tries to take him by force, Robin helps save the day, it’s a big exciting grand finale to the season, and it ends with Ra’s and Talia retreating… because while Bruce was captured, they managed to steal some… “DNA”… and test tube baby Damian would be thus conceived, unbeknownst to Batman and Robin.

(Like, he’s a test tube baby from conception. Talia was never physically pregnant with him.)

Anyway, things are looking up for our main characters. They saved the city, they saved each other, they’re working on their personal growth, and everyone is excited to see Season 2 because—

JOKER TEASE!!!! DUN DUN DUN!!!!

I’mma make more posts, this is a long one, strap in…

I also have a sketch of Talia…

Part 2 👇

[angiechia]

Shooting lesson

a young John(12) and young Arthur(22) short story

Arthur teaches John how to shoot, but patience isn't his strong suit.

This one has a little kick to it uhm

NO SHIP INTENDED

☆☆☆

The loud bang of a rifle echoed through the valley, startling the animals nearby.

The rifle's recoil had been too much for John, forcing him to step back after firing, the loud noise of the gun scaring him just as much. His shoulder ached from holding the weapon wrong.

He looked at the glass bottle, still perfectly intact on the wooden fence, not even close to being hit.

"You've got to brace your body, John, I told you that already!" Arthur shouted, even though he was just a few steps behind the boy.

"I'm trying!" John snapped back, adjusting the rifle against his shoulder like it was a broomstick, the butt barely resting against his shoulder.

"No, what you're doing is flailing around like jelly every time you shoot."

"That's not true! Shut up!" John fired again, more to shut Arthur up than anything else, but this time, the recoil jerked the rifle upward violently.

"Are you aiming at the sky?"

"If you're not going to help, then don't talk! I know how to do this on my own... I just... I just..." John was starting to get nervous, and Arthur's dwindling patience wasn't helping.

Arthur rolled his eyes, walking towards John with heavy, firm steps. He snatched the rifle from him with a sharp motion, showing him once more how to hold it properly.

"Look, hold it steady, but not too tight. The butt should be firm against your shoulder, or it'll knock you senseless for the rest of the day," Arthur positioned the rifle against his own shoulder, demonstrating with the precision of experience. "Now, aim with your good eye, take a deep breath, and squeeze the trigger—don't yank it."

"You think you're so good! But it's not that easy, Arthur! Give it back!" John reached for the rifle again, trying to snatch it from Arthur.

"You're not even paying attention."

"I don't need to because I already know how to do it! It's just that a rifle is too heavy for me!" John began to push Arthur, who lifted the rifle with one hand while using the other to hold John’s head back, trying to keep him at a distance.

"It's heavy because you're a runt! Start working out, lift more flour sacks at camp, build some muscle!"

"Shut up, Arthur! I-I can do it, but not your way!"

"Fine!" Arthur shoved John, not hard, but enough to make him step back, then handed the rifle back to him. "Do it your way then. But if you miss again, we're done. I've wasted an entire afternoon on this, and if you don't really want to learn, fine! We're outlaws, we need people who can handle a gun, not whine all day and get in the way!"

John froze for a moment, staring at Arthur with wide eyes. The weight of the words and the shove hit him harder than he expected. He swallowed hard, feeling a lump form in his throat, and quickly turned away from the taller man as the familiar sting of tears welled up in his eyes.

He scrunched his face, trying to hold back the tears so he wouldn't seem weak in front of Arthur because, even if he'd never admit it, John admired him and wanted Arthur to see him as capable. He aimed the rifle again, but as he looked through the sight, he noticed it trembling—his arms were shaking from nerves, anger, and the lump in his throat.

Arthur didn’t have the patience for this, but how could he? He’d grown up surviving, always on the defensive in a world that had been so cruel to him, from the mother he never knew to the drunk father who abused him. How could he possibly muster patience and understanding when he barely knew them?

But he realized that the pressure of their life, the burden of learning to use a weapon before learning basic human skills, blinded him to what was really happening—John was just a kid. He’d suffered too and had come a long way. He hadn’t known what a family was for a long time until he crossed paths with them, and even then, he wasn’t the best at it, especially when he treated John this way.

By the time Arthur realized his mistake, it was too late. John simply gave up, lowering the rifle slowly before letting it drop to the ground, and then walked away toward the horses.

"John..." Arthur called out, but the boy didn’t turn around. "Come on, let's keep practicing." The older boy felt a heavy weight in his chest and began to walk after him. He placed a hand on his shoulder. "Come on, John, let’s keep shooting. I’m sure that—"

But John jerked his shoulder away from Arthur’s hand. "I want to go back to camp. It's getting dark," he said in a hurt voice that made Arthur feel even worse, but with his pride so large, an apology was hard to say.

"There's still time, and I won't be able to teach you tomorrow."

"Good," John whispered, still not looking Arthur in the eyes, staring down at his feet instead.

"What did you say?"

"I said good!" John looked up at Arthur, his eyes watery and angry, staring right at him, making Arthur feel the pressure. "I'll ask Hosea to teach me! Or Dutch! I don’t know why they keep sending you to teach me when you don't even like me!" John was now letting out all his anger at Arthur, and Arthur just let him.

"John, you don't—"

"I don’t want you to teach me anymore! Let’s go!" John ran to Boadicea, and with some effort, managed to mount her. He crossed his arms, looking away from Arthur so he wouldn’t see the tears on his face.

Arthur let out a heavy sigh and walked over to his horse. He didn’t mount it, just stood beside it, looking up at John's face, searching for the right words.

"Did you know that at your age, I didn't even know how to hold a revolver in my hand?" he finally said, hoping John would keep the conversation going. If not, he would get on the mare and ride off.

“Sure,” John replied sarcastically, followed by a loud sniff, still not looking at him.

Arthur started to stroke Boadicea, trying to calm his nerves. Apologizing was never his strong suit. “It’s true. I couldn’t have even shot a sleeping sheep in a pen.”

John’s body relaxed a bit as he wiped away some tears. “So, when did you learn?”

“When I was fourteen, when I joined the gang. I was pretty bad at first…” He chuckled, recalling a small anecdote from those days. “But I kept practicing.” He paused. “And I’m sure if you keep at it, you could even be better than me.”

John’s eyes widened, and he finally turned to look at Arthur from atop the horse.

“And what if I never get it right?” John asked.

“You’ve got the technique; I noticed.” Arthur admitted, scratching his head with a nervous laugh. “I didn’t want to tell you because… I guess it’s easier to say you stink at it. But you could be really good. You just… need to keep practicing.”

John looked at Arthur, his expression now calmer. He nodded and then slowly dismounted Boadicea. “There’s still some time left, right?” he asked.

“Plenty.” Arthur patted him on the back, and they started walking back to where they’d been practicing.

The older boy handed the rifle to John, adjusting it in his grip to make sure he was holding it properly. John took a deep breath, exhaled, aimed carefully, and…

“Hey, John?” Arthur stopped him just before he shot.

“Yeah?” John said, lowering the rifle slightly.

“I’m sorry,” Arthur said, staring at the ground. “You’re not a burden. I’d like to keep teaching you.”

John listened closely, smiling and nodding in response.

He aimed again, inhaled, exhaled, adjusted his sight, and…

The sound of glass shattering echoed through the air.

[whimsimille]

THICKER THAN BLOOD

Chapter 1: Road Back Home

Jeong Jin Man x Reader!

Hazy. Your vision was hazy with adrenaline and anger as your hand reaches out to the handle of the refrigerator, and you grip it tightly, preparing for the worst.

Slowly, you push the door open, wincing at the squeak of metal on metal. The harsh light washes over you, making your eyes water, but you force yourself to look inside.

A telltale odor overrode everything—it was sharp, clinical even—the sorrowful symphony of death and formaldehyde that filled your nostrils. Of course, it did not take long for you to get used to it.

It's not unlike any other mortuary fridge—shelves lined with bodies wrapped in white cloths or paper sheets, each one tagged with a label displaying their name and cause of death. But two in particular catch your eye: the one where Jeong Jin-Suk, Ji-An’s father, lays now and the one where Jeong Ji-An clings to her mother's lifeless form like a koala bear holding onto a tree branch. She's huddled close, her body shaking violently as she tries to keep warm while sobbing silently into her mother's chest, pulling her close as if trying to keep her warm or wake her up.

It was blatantly obvious that she was faking sleep. Her tiny trembling form snuggled against her mother's unmoving body; her eyes clenched shut whilst suppressed sobs caused shudders in her small frame.

Still, there was no mistaking whose blood she had — Jin-Man’s for sure. Those sharp instincts that devised clever escapes from cruel men intent on ending her lineage mirrored his. She was his niece, through and through.

You couldn't help but see yourself mirrored in her. It was as if you were looking back in time to just a few hours ago, back at her house. The sticky warmth of Honda's blood was still palpable on your hands, so real that you could almost smell the metallic scent.

The crushing weight of his lifeless body in your arms was a sensation that haunted you—the way his eyes, once filled with life, had stared blankly at the ceiling, void of any hint of the spirit that had once resided there.

If someone were to ask you right now, you would tell them that you wanted to die with him, that you yearned to join him in whatever came after this life. You would say that you wanted to lay down next to his covered grave, your fingers tracing the rough texture of the soil and the silky petals of red roses as you took your final breaths to rejoin him in death. If they asked why you didn't, why you chose to live instead, you would have no answer.

His death is the one you do not know how to talk about or grieve without almost dying from the agony of it. His death was the most life-altering thing that you have ever had to survive and you almost drowned in the tides of it. You did not know how to swim in those kinds of waters.

You never thought you would need to learn how.

Jesus, stop with it, Y/N. Enough. He is gone. Get over it. Let him rest in peace. Ji-An needs you now more than ever.

Carefully, as if handling a delicate artifact, you hid your gun and your knife behind your back, out of sight. Next, you reached out slowly and gently uncurled her fingers from her mother's limp ones before lifting her up slightly so she could lean against you as you stepped away from the cold metal box containing the dead body of a woman who should never have been there in the first place.

Tightening her grip around your neck, she presses her face into your chest, her hot tears seeping through your shirt. Your fingertips, where they lay comfortingly on her back, feel her heartbeat hammering rapidly beneath them.

Ji-An was afraid of you—that much you knew; you felt it in the way she kept herself tense against you, crying but not making much noise—like being quiet would make you more tolerable or maybe even forgettable. It seems that neither her uncle nor Honda prepared her for the idea of you showing up there while he was away taking care of his "business."

"Calm down, Ji... It's okay. Noona won't hurt you, okay? I'll take you back to your uncle. I'm his friend." You murmured against her hair. You felt a pang of guilt for staining the bottom of her hospital gown with your blood and for the sight of death she had to witness in the mortuary.

Leaving the cold, sterile room, your senses were on high alert; every little sound felt amplified—the hiss of your breath as you exhaled, the drip-drip-drip of blood from your wounds, and the muffled thud of Jeong Ji-An's heart against your chest.

As you turned a corner, you noticed the two killers lying lifeless on the ground, their eyes glazed over in terror, one with a bullet in his head and the other in his heart. They'd never expected someone like you to show up here tonight. A smirk tugged at your lips as you brushed past them without a second thought. This was personal for you, after all; payback for what they had done to Jeong Jin-Man and his family. To yours, as well.

You continued towards the exit, careful not to step on any broken glass or discarded weapons lying around from earlier skirmishes, guiding Jeong Ji-An through these darkened halls.

An eye for an eye. A leg for a leg. A life for a life. A soul for a soul.

Swiftly and silently, you wove your way through the hospital's maze-like corridors. Your steps, nearly soundless on the cold, clinical tiles, echoed the stealth of a ghost as you blended perfectly into the low-lit ambiance.

Snuggled against your untouched side was Ji-An; her heartbeat quickened and was palpable like a terrified bunny caught in headlights. Her only sounds are swallowed whimpers leaking onto your blood-smeared shirt and inconsistent breaths overpowered by the persistent drone of the hospital’s fans, a nurse rushing past with a tray of instruments and an orderly mopping up blood and fluids on the floor, leaving streaks of cleaner fumes.

From down that hall sprang a nurse, impeccable in her sleek white uniform. A neat dark knot atop her head completed her picture; a clipboard filled with lives quite literally sketched out on charts and doctor notes was clutched in one hand.

Drawing near, she became a threat to remain unseen—every sinew screamed at you to recede or flee, but neither was an option with Ji-An safest in your arms. Your once-perfect cover as another doctor now betrays you, with vivid emblems of dried-up crimson coated across it.

While she strode ahead, forgoing caution, you obstructed her path, making your presence radiant against your shadowy backdrop. Her eyes shot wide open upon seeing you before they squinted dubiously at multiple points connecting pieces to make her conclusion.

Instinctively reaching down for an intercom button dutifully stationed at her hip proved futile—it didn’t match your speed.

"Wait!" you whispered urgently, holding up your hand to stop her from pressing the button.

Before she could react, you had her pinned against the wall, her startled gasp echoing down the empty hallway. Your hand shot out, pressing the tiny scanner attached to your wrist against hers.

For a tense moment, both of you were frozen, the only sound in the quiet hallway being the soft beep of the scanner as it processed the information.

When you pulled back, her eyes widened even further. The small screen on your wrist lit up with the identification of a chip. She was an agent.

You thanked all the gods for making you so good at making programs.

"Who...who are you?" she stammered, her eyes darting nervously between you and the door.

"I'm here to protect her," you replied quietly, nodding towards Ji-An. "And you're going to help me."

For a second, she just stared at you, her eyes wide and frightened. Then, slowly, she lowered her gaze to her own wrist, where your code was displayed in bright neon green. It was the highest clearance level—only Jin-Man possessed it. Or so everyone thought.

"Impossible," she murmured, her eyes darting back to yours.

"Believe it," you replied, a smirk tugging at your lips.

She looked back up at you, her expression unreadable. Then she nodded, her hand slowly moving away from the intercom button. "Okay," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "Follow me."

In silence, she led you and Ji-An through the hospital's maze of corridors, bypassing the bustling ER and the curious looks of other staff members.

Walking behind her muted your adrenaline-fueled heartbeat while every waking sense within sharpened, cutting-edge-like attentiveness to every change—a sudden whisper of air against cotton scrubs or distant clatter—anything that dared disrupt these meticulously planned sequences.

Nearing the hospital exit, a sturdy security guard caught your attention. He was sitting behind a polished oak desk, engrossed in a glossy magazine.

The fluorescent light from the ceiling above glinted off his gold-plated name tag, revealing his name: 'Officer Kim'. He heard your footsteps and looked up, his eyebrows arching inquisitively at the sight of the frightened girl in your arms.

Now an ally, the nurse stepped forward assertively. "Dr. Jun Hadou requires assistance moving this patient," she articulated crisply. She gestured towards Ji-An in your arms. "She's been through a lot tonight and it's crucial she gets home to rest."

She then leaned in towards the officer, as if sharing a confidential piece of information. "There was utter pandemonium earlier because of an emergency surgery that took way longer than expected. We're all hands on deck, even Dr. Jun here."

Officer Kim gave a nod of understanding, his eyes softening as they landed on Ji-An. "Poor kid," he murmured, more to himself than anyone else. He gave the two of you a once-over before shrugging and returning to his magazine, a dog-eared issue of 'Security Weekly'.

With a silent exhale of relief, you moved closer to the distantly parked car, feeling as though a weight had been lifted off your shoulders.

Sincerity brimmed in your newly-turned-ally’s gaze when she asked, "Is she going to be okay?"

You nodded, tightening your hold on Ji-An. "She's a fighter. She'll make it through."

The cool night air hit your face like a slap as soon as you stepped outside, cleansing it from any remaining hospital smells and noises—replaced by freshness and darkness instead. The parking lot was dimly lit, casting eerie shadows across your path as you made your way towards the car—an old but sturdy sedan that once belonged to Honda—and the crunch of gravel beneath your feet echoed in the silence, punctuated only by the rustling of paper in the wind.

You moved quickly, ensuring to avoid any onlookers or cameras that could incriminate you both.

The car door opened with a soft click, and you settled her into the backseat before climbing in after her.

Glancing at Jeong Ji-An huddled in the back seat through the rear-view mirror, you noticed the flicker of moonlight reflecting on her wet cheeks and how she clutched at her hospital gown. Her eyes, the color of dark chocolate, were tightly closed, her small face scrunched up with effort as if trying to hold back a fresh wave of tears. Her tiny frame curled up against the worn leather seats, shaking. Each breath was a struggle, forcing her small ribcage outward as it hitched.

The engine roared to life, filling the car with heat while you fished out a damp cloth from your bag and dabbed at her face gently. Cool water soon replaced some of the tears and sweat that had collected there.

"Thank you," she whispered hoarsely from behind shaking lips, her voice barely audible even to you.

"Don't mention it," you replied softly, pulling away from the hospital grounds cautiously. Having someone so precious, so vulnerable in your care was a new experience. It made every turn of the wheel and every press of the accelerator or brake seem infinitely more significant, requiring deliberate caution.

As the night enveloped the car, your eyes darted frantically around every corner and alleyway, the adrenaline from your earlier altercation still pumping through your veins, keeping you on high alert.

"We're almost home.”

“Noona?”

“Yes, Darling?”

“Did my uncle die too?”

“Die? What? Dying means joining-”

“I know what dying means, auntie. Uncle Jin-Man... is he dead too? Like omma and appa?”

"No, darling," you managed to choke out, the words feeling like shards of glass in your throat as they fought their way out. "Your Uncle Jin-Man hasn't... he hasn't joined them. Not yet."

"A-And I saw... I saw Uncle's friend. He was... he was hurt. Did he... did he go away too?"

As Ji-An spoke, the image of Honda filled your mind.

Honda, your twin brother, Jin-Man's right-hand man, always standing tall and proud, always full of life and hope.

Now, the thought of him being gone was unbearable.

Memories flooded back to you, like a torrential river that had broken its banks. You, as children, laughing and playing in the park, the sun casting long shadows as it began to set. Honda would be there, signing furiously as he tried to keep up with your games, his fingers dancing in the air like a ballet of silent words.

You remembered your eighth birthday, when you baked him a cake shaped like a train. It was amateurish and lopsided, but the look of utter delight on his face when you presented it to him was priceless. His hands moved quickly to sign, 'Thank you' over and over again.

There was a silence that always hung around him, a silence born from his inability to speak. But Honda had never let that stop him from expressing himself. He was the most expressive person you knew; his hands and face said more than words ever could. His silence was a beautiful symphony that only you understood.

Honda's smile, his laughter, his silent words—they all play in the back of your brain like the soundtrack to a horror film. The memories you don't want to keep could fill graveyards, but you do not have the energy to dig, to label every headstone, or to plant flowers at every edge.

You do not have the energy to bury brotherhood like a corpse, to label its death a suicide. You're ready to set this thing on fire, to watch as the flames consume the painful past, but you cannot bring yourself to light the match.

Grief has made a home inside of you. It had renovated the broken patchwork of your skin and the worn framework of your limbs. It had breathed life into your scars, only to make them bleed again. It now resides in the foundations of your bones, in the quiet rooms between your heartbeats. It has seeped into the floorboards of your soul, staining the wood with its dark, relentless hue. It's like a painting you can't stop looking at—a masterpiece. Grief was a cruel architect, reconstructing your heart into a house of sorrow.

Grief had moved in, settled down, and seemed like it was here to stay.

Even in death, your brother will decorate your heart.

You wanted to scream, to shout, to let out all the pent-up frustration and sorrow. But you couldn't. Not now. Not when Ji-An needed you.

Suddenly, a shadow darted across the road. Your heart pounded in your chest as you swerved the car, narrowly avoiding a large creature that looked like a hyena. Its yellow eyes glinted in the moonlight, and you caught a glimpse of a hand and something shiny and metallic in its mouth—Honda's brass knuckles. The ones you had gifted him on his 16th birthday as a joke, but he kept them, always wearing them as a symbol of protection.

The sudden swing of the steering wheel made the car skid on the gravel, spewing a cloud of dust that obscured your vision. Your heart was stuck in your throat as you fought to regain control over the vehicle, your hands gripping the wheel so tight that your knuckles turned white.

With a shaky breath, you blinked, quickly rubbing your eyes with the back of your hand. When you looked again, the road was empty, save for the dancing dust particles in your headlights' glow. The hyena was gone, and there was no sign of Honda's brass knuckles. It was as if the animal and the precious memento it carried had never been there at all.

Feeling a warm wetness on your cheeks, you realized that you were crying. Hastily, you wiped at your eyes, not wanting Ji-An to see you in this vulnerable state. But it was too late.

From the backseat, Ji-An's voice trembled. "I... I saw it too," she stated, her fingers lightly brushing your arm. "The... the thing in the road, noona.”

Glancing at her in the rearview mirror, you quickly fibbed, “It was just a deer, sweetheart," hoping to calm her down.

However, she shook her head adamantly, her grip on your arm tightening. "No, it wasn't. I... I've been seeing it since... since I saw my uncle's friend on the floor."

Honda, she was talking about Honda. Your twin. Your mirror image.

"What did it look like, Ji?" You asked gently, attempting to understand the enigma she was seeing.

"It... it was large. Like a monster. With yellow eyes... and it... it had something shiny in its mouth and… and a hand. But it goes away if you don't scream or make a sound! Uncle said... he said only weak people make sounds. That it... it gets scared of your strength."

You swallowed hard, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill over. This brought a bitter taste to your mouth. Jin-Man’s teachings were hard and cold, just like him.

"You're not weak, Ji. You're the strongest girl I know. And believe me, I've seen many."

She didn't respond, but you could feel her gaze on you, heavy and searching.

As you drove, Ji-An finally whispered, her voice so quiet you almost missed it. "I wish we could go home to Uncle," she murmured. "I don't like being alone. I don't like the dark. Mom and Dad didn't like it either."

"I know, sweetheart. I know."

The rest of the drive was silent, the only sound being the hum of the engine and the occasional soft sniffle from Ji-An.

Thoughts of Jin-Man’s cold eyes boring into you once you got home were oddly comforting. It was better than being alone. Better than being haunted by the ghosts of your past.

In your mind, you could see Jin-Man's stern face as he roughly cleaned your wounds, his hands firm but careful. You could almost feel the sting of the antiseptic and the harsh pull of the bandage being secured too tight. "You're going to die too young at this rate."

You could picture him watching you from afar as you lit a cigarette, his eyes narrowing in disapproval. "I don't like the smell of blood and nicotine on you."

And even though these weren't the most comforting images, they gave you something to hold onto something other than the haunting emptiness of being alone. It gave you a sense of familiarity, a sense of home, no matter how skewed it was.

-------

One month later

The diagnosis of  'Aphasia associated with Dissociative Amnesia' was scrawled on the paper in front of you in the pediatrician doctor's hasty handwriting. It was a medical term that felt too large and too heavy for the tiny girl it was attached to.

When you looked away from the glaring black letters, you saw Ji-An curled up in the backseat of Jin-Man's truck.

Blurred landscapes reflected themselves in her wide, doe-like eyes as she silently absorbed them through the window.

Ever since that spine-chilling hospital night, she's been caged in a quiet world, her words locked behind invisible bars. It seemed like someone had snatched away her voice and reduced her to near silence and you didn't even know which was worse—the image of her crying or her silent, vacant stare. Either way, it was a haunting reminder of the trauma she had endured.

Sighing deeply, you turned back to view what raced outside. Midnight shadows played tag with dawn's first light piercing through leaves now tinted golden brown. Trees were naught but fleeting streaks rendered blurred by speed against this backdrop. Birds chirped their morning songs from atop telephone wires and trees and somewhere in the distance, a dog barked once before going quiet again.

Just then, something patted your leg, jolting you out of your reverie. Glancing up, you saw Jin-Man's face, his brow was arched in a silent question, his dark eyes probing, trying to gauge your state of mind.

Ever since Honda's death, your words have become scarce. You only spoke when necessary, choosing instead to keep your thoughts and feelings locked away.

On top of Honda's freshly dug grave during his final rites, you willed yourself to be one with him a couple heartbeats later, a wild urge tickling at some primal instinct buried within—a desire to claw open his pine box and nestle next to him just like an animal would do. Returning home. Returning to him.

You would then pretend to be ready for deep sleep, wantonly giving yourself all control over whatever comes. Deep down, you knew those seeds needed germination, especially now that dirt has lined their lifeless forms.

But Jin-Man had been there, pulling you back. He had held you as you crumbled, physically and emotionally. He had helped you take your PTSD medication, his firm grip guiding the pill to your mouth.

Suddenly, you noticed Jin-Man hastily moving his hands, catching your peripheral vision once the car came to a stop at a red light.

His fingers formed the familiar shape of a rabbit, then he pointed towards his bag, which was resting on your lap, the leather of it creaking under the pressure of his touch.

You squinted at him, your own hands moving in a flurry of motion as you signed back, your brows furrowed in confusion and a hint of amusement. "A rabbit? Really, Jin-Man? You're telling me you snuck a rabbit into the car?"

Jin-Man rolled his eyes. His hands moved with an air of impatience as he signed, "No, not a live rabbit, you idiot. Ji-An's bunny plush toy. The one with the pink bow and the missing eye."

You huffed in exasperation, shooting a glare his way. "Well, maybe you should learn to sign better. Honestly, Honda was way better at this than you. He was clearer, more precise. You're just... sloppy.”

Jin-Man just scoffed, shaking his head at your teasing. "Maybe I would be better if you didn't always insist on being the one to teach me. You're not exactly the best teacher, you know."

“Screw you, Ahjusshi. I'm a fantastic teacher. And how the hell did you even manage to swipe the plushie from the police station? That’s just reckless.”

Jin-Man smirked, his eyes twinkling with a mischievous light. “I have my ways.”

“Jin-Man! That’s dangerous! You could’ve gotten caught.”

“Nothing happened. I’m still here, aren’t I? Anyway, stop fussing and give the damn toy to Ji-An, will you?”

Ignoring his words, you reached into his bag, your fingers brushing against the soft fabric of the stuffed rabbit. It was a worn-out thing; its once vibrant colors faded with time and love. You could feel the patches where Ji-An had tried to mend them; stitches crooked but strong.

Pulling it out, you turned to pass it to the girl, your hand instinctively reaching out to caress her face.

You lightly tapped her adorable button nose with your finger, a small smile pulling at your lips. "You should get some sleep, sweetheart," you murmured, your voice rough from how long it took for you to speak. Actually, you just spoke aloud to her. Not even with Jin-Man.

Ji-An took the plush toy, her small hands clutching it tightly. "But I'm not tired," she protested, her wide eyes looking up at you as she signed. It was a rare occurrence for her to communicate, even through sign language, but when she did, it was always endearing.

"Yes, you are.” Jin-Man stopped signing once the car began to move again. “And if you don't sleep now, the ugly rabbit will be very sad."

Ji-An's eyes widened at that, her grip on the plush toy tightening. "I don't want the bunny to be sad.”

Smiling tenderly at her, you gently brushed a stray lock of hair away from her face. "Then it's settled. Time to sleep a little bit."

The bunny plush seemed to give her comfort, her tiny hands clutching it tightly as she snuggled deeper into the seat, her eyes fluttering shut. It was a small victory, but it was enough for now. Enough to keep moving forward.

With the soft, rhythmic hum of the car engine acting as a soothing background melody, you turned back to Jin-Man. “What about Ji-An's school? Have you had a chance to talk to them yet?”

 Jin-Man glanced at you, his dark eyes flickering towards the rear-view mirror to check on his niece, who was quietly dozing off in the back seat. "I've spoken to the principal and a few of her teachers. They're aware of Ji-An's situation. As far as they're concerned, her parents are on an extended trip overseas and she's staying with her uncle for the time being."

You raised an eyebrow, your fingers shaping the words. "And the students? What about them? It's not just the adults at the school who need to understand. How are the other kids going to react to her situation?"

Jin-Man shrugged, his broad shoulders rising and falling in a nonchalant gesture. "Kids adapt quicker than you'd think. She'll be fine." 

You huffed, signing, "Don't be so sure, Jeong. Kids can be cruel, especially to those who are different. She's mute now and that's going to make her a target. We need to prepare her for that."

He was silent for a moment, considering your words, before he muttered, "We'll deal with it if it comes to that."

Not satisfied but willing to let it slide for now, you decided to change the topic. "What about Babylon? Are they still sniffing around for us?"

Jin-Man's eyes hardened, a glint of steel flashing in them. "They're always after us. But we've managed to stay a step ahead. For now."

"What about the shop? How's Murthehelp coming along?"

His lips curled into a small smirk, a spark of excitement lighting up his otherwise stoic face. "Pasin is almost done with the base. It's looking good. You'd love it. There are many pretty weapons, just like Honda would have wanted."

At the mention of your brother, you couldn't help but smile back, signing, "About the site... I've been working on the new codes, but there are still a few bugs that need fixing. Besides that, the chips are working perfectly."

Jin-Man nodded, his hand resting on the steering wheel as he guided the car through the quiet streets. "Take your time. We want it to be perfect. We're not in a hurry. He would want us to do this right."

As the car continues along the highway, your fingers tap to an invisible rhythm against the leather seat as you watch Ji-An sleep, her cherubic face calm for once. You can't help but wonder what she dreams about—is she frolicking with fluffy bunnies in a sun-dappled meadow or staring down the monster with the shiny hand in a dark, foreboding alley? 

You swallow hard against a lump in your throat. Honda was always so protective of kids, always making sure they were safe. Now that he's gone, you feel his absence like a physical weight on your shoulders. Jin-Man too. He glances at you occasionally in the rearview mirror, his eyes full of concern for both of you. He takes long, slow breaths that betray his worry for your silence and Ji-An's muteness. You know he feels responsible for their wellbeing, as if he failed in some way.

Your stomach rumbles, reminding you that breakfast is still waiting at home. Butterflies dance in your belly at that thought. Jin-Man has taken over most cooking duties since you moved in. His meals filled with home-cooked rice and kimchi stew comfort you in a way nothing else does anymore.

As if sensing your hunger through your silent communication system, he reaches over and hands over a pack of chips from his smaller bag. It tastes salty and old under your tongue as your jaw works furiously to break down each piece into smaller ones.

Grinning, you decided to push your luck. You reached over, taking one of the chips from the packet and holding it up towards the man. "Open up, old man. Let's share this gourmet meal.”

His brows furrowed in mock annoyance, he retorted, “I’m not hungry, old lady, and that's hardly a gourmet meal. It’s just a cheap bag of gas station chips.” 

“Don’t lie to me, Jin-Man. I know you well enough to see through your bluff. Besides, in this car, in this moment, they taste better than any expensive restaurant food.”

He shot you an exasperated look, but the corners of his mouth twitched upwards in a reluctant smile. He opened his mouth nonetheless, allowing you to pop the chip in.

Jeong chewed slowly, savoring the taste despite his earlier protest. His cheeks puffed out with each mouthful, transforming his stern features into a comically adorable sight. You couldn't help but chuckle—a soft, breathy sound that filled the car with a warmth that had been missing for a long time.

"You always manage to make these trips bearable, don't you?" Jin-Man mumbled around his mouthful of chips, his voice softening.

"Well, someone has to keep the spirits up," you quipped, reaching for another chip. "Besides, it's not every day we get to enjoy such a luxurious feast."

As Jin-Man drove, the cityscape gradually changed, giving way to the undulating greenery of the countryside. You watched as the concrete jungle was replaced by rolling hills, farms dotted with cows and sheep, and tractors moving steadily in the distance. Men and women, dressed in well-worn overalls and sturdy boots, worked diligently under the sun, their faces obscured by wide-brimmed hats.

Your eyes were drawn to a cluster of trucks parked near a barn, their bright colors standing out against the muted palette of the farm. A few workers were loading bales of hay onto one of the trucks, their muscles straining under the weight.

The car finally slowed down as you approached a quaint farmhouse nestled amidst the fields. Jin-Man parked the car carefully, the crunch of gravel under the tires breaking the serene silence.

The house was old but well-maintained, its white paint gleaming in the sunlight. A row of rose bushes lined the front porch, their vibrant blooms adding a splash of color to the scene.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Jin-Man's hand move towards the ignition, turning the key and silencing the car's constant hum. The sudden silence was almost deafening; the absence of noise made your ears ring.

As you swiveled around in your seat, prepared to gently wake Ji-An, you found she was already stirring. 

Sleepily, she unfastened her seatbelt, her small hands fumbling with the clasp. She began gathering her things, clutching her bunny plush toy close to her chest. Jin-Man, in his own quiet way, was also preparing to exit the car, gathering his belongings with an air of quiet introspection.

"Do you need help with your belongings, Ji?" you asked, reaching out to help her. Your hand hovered over her tiny form, ready to provide assistance. 

But she shook her head, her small lips forming a stubborn line. Her tiny hands clenched tighter around her belongings, the bunny plush toy almost disappearing in her fierce grip. 

Ji-An was stubborn, always wanting to do things on her own. It was one of the things you admired about her—her fierce independence shining in even the simplest of actions.

As the three of you approached the front door, Ji-An trailed somewhat behind, and Jin-Man fumbled with his keys. His usually nimble fingers were uncharacteristically clumsy, the keys jingling loudly in the quiet morning.

He walked ahead, his heavy boots crunching against the gravel path. Every step echoed in the silence, a steady rhythm in the calm of the morning. Ji-An tried her best to match his pace, her tiny feet stumbling against the uneven surface, but she maintained her determined expression.

Without warning, she lost her balance and fell to the ground, a small gasp escaping her lips that sounded loud in the quiet.

You immediately moved to kneel and help her, your maternal instincts kicking in. But Jin-Man turned around and shook his head at you, his eyes meeting yours in a silent conversation. 

He wanted to handle this.

Jeong then crouched down in front of Ji-An with his stern gaze as he met her wide-eyed stare. "Listen, Jeong Ji-An. I'm not your father. I will never be. That means I will never do the things he did to you."

Ji-An could only look at him, her doe-like eyes filled with an emotion you couldn't decipher. Fear? Confusion? Maybe a bit of both. 

Without another word, Jin-Man stood up and walked into the house, leaving both of you outside. His retreating figure, tall and stern, disappeared into the dimly lit hallway, leaving behind an awkward silence that hung heavily in the air.

This motherfucker! She is just a fucking child! Come on!

Cursing him under your breath, you knelt down in front of Ji-An, the gravel crunching underneath your weight. Your hand moved gently, brushing the dirt off her mini jeans jumper that matched yours—a pair of overalls that were adorned with tiny stars and moons. "Don't mind him, sweetheart. He might be grumpy, but he'll come around someday."

Seeing her still looking a bit upset, her brows furrowed and her bottom lip trembling slightly, you decided to use one of her favorite metaphors to explain Jin-Man's behavior. "You know those wildlife documentaries you like so much, Ji-An? Think of your uncle as one of those grumpy old bears. He might growl and seem scary, but deep down, he's just trying to protect his turf. And just like those bears, he can also be quite silly sometimes, especially when he forgets where he left his honey...or in Jin-Man's case, his keys."

She only looked at you. Her eyes linger on the red bandana on your long hair, the way it fluttered slightly in the morning breeze, then your sneakers, scuffed and worn, then finally your eyes. Eyes that held a world of promises and shared her pain.

Feeling her gaze on you, you gave her a comforting smile, your hand reaching out to gently tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "It might not be the same, but you can always count on me, okay? I might not be your mom, but I can be someone you can lean on. Like an older sister, a noona or an unnie. We can face any challenge together, okay?"

As you spoke, you felt her lean towards you, her small body seeking comfort and warmth. Your heart clenched at the sight, at the trusting innocence in her eyes.

"Would you like to hug, Ji-An?" you asked gently, your arms opening in invitation.

Her eyes widened a bit, surprise evident in her face, before she gave a tiny nod.

Swiftly, you wrapped your arms around her, pulling her close to you. Her body felt so small and fragile against yours, her heartbeat a soft rhythm against your chest.

Now, under the gentle light of the 8 a.m. sun, you understand why wolves guard their pups fiercely, why birds return to their nests year after year, why a bear would face any danger for her cubs. You understand why a beaver tirelessly repairs its dam, why elephants return to their birthplace to give birth, why a penguin would journey miles to feed its young. You comprehend why a tree nurtures its saplings, why the river always flows to the sea, why the sun rises every day. You get it now. The offspring were their purpose.

And now Ji-An might become yours.

After all, when your eyes are closed, water feels just as thick as blood.

[hadesknockedupintheunderworld]

I'm gonna share with you guys a post canon Sonic Prime thought I've been having since I watched S3

So after S3 I accidentally became obsessed with Oasis's song Wonderwall, which gave me simultaneous Sonine/Chanine thoughts

I don't think I'll dig too much into what the lyrics made me think, I just needed to put that out there for more context.

So imagine Sonic after the events of Sonic Prime. After Shadow made off with the paradox prism, he ended up handing it off to Tails. He didn't trust GUN with being in possession of a gem of such power, and (given his track record with the chaos emeralds) he felt that he could trust that Tails would keep it safe and figure out a better way to keep it hidden.

So, for the time being, Tails keeps it hidden deep underground under one of his many labs. He figures out a way to harness and contain the prism in such a way that keeps it from overloading his systems or having the chance of expressing excess energy in a possibly chaotic fashion (essentially recreating the idea behind the shatterdrive or the chaos council's power core schematics), and then also develops the technology that would keep the prism hidden from anyone specifically searching for paradox prism energy or chaos energy in excess.

With this, Sonic, Shadow, and Tails are the only people aware of the paradox prism's location.

Shadow, being who he is, checks up on the prism fairly often (at least once in a while) out of concern for anything happening to it.

Tails, being who he is, does run more than a few experiments on the prism's energy and documents as much data on the prism he can technically get "safely"

But Sonic... After the events of Prime, Sonic was so happy to finally be home again (not just physically in green hill, but with his friends). All he's wanted for so long (once green hill would finally be fixed) is for things to fall back into its usual (predictive) rhythm, and he succeeded (to an extent). Sure, there will be a baseline level of weirdness for a while. After all, Sonic's friends practically blinked and then Sonic was a different person (a Sonic who went through trauma and an ordeal they will likely never learn the full details of), so it makes sense. But...that's not all. If it was just that Sonic changed and grew in an instant, then after enough time they'd all grow used to the way things are now. No, the problem isn't how everything that happened affects Sonic's friends.

Rather it's about Sonic himself. This is what he wanted all along! He'd felt so happy to be home among his friends again, didn't he? He does enjoy being able to slot into the old routine, fighting Eggman, hanging out with his friends on the beach, having a long day of fighting/adventuring with Tails and then eating a chili dog with him when all is said and done. So...why does he still feel wrong?

But...Sonic does know why he feels wrong, why he can't just fully settle into his old life dispite enjoying such a life. He just handles it by...not really handling it. He puts on a face when he's with his friends or fighting Eggman, trying to seem like his life is *right* again and he's 100% happy about things progressing as normal and fulfilled in his life. But when he stops running, when he crashes at Tails' place and is forced to be alone with his thoughts, Sonic retreats to where the paradox prism is being kept.

The paradox prism is one of those few things that remind him that everything happened. These days, it's hard not to feel like he must have made up his time in the shatterspaces or the shattering, that he just sort of changed one day inexplicably, that one day Shadow will turn to him and tell him that none of it happened (because Shadow is the one person who should know that it happened, the one person he should be able to rely on being in the same boat as him). At first it was something he did once in a while, giving the same excuse as Shadow about just checking up on the prism, but now Sonic sits by the prism every night he can, gazing into it.

Shadow thinks he's too sentimental about the ordeal, but Sonic didn't really expect him to understand why he'd want to remember everything. It didn't really take Tails too long to catch on to Sonic's sneaking away to look at it either, but Tails doesn't really mind it. If it wasn't for his patience and voice of reason and the fact that Tails cares about him, Sonic probably wouldn't be able to sleep as much as he is (although, during those times the two are both down there looking at the prism, or Sonic is looking at the prism while Tails is up late working on something, it's 50/50 whether they even make it to a bed or couch that night).

The first time he studied the prism Sonic learned something peculiar. Apparently, if one focuses when looking at different colored angles, they can see visions of the other shatterspaces (like a tiny window into the world). This revelation was...exciting to say the least, and even moreso when he found out that he could view certain inhabitants just by thinking about them.

And that should have fixed his issue. Every night if he wants, he can check up on anyone, make sure they're alive and not getting into trouble. He does check up on them.

But more often than not, especially once he's secure in thinking the others are alive and real and okay, he finds himself gazing into that purple section of the crystal, and thinking about Nine.

Nine's okay, he knows. Well, alive at least. Part of him dislikes that Nine is still so estranged from everyone else in the shatterverse, and his heart still aches at having left Nine alone back in the Grim. He can’t say he's gung ho about some of the specific robots Nine chose as company either, but nevertheless he watches. He watches Nine rebuild his Grim robots (starting with alpha grim sonic), restore Chaos Sonic, use the materials he has to build a community of his own (even if they are all robots). It's not ideal, but Nine is safe and growing and not fully alone anymore right?

But as he retreats to the prism practically every night, he watches the grim more than anywhere else, and his heart aches.

Because while he'd love to be able to visit and adventure whenever he'd like, for the rest it's...okay enough. He can live with it as long as he can gaze into the paradox prism, so long as he can at least have his home. But with Nine it's...not enough. It's not enough just to know that he's alive and not completely alone.

Sometimes, when Sonic is having fun and comfortable at home, he can’t help but think of how he left Nine—with no one but his own creations to care for him, while just about everyone else hates him.

"I don't believe that anybody feels the way I do about you now"

When Sonic is gazing into the prism, he wants to be there. He wants to be in the Grim with Nine, congratulate him, hug him (when he allows it), talk with him about everything, or just hang out. What good is knowing he's alive when he can't even hear Nine's voice or hold his hand or try to make him smile? What good is sitting there, caring about him from afar, when Nine has no way to know it?

When Sonic is out adventuring or fighting Eggman or hanging out with his friends, he wants Nine to be here. He wants to show him the friends he'd do anything for, he wants him to meet Tails for real, he wants to take him along on adventures or even...the little things. Maybe he wants to eat street food and watch the sunrise with him, or watch Nine and Tails geek out together (his two foxes getting a chance to actually get along).

He wants to be there for everything. He wants to share everything here with Nine.

He wants to see him he wants to see him he wants to see him and not just from afar. It kills him that he's the only one who wants this.

If the shatterspaces weren't so closed off, if he could even visit Nine whenever he wanted, that would make him feel better. But he's stuck here. Missing Nine all the time, always torn between here and there (because he never would have stayed, but he hated to leave).

And Nine? Nine could never forget Sonic—not as long as he lived. Even if he came to bury the memories of the past—of his time in New Yoke, or the war—he couldn't forget Sonic even if he wanted to. Part of him felt embarrassed about this truth, if not a bit pathetic, but the other part of him owned this. It would be easy to forget, but he doesn't want to.

Nine was...alone for a little while after the war—after Sonic left. At first he was just...depressed. Everything that had happened since he first met Sonic began to fully sink in, and he missed Sonic, and yet chided himself for it. Sonic wouldn't understand that Nine has never been this same since meeting him. He'd wished Sonic would choose to stay with him so so so many times, but he knew now that it wasn't meant to be. For one thing, he had to be taken back to his home if he wanted to live. For another, it was...funny to him that it had taken so long for him to accept that Sonic never would have stayed in the Grim with him, that he could never be Sonic's first choice. And now...he couldn't take that away from him. He's dreamed and imagined so many senarios in which Sonic took his hand, or in which they figured out another way to keep Sonic from shattering and Sonic chose to give up finally going home to stay with him and sometimes even what would have happened had he gone with Sonic and Shadow. But in the end, no matter how much he wants, he'd never make Sonic choose him. He'd never beg him to stay, try and get him to leave his home and his friends. And part of that is due to the guilt of even trying or believing it could be possible. And another (of many parts) is because, deep down, he's not sure if he deserves this.

After everything that happened between them, after everything he did (even if Sonic wasn't a peach either), did he...even deserve to have Sonic at his side?

He couldn't wallow forever, though. No. He eventually set to rebuilding Alpha Grim Sonic with the tools in his lab. And that helped just a little with the loneliness. And then his second pet project was to figure out how to replicate Chaos Sonic, and everything that made him (but loyal to himself of course). Nine was surprised he even had residuals prism energy left after the paradox prism itself teleported away, but he knows that (if not the power in it) the memories held within the prism's energy were invaluable to recreating the robot.

There wasn't much on the Grim, but Nine could do only his best to make it home. Not that he knew what it would ideally look like, especially with Sonic gone, but he gave it a try. He'd come to create new robots and rebuild others—ones that could not move against him, but nevertheless we able to live freely. And as this society of robots began, and they began to build things for themselves, Nine found the inspiration to join in on creating this home for all of them.

An addition he'd been quite proud of was the large statue in the center square of his bustling robot community—a statue depicting himself and Sonic.

This all would take quite a while to build, and it would take quite a long time to get to this point, but it was something. The time spent on all of this gave Nine something to do, made him feel like he was getting ever closer to making things "home".

But even with Alpha Grim Sonic and Chaos Sonic at his side, a whole community to preside over, and ultimate authority in a place no outsider could infiltrate

He knew it would never be complete. He strove for all this because he had to, because he couldn't let himself wither away here. He had to find some way to live and enjoy himself and TRY to make this place the home he always wanted. He couldn't give up.

Of course, it's Sonic that's missing (because everything always seems to come back to him with Nine at some point). When the statue was finished and placed in the center square, he'd wished Sonic could have been there to see it. When he's sad, when he's depressed, when he's happy, when he's showing off or accomplished something, when he's having a laugh, or needs a hug—all the time he wishes Sonic was here with him to take it all in.

It would be even a little better if Sonic had the ability to visit. Or, if there was no other way, sometimes Nine thinks he'd even brave entering Green Hill just to be around him for a little bit.

"I don't believe that anybody feels the way I do about you now"

Alpha Grim Sonic and Chaos Sonic have been with Nine the longest since all the shatterspaces became closed off from each other and Nine was left here alone. His two bodyguards, ever by his side.

Alpha Grim Sonic has had this budding personality and soul that's been growing ever since his creation. But because of this slow process, because of him originally being created as solely obedient to Nine without pushback, and because he's mute, it would take a long while before he'd be considered as more than a loyal robot, not able to live beyond its programming.

So, for a while, Chaos Sonic fancied himself the only one of the pair who really felt for Nine and what he'd been through. To him, he was Nine's one and only best friend.

While Sonic would gaze at Nine from afar, worlds apart, through the paradox prism.

Chaos Sonic stood at his side, talked to him, cared for him, helped him. He was more than the loyal thoughtless bot he thought Alpha Grim Sonic was. He'd be a better best friend than Sonic ever was. He couldn't fathom how Nine would continue to hold onto Sonic's memory after everything that had happened.

So Chaos Sonic, too, began to feel like the only other person who really cared about Nine after everything that had happened to him (even if he'd eventually concede that Alpha Grim Sonic had similar feelings and loyalties regarding Nine)

Sonic and Nine, worlds apart, missing each other.

Sonic and Chaos Sonic, each fancying themselves Nine's true best friend, and the only person who truly cares about him now.

Sonic and Nine, who each want the other to be at their side, but would be content to at least meet again.

Chaos Sonic and Alpha Grim Sonic, two loyal robots who want to forever be by Nine's side, and yet know they'll always play second fiddle to Sonic.

ㅤ

I am so emotional about it

I learned that apparently Wonderwall was depicting a person and their imaginary friend, which hurt more when thinking about all this. Sonic, who may as well be imaginary, because he can see and he can wish but he can never touch. And Chaos Sonic, who may as well be imaginary to those like Sonic, because only Nine really begins to consider him (and eventually Alpha Grim Sonic) as real.

Periodically I just get this imaginary wonderwall amv playing in my head depicting Nine's actions pre and post canon + Sonic and Chaos Sonic each getting a chance to be the speaker of the song

I'm so emotional about them

[chaos-cousins]

Pelipper Mail! A nightmare that could be yours.

You’re almost used to it by now. To waking up, every time you think you might have escaped the time loop, in an entirely different world where you and your cousins have to help save it.

This one’s… it could be better, in a lot of ways. There’s never been so much blood before, something that you’ve had several separate panic attacks over already, something that your new friend Hunter is a lot more patient with you for than most others. You’ve never had to fight things that used to be people before, never had to use a real gun with real bullets outside of the Metaverse before.

At least the Hunter’s Dream, an odd space between reality and not, is safe enough. At least your cousins are safe there, with a strange yet kind living doll bearing an uncanny resemblance to Maria. You could be safe there too; Hunter’s made his stance clear that he doesn’t think you should be out here with him.

But you can’t let your friend face the horrors alone, no matter how much you wish you could. You care too much for that. You’ve always cared too much for that.

So you repress and repress and repress, shoving the panic attacks aside as much as you can, and you learn how to use a real gun. At least the cane-sword-whip thing is cool, if you don’t think too hard about how it’s tearing through once-human fur and flesh.

You and Hunter make a pretty good team, once you’re mostly done having panic attacks over basically everything about this place. You take down a gigantic horned beast at the end of a bridge, another hunter who went mad and tried to kill you both, a vicar who transformed into a wolf-thing before your very eyes, and you… cope. Sort of. Maybe.

(You return to the Hunter’s Dream more often than you have to, and maybe more often than you should. You tell yourself that it’s to check in on your cousins, to make sure that they’re still doing okay, but really it’s because popping into the Dream removes the blood from your clothes, and there’s so much of it.)

Night falls, and you remember that you haven’t even been here for a full day. The moon rises, a full moon, and as bemused as Hunter is by you promptly flipping it off, he also quite cheerfully joins you in making various obscene gestures in the direction of that particular celestial body when you‘ve got free moments.

It’s around this time that Elena decides she’s had enough of waiting, of losing to cards over and over against the doll that looks weirdly like Maria. She takes to hunting better than you did, and you don’t know how to feel about that. You’d be jealous if you weren’t worried, if you weren’t relieved, because between the three of you, there doesn’t seem to be anything that can stand in your way. The weird snake people in the woods really don’t stand a chance.

And then—

And then there’s a fucking spider, because of course there is. At least you can shoot this one. Which you do, with extreme prejudice. Because, honestly, fuck this thing in particular.

Then the moon turns red. The blood moon rises over Yharnam. Everything you thought you could handle comes surging back with a vengeance, to the point where Elena basically has to drag you back to the Hunter’s Dream and tells you to sit down, she’s got this, it’ll be okay.

With nothing better to do, you too spend some time losing badly to the strange doll at cards.

The only reason you do actually stay there for as long as you do is because thinking of returning to Yharnam with the moon like that makes you want to collapse. At least you know that Elena can’t die, not permanently, not in any way that matters—and you haven’t been calling it ‘death’ because you’ve got a weird enough perspective on death as is, but you very much have died a lot since you got here, and it’s been painful every time—but she’s still your cousin, and you’re terrified for her, and you can see her expression hardening a little more every time she pops back in for a visit.

You force yourself back out there eventually, but you aren’t sure where Elena or Hunter are. The city seems darker, with the reddish glow of the moon illuminating it—and it really doesn’t help that there are these… things, perched atop every building. One of them grabs you when you get too close, crushes you into—not death, death means nothing for you here—nonexistence.

Except you’re definitely somewhere that is neither the city nor the Dream now. It’s… hellish, is what it is. You find someone else sane, eventually, someone who warns you that there are secrets hidden here, secrets that some are willing to kill to keep.

You laugh. Death means little to you now.

You take down a beast who used to be a man, who regains some of his sanity before the end of the fight. You don’t have the heart to tell him what his lofty ideals have become. You don’t have the heart to finish him, either.

(When you circle back later, you find that someone else made both of those choices for you.)

You find a clocktower. At the top of it, you find a face you recognize—but she doesn’t recognize you, and she seems deaf to your pleas.

You can’t kill Maria, either. Maybe it’s for the best that Hunter and Elena catch up to you when they do, because Hunter is willing to do what you cannot.

You end the Nightmare, eventually, returning the three of you to your regularly-scheduled horrors in the city of the present day. Hibiya is starting to look at you and Elena like you’re strangers.

(You can’t let him become as jaded and desensitized as you have. He’s already been through way more than you, and he’s still functional.)

You continue fighting. Continue hunting, for it isn’t as if you have another option. This night has lasted eons, and it’ll last eons more until you find the key to ending it all.

At last, you do. You find it. You kill it.

You return to the Hunter’s Dream. Hibiya is alarmed. The doll, calm as ever, informs you that the master of the Dream is waiting for you. You wonder if she’s capable of feeling anything.

You go to meet him, all four of you, beneath a massive tree. He offers you a choice.

Hunter accepts, choosing to awaken. Choosing to give in.

You can’t give in. Rebellion is etched into your heart, your mind, your body and soul.

“So be it,” the Dream’s master says, and suddenly it’s you and your cousins against him. Suddenly, it’s a fight to the death.

You can’t risk losing here. There won’t be any more second chances.

You discover that you can summon Arsène here. Something about your Persona feels different, but you don’t have time to dwell on what. You’re busy evening the odds.

You win, eventually. The Dream’s master fades into mist, and at least there isn’t blood to highlight the fact that you just killed a man.

The moon is closer than it’s ever been. Larger, too. Hibiya, looking anywhere but at you and Elena, gasps and points at it.

Something is coming. A presence from the moon. Not Nyx; you almost wish it was Nyx, because then it would at least be something you know how to fight.

You can’t move. The presence snatches you up, sizing you up. You get the weird feeling that it wants you to replace the man you killed.

You refuse. Resist. Rebel. Revolt, in any way you can.

The presence from the moon recoils, dropping you onto the ground. Your cousins rush to your side, or try to—only to be pushed back.

This is between you and the thing from the moon, now. You won’t lose. You can’t, not now.

You fight it with everything you’ve got. Your cousins can’t help you here, Hunter can’t help you here—but you can rely on yourself, and yourself alone.

You win. Barely.

As the thing from the moon dies—it’s a god, perhaps, or a Great One as the people of this world call it—you make a mental note to update the deicide tally. When you can. You’re a little more concerned with adding this to your list of reasons to hate the moon, and also not keeling over on the spot, because that took… a lot out of you.

But you won. You did it.

Didn’t you?

Your eyes flutter shut, and you collapse. You can hear the concerned shouts of Elena and Hibiya, now that they’re able to reach you, but it’s too late. You can feel yourself shrinking and changing and growing in ways no human was ever meant to grow, and then you feel nothing at all.

When you come to, you’re not human anymore. You’re small enough that Elena can cradle you in her arms. She’s been crying. Hibiya is still crying.

“There has to be something you can do,” she begs the doll.

“I am sorry,” the doll murmurs, gaze downcast, and she almost sounds like she means it. “I truly wish that there was.”

When you awaken, it’s with the taste of blood in your mouth, and the nagging feeling that you have both too many limbs and not enough.

Whsr the fuck WJSR TJE FUCK EJST TJE FUCK WJST TJE FUCK IN GONNS TJROEN UL WHZ WSS TJST FSMILSR DOMEWJST

(what the fuck WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK IM GONNA THROW UP WHY WAS THAT FAMILAR SOMEWHAT)

[wordywarriorwrites]

Calendar Girl: January

Series Masterlist: Calendar Girl Joel Miller Masterlist Author: @wordywarriorwritesrwrites​ Summary: The story of how Joel Miller falls in love again, told over a series of months. Series Warnings: NSFW. Smut. Language. Violence. Discussions of rape and consent. Alcohol consumption. Age-gap.

January

“Don’t pull,” Joel instructed. “Just squeeze.”

Still unused to the kick and noise, you hesitated on the follow-through, and the first shot only winged the target. After he reminded you of your stance and hand placement, you aimed and fired again. The second bullet had been much closer to the mark, and the third better still.

After you popped off the remaining rounds, Joel complimented your progress, and gave you some additional tips on your handling and timing. You were a fast learner; he knew you’d only improve with time and practice, and after he’d reloaded and returned the gun to you, you went again, and hit the target five out of seven rounds.

“Ready to move onto something with a bit more firepower?” Joel asked as he dumped the shells.

“Go big or go home,” you laughed.

Ellie smiled and nudged your shoulder, “You going to be patrolling regularly?”

You shook your head, “I don’t think so. But I want to be ready to fill in - just in case.”

As you and Ellie chatted, Joel prepped his Mossberg 500. While he loaded, he wondered if you’d ever had to shoot your way out of a bad situation, if you’d ever needed to defend yourself in the ways Ellie had, or if you’d been forced to do other things - like some of the things he’d done - in order to survive.

He’d never bothered to ask if you’d taken out a clicker or killed a human being before - not that it would’ve mattered, or changed the way he felt about you. After all, he’d done more than his fair share of killing and had no right to judge anyone. Since the threat of violence always simmered just beneath the surface, knowing how to shoot was not only smart, it was a valuable, life-saving skill Joel thought everyone should learn.

Especially you.

“I like my knife,” Ellie stated as she showed it off. “Saved my ass many times, but after I learned how to shoot - well, I just feel safer now, you know?”

You made a noise of agreement, “I get it.”

He handed the shotgun over to Ellie, and after he advised you to cover your ears, she fired off a few. There was a significant difference between the Taurus Model 66 (his preferred weapon of choice) and a pump action. By having Ellie demonstrate, he hoped you’d feel more confident trying it, and be prepared to practice with and use a rifle in future. After Ellie emptied it, he took the shotgun apart, explained the innerworkings, and guided you through cleaning, reassembly, and loading.

By the time you finished putting it back together, it had gotten too dark to continue on with target practice, so, he called an end to the lesson for the day. After the weapons had been checked back in and secured in the town’s armory, the three of you left the makeshift shooting range, and walked to the mess hall for dinner. Ellie had been quick to ditch you both in favor of her friends, and after Joel followed you through the chow line for his serving of spaghetti and salad, he took a seat on the bench across from you at the table.

“So, you gonna tell me the real reason why you wanna learn how to shoot?” he asked.

You picked up your fork and knife, “I told you why.”

“I offered to teach you last year,” Joel replied as he rested his forearms on the table. “You refused - said you weren’t comfortable with it. What’s changed?”

While you looked down at your plate and stabbed at your leafy greens, he stared at you and willed you to speak. You’d been weird and standoffish since Christmas. In fact, Joel would go so far as to say you’d done a spectacular job of avoiding him almost entirely, and he’d grown tired of it.

“You gonna talk to me?” he prodded. “Or am I only your friend when you need somethin’?”

You jerked your head up. Slammed your fork down. Mirrored his posture. Gaze now completely direct and full of fire, you asked him when he learned and who’d taught him.

“I grew up in Texas. Was practically born with a rifle in my hand,” he shrugged. “Dad taught me when I turned seven, maybe eight. What does that have to do with anything?”

“Well, I used to be a trust fund brat, remember? And the only thing my parents ever taught me was how to be seen and not heard,” you snapped back lowly. “So, when the world went to shit, what do you think happened to me and girls like me? Huh?”

Joel knew some things about your past, about your life from before. Over a few too many at the bar one night, you’d compared battle scars. Swapped some of the grittier war stories. Neither of you had gone too deep into the weeds, though, because the pain had been too raw, and you’d both wanted to think about other things. You told him you’d lost your entire family the first night, that you’d seen unimaginable horrors since then, but he’d hoped such horrors hadn’t been inflicted on you.

After a stretch of silence, you cleared your throat, and kicked up your chin, “I don’t want pity, alright? I just… It’s well past time I learned how to protect myself.”  

He nodded, “Whatever you need.”

You sat up straighter and reached for your fork, “And I’m sorry for avoiding you. With everything that’s happened… Well, I’m an absolute shitshow and not really the best company right now.”  

Joel tentatively reached out and placed a hand on your forearm, “Hey, there’s nothin’ to be sorry for. And I’d rather see the shitshow than have you lower the curtain on me.”

“You want to see the drama unfold?” you snorted.

He smirked. Squeezed gently. You sighed and placed your hand over his. Joel looked at you and you looked at him, and without saying a word, you understood each other. It just flowed between you, effortless and uncomplicated. Many things had been left unsaid, but it was as if you both knew those things didn’t need to be said all at once. Time was not guaranteed and life was even shorter and more precious, but there wasn’t any rush to rake up the past just yet.

Especially not when there was a present and a future to be considered.

“You got time tomorrow for another lesson?” Joel wondered.

You took a bite of salad and thought for a moment before you spoke, “Morning’s free.”

He twirled some spaghetti and brought it toward his mouth, “I’ll meet you at your place.”

Having aired it out, conversation flowed freer and supper went down easier. A half hour later, he checked in with Ellie, who was still in the thick of it with her friends. With a promise that she’d be home in an hour, Joel offered to walk you to your place, and you accepted.

“Listen, uh, do you have anything at home?” he wondered, eyes on the icy ground and hands shoved in deep in his pockets. “Something to protect yourself with?”

“Broken baseball bat,” you said as you yanked on your hat and sidestepped a snow mound. “And dull kitchen knives. Those count?”

Joel didn’t have it in him to tell you that they didn’t count for much. That when it came down to it, you’d probably only have one chance to hit or stab someone - especially if that someone was faster and bigger than you. And if you were taken by surprise, overpowered, or knocked out cold, those weapons could be taken from you and used against you. At least with a gun and decent aim, you’d stand a chance of either scaring a would-be attacker off or wounding them bad enough to get away.

“Why do you ask?” you prompted.  

Joel glanced over his shoulder to make sure you were alone before he spoke again.

“I know it’s against town policy to keep firearms in our homes,” he voiced quietly. “But I have two hidden away. One is a nine-millimeter. You could handle it. And it’s yours - if you want it.”

You nodded, “I’ll take it.”

It wasn’t until your house came into view that you gently grabbed his elbow and pulled him to a stop. Snowflakes drifted, landed on the hood of your coat, and you practically vibrated with shivers. The icy wind aggravated his nose, and his fingers felt as if they’d gone numb, but he didn’t dare move - not with you so close, and especially not when you placed your mitten-covered hands on his shoulders, stood on tiptoe, and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“Thank you,” you murmured.  “Night, Joel.”

Joel dipped his chin. Bid you goodnight as well. Watched you climb the stairs and go inside before he turned around and headed in the opposite direction.  

He was warm all the way home.

Next Chapter: February

[jedi-lothwolf]

Merry Whumpmas Day 7: Hyperventilating

Fandom: Star Wars The Clone Wars

Summary: After Satine dies, Obi-wan lets everything settle when he gets to the temple.

    Mandalore was not kind to Obi-wan. Satine had been his first love. Nothing could ever quite get rid of that feeling. The love you have for your first love, me very completely disappears.

    Now she was gone. Darth Maul had taken her from the world. He had overtaken her planet and replaced her. Her presence was erased so easily.

    Obi-wan was home now. He stood in his room, alone. He looked around. The dim light from his window highlighted a small gold chain on his bedside table. He stared at it for just a moment before realizing what it was.

    It was Satine's. Back in the beginning of the Clone War, she had handed it to him. She complained that she was unable to detangle it and asked him to. Obi-wan, of course had agreed. He had gently placed it in his pocket. Then everyone got distracted.

    When Obi-wan had realized he still had it, he had detangled it. He had put it on the table so that he would remember to take it to her.

    On his way to Mandalore, Obi-wan had realized he had left it sitting in his room. Though he couldn't remember where he had put it. He had sighed, thinking that he would just give it to her then next time he saw her.

    Now it was all the Jedi had left of her.  He sat down on his bed and held it with tender hands. It had a simple blue pendant on it. He could never give it back to her.

    Memories of the two had already caused a flood in his mind. But now he was shaking. Satine was gone so fast. He missed her. Even if he barely saw her, knowing she was alive had been enough.

    Maul was hateful. He had taken too much from him. His father and first love had fallen at his hands. But who was next? If Maul only seemed to want Kenobi to suffer, who would be next?

    Air started to flow though Obi-wan's lungs faster than it should. It felt sharp. His chest rose and fell quickly. His shaking increased as a deep sensation of panic fled into his veins. His heart moved it around until his whole body felt paralyzed.

    Breathing became difficult. It felt like his body was attacking itself. Obi-wan brought his hands to his chest. A sickly feeling fell over him.

    Standing up, Kenobi tried to walk around his room. Pacing didn't seem to help. Instead, he sat against the wall. He felt like he was suffocating.

    What would happen if Maul got ahold of his family? He had already taken two of them from him. But what about Anakin? Cody and Ahsoka made him more nervous than anything.

    Anakin could hopefully handle himself. Obi-wan didn't want to doubt Ahsoka but he knew that she was young. She was smaller than him and he had already seen a Jedi he had worked with fall at his hands.

    Then there was Cody. Nothing he could do against Maul would save him. Guns could never compare to a lightsaber or the force. Only Kriff knows what he could do to him.

    As Obi-wan's breathing worsened, his thought became quicker. What would he do if something happened to them? How could he protect them? Would it be enough.

    Time passed slowly. The there was a knock at the door. But Obi-wan didn't hear it. He didn't think he could get up and off of the floor. All Kenobi could hear was his own breathing and his loud and quick heartbeat.

    That was the day Obi-wan learned that breathing too much could knock you out. He didn't remember Cody knocking on the door. He didn't remember him finding a way in and panicking when he found him on the floor, unconscious. He didn't remember being gently picked up and brought to the medical ward.

    But when he woke up, he was confused about where he was. "How did I get here?" he asked Cody almost as soon as he saw him.

    "You were unconscious on your floor. I had come to talk to you, I wanted to make sure you were alright." Cody answered his questions as he asked them.

    "Thank you Cody" he gently smiled. "I think I'm fine. Can you find one of the droids, I want to go back to my room." Obi-wan looked down at his hands. Something was missing.

    Before Cody had a chance to walk away, he realized Obi-wan looked panicked. He watched his breathing quicken and walked to his side. "Is everything alright?" He asked.

    "I should have had a necklace? Do you see-"

    Cody pulled something off of the table by the bed. "It's right here."

    Obi-wan took it and sighed. "Thank you."

    "Do you want me to put it on you?" The commander asked gently.

    The Jedi just nodded. He may not have her but at least he had a memory. He looked at Cody as he walked to find a doctor. At least he had him.

    The reason for his panic fled back in. Cody was too kind to be killed at the hands of Maul. Most everyone was. Maybe everything would be okay. Maybe Maul would never learn about them. Maybe, just maybe, he could sleep at night.

    The walk back to his room was silent. Cody had insisted on walking him back. Obi-wan thought it was sweet. As the door shut and he realized he was alone again. Kenobi didn't want to be alone. He tried to find a way to open that door again, to admit that he needed help.

    Then the door opened. "I'm sorry if this is overstepping sir. I just wanted to know if you needed anything."

    Obi-wan pulled him in the room. "Is it alright if you st- no this is childish. No thank you commander."

    "What do you need? I'm sure it's not-"

    "Can you stay here tonight? I just" Obi-wan sighed. "I don't want to be alone.

    Cody nodded. "Yes sir." The two talked for a while before Obi-wan said he was ready for bed. Staying on separate sides of the bed, the two went to bed. Maybe things could be okay after all.

[jennastarkhasaheart]

the inhuman debate in season 3 really brought up a lot of interesting questions for me, about how something like this should be handled in the world of the mcu. first its relatively clear cut:

rosalinds pov: these people are a danger to themselves and others, better convince them to go into stasis until we can find a cure. people should have a choice whether they want to have powers or not and not just be forced to accept them (not that we accept yes for an answer actually and killing them is also fine).

daisys pov: these people can learn to control their powers and have a normal life and get past this, and thats the only real option. the initial damage from their powers doesnt justify the way theyre being treated by the atcu because of this. the atcu is putting them on ice, and they say theyre looking for a cure, but i dont really believe them. theyre simply putting us away because theyre afraid of us. but i can admit after some thought that theyre not wrong about how people might also just want an out (also as far as she knows the transformation is irreversible anyway, though i dont know how much of a factor this actually is, the last time she says it is before they start collaborating with the atcu and she never brings it up in the actual arguments).

but then later a cure actually seems possible, and at that point you have to think about a whole different set of problems, because now it is potentially a choice (this is a long list of questions, buckle up).

would a cure even be voluntary, and should it be?

can you justify taking these peoples powers away because of what they could potentially do with them?

powers cant only be used as weapons, should that potential risk justify taking them away?

is the security of the public worth the invasion of these citizens bodily autonomy?

can you justify putting all inhumans under general suspicion because of a few bad apples like lash?

is it right to treat these people as potential terrorists without there actually being a history of terrorism associated with them?

can you even use the potential weaponized usage of powers as an argument in a country that has this little limitation on gun ownership?

are taking their powers away or letting the inhumans roam free really the only options here?

isnt there a compromise to be reached, like what was attempted with the sokovia accords?

wouldnt it be better to try and find a productive approach for people with powers, like for example employing them in a dedicated government agency or a nonporfit organization somehow and maybe keeping an eye on them without constant suspicion, like what shield does?

is it even possible to take away the inhumans powers without major injury to them, and if it isnt, is the risk to the rest of humanity great enough to justify doing it anyway?

arent their rights protected by the constitution just like anyone elses, or can they be ignored in this case like the rights to privacy are ignored when global or national security is at risk?

is it morally correct do do this, regardless of threat potential and government assessments?

isnt a psychological background check enough?

dont these people have a legal right to keep their powers, since they are inherent and biological and the genes have been present since birth?

can powers even really be defined as separate in this case, since this is a product of their biology, and not an external weapon like tony starks suit for example, which already defied definition because he argued it was a prosthetic?

how can you generally legally justify taking these peoples powers away, while people like the avengers roam free without prosecution?

can the potential threat to the public even be used as an argument, since there are plenty of other powered people running around without inhumans being in play at all?

does the number of inhumans even justify this kind of response?

shield has succesfully handled powered citizens in a non-invasive way theat respected their autonomy for decades through the index, wouldnt it be wiser to continue this policy?

wouldnt the index technically just be profiling and problematic entirely on its own?

isnt the security of the inhumans also important, especially when it comes to who has access to documents like the index?

[dragonflight203]

Mass Effect 3 replay, recruiting Javik:

-Prothean Data Discs – Apparently dark matter is meant to be the Crucible’s main power source.

Nice attempt on Bioware’s part to give dark matter some relevance, but this is not nearly important enough for all the ME2 foreshadowing.

Maybe if we’d encountered problems with using the dark matter that required efforts on Shepard’s part to solve this could have cut it.

-This playthrough I’ll be taking Liara and Javik with me as companions, so it’s off to go recruit him.

I haven’t taken Javik with me since my first playthrough, so this should be interesting.

-With that said, I dislike how Liara is forced upon you for this mission. There’s no reason you should have to take her.

Yes, yes, Prothean expert but you don’t have to take her to Noveria and that’s to deal her mother so you should not have to take her here either. This isn’t a loyalty mission.

-It’s strange that Liara speaks so nostalgically about Eden Prime being where this all began on the shuttle ride when she wasn’t there. She was picked up much later on Therum

-When you land on Eden Prime there’s a brief conversation about the geth attack and rebuilding.

There’s another rare reference to Shepard’s background here – Midnoir was rebuilt but it was never the same.

-Cerberus is stealing the colonists for processing because of course they are.

-How did Cerberus find Javik anyway and not the Alliance?

I doubt Cerberus sponsored the archaeological dig. At least not under that name.

I suppose they could have had Cerberus agents on the dig and swooped in when a prothean pod was unearthed.

-Also odd that the Reapers don’t show up. You think they’d consider this important.

If you take the angle that Cerberus is working for the Reapers because TIM is indoctrinated as hell, it makes more sense. They know Cerberus has this covered.

-Javik’s presence is very well done. It’s a natural extension of ME1’s Illos; if one Prothean facility could have stasis pods, why not another?

Although Illos’s ran out of power within a few centuries. I’m curious how Javik’s managed to last so much longer.

It’s possible there are more scattered across the stars, although if they have any survivors left at this point is debatable.

-Liara has a very rosy eyed perspective on the Prothean empire considering what we learn later.

As she says, it may be her asari bias showing.

I also wonder how much the empire changed over time. Javik is from the tail end of the empire; it’s possible that earlier on it was more akin to what Liara describes.

There may also have been different factions, with some more benevolent than others.

-Vanguard, Liara, and James are not a great choice for this mission. I can’t handle shields so turrets are deadly as hell.

-The nature of people never changes. Shout out to the locked trailer with the windows wide open.

-As others may have mentioned, why were guys gunned down watching the game wearing armor?

-Same set of tvs also have an ad for Sanctuary.

People must realize that the Reapers are also seeing these ads, right? There’s no way they don’t know about Sanctuary.

-Javik is clearly the Shepard of his cycle. One who’s lost hope and gone full renegade. Watching him comfort civilians and do his best to save his soldiers is sad.

-That’s the first time I’ve ever hijacked an atlas mech, and since it’s the last combatant I can’t even use it.

-Javik only survived because of Reaper arrogance. If they had been more thorough in making sure Eden Prime was destroyed, he’d be dead as well.

-The conversation with Hackett is a good example of my issues with ME3. I have no dialogue choices in it. Shepard feels far less like “my” Shepard and more like the character Bioware wants them to be.

-Javik’s not actually that helpful. Good squad mate and lore source, but he does not fundamentally change the plot.

Ironically, he’d be more helpful as a war asset.

-It sure is convenient that the room has already been adapted for Javik’s comfort.

This ship was to be Anderson’s mobile command center. What was the purpose of a room with a cradle of water going to be? Or did Liara request the changes be made as a shuttle was sent to collect them off of Eden Prime?

-Another example of I suspect unconscious sexism on Bioware’s part:

The fours soldier in the room with Javik when you first speak to him on the Normandy are male.

Javik himself is male. Or at least male presenting. I don’t think we ever get an overview of Prothean sex and gender.

Shepard can be male or female depending on the player’s choice.

Liara is read as female by humans, although she’s technically agender.

So this scene can play out with six men in the room and one woman.

When Bioware doesn’t think about it they default to “male”. If someone had gone through and made sure roughly half of the background NPCs were female throughout the game, these types of scenes would not feel as unbalanced.

Did anyone ever even consider making Javik female?

-Was Javik always the avatar of vengeance or did he decide upon that after waking up 50,000 years in the future?

I suspect the latter.

-Javik says his sensory ability was common among his people.

Common, not universal. I wonder how those without it were treated? The Protheans do not seem to kindest civilization.

-In Prothean history, they had a machine rebellion. They united the organics to fight it. They were winning the war when the Reapers showed up.

Hmmm. Did the Metacon War trigger the Reapers arrival? If so, why delay long enough for the Protheans to unite the other organic species against them?

And is there a Reaper out there that was made of uploaded Metacons?

-Javik says the Protheans could not win because all organics had been unified to follow Prothean doctrine, and once Reapers had adapted to it the organics were screwed.

This cycle may have an edge because of its diversity.

That will be a theme throughout the game, so good on Bioware to mention it so early.

-This is the conversation where Javik mentions that the Protheans had cities on Illos. Or rather, rumors – records mentioning Illos had already been destroyed by that point. The planet also contained ruins of a prior civilization, the Inusannon.

[egg-emperor]

Eggman should be allowed to keep his gun no matter what. Let our boy keep a strap on him at all times, and be allowed to use it for any reason, including "fun and me time"

YES YES YESSSS I really love all the times he's just suddenly pulled out guns in games and comics and I think he should get to use them way more often! And I really wanna see him actually get to fire them in the games more often because I always love seeing him threaten with them but in some of my favorite cases, he never actually got to pull the trigger and pump anything with lead but that would've been fun XD

But just seeing Eggman threaten with them is glorious too of course. I can imagine he really enjoys holding people at gunpoint, how it's a way to immediately have complete and total power over someone as his hostage and they're at his mercy, in total submission and ready to follow any of his commands as he tells them to drop and get on their knees, and how it's just one wrong word or move and they're done for.

He brushes his finger on the trigger teasingly, smirking and laughing as he looks down at them as they tremble and he feels so powerful. He doesn't need the gun to as he can often hold up against and physically overpower others but he likes how it's a way to make them immediately freeze and do as he says as they have no chance of defense against it, their life is in his hands and can be over with one pull of his finger.

And I can imagine he has a lot of fun when he actually gets to use them and starts blasting! He feels a lot of power in being the one to pull the trigger and have nuisances permanently dealt with in a flash. I like the thought of him being cold and threatening in it but also getting playful with it at times and pretending his finger just slipped and giggling like "oops! hehe" because he's a real cheeky bastard.

He could use them during a rampage or escape like in his Egg Walker in SA2 but with a gun in hand instead of his cannon! Charging into an area and easily dispatching people, being a powerful unstoppable force that nobody can dare to approach but also has no chance of escaping and he can expertly dodge and handle anything they throw at him. He's excited and proud of to feel like he's in a thrilling action movie scene.

He'd also enjoy using them for fun and saying it's practice for learning to draw and shoot especially fast and in hopes he might have a higher chance at using them on some of Sonic's speedy friends, as well as saying it's practice for Olympics shooting too. Even when "target practice" involves actual people and things he's reduced to such lol. And he loves his shooting galleries like Circus Park's in Shadow 2005!

I could go on as I have other fun ideas involving him and guns as various official media has set up nicely for a lot of them- but I think I'll post them to a certain other blog of mine that's for my darker stuff because they can get a little too intense for this one if I want to share them in their full glory. But yeah Eggman using guns is always fun and badass and he should definitely get to use them more! 🥰💜💕

[purposefully-lost]

There was something about hearing Rabbit's laughter that almost made Alex break then and there. He'd heard it since he'd come home the night before, he was certain of that, but to hear it bright and warm, from the middle of his kitchen in the morning light, was something else entirely. Even when he'd known him before, this wasn't a scenario he could've dreamed up. Even his most outlandish fantasies had included a little more isolation, and never had a little girl been in the mix.

Not that she wasn't the most lovely thing in his life. He just hadn't ever expected her. She'd surprised him almost in the same way Rabbit had when he'd entered his life the first time; abrupt, and in some ways shocking and violent. If he had to rank them, getting dragged off to a lonely cabin in the woods hadn't held a candle to learning he was pregnant in the same minute that he'd learned he was going into labor. No one has ever scared him more than the little girl currently sitting across from him. A peek at her told him that she was stubbornly trying not to giggle at the show Rabbit was putting on for her.

She didn't succeed. By the time Baby has enthusiastically offered Rabbit a high-five, Harley was wearing a grin.

BANG.

Alex paused to look at Rabbit, amused by Baby's still wagging tail and the soft look in his eyes as he looked at Harley for approval, but he was saying something-- and Alex couldn't hear any of it. He'd caught a glimpse of Rabbit mimicking a gun in his hand and it made him think of the night before, how the cold metal of the pistol he kept near the front door had felt in his own. How hefting that weight, every time he occasionally checked the weapon to ensure it was there, and locked up safe, in case he ever needed it, it brought him right back to that summer afternoon. It wasn't the same exact gun, but it was the same exact model. Rabbit looking at him and asking him to close his eyes.

Harley didn't notice any kind of stutter from her father. Instead, she was watching Rabbit, looking thoughtful at the new information he'd offered her. "You can't have my name, too," she told him, but this time, it was from behind a smile. Their visitor was kind of weird, but Baby liked him, and she supposed that was all that mattered. "You should--"

There was a clatter as the bowl Alex had been moving to set down hit the ground. He flinched as if he hadn't been prepared for it and quickly dropped to scoop it back up off the floor.

"Shit!" Harley said brightly, leaning over the counter and looking proud of herself for having used the word correctly. Alex choked out a wet, half-laugh. He stood up so that he wasn't facing her, using the excuse of dumping the bowl into the sink to hide the overwhelmed tears that'd started welling up in his eyes.

"I told you, you can't say that," he said, still leaning over the sink and trying to force his voice to stay even. He gave Rabbit a quick, panicked glance, though all that did was overwhelm him further. Rabbit was alive. Rabbit was alive, even though he'd shot him right through the chest. His breath hitched despite himself, and he felt an ice-cold panic squeeze at his chest. He didn't want to break in front of Harley, and he didn't want to ruin her first impressions of Rabbit, and he couldn't breathe. Straightening up, he tried to find his voice again. "I- I think I'm gonna let, uh, Ha- Harlan handle the pancakes. Don't worry, he's pretty good at it."

He was speaking a little too quickly, but it was all he could think of. He gave Rabbit one more pained glance, then let go of the sink and pushed past him into the other room.

Rabbit rubbed his eyes and shoved a hand through short curls. The ends were split and an outgrown yellow blonde-- The result of repeated peroxide baths to his head. The roots were more silver than they were brown nowadays. He'd probably be fine just cutting it all off, but he wanted to be safe. He gave the bus driver a curt wave and hopped off the platform to a familiar street. Mismatched eyes glanced over the streetlights and inky blue sky while his heart started to pound. Tonight was the night. He was going to see Alex again.

The last time he'd been to his home, Alex had been living in an apartment with his roommate. He'd hid himself there for a few hours a week while Alex healed up from his leg injury. Rabbit had fond memories of being cuddled up on that couch, watching movies for the first time in fifteen years, marveling at how much things had progressed while he stayed stagnant. -- Now, Alex had a house of his own. It was easy enough to find in the phonebook, and even if it wasn't there, he'd been keeping quiet tabs. Gripping the strap of his bag, Rabbit walked the pavement of the town that ran him out. There was still bitterness in his chest for what they'd done to him, but now he could leave on his own terms with the only thing here that mattered to him.

Rabbit glanced back down the street as he approached the small house. He stood on the porch and looked up at the sky again, frowning a little at the way the light pollution ate up all the twinkling stars that used to be there. Where they'd go-- West, he thought, the sky would be brilliant like diamonds. No pollution, no people. Just the two of them and all the time in the world.

Hand up, he took in a deep breath and knocked.

@purposefully-lost

[multi-fandom-imagine]

Hero || Phillip Graves ||

A/n: I’ve decided to write this imagine out , I’ve come to love this bastard, so I’m changing the cover up incident with Phillip tying to get to the men only for his things being cut off so he had no clue what happened and he doesn’t know about the cover up.

Warnings: Blood, torture, death, angst with a happy ending.

Getting told to betrayed the 141 task force was something he never expected Shepard to say. He didn’t even know how to respond to that but then the man had to bring up you, he had to bring up his little girl. He had no choice but to agree and while he may have told Shepard he would, it didn’t mean that he couldn’t warn Ghost and the others.

“What do you mean he’s trying to burn us.”

Adverting his gaze, Graves frowned placing a folder on the table with all the information he manadged it dig up. “You we’re getting to close.” He sighed dropping his shoulders. “It’s what he told me to do alright, he threatened to have Y/n killed, threatened my kid….look I need you to get her. Bring them somewhere safe….I’ll try to keep him off you’re trail but I do know one thing. You can not trust my team.”

+•+

Soap frowned as he glanced at the home, it was a nice little house. Something that Simon was not expecting at all. “Laswell confirmed Graves suspicions.”

“Which means he’s going to kill Graves when he finds out that he’s gonna help us.” Soap stated grabbing the door handle.

“Well let’s hope it won’t come to that.” Ghost muttered as he nodded to Soap.

Slipping out of the car, Johnny rolled his neck knocking on the door. Once it opened the man was taken back by how attractive you were though he finally noticed a three year old clinging to your leg.

“Can I help you?”

“Yes?”

“Y/n Graves? I’m here on behalf of your husband.”

Your eyes went wide for a moment, you started to panic. “W-what’s wrong with Phillip.”

“Nothing! It’s nothing. I am just sent here to bring you too him.” Johnny explained rubbing the back of his neck.

“Okay…do I need to get a bag?”

“Nope! You two are just fine.” He smiled as you gave him a look as you lifted your son up.

“Okay…”

Watching as you walk towards the car, a sigh of relief escaping your lips.

At least you were safe.

+•+

Graves sighed closing his eyes with relief, hearing you were safe, he couldn’t help but relax though seeing the computer blink the man quickly fixed his position answering the call. “Sir.”

“You disappoint me Graves…but I should have learned when you ran off to help those men. It’s a shame it has to come to this you were a damn good solider.”

“I do-.”

Getting cut off, Phillip felt a blinding pain in the base of his skull.Falling to the ground he could fell the blood tricking down the side of his head. Everything was spinning though he didn’t have a chance to get up due to the kick to his stomach.

“Such a fucking pussy Graves…Can’t even follow an order.”

Spitting some blood on the ground, Phillip let out a scoff. “So they sent the lap dog…hehe…hate to break it to you Cater but they know.Have fun trying to kill Ghost.”

The man Cater, knelt down infront of Graves’s his hand grabbing his hair. “You just don’t know when to shut the fuck up…I’m going to find them and then I’ll find your wife…I’ll have a lot of fun with her.”

“Don’t you fucking touch her, I’ll fucking kill you.”

Glancing at the gun in his hand the man let out a sigh. “You’re not in the best position to be making threats…night night Graves.”

Taking the but of his gun he knocked Phillip out, turning to his men he nodded to the unconscious body. “Get him out of my sight.”

+•+

Graves couldn’t count how many days he’s been here. The torture was starting to make him feel like he was going crazy. He could have been here two days, hell it could have been a week for all he knew, the only thing keeping him sane were thoughts of you and his little, knowing you were safe.

Hearing the door open, Phillip let let out a chuckle licking his lips, tasting the dry blood. “So what will it be today boys. You gonna break another finger, oh how about you put more cigarettes out on me but you know I gotta say the water boarding is my favorite.”

“You just don’t know when to shut your mouth do you Graves.”

Leaning back in the chair he let out a snort. “What can I say…it’s part of my charm.”

Clark gritted his teeth as he stepped forward pulling out a switchblade. “Tell me where the hideout is.”

“Go fuck yourself. Or better yet fuck Shepard.”

“You had your chance Graves”

Philip did his best to hold out but god he never expected for it to be this bad. A scream tore through his lips making his throat raw but deep down he knew he would take this and more, as long as you were okay, as long as his daughter was okay he could handle this.

+•+

Slumping forward in his chair, Phillip was surprised they even bandaged his eye. Hearing the door open, he closed his eyes hearing the clicking of the gun though glancing up he saw a shadow pass by and that’s when he started to laugh.

“Why the fuck are you laughing Graves? I’m about to put a bullet in your head.

“It’s nothing…I mean…I only saw a Ghost.”

The man did not get a chance to react, the room echoing with a gun shoot as he fell forward dead.

“Shit Graves.”

Looking up, Phillip gave them a bloodied smile. “Took you long enough.”

Phillip didn’t remember much after that, he didn’t remember getting tended too, nor did he remember hearing your screams, he was just tired and when you’re tired you sleep.

+•+

“You don’t have to fret over me Y/n.” Phillip was still trying to deal with the news of being blind in his eye now. He could deal with the burn wounds and scars on his body, but this, this was hard.

Sighing you sat next to his bedside, your hand holding his as your daughter fell asleep in his lap, clinging to him.

“I have every right to fret over you Phillip…you nearly.” Holding back tears you brought his hand to your lips giving it a kiss. “Seeing them bring you in, it killed me….I thought.” Tears now sliding down your cheeks you quickly slipped into his cot resting your head on his chest.

“I’m.”

“Don’t apologize, it wasn’t your-You’re a hero Phillip.”

Scoffing, he placed a kiss to your head. “It’s my job and if I had the choice I do it again.”

Glancing up at him you then gave him a weak smile. “Fine,your my hero…that good.”

Grinning, he tipped his head capturing you lips in for a kiss. “Now that I can take.”