#I usually have a lot more going on but I’ve been organized a little by dadwc funneling my writing

[rowanisawriter]

WIP…?

…said with the same energy as RIP 😭

thanks for the tag, @zenstrike!! i’m tagging @samseabxrn @nirikeehan @monowires but no pressure :)

here’s what i have brewing, if we want to call haunting my google docs brewing:

battle studies: dragon age, cullen/trevelyan, this is where most of my attention is and i’m almost done! I split it into three smaller pieces and have written 1 and 3. this is definitely the most ambitious fic i’ve written i think.

an unnamed treasure hunter au: also dragon age, cullen/trevelyan, wrote the first chapter to get it out of my system and refocus, then i decided i liked it and want to continue it because i love pain and hate myself 🙃

lore: more dragon age, cullen/trevelyan, i need to be restrained because i can’t stop writing them, but this one is about the inquisitor’s abilities taking a darker turn and the effect it has on their relationship.

fairy tale: more dragon age, amell/alistair, sad little thing about how nothing ever turns out like it does in the books you read when you were young.

your hands were made for holding: finally something other than dragon age, horizon forbidden west fashav/kotallo absolute angst factory.

after: deathloop, charlie/fia, i have had this in the wips since the game came out like two years ago, i want to finish it so bad but it won’t write… so it just gathers dust in the folder and i reread what i’ve got from time to time, suffering in silence.

[kentobb]

The Bet (Part Two)

Characters: College!Sukuna x Female Reader

Genre: Angst

Warnings: Foul language, Kiss. Sukuna being an idiot.

Author’s note: Thank you for everyones comment! It meant a lot for me. Did a part two thanks to the feedback 🩷 I love reading your comments. Feel free to leave a feedback or how you feel in the comments.

Part 01 Part 03 Part 04

Sukuna walked into the library, his heart pounding a little faster than usual. He was there under the pretense of needing help with his project, but deep down, he knew he didn’t really need it. He just needed to make progress with you on this stupid bet with Gojo. As he walked through the aisles of books, he spotted you from a distance. You were sitting peacefully, engrossed in a book. The sight of you so absorbed in your reading made him feel a pang of guilt. He was about to disrupt your tranquility for his own selfish reasons.

He approached you quietly, not wanting to startle you. When you looked up and saw him, you greeted him with a warm smile, ready to help. Sukuna couldn’t help but feel a bit ashamed. What kind of person was he to use you like this? Would you mind? Would you not mind?

“Hey,” he said, trying to keep his tone casual. “Thanks for agreeing to help me.”

“It’s no problem,” you replied, closing your book. “What do you need help with?”

“Uh, just some research for our project,” he said, sitting down next to you.

You nodded and opened your laptop, quickly pulling up some documents. “Alright, let’s start with the basics. What part are you struggling with?”

He glanced at the screen, feeling a bit like a fraud. “I guess I’m having trouble narrowing down the sources. There’s just so much information.”

You smiled and began explaining the research process to him, breaking it down into simple steps. You had a way of making even the most complex topics seem easy to understand. As you talked, Sukuna found himself genuinely enjoying the conversation. Your voice was soothing, and your explanations were clear and concise.

“See, it’s not that hard,” you said, looking at him. “You just need to organize your sources and make sure they’re credible.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Sukuna said, smiling. “Thanks…you’re really good at this.”

You blushed slightly. “I’m glad I could help.”

You continued working, and Sukuna found himself relaxing more and more. He started cracking jokes, trying to lighten the mood. You giggled at his comments, and he was immediately struck by how beautiful your laughter was. He felt his cheeks warm up and quickly looked back at his laptop, hoping you hadn’t noticed his reaction.

“So, what do you like about reading?” he asked, trying to keep the conversation going.

Your eyes widened, surprised that he is actually making a conversation with you, that he is treating you like a decent human being…as if you were important. Your heart warms at the thought that someone is actually talking to you. You smiled, “I love getting lost in different worlds and stories,” you said, your eyes lighting up. “There’s something magical about books. They let you explore places you’ve never been and meet people you’d never know otherwise…”

“That’s cool,” Sukuna said, genuinely interested. “Maybe we could go book shopping sometime. You could show me some of your favorite authors.”

Sukuna glanced at you, who didn’t seem to take his suggestion seriously. You shrugged and gave a half-hearted smile. “Yeah, okay,” you said, clearly doubtful.

He felt a pang of frustration. “No, really,” he insisted, trying to sound more sincere. “I’ve been meaning to get into reading more. Maybe you could help me find some good books?”

You raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. “You’re interested in reading?”

“Yeah, I mean... books are cool,” he said, mentally cursing himself for sounding so unconvincing. He then had a sudden, seemingly brilliant idea. “How about we go book shopping right now?”

You laughed at his suggestion, thinking he was joking. But when you saw the serious expression on his face, your laughter died down. “You’re serious?”

“Totally serious,” he said as he smiled.

You hesitated for a moment, your sixth sense telling to you bail out and go back to your dorm, to drown yourself in books. Your thoughts want to win, telling you that he is just doing this out of petty, that he is just using you—

“Hey…” he said softly, standing up. “Let’s go. It’ll be fun.”

And this time, you decided to ignore your sixth sense. Slowly nodding and smiling, “Okay, if you say so.”

You both left the library and walked to a nearby bookstore. Sukuna was mentally cursing himself the entire way. This was not his scene at all. But as you both entered the store, he found himself distracted by your excitement? Who would have thought that the shy girl who hides herself from the world is smiling and giggling over some books? You moved through the aisles with ease, picking up books, reading the backs, and smiling at titles that intrigued you.

He watched you, feeling a strange lightheartedness. Seeing you so animated, so genuinely happy, was not as unpleasant as he had anticipated. In fact, it was quite the opposite.

“So, what kind of books do you like?” he asked, trying to sound genuinely curious.

“I love fantasy and adventure,” you said, holding up a book with a dragon on the cover. “And sometimes a good mystery.”

He nodded, pretending to be interested. “That sounds cool. What’s that one about?”

You began to explain the plot, your eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. Sukuna found himself smiling, not because of the book, but because of the way you talked about it. Have your voice been always this beautiful? Have you always been this pretty? He picked up a random book and glanced at the back, not really reading the words.

“This one looks interesting,” he said, trying to keep the conversation going.

You looked at the book he was holding and chuckled. “That’s a romance novel, Sukuna.”

He quickly put the book back, feeling embarrassed. “Right, not exactly my style. What would you recommend for a beginner?”

You thought for a moment, then picked out a book and handed it to him. “Try this one. It’s a good start for anyone new to reading.”

He took the book, looking at the cover. “Thanks, bookworm. I’ll give it a shot.”

Both of you walked to the register together, and he paid for the book. As you stepped outside, he noticed a cozy coffee shop across the street. The warm lights and inviting atmosphere seemed like the perfect place to continue the conversation.

“Want to grab a coffee?” Sukuna suggested, surprising himself with how much he wanted to prolong your time together.

You looked pleased and nodded. “Sure, that sounds nice.”

You both walked over to the coffee shop, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee greeting both of you as you entered. Sukuna wondered what kind of coffee you would order, trying to guess your tastes. When it was his turn, he ordered a black coffee, simple and strong. You, however, surprised him by ordering a hot chocolate.

The cashier rang up the total, and just as you were about to reach for your wallet, Sukuna handed over his card, paying for both of you.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you said, looking a bit flustered.

He shrugged it off, trying to play it cool. “Consider it a thank you for helping me with the project. And the book recommendation.”

You smiled, your cheeks tinged with a slight blush. “Well, thank you, then.”

Both took their drinks and decided to take a walk, sipping and talking about random topics. For the first time in a long time, Sukuna felt genuinely content. Both of you discussed everything from favorite movies to childhood memories. Sukuna found himself opening up more than he expected, and he was amazed at how easy it was to talk to you. As you walked, Sukuna couldn’t help but compare this feeling to his usual encounters with MeiMei and his other hookups. With them, it was always superficial and fleeting. But with you, it felt different. More real, more meaningful.

Eventually you both arrived back at the dorms, and you turned to him with a grateful smile. “Thanks for today, Sukuna. I had a great time.”

Just as you were about to leave, Sukuna impulsively grabbed your arm, causing you to look up at him with those doe eyes that always made him feel like he was going to melt. He hesitated for a moment, feeling a strange mix of nervousness and excitement.

“Hey, sorry, can I have your number?” he asked, his voice a bit softer than usual.

You blushed and looked down, shyness making you even more endearing. You nodded and took his phone, carefully entering your contact information. When you handed it back to him, fingers brushing slightly, sending a jolt of electricity through him.

“Here you go,” you said, your voice almost a whisper.

He looked at the new contact in his phone and couldn’t help but smile. “Thanks, bookworm. I’ll text you later.”

You nodded and you chuckled over your new nickname, still blushing. “Okay, see you.”

As Sukuna walked back to his dorm, he felt an unusual sense of happiness. It wasn’t just that he had a good time—he had plenty of fun at parties and with friends. This was different. He felt a genuine connection, something he hadn’t felt in a long time, if ever.

Sukuna stepped into his apartment, feeling strangely lighthearted. He placed the book you had recommended, "The Alchemist," on the kitchen island and headed to the fridge to find something to drink. After rummaging through the contents, he settled on a cold soda. Just as he closed the fridge door, Yuuji jumped out from behind it with a loud "Boo!"

"Jesus, Yuuji!" Sukuna exclaimed, nearly dropping his drink. "What the fuck, man?"

Yuuji burst into laughter, clutching his sides. "You should've seen your face, bro! Priceless!"

Sukuna rolled his eyes, trying to play it cool. "Yeah, yeah, hilarious."

Yuuji’s eyes drifted to the book on the island. He squinted, recognizing the title, and then smirked. "Wait a minute... Is that a book? Sukuna, since when do you read books?"

Sukuna felt a blush creeping up his neck. "I read," he muttered defensively. "Stop being stupid.”

Yuuji snorted. "You read, huh? Bullshit. You don’t even read what you eat.”

Sukuna glared at his brother, but Yuuji's smirk only widened. "Saw you today at the library… with this girl… what was her name again? Y/N? Yeah… Y/N.”

The blush on Sukuna’s face deepened, and he struggled to maintain his composure. "We're just working on a project. That’s it."

Yuuji wasn't buying it. He leaned in closer, waggling his eyebrows. "Sure… does that project include going to bookstores and coffee shops? I saw you, idiot. I was buying some shoes next to that bookstore.”

Before Sukuna could come up with a retort, Choso walked in, catching the tail end of the conversation. "What's going on here?"

Yuuji turned to him, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. "Guess what? Sukuna’s been hanging out with the bookworm. And he bought a book… because he “reads.” He said sarcastically

Choso raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Sukuna doesn’t even read the bills—”

Yuuji laughed, “Right? That’s what I said!”

"It's not like that," Sukuna protested, feeling cornered. "We're just working on a project together, and she recommended the book. That's all."

Choso nodded slowly, his expression turning mischievous. "Sure….”

Yuuji laughed, clapping Sukuna on the back. "Come on, Kuna, you can tell us. Do you like her?"

Sukuna could feel his face burning. "It's not like that," he insisted again. "We’re just...classmates."

Choso and Yuuji exchanged knowing looks, clearly enjoying their brother’s discomfort. "Sure, sure," Choso said. "But just so you know, if you need any dating advice, your little brothers are here to help."

“She seems like a good girl." Yuuji added with a wink. "I bet dad would like her.”

Sukuna groaned, wishing he could disappear. "You guys are the worst."

Yuuji grinned. "That's what brothers are for. So, when's your next study date?"

"It's not a date," Sukuna grumbled. "And I'm not telling you."

Choso chuckled. "Alright, keep your secrets. Just don’t get too distracted from your actual project."

Sukuna rolled his eyes. "I swear, you guys are so fucking annoying.”

Yuuji and Choso exchanged another amused glance but let the subject drop, for now. Sukuna grabbed his book and retreated to his room, trying to escape their teasing.

When he got to his room, he sat down on his bed, still holding the book and his phone with your number on it. He realized he was smiling like an idiot, but he didn’t care.

Sukuna found himself smiling at his phone more often than he'd like to admit. You and him had started texting regularly, and he genuinely enjoyed the conversations. You are easy to talk to, and he found himself sharing more about his day than he ever had with anyone else.

He liked updating you on his progress with "The Alchemist," surprising even himself with how invested he'd become in the story. He shared memes, too. You had a surprisingly sharp sense of humor, and your texts always made him laugh.

During practice, Sukuna would sneak glances at his phone, chuckling at your latest meme or comment. His teammates noticed, and curiosity buzzed among them.

"Yo, Sukuna, who are you texting so much?" Geto asked one afternoon, wiping sweat from his forehead.

Sukuna shrugged nonchalantly. "Just a friend."

Gojo, ever the instigator, leaned in with a smirk. "Is it MeiMei? Got a booty call lined up or something?"

Sukuna's smile didn't waver, and he simply shook his head. "Nope."

Gojo raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by the genuine smile on Sukuna's face. "Hmm, really now? That smile of yours seems pretty genuine. Are you sure it’s not someone special?"

Sukuna looked up, meeting Gojo's eyes. He knew his friend was fishing for information, but he wasn't about to give in. "Just a friend," he repeated, but the slight blush on his cheeks didn't go unnoticed.

As practice ended and they all headed to the locker room, Gojo exchanged a glance with Geto. "What do you think?" he whispered.

Geto grinned. "I think our boy might actually be falling for someone. And it's definitely not MeiMei."

Back at his apartment, Sukuna sprawled on the sofa, phone in hand. He shot off another text to you, telling you about a particularly funny moment from practice. Almost immediately, your response popped up, and he couldn't help but smile again.

Sukuna: "You won't believe what happened at practice today. Gojo tried to dunk and ended up flat on his face. Classic."

Bookworm :) : "Haha, I can totally picture that. Is he okay?"

Sukuna: "Yeah, he's fine. Just bruised his ego a bit."

Bookworm :): "Poor Gojo. Btw, how's the book going? Any new revelations?"

Sukuna: "Actually, yeah. I'm starting to see why you like it so much. It's kind of... inspiring."

Bookworm :) : "Told you. It's a great read."

Sukuna: "You're a great recommender. Maybe you should suggest my next read."

Bookworm :): "I have a few ideas in mind. But only if you promise to actually read them."

Sukuna: "Deal."

As he put his phone down, Sukuna's thoughts drifted to you. You were different from anyone he'd ever known—intelligent, kind, and genuinely interested in the things he had to say.

The morning sun filtered through the classroom windows as students filed in, preparing for another day of lectures and notes. Sukuna was already seated, tapping his pen against his notebook, when Mahito walked over, a mischievous grin plastered on his face.

"Hey, Sukuna," Mahito said, leaning against Sukuna's desk. "Big party today at my place. Spread the word, yeah?"

Sukuna nodded, matching Mahito's grin. "Got it. Should be a blast."

As Mahito walked away, Sukuna's eyes drifted across the room until they landed on you. You were quietly arranging your things, completely unaware of the whirlwind of thoughts running through his mind. He knew it wasn’t your usual scene, but the idea of you being there intrigued him. He took a deep breath, gathering his courage.

He needed to make progress on the bet, because… this was about the bet… is not that he wanted to see you, is not that the idea of you has been consuming his mind. As he approached you, he tried to act casual.

"Hey," he greeted you, taking the seat next to you.

You looked up from your notes and smiled, a gesture that made his heart skip a beat. "Hi, Sukuna."

He cleared his throat, trying to find the right words. "So, there's this party at Mahito's place today since its a long week. I was thinking you should come. It'll be fun."

Your smile faltered slightly, and you looked a bit uneasy. "Oh, um, thanks, but I'm actually busy tonight.”

Sukuna raised an eyebrow. "Busy? Doing what?"

You hesitated, then sighed. "I'm going to a museum. They have a new exhibit I've been wanting to see."

"A museum?" Sukuna repeated, trying to hide his surprise. "You're going with someone?" He asked, his heart pounding.

"No, just me," you giggled, cheeks turning a light shade of pink.

Seeing your flustered made Sukuna feel a pang of guilt. Here he was, trying to use you for a bet, and you were genuinely one of the sweetest people he'd ever met. "Hey, that actually sounds interesting," he said, surprising himself with his sincerity. "Mind if I tag along?"

You blinked, clearly taken aback. "You... want to come to the museum with me?"

"Yeah," Sukuna said, trying to sound nonchalant. "Why not?"

You looked down, clearly embarrassed. "I don't know, Sukuna. I feel like... it might not be your thing." You gave a small smile, “You’re just being nice…you don’t have to do this.”

He laughed softly. "Maybe not, but I'd like to give it a try. Besides, it's better than going to some noisy party, right?"

You bit your lip, contemplating his offer. "Alright, if you're sure."

"I'm sure," he said, his smile genuine. "So, what time should we meet?"

You smiled and he swear he almost melts.

The afternoon sun was gentle, casting a warm glow on the bustling city streets as Sukuna and you walked side by side towards the train station. You looked adorable in your floral satin dress, your outfit modest and tracing your curves. Your hair was down, two loose strands framing your face. Sukuna found himself captivated by your natural beauty and the soft, unassuming way you carried herself.

You pulled out a map, your fingers tracing the route you needed to take to reach the museum. You glanced up at Sukuna, a shy smile playing on your lips.

"Thanks for coming with me," you said softly, your voice almost drowned out by the city's hum. "I know you had that party you could have gone to instead."

Sukuna shrugged, a small smirk forming on his lips. "There are always going to be other parties. I'm not worried about missing one." He paused, looking at you earnestly. "I want to create new experiences, you know? Do something different for a change."

You looked at him, your eyes wide with surprise and gratitude. "That's really sweet of you."

You continued walking, the conversation flowing more easily now. Sukuna asked you about your favorite museums and what you liked most about them. You animatedly talked about the different exhibits you have seen and the stories behind them. Sukuna found himself genuinely interested, watching your eyes light up with each new topic.

As you sat next to each other on the train, your shoulders occasionally brushing, Sukuna leaned in a little closer. "So, what's the best part of the museum we're going to?" he asked, his curiosity piqued.

You thought for a moment, then replied, "I think it's the interactive exhibits. They make you feel like you're part of the story, not just a spectator."

Sukuna nodded, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Sounds interesting. I like the idea of being part of the story."

You smiled, feeling more at ease. "Yeah, it's a lot of fun. I think you'll enjoy it."

When you arrived at the stop, you continued the walk towards the museum. The city was bustling, but you both managed to carve out your own little bubble of conversation and laughter. Sukuna found himself enjoying your company more and more, appreciating the way you saw the world with such enthusiasm and wonder.

At one point, both of you stopped at a small park to rest for a moment. You took out your map again, double-checking their route. Sukuna watched you, amused by your determination. "You really like being prepared, huh?" he teased gently.

You looked up, blushing slightly. "I just don't want us to get lost."

He chuckled. "Don't worry, I'd follow you anywhere."

Your blush deepened, and you quickly turned your attention back to the map. Sukuna found your reaction adorable, and a warm feeling spread through him.

As you approached the museum, Sukuna could see the excitement building in your eyes. You were practically bouncing on your toes, and he couldn't help but smile. It felt good to see you so happy.

"Ready for our adventure?" he asked, holding out his hand.

You hesitated for a moment, then took his hand, fingers warm and soft in his. "Ready," you replied, your smile bright and genuine.

The party was in full swing at Mahito’s place. Bodies moved to the beat of the music, the air thick with the scent of alcohol and sweat. Mahito and his friends scanned the crowd, puzzled by the absence of Sukuna. Gojo, always observant, finally spotted Yuuji and Choso lounging by the snack table.

He approached them with a smirk. "Hey, you guys seen Sukuna? Mei Mei’s been blowing up his phone, and he’s MIA."

Yuuji, munching on a handful of pretzels, grinned. "Oh, Sukuna? He’s got a date tonight." He chuckled.

Gojo raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "A date? With who? The fuck?”

Yuuji leaned in, lowering his voice dramatically. "The bookworm.”

Gojo’s eyes widened with amusement. He couldn’t believe that Sukuna has actually made progress with you. Was Sukuna able to pull anyone he wanted? He thought to himself "You mean Y/N? No way!"

Choso chuckled, shaking his head. "Yup, that's the one. Heard she is a good girl. She is good for Sukuna.”

Mei Mei, standing nearby, overheard the conversation. Her eyes narrowed with jealousy as she processed the information. Without a word, she turned on her heel and stormed out of the party, leaving a trail of stunned onlookers in her wake.

Gojo, oblivious to Mei Mei’s reaction, clapped Yuuji on the shoulder. "Man, Sukuna must be working hard for those hundred bucks, huh?"

Yuuji’s grin faded, replaced by confusion. "What do you mean, hundred bucks?"

Gojo laughed, taking a swig of his drink. "Oh, you didn’t know? We made a bet. Hundred bucks says he can’t hook up with her."

Yuuji’s expression darkened, his hands balling into fists. "Sukuna did what? He put a price on someone’s feelings? On her? Are you guys fucking insane?"

Gojo, realizing he might have said too much, raised his hands defensively. "Hey, it’s just a bet, man. Nothing serious."

Yuuji rolled his eyes as he searched for his phone, “I swear sometimes yours and his brain are there as a decoration.”

Gojo realized that he may have put Sukuna in trouble and tried to ease problem, “Yuuji, come on. It’s just a silly bet.”

But Yuuji was already dialing Sukuna’s number, his face set with determination. When the call went straight to voicemail, he turned to Choso. "We need to find him. Now."

Choso nodded, his playful demeanor gone. The two brothers pushed their way through the crowd, urgency in their steps. Gojo watched them leave, a sense of unease settling in his gut.

“Fuck…”

The museum was an eclectic mix of contemporary and classical art, its walls adorned with pieces that ranged from the breathtakingly beautiful to the bewilderingly abstract. Sukuna walked beside you, casting sidelong glances at you as you moved from one exhibit to another with an easy grace. He couldn't help but feel a sense of pride, though he was secretly nervous about how the day would unfold.

As you stood in front of a particularly strange piece of modern art—a series of seemingly random splashes of paint on a massive canvas—Sukuna tilted his head, trying to make sense of it. "I don't get it," he admitted, glancing at you. "What's it supposed to mean?"

You laughed softly, a musical sound that made Sukuna's heart skip a beat. "Honestly? I don't get it either," you confessed. "I like to read about the artists and their intentions. Sometimes it helps to understand what they were trying to convey."

Sukuna felt a wave of admiration wash over him. "So, you learn about it to understand it better?"

You nodded. "Exactly. Sometimes things don’t make sense until you dig deeper and get to know the context behind them."

Sukuna found your words resonating with him on a deeper level. He realized that getting to know someone—or something—often required patience and effort. It was a lesson he hadn't fully appreciated until now.

Both of you continued walking through the museum, and Sukuna found himself genuinely interested in the art, largely because of your enthusiasm and insightful commentary. You moved from exhibit to exhibit, discussing the pieces and sharing both thoughts. As you walked, shoulders occasionally brushed against each other, a subtle but intimate connection that neither of you seemed to mind.

He was starting to enjoy this more than he expected.

At one point, both of you stood in front of a serene landscape painting, both of you lost in its tranquility. Sukuna glanced at you, noticing how the light played off your features, giving you an ethereal glow. His heart pounded in his chest, a feeling of warmth spreading through him. He was falling for you, and it was happening faster than he could comprehend.

After you had explored the entire museum, you stepped outside, only to find that it had started to rain. The drops came down heavily, quickly soaking the ground. Both of you looked around for shelter and found a small alcove with a roof that provided some protection from the downpour.

You shivered, wrapping your arms around yourself to stave off the cold. Sukuna, without a second thought, shrugged off his jacket and draped it over your shoulders. "Here, take this," he said, trying to sound casual despite the fluttering in his chest.

You looked up at him, your doe eyes filled with gratitude. "T-Thank you," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the sound of the rain.

Seeing you still shivering, Sukuna hesitated for only a moment before he stepped closer and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a tight embrace. "You're still cold," he murmured, his breath warm against your ear. "This should help."

Your heart raced, your pulse quickening at the unexpected contact and he could feel it. You looked up at him, eyes wide with surprise and something else—something that made Sukuna's heart ache with a strange, new longing.

Without fully understanding what he was doing, Sukuna reached up and gently cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing against your soft skin. Your faces were inches apart, and he could feel your breath mingling with his own. In that moment, everything else faded away—the night, the rain, the cold, the world around you. It was just the two of you, lost in a bubble of warmth and closeness.

Slowly, Sukuna leaned in and pressed his lips to yours, a gentle, tentative kiss that quickly deepened as you both gave in to the feelings that had been building between you. Your hands found their way to his chest, clutching at his shirt as if you needed something to anchor herself to reality. This was your first kiss, and it felt like a dream—one that you never wanted to wake up from.

Sukuna felt his heart swell with emotions he hadn't known he was capable of feeling. He kissed you with a tenderness he hadn't shown anyone before, savoring the sweetness of the moment. When both of you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathless, foreheads resting against each other as you tried to process what had just happened.

Sukuna was speechless, unable to find the right words to convey the overwhelming feelings swirling inside him. He could only look at you, his eyes reflecting the depth of his emotions.

Just then, his phone began to vibrate, breaking the intimate silence between you. Sukuna fumbled to pull it out of his pocket, glancing at the screen to see Yuuji's name flashing. He hesitated, torn between answering the call and staying in this perfect moment with you.

You gave him a gentle smile, understanding the conflict in his eyes. "Um…you should answer it," you said softly, stepping back slightly to give him space.

Sukuna nodded, still feeling dazed. He answered the call, his voice unsteady. "Y-yeah, Yuuji, what's up?"

“We need to talk. And it’s serious. Go home.” Yuuji said and Sukuna is worried about his brother tone.

His mind kept drifting back to the kiss, to the way you had looked at him, to the warmth that still lingered from your embrace.

You both walked in silence toward the train station, the only sounds between you were the patter of rain and your own footsteps. The air was thick with unspoken words, each of you lost in your own thoughts about the kiss. You couldn't help but feel a pang of insecurity. You worried that Sukuna regretted it, that maybe he saw you as a mistake—an odd, nerdy girl who didn't match his level. You bit your lip, glancing at him from the corner of your eye but finding no clues in his expression.

Sukuna, on the other hand, was wrestling with his own confusion. He had never anticipated falling for the girl he was supposed to win over for a bet. His heart felt heavy with the realization that he had genuinely fallen for you, but he was at a loss for how to navigate these new, intense feelings.

When you arrived at the station, boarded the train, still wrapped in silence. The ride felt interminable, each stop only heightening the tension between you. As you finally reached the stop and walked toward the dorms, Sukuna felt a growing sense of dread. He didn't want this night to end, didn't want to leave things unsaid.

Outside your dorm, you began to take off Sukuna's jacket, but he gently stopped you. “Keep it," he said softly, his voice betraying the turmoil inside him.

You looked up at him with your wide, doe-like eyes, then quickly looked away, misinterpreting his silence as rejection. You thought he must be disgusted, regretting the kiss, and that made your heart ache.

Sukuna watched as you fumble with your keys, a million thoughts racing through his mind. He was about to turn away, but then he heard the lock click open. Something snapped inside him, and he muttered, "Fuck it."

In a few quick strides, he was back at your side. He took your face in his hands and kissed you again, this time more passionately, with all the feelings he had been holding back. The rain poured down around you, drenching you both, but neither of you cared. The wind whipped through the corridor, making the moment feel even more intense.

When you finally broke apart, both of yoi breathless, Sukuna rested his forehead against yours. "You're cute," he said, his voice soft and sincere. "Text me when you go to bed, okay?"

Your face lit up with a genuine smile, your worries melting away. You nodded, unable to find the words to express how she felt.

Sukuna gave you one last lingering look before he turned and walked toward his own dorm. His heart was pounding, and a small smile played on his lips despite the rain and cold.

Yuuji and Choso sat in Sukuna’s apartment, a heavy silence hanging between them. The dim light from the kitchen cast long shadows, making the space feel tense and charged. Yuuji kept glancing at the door, while Choso leaned back on the couch, arms crossed, his face set in a stern expression.

Finally, the sound of keys jingling outside broke the silence. The door opened, and Sukuna walked in, looking tired but content. He paused when he saw his brothers, sensing the confrontation waiting for him.

"Hey," Sukuna greeted, trying to keep his tone light as he shut the door behind him. "What's up?"

Yuuji stood up, his face a mix of frustration and concern. "We need to talk."

Don’t forget to leave a comment <3

[natalievoncatte]

Lena could feel the weight in her hand. A little extra swing in her fist as she walked, sending a jolt up her arm as she jogged up the steps to Kara’s apartment. She’d decided to walk today, to clear her head a little as she went to see her best friend. She had a lot on her mind lately- usual Luthor stuff like defusing random death traps that Lex left behind, fending off attempts to dethrone her as CEO and challenge her status as he brother’s heir, and cures for intractable diseases and solutions for the energy crisis and thorny ethical issues around the advance project department’s latest AI experiments… and Kara.

Kara was on her mind. She had a way of sneaking into Lena’s mind at the most inopportune moments, like a board meeting, or a symposium, or her TED talk. It was really a TEDx talk; the organization wasn’t *quite* ready to invite Lena to the real deal, no matter how many photo ops she did with Supergirl or cancer research facilities she paid for. That didn’t stop Kara from following her around saying “thanks for listening to my Ted talk” for three weeks after the fact.

She had been thinking about Kara so much that it had finally been noticed. Sam flew in from Metropolis earlier that week for a catch up lunch, and as usual, after business was handled they shared a bottle of wine and things grew informal.

“Lena,” Sam said. “I’ve been talking for five minutes and you’ve been holding that glass of rosé and staring at it for the entire time. What’s going on?”

Lena almost dropped the glass when she heard her name. “Oh, right. Yes. Wine.”

She took a sip, hoping Sam would drop her question, but she persisted.

“I know that look. You were miles away. What is it? Did the cure for cancer pop into your head?”

“No,” Lena said. “It’s nothing, I was just lost in thought.”

“Mmm,” said Sam. “I’m sure.”

“What?”

Sam smiled enigmatically and finished her wine. “I’d better get going. I’m taking a red eye back to Metropolis.”

“Sam, you’re flying on a Lexcorp charter. It doesn’t work that way.”

Sam snorted and left Lena sitting there, wondering what that was about. Of course she’d been daydreaming about Kara, about her hands specifically- she’d nodded off last weekend and woke to see Kara at her ease, brow furrowed and hands moving wildly as she painted something. Lena had remained still and watched, fascinated by Kara’s hands, the skill and dexterity she showed.

It was that day that Kara had passed her the key she now carried in her hand. A key to Kara’s apartment. Unfettered access. Lena didn’t have to knock (she would anyway) and could stop by when Kara wasn’t even there. She hadn’t said anything but she’d been holding back tears the entire ride home; Lena had no problems with *access*, but trust was another matter. That was what the key was. It was a talisman of trust, Kara’s confidence in her given form.

Lena did knock before she turned the key and swung the door open. She was expected, but part of her worried that Kara wouldn’t be alone. It seemed odd to Lena that Kara hadn’t started dating again- her best friend had taken the whole Mon-El thing very poorly, and it was bizarre to begin with, so Lena understood why she’d stay single for a while, but it had been years.

Years of kindling a soft, secret hope, a desire so fragile and so brittle that Lena rarely dared think of it, afraid that the tiniest brush of longing would crumble it and with it break something inside her permanently.

The apartment smelled like cookies. Burnt cookies. Kara was in the kitchen, brow furrowed, bent in concentration over a cookbook, eyes darting to a mixing bowl. Foul smelling attempted cookies practically filled the garbage can.

“Hey,” Kara said, cheerfully. She gave Lena a soft, gentle smile that seemed only for her, and brushed a loose gold curl from her eyes. “You’re early.”

“I wanted more Kara time,” said Lena. “I was hoping to get a few minutes alone with you before the few shows up. Just us.”

Kara looked at her curiously, then turned to her project.

“I can’t get this right. I cream the sugar like it says, but they keep coming out wrong.”

Lena moved closer, stopping her hand from seeking the small of Kara’s back. When she saw the carton of cream on the counter, she busted out laughing so hard she snorted.

“What?” said Kara.

“Darling, you don’t put actual cream in it. Here, let me help you.”

For the next half hour, Lena and Kara made cookie dough, laboriously, by hand. Every step brought them closer together, literally. By the time they were scooping out evenly sized blobs of it together, they were hip to hip, both floured and sugared, hands greasy with butter.

“I’ll pop them in the oven,” said Kara. “You go clean up and relax.”

“Alright,” Lena said.

She ended up on the couch. Game night would begin hours later, and Lena turned on a nature documentary. (She had her own distinct username on Kara’s Netflix.)

Lena must have dozed off, because the alarm on the oven, along with a warm, pleasant, homey smell, woke her up. She padded on her stocking feet into the kitchen to see how the cookies came out.

Kara had already taken them out and was holding the tray, hot from the oven. Something was off. It nagged at Lena’s mind.

Then it hit her. Kara seemed to realize at the same time.

She wasn’t wearing oven mitts. No heating pad. Not even a dish towel. Kara was holding the hot tray, fresh from the oven, in her bare hands.

Lena yelped. “Kara! You’ll burn yourself!”

Kara started to move. A cry rose on her lips, then died. She stared at Lena with such softness, her eyes full of hesitation, but more than that, a kind of longing that echoed Lena’s own soul.

“I’m tired of lying to you,” Kara said, still holding the tray. “It doesn’t hurt. I can barely feel it.”

They stood for a frozen moment that lasted an eternity, the truth just on the wrong side of revealing itself. Lena already knew, but she didn’t want to acknowledge it. Say it.

“You’re Supergirl,” Lena whispered, soft and breathy.

Kara nodded, starting to choke up. She put the tray down almost violently and stepped back.

“I’ll understand if you need time, if you’re angry, if you don’t want to continue our friendship-“

She didn’t finish her ramble. Lena crossed the space between them in three quick steps, firmly took Kara’s face between her palms, and kissed her.

Pure terror gripped her. What if she was wrong? What if this was a mistake? Why wasn’t Kara moving, responding, reacting?

That question responded when hands that could crush diamonds moved her her body with surpassing tenderness, turning the awkward kiss into something more, Kara guiding Lena as their bodies molded together and Kara kissed her back with hopeful desperation, drawing it out as if she was afraid to let it end for fear it might never be repeated.

It was, intimately and immediately. Lena was shocked but pleased when Kara let Lena push her back against the counter, bending her back lightly, almost climbing her. Kara almost shocked Lena when her hand slid up her side and found her breast even as Lena grabbed a double handful of steely buns and squeezed.

Then someone coughed and they jerked apart.

Alex stood by the door, arms folded.

“I’m going to go ahead and text the others so they know game night is cancelled,” she said, smirking. “Next time, hang a sock on the doorknob or something.”

“This is my house,” said Kara.

Alex rolled her eyes. “I’m leaving now.”

As the door slammed shut, and Alex could plainly be heard blurting, “Jesus Christ,” Lena turned back to Kara.

“Should we talk?” she said, her voice small. “What is this? What are we doing?”

Kara swallowed, hard. “What do you want it to be, Lena?”

Lena couldn’t answer. She just stared.

“I know what I want it to be,” said Kara. “I want us to be an us. I’m so tired of wanting you so bad it hurts, but being scared to touch you a certain way or look too long or too openly or be afraid I’ll say the wrong thing. I’m tired of hiding so much from you.”

Lena licked her lips.

“The truth is, I’ve wanted you for years.”

Kara’s gorgeous eyes lit up with unbridled delight, and with shocking quickness, Kara had Lena in a bridal carry. Lena instinctively curled up in her arms, practically wrapping herself around Kara’s body.

“What do you want to do now?” said Kara. “I don’t know how to do this part, Lena.”

Lena smiled. “I think what you do now is carry me back in the bedroom and cream your sugar.”

“You want to make more cookies? Why… oh.”

“Oh indeed,” said Lena.

Lena didn’t make a habit of it, but this one time, she let Kara talk her into cookies for breakfast.

[rockstarhaechan]

hiii, hope you are doing well <3

can i req some winwin but definitely not fluffy, love your blog btw

conversations | winwin ˚ ೀ｡˚

♡ pairing: bsf!winwin x bsf!reader

♡ warnings: smut (minors dni), rough winwin, mention of the rest of nct, alcohol, fingering, cum eating, jealous winwin, pet names

♡ note: i hope this is what you asked for, since you wanted no fluff heh. but i’m doing well, thank you for asking hope you’re doing well too!

you’ve been invited to a party that nct organized, winwin being your best friend casually filling up your glass with a little too much beer for your liking. but you couldn’t care less all you wanted to have was fun tonight.

about two hours in, you were going through the stage of being really tipsy but not quite drunk yet. you’ve been talking to a lot of the guys stopping at jaehyun who has been taking your breathe away, especially tonight. winwin usually never really cared about you talking to the rest of nct, but this time he got really jealous.

“so darling, how are you enjoying the party?” jaehyun smiled widely as his arm was hugging you lower back, his face being really close to yours, so close that you already felt his breath on the surface of your face.

“i’ve been having quite a bit of fun, my glass is just empty” turning to jaehyun with your pounding face as you held your now empty cup in front of his eyes wiggling it a little bit. your hair was falling over your shoulders as you turned your head into winwin’s direction, waving at him innocently.

winwin got mad when he saw you and jaehyun being up close, practically kissing yet lips not even touching. winwin always had a slight crush on you but never told you since he was your best friend for so long now, but it makes him jealous and he doesn’t mind showing you as he slowly walks over to you.

“what happened between you and jaehyun?” he uses the chance to speak to you while jaehyun is filling up your cup with a new drink, winwin being extremely close to you letting your body become weak.

“what do you think happened sicheng?” putting on a little smile as your elbow rested on his shoulder, facing him. he lifted an eyebrow as his tongue poked the inside of his cheek.

“i don’t know pretty, you tell me cause you were clearly flirting with jaehyun” he sounded jealous, oh and how jealous he was. the look on his face was irritating as he pushed his hair back face getting closer to yours.

“are you jealous sicheng? that’s actually kinda cute” it was the tipsy self who said that to him, normally you couldn’t care less what winwin thought about you or how you thought about him cause in the end he was just your best friend and nothing more.

grabbing you hand and dragging you into the bathroom of the house, nails digging into his skin as you held yourself up due to his immense speed. winwin soon found the bathroom, pushing you inside as he closed the door behind him.

“now we can talk about what you did with jaehyun, you basically undressed him with your eyes” he was mad and sad at the same time, wishing it was him who you just flirted with. you stepped closer to him arms softly resting on his shoulders as your fingers play with the back of his hair.

“you know sicheng jaehyun is a really gorgeous person, who wouldn’t flirt with him?” that was enough for winwin as your last word left your lips he kissed you hungrily. you were shocked at first but quickly deepening the kiss one hand traveling down to his chest pushing him against the door slightly.

talking? that was definitely not what you two were doing right now, tongue’s fighting with each other while winwin’s fingers started to play with the hem of your dress slipping under it. the both of you got so distracted with each other that you couldn’t even break the kiss as winwin basically just ripped the dress off of your body while smirking at you.

“you look so fucking pretty, for how long was it waiting to do this god” his hand was cupping your tit as he slowly turned his attention to your nipple, twirling his thumb around your exposed nip, deepening the kiss even more.

it soon clicked in your brain as you noticed what just happened with the two of you carefully touching his chest as your hands moved to his belt but he stopped you from moving further down, pinning both of your hands above your head while whispering into your ear that this is all about you and not him. one of winwin’s hands moved down to your panties, playing with the hem of your waistband hand slowly sneaking into your underwear.

“sicheng, what?” softly smiling as a few moans escaped your lips but he just hushed you attention back to your clit, slowly rubbing on it with small circles as pleasure hit you. you never thought this would happen as winwin and you are only best friends and nothing more but you never knew about what he felt about you, so you just went with the flow.

hips moving against his fingers which are now deeply inside of you as he was hitting your right spot each time. winwin was working pure magic almost letting you cum on the spot just with his fingers. your moans made him smirk and pushing his ego up since he’s doing this to you, and only he is.

“g-gonna cum” you threw your head back in pleasure as you held onto his shoulders, leg wrapped around his waist trying to hold your orgasm back not wanting to give in that quickly it’s like you’re waiting for him to allow you to cum.

“cum around my fingers, wanna taste that sweet juice of yours” as soon as he said that you felt a tight knot in your stomach finally releasing your orgasm and turning into a panting mess. winwin catched you as you rode off your high holding your body upright slowly pulling his fingers out of you.

licking every drop of your juices clean off his fingers as he looked deeply into your eyes, basically grinning at you before he pulled you back into a long kiss so you could taste yourself on his tongue. he broke the kiss quickly handing you your dress, pulling it over your head.

“get dressed babe, don’t want anyone else to see you like this” a small giggle was heard from his lips as you dragged your dress over your shoulders, brushing the dress down straight. you looked into the mirror and almost screamed. your make up? completely ruined. mascara running down your cheeks, lipstick non existent.

“oh god sicheng what have you done, look at me” you cried out while laughing. he turned around to face you again, handing you a small towel with a quick “you still look pretty” before leaving the bathroom. after you freshened up you left the bathroom as well and ran into a confused jaehyun with your glass in his hand.

“oh i could use something stronger, vodka perhaps? thank you” chugging down your glass before signaling jaehyun to get another drink for you. winwin on the other hand was giggling next to you as his arm hugged your waist, giving you a kiss on the cheek.

“why so shy now doll?” his evil grin was not to be overseen, undressing you with his eyes once again. you just knew that this night would change a lot of things, not in bad ways but maybe what happened in the bathroom won’t be the only thing happening between you and winwin tonight.

[actuallysaiyan]

For the Smutty Prompts, can I please have

5 with Ijichi

11 with Kakashi

Both spoken by the characters

Thank you, sweetie ❤️💚

warnings: smut, suggestive themes, mentions of trauma(Kakashi), alcohol mentions, oral sex(fem receiving), handjobs...two drabbles in one post!

Ijichi is usually such a no nonsense kind of guy. He likes things to be prim and proper and organized. But the manager always surprises you with the way he flirts with you. Somehow with you, he has much more confidence than you’d ever imagine. Though his cheeks are always dusted pink whenever he tries to say cute things to you.

It was Gojo who got you both out, and it was Ijichi who surprised you by picking the restaurant. It was supposed to be just a bunch of colleagues going out, but soon people were pairing off. This left you and Kiyotaka to hang out alone. You look at everyone else, and you find yourself leaning in closer to listen to Kiyotaka.

He’s suddenly aware of you listening to him and he stumbles over his words. The conversation is still able to flow. He makes you laugh so much with such little effort. Your heart feels so full of love and affection for this sweet and serious man.

The minute you two make it back to your apartment, you can’t hold back. You wrap your arms around him, kissing him sweetly. But Ijichi surprises you once more with needier kisses.

“I-I’m sorry if this is too forward,” he says shyly.

You only lead him into the bedroom, pushing him onto the bed. He grunts as he feels his cock throbbing in his pants. You do a lot of the leading, but he’s good to pull you back into some very hungry kisses.

“This is the perfect pace,” you finally admit.

His smile returns to his face. You take off his glasses, placing them safely on the bedside table. Then you begin to undress him, your eyes widening as you see that the man isn’t as lithe as you believed but has a nice lean build to him. Your lips trail down from his lips, leading to his neck and his chest. Ijichi moans as you unzip his pants and unbuckle his belt.

With you stroking his leaking cock and pressing hungry and sloppy kisses to his chest, he feels like he’s floating on a cloud right now. It’s all so blissful and it’s been a very long time since he’s had sex. To think that all that flirting with you would lead to this.

He bucks up his hips, grunting your name. You feel yourself throbbing between your thighs, and you begin to pick up the pace. He’s practically humping your fist now, his cheeks red and his lips parted as he moans out from your stimulation. You love the lewd way he looks when you jerk him off. It’s certainly adding to your arousal right now.

“That’s it, Kiyota. Ohhh such a good man…you needed this, didn’t you?”

He whimpers, his hips stuttering. He doesn’t even want to look at you directly in fear of spilling his load so soon. He tries to suppress his moans, but it’s all too good. He’s shaking as you continue to stroke him.

“I’ve never…oh I’ve never felt anything quite like this…it’s so good.” He grunts as you pick up even more speed.

The minute you wrap your lips around his tip, it’s all over for Ijichi. He groans as he spills his seed deep into your mouth, swearing and moaning as he rides out his high. When you look up at him, he’s surprised to see such a sweet look of love in your eyes. Maybe he is doing the right thing with you…

You always thought that Kakashi was way too cool for you. You envied the friendship that he and Guy have. What you never knew was that he was so interested in you.

You showed kindness and sweetness to everyone you came in contact with. The way you would help those in need made him feel something so warm deep inside of him. You had tried so hard to help him when he was so deep in his depression. Especially during his ANBU days. And now that he was a teacher and so were you, he wondered if maybe he could continue this friendship.

It’s one evening after you’re done with your tasks for the day that he surprises you by jumping out of the tree he was sitting in. He lands in front of you, making you gasp softly. The way you hold your hand on your chest and laugh afterwards makes him have butterflies in his stomach.

“Do you always scare people like this?”

Kakashi shrugs, “Remnants from the ANBU days.”

This makes you laugh a little more. You knew that he could make self-deprecating jokes at times, but you weren’t expecting this. He suggests walking you home, and you can’t say no. The minute you get to your place, you offer to invite him inside for dinner.

Dinner turns into him staying longer and helping you with the dishes. There’s a magnetic attraction between the two of you. The moments where you rub against him gently while you try to reach for something, it’s making your heart race in your chest.

All it took was one look and then he was pinning you against the counter. He’s kissing you hard, deep and passionately. It was like all your dreams were becoming true. It was honestly so overwhelming. But you did nothing to stop it. You wanted to see where this would lead.

Kakashi has you in your bedroom very soon. He hasn’t felt this way in so long. When he pulls his clothes off, you’re so quick to gently soothe your hands all over his hardened body. You are gentle with any scars he has, though you realize there aren’t many.

“I’ve wanted to do this with you for so long,” he says between heated kisses. His fingers are pumping deep inside of you.

You whine, “Me too, Kakashi,”

His thumb comes up to begin rubbing your clit, making you shudder. Then you watch as he settles on his stomach, kissing your thighs softly. He gives you a lustful look before he begins to lap at you. 

Your fingers tangle in his soft silver hair, pulling a little harder. He groans against your wet pussy, his tongue slowly circling your swollen bud. His eyes close as he licks you fervently, sending shockwaves of pleasure throughout your entire body. He’s grunting and moaning, slurping you up like you are his most favorite flavor. His eyes flicker up at you, and you notice that he has the Sharingan uncovered.

“I need to keep this in my memory forever…” he growls. “I’ve been dreaming about this for a very long time…”

dividers by: @adornedwithlight

Send me a prompt and character and I'll write you a short Drabble!

[xnoctifers-eveningx]

Death Work: Animal Remains

In my practice, I use remains, mainly animal bones, to connect with spirits, connect with Death, and in magical workings. Just recently, I’ve taken 3 more animals under my wing, and I thought it would be nice to detail my process of finding, handling, and working with remains as I actually initiate that process. Beginning first with finding remains and initial contact. As a death worker, I strive to honor the deceased and aid them in their transition, as well as bond with Death and use death and decay in magical practices. I have been doing spirit work for as long as I can remember and have begun learning under a few entities how to properly assist and tend to The Dead. As such this is not a “how-to”, just me sharing my beliefs but I’m open to questions and discussion :)

Finding Remains

If setting out with the intention of finding remains, it’s important to be prepared. It’s not a fun experience finding something and not being able to take it then, only to come back and it’s gone. Nor is it a good idea to grab things barehanded. I always have a bag with me packed with disposable gloves, trash bags/old shopping bags, and a mask (death reeks!). And if you don’t end up finding anything you can pick up any trash you come across !! I also make sure to bring offerings so I can leave them where I find remains, as well as personal ritual items used in funerary rituals. A hagstone has also always seemed to bring me luck on my searches :)

Where animals live, animals will die. Forests, wooded areas, creeks, wetlands, large areas without much human activity. You typically won’t find much in areas with heavy foot traffic or human presence. It’s good to find areas with lots of game trials, typically I find remains a little bit off from them. If the area has a lot of deadfall, fallen leaves, or snow, it’ll be a lot harder to spot remains. I’ve also had a lot of luck finding small bones and fossils on the banks of rivers, ponds, and lakes. Be wary of fresh or actively decaying corpses, there is a lot of bacteria and the animal itself can be carrying diseases. Always use protective gear when handling remains until they are completely sanitized.

Code of Conduct

While everyone holds varying ethical and moral beliefs, there are a few important issues I believe people should be aware of.

It's important to try you're best to not disturb other animals while searching. Respect the living as well as the dead. Personally, I don't hunt or otherwise intentionally kill animals but I understand the use. However, I do believe that the whole animal should be put to use and not left to waste. In death work, more often finding animals dead than not, this translates as never taking things that animals/bugs could eat or that you will not use. Nothing should be thrown away in the trash, I believe it is really disrespectful to chuck something like that into a garbage bag when leaving it outside would require minimally more effort. The nutrients of every organism deserve to go back to the soil.

Laws

Many places have laws that protect certain species. For example, the remains of native birds are usually legally protected in the US. Many endangered and at-risk animals are also protected. Even retrieving roadkill is illegal in some places! However, many places fail to impose proper protections on many animals that desperately need it. Always do your research on your local laws and the status of species in your area. Do not trophy hunt irl or online!

Sourcing

I haven't ever bought remains and don't plan to any time soon. I believe that if I'm meant to find it, it'll find me one way or another. Purchasing remains can be fine and ethical, but there are many situations in which it is not. A lot of remains, especially bones and furs, are not ethically sourced. Meaning mass farming, mass trapping, poaching, and cruel killing methods. It's important to know how remains were sourced, especially if one intends to bond with the spirit. Foxes, reptiles, cats, dogs, and skulls (in general) can be easily found on sites like Etsy, The Bone Room (avoid this site!!), and many real-life oddity expos where they 100000% source remains in either illegal or highly unethical ways. If a site sells illegal or endangered animals (bats, wolves, native birds, etc), cheap animals in bulk, or human remains then it is probably best to steer clear! Some Etsy shops will even title their listings as things like “man’s best friend” to try to get around the legality of selling dog remains among other species.

Initial Contact

After first finding remains I intend to collect, I introduce myself and state my intentions. I then leave offerings and ask to relocate/remove their remains. I approach this in a sorrowful, empathetic manner until giving them a burial and cleaning the remains.

I feel it's very important to ask the spirit before doing anything with the remains. However, if it's roadkill or in a vulnerable area with lots of people, then it's more respectful to relocate it to a quieter place. After doing spirit work for a while, instead of verbally asking and then divining, it’s more of a vibe check for me. When asking a spirit to take their remains, you should state your intentions whether that be art, bonding with them, or magical workings. I do not believe that the shade of an individual is permanently attached to its remains, nor do I believe that the shade is trapped wherever its remains are. However, I also believe that every being should have the opportunity to rest undisturbed if it so pleases. If a spirit truly does not want you fucking with its remains, I believe it will let you know through nightmares, bad luck, illness, and reoccurring thoughts of guilt among other things. You should be willing to leave the decreased alone if it comes to that, but in my experience, there have been few times in which a spirit is both still “connected” to its remains and dislikes the idea of me possessing them. I reckon that animals hold little use to their physical remains after passing, dissimilar to humans who tend to still want autonomy. There have, however, been times when I’ve forgotten about remains (either waiting to be processed in bags or actively processing in a bucket) and get a wave of guilt and think “oh fuck I should pull the deer out of the tub.”

I believe it is very important to leave offerings for The Dead, especially if you are disturbing their remains. Offerings act as both an honoring act for the deceased and payment for the remains. Offerings left out in nature should always be biodegradable and should not be anything that could harm any creature that comes across it. Typically, I make small bundle-type offerings from rocks, shells, plants, and sticks. They can also be food/drink (that is commonly safe for the deceased animal you are offering to), written poetry, or drawn art (on safe paper with graphite).

In addition, I always promise The Dead a burial. A burial does not have to be a grave 6 feet deep, but in some fashion, a piece of the deceased should be given a quiet and safe resting place away from humans. Even if the shade isn’t “contained” in the remains, I hold the belief that it can act as a tether for a part of the soul (hence using remains for spirit communication), and the individual should have the option to rest in a quiet place rather than sitting on a shelf. A burial also ensures that the nutrients contained in the remains are given back to the Earth. Life is a gift that must be returned to where it came from for the cycle to continue – thou art dust and to dust thou shalt return. Along this line of thought, no part of a being should be wasted. Meaning returning unused skin, fur/feathers, bones/fragments, guts, and anything you have no use for. Even with water maceration, the nutrients in the water can be returned to the soil and eaten by bugs. The location of the burial should be somewhere in nature, away from human activity and off footpaths. They don't necessarily need to be buried, they could be placed in high grass or in thickets. Scavengers, bugs, and fungi will take it from there. Death and decay remain important aspects of nature that continue to nurture other critters and the soil itself.

Cleaning Remains

Cleaning is a devotional act really. I won’t go into the actual cleaning process here because it’s long and varied, but another time maybe (I mainly use water maceration). During cleaning, I follow several rules to ensure respect for the deceased. Most importantly, I don’t treat remains as a toy or something to gawk at. At one point, these were living individuals and my respect for them doesn’t stop as soon as their heart stops pumping. The remains are cleaned thoroughly and well taken care of to prevent damage. I make an effort to never mix bones from different individuals to maintain a level of autonomy and the practical reason of being able to keep track of who's who. With displaying, I try to give everything its own space. My twin fish are kept together in a jar (they r in luv) that serves as their spirit home, sometimes I will set offerings or candles beside it. TOO, I find it important to spend time with the remains if one aims to form a relationship with the spirits. Just a few days ago I took a few armadillo bones out with me for a walk in the rain, which may sound a little crazy to some but I can only hope that I can feel the rain and hear the thunder after I've passed.

The cleaning process is a long and hard one, it's a good time to bond with the remains. As you hold them in your hands, feel every inch of it. Feel the grooves, the textures, the weight, the temperature. Does it feel cold and hollow? Does it feel like a pit is forming in your stomach? Does it feel like a bright light is radiating off it? Do any memories, thoughts, or emotions arise? It is a good way to get to know the spirit/energy of the remains.

Working with Remains

I don't work with the spirit of every bone I find. That would be very difficult, and many don't have spirits attached to them much anymore. Remains can be used in magic, divination, offerings, and art. If I'm using remains as ritual tools, I will first bond with them, consecrate, and then continuously feed them. Just some of the ways remains can be used in death work and magic;

Connecting with Death

Connecting with the individual spirit or species archetype

Conjuring The Dead: I find that bones can be excellent wands used to call upon spirits. They can be really good tools for directing energy, especially for the earthly deceased.

Offerings to Chthonic / death associated entities: many of the bones I have, I've put on my altars for Hades, Hekate, and Lucifer. Not only because they represent death and are aesthetically fitting, but to place the deceased under the protection of those entities.

Bindings: I believe a hollow bone could be used for a good binding by placing taglocks and ritual ingredients into the hollowed center and sealing it up tight. Bones are strong and hard to break, whatever you put in them will have a hard time finding their way out. They take a very long time to decay, so if you buried it after binding someone, I reckon they'd be there for a long time. Bones are a physical representation of death so there could also be an opportunity for some nasty effects.

Spirit vessels: in a similar line of thought as bindings, bones are excellent for containing or homing spirits. Typically these are entities associated with the species the remains belong to.

Ritual tools and instruments: bone athames, wands, offering dishes, flutes, whistles, drums, containers, osteomancy sets, the list goes on.

Additionally, specific parts can represent certain things and can be useful in certain workings.

Teeth: teeth from predators/carnivores represent power, defense, and protection. They are well suited for protection talismans, wards, and asserting dominance over others.

Claws: similar to teeth, claws can be used as strong protection charms.

Skulls: I would say the skull is the defining bone of an individual. The seat of the mind, consciousness, and all perception. Skulls can be used to bond with spirits or keep away spirits, similar to how a jack-o-lantern works.

Rabbit feet: rabbit feet are popularly considered lucky charms. You can also use them to help you navigate situations quickly and bring about fertility and abundance.

Chicken feet: chicken feet are commonly turned into protective amulets. They usually have long, sharp claws perfect for scratching back at anyone who tries to harm you.

Tongues/eyes/ears/brains: these structures supply us with our sensory perception and are vital parts of most species. They can be used to draw upon psychic abilities (eyes for clairvoyance or visions, brains for claircognizance). They can also be used to dampen the senses, such as tying, binding, or pinning a tongue to shut someone up.

Heart: often used to represent emotions like love. Can be used in love spells or to hurt someone emotionally.

Liver: a common form of divination in the ancient world was to slaughter an animal and then interpret patterns and markings on its liver. This is actually something I find fascinating, look into Mesopotamian liver divination and hepatoscopy!!

Shed skin: shed skin from snakes, reptiles, and bugs can be used to represent change, renewal, enlightenment, and letting go by "shedding your old skin".

Antlers: antlers often represent strength and power as animals will use them to fight with each other and assert their dominance over their territory. Small ones could be fastened to bags and be used as protective charms. They can also be made into wands or protective pendants.

Shells: I've always associated shells with protection since that is their purpose. I often use a powder made from ground shells to pour along the edges of rooms or windowsills.

Scapula: Interestingly, used in many belief systems and cultures for divination. Scapulimancy is the divinatory use of scapulae by interpreting post-mortem markings, or markings/cracks on the bone made by holding it over a flame. Another divinatory use found in old necromantic manuals, specifically the Munich Manual, is using the scapula as a scrying mirror by anointing it with magical oils and conjuring spirits in the reflection.

Turtle plastron: used alongside scapulae in Chinese divination, the querent would paint or carve their question into the bone, drill evenly spaced holes, and then hold it over a flame and interpret the cracks or burn marks.

[justsome-di]

Now a Pulitzer Prize winning book (don’t fact check this, just trust me) and featured on Obama’s 2023 Summer Reading List!

You should be reading Nobody Ends Up Dead in a Bathtub, Everyone Keeps Their Organs! Why? See above.

It’s a good story if I do say so myself. And if you read it, you’re a cool kid. Don’t you want to be a cool kid? This is something called peer pressure, and it usually works.

But for real, if you read Nobody Ends Up Dead then you’re going to go on a good adventure with good characters I guarantee you will love. Not to brag, but it is a pretty good story. There’s funny one-liners, a cute plot, and relatable characters that have been developed for years. Just heed warnings at the beginning of chapters. NEUD deals with some heavy topics such as eating disorders.

NEUD is officially all online for free. But you can still access bonus chapters and short stories on Patreon for only $4.

Links: 

AO3

Wattpad

Patreon (Patrons had early access to the whole novel and also get exclusive short stories with the characters and sneak peaks for new projects!)

Netflix Previews

Characters’ Playlists

You can also check out my carrd if there are any updates to how/where I post, it’ll probably be the most accurate place to find new or updated links.

Transcript under cut:

The Story is Dope

A New York office worker and a sex worker get set up on a date--one thinking it's a real blind date, the other under the impression it's an ordinary appointment. After realizing it was all a shitty prank, they set out for revenge. Their plan: show up to an upcoming Halloween office party as a genuine couple, convincing the pranksters they genuinely fell in love and refusing to let themselves become the butt of the joke.

Our main characters are Alex, an awkward admin assistant for a medical company who hasn't been on a date since he was a teenager, and Damián, a sex worker who seems way out of Alex's league but keeps insisting on spending time with him so they can perfect their revenge scheme.

The novel features a diverse cast and explores sex positivity. I also like to believe that it portrays sex work well. Damián is a hardworking man, doing what he loves, and meeting mostly great people along the way--but he also would benefit greatly if sex work was decriminalized and therefore had better resources at his disposal.

If you're looking for a story with LGBT characters that's mostly light-hearted but still packs a punch every few chapters, this is it! Overall, it's a happy story.

The Characters!

oh boy the characters!

we got Damián who's hardworking and doting on his lil bro but oh wow does he have some angst

we got Alex who is nothing more than a burning ball of anxiety trying his best--all too relatable

Leo, Damián's bro, is an ally, and he will make sure everyone knows. Also has angst.

Eve, Alex's lil sister, is an edgy teen who's failing calc and runs a queer book club

together, they're a weird lil dysfunctional family

I'll be honest. There's a lot of love in this story. From me and among the characters. The characters love each other, and I think the readers love them, too.

It touches on a lot of loneliness--inspired by how I've felt since Covid started--and a lot of the conflicting emotions that come with being gay. What happy endings do we deserve? What about happy middles?

It's a touching book about learning to be a better person and finding people who love you--platonically and romantically.

Here are some of my fave parts:

And then there was a streak of gray hair that shocked Alex. A streak of gray hair off to the side, nestled close to a salt and pepper beard. Textured hands held cocktails. Little, subtle lines creased when mouths laughed. Alex held his breath. On the packed floor, they were the only people Alex could see. They were laughing and holding each other and enjoying themselves, firmly in the place they knew they belonged. Flashes of teeth pressed against each other, disappearing for long seconds at a time.

--

“Sorry,” Alex said. “Your arm got heavy on top of me.” “You’re a little mouse of a man. I didn’t mean to crush you.” “I’m what?”

--

“A dog!” Damián cooed as he sat across from the lesbians. “His name is Yam,” Martin said.

“His name is Yam,” Damián cried. Kris and Clara released Yam and gently nudged him to Damián. Ecstatic, Damián picked him up and set him on his lap. “His name is Yam,” he repeated to Alex. “I heard.”

--

But he couldn’t deny that he was having a good time. It was like intense yoga with the perk of having a cock shoved up his ass. He was going to feel limber as fuck after.

--

“Can I do anything?” Alex asked. “To help cheer you up?”

“You don’t have to worry about me.”

“I’d like to. If you let me.”

--

“Wow this sounds great where can I read it?”

Tumblr @justsome-di

Watpadd @justsome-di

Patreon @just some di (link on Tumblr)

AO3 @justsome_di

Updates every friday!

[oonajaeadira]

Detected

Fandom: Merge Mansion / Tim Rockford

Pairing: Tim Rockford x f!reader

Reader: Adult female. No other physical descriptors; no use of y/n.

Rating: T. Fluff.

Warnings: Mention of serial killer that targets women.

Summary: Nobody sees you the way Tim does.

A/N: I dunno, I just had a hankering to write for Tim and looked down my list of tropes thinking I might be able to scratch the itch and accomplish a fic for my Year of Tropes at the same time. Something hit me in the right places for a little piece of sweetness, so here we go, with SECRET IDENTITY.

This is really fluffy. Like stupid fluffy. Moreso than my regular stuff. Just let me have my little trope. This one didn't go through a lot of draft revisions, it was just a fun little thot that needed out.

“Why don’t you take the afternoon off, Sunshine? Get some rest. You’ve been here ten days straight.”

Tim’s the only detective in the unit who talks to you directly, certainly the only one that doesn’t just call you ‘hon’ or ‘sweetheart’ or ‘girl.’ You’re pretty sure he’s probably the only one in the department that knows your name, but he rarely uses it. 

That isn’t unusual. You’ve always been the quiet one, the mouse, the wallflower. It’s your superpower, being able to go unnoticed. You’ve never been reprimanded, never bad-talked, never held up as a bad example.

But then, neither do you often find yourself praised or called in for opinion. Never once have you been asked to join anyone for happy hour or coffee.

So many times you’ve been standing in a meeting room and not once been addressed. So many times you’ve overheard something that perhaps you shouldn’t have just because you were below anyone’s notice.

It bothered you so much more when you were younger. Not the case anymore.

You’ve learned to love your quiet life, shuffling around the records room, carefully tagging and bagging, filling out the document cards, compiling files, taking meticulous photos of items for court cases and detective scrutiny. Nobody comes looking for you, so you get to take your time, a kind of professional meditation. At least once a week you notice a detail on a piece of evidence that you might make known to one of the team. Usually this gets you a thanks, but more often times a brush off that ends in the detective later gaining the credit for the discovery.

Tim is different. Observant. He actually listens when you bring him something of interest and asks for your opinion or your second eye. He still does that thing where he puts the pictures of people and evidence you provide up on the wall and connects it with string. He will stare at that board for hours, getting up every now and then to pace, then turning the chair around to straddle it backwards so he can lean over the back and look again, hoping to find the one connection that the string can’t touch.

And yet, even when he’s concentrating this hard, he’s fully aware of his surroundings.

So much so that he even notices you’ve slipped into the room to stand behind him--you, who goes mostly unnoticed when standing in full view of most people.

When you don’t answer him, he turns his chin back over his shoulder, his sharp profile coming into relief against the organized mess of the illuminated case wall. 

He’s so very handsome. And it’s a shame he doesn’t seem to know. Or care.

Snapping free of your musings, you finally answer. “Yeah, it’s been a busy week. I’ve still got the Murray case to document. There’s a lot of entries.”

Turning fully to look at you now, he takes his time formulating a new response. “That case is closed. There’s no hurry. You work too hard. It’s Saturday.”

You shrug and smile. “I like my job. And you're one to talk.” Nodding to the evidence wall, you step more fully into the room. “Any movement on this? Sure I can’t help you? Anything I can pull from archives?”

This is a tough one. There’s a lot of speculation as to the mangled bodies in the pictures. A new one found last night, a week old. The probability is high that there’s one club downtown that’s producing them all and a definite suspect, but the record’s clean. There’s no grounds for warrants.

He gives you one more thoughtful glance before turning back to his work. “Not unless you have anything that correlates this last one to Club 88 or to Mike Cross. But no. Thanks. Get out of here, live your life, be free. I’m gonna go grab an interview out at the pier but then I’ll be here all night.”

He’s hungry. You can see that look in his eyes, he’s close, he just needs that one connecting piece of evidence and he’ll empty the coffee pots in the breakroom tonight looking for one.

“You’re hungry, Detective Rockford. At least let me call in some takeout for you before I go? Lau’s number 22 with chicken, right?”

He simply nods. “Thanks, Sunshine.”

“You got it, Detective.”

—-

Your pager goes off two hours later.

Special case. Could use your help. Pier 13.

You’ve been waiting for the call.

Upon arriving home from the department, you’d closed your blinds and turned off the lights, pulled on the dark pants and long fitted coat, tucked your hair up under the black hood and pulled it low. Gloves. Boots. Plain and unassuming in this fall weather.

You’re able to walk out the back door of your apartment building and take a path through the alley as the sun is setting without anyone giving you a second glance.

The only piece of your disguise you truly need is the vocal changer mask, but that stays tucked in your coat pocket until you arrive at the pier.

Once you can smell the water, you take a moment to hide your face, your voice, and your identity under the dark, nondescript mask–a blank slate of void where a face should be–before stepping out of the alleys and making your way to pier 13 where Tim Rockford stands looking out over the harbor at the lights starting to come on over the bridge.

“What can I do for you, Detective?” The voice that grates out of your mask is low, warped, almost sultry.

Tim, for all his awareness, misses your entrance. This is the strength of your powers. Snapping out of his reverie, he spins to find you only feet away, your long coat fluttering in the breeze.

And an awed smile spreads across his face.

Tim is the only one on the force that smiles when you show up as the Shadow. The rest of the cops tend to startle, recoil, not understanding how you simply seem to appear out of the air, unfold from the shadows, melt into the darkness itself.

“Thanks for coming, Shadow,” he says, his trenchcoat joining in the fluttering conversation of overwear. Pulling a few pictures out of his pocket, he holds them out and you take them.

A new mangled body. A hurried photo of a man with light skin and dark hair and blue eyes. A blown-up scan of license plate. You recognize them from his evidence board but say nothing, letting him make the request.

He explains the supposed serial killings, the patterns, the suspect, the license plate that isn’t his but was caught on surveillance near a couple of the dumping grounds.

“I’m pretty sure it’s him,” he concludes, poking at the photo of Mike Cross, “but I’m lacking something damming.”

“You mean you're 100% sure it's him. You're a thorough man; wouldn't just jump to conclusions. And you want me to go hunting.”

“I’d rather you just go take a listen. I don’t really want you to put yourself in danger.”

It’s a good thing he can’t see you smile. Trust Tim Rockford to be the one detective that worries about the safety of the city’s resident secret, pacifist vigilante. 

“I’m touched by your concern, Detective. But I haven’t been caught yet. Even if danger catches a glimpse of me, I’m very good at hiding.”

“I know. But it’s only a matter of time before somebody really sees you.” He smiles a little sadly. “I wish you wouldn’t hide from me. But I know why you do.”

It should be surprising–it’s not like him to cross this line–but instead, his statement warms you. Tim has always been grateful for the Shadow’s help, respectful, believed in your ability. But he’s also come to treat the Shadow as a friend. There’s something that tugs at your heart, knowing this dedicated, handsome, intelligent man truly trusts you but also respects and admires your limitations.

If only he knew how much you wish you could tell him, show him, let him know how much you admire him too.

He only blinks when you seem to melt into thin air, becoming one with the lengthening shadows.

_____

Club 88. The back alley. A black car belonging to Mike Cross. Nobody here to notice you but the rats as you duck around the back and inspect the bumper, find a magnetized plate cover hidden underneath that matches the photo in your pocket.

There’s the connection. Now for something that threads the needle.

_____

Maskless and hatless, you simply take up a serving tray and follow Mike Cross and a young pretty thing through the swinging “employees only” door and down a back corridor of the dark, thumping night club. Making yourself busy with empty bottles on the tray, you watch him pay a man and step into a private room with the girl. The man goes to find something else to do, nearly knocking your shoulder as he passes, as if you’re simply a tower of inventory boxes or a rogue tray of dirty dishes…or just some random hostess he doesn’t have time for.

Easy.

You’re able to enter the dimmed room under the guise of bringing in bottle service. The couple doesn’t even notice you while they make out on the couch in the VIP lounge. You simply dip your hand into the pocket of the jacket he’s left on a chair and lift his wallet. 

Might as well take the gun that’s there too. Just in case.

Time to get moving while he’s distracted.

_____

Using the address on the ID in his wallet, you make your way across town.

It’s easy enough to slip past the doorman. Unfortunately though, Mike’s apartment building has security cameras on every floor. This calls for a little distraction. Easy enough. All you need is the pad of paper and pen you carry in your pocket.

Knock on door 312. Explain you’re responding to a noise complaint in apartment 313. There is no apartment 313? That’s odd. Maybe it was apartment 311? 

When the occupants of 311 and 312 speculate over the possibilities–which apartment was the loud one? Who called in the complaint? They bet it was 211 down there, what a bitch….

It’s just enough time for you to use your jiggler key to work open the lock for Mike’s apartment and slip inside. Not only have they seemed to forgotten about you, but if anyone ever plays back the security tapes, their eyes will just slide right over you and concentrate on the gossiping neighbors in the hall.

Mike’s apartment is clean and sparse. By the looks of the set up of the living room, he likes to sit in the center of the couch, put his feet up on the coffee table while he drinks his beer (water ring stains on the veneer top) and watches tv. Not much on the walls. Books on the bookshelf, but no knicknacks.

You don’t know what you’re looking for yet, but you’ll know it when you find it.

There are a few places you start. The drawers in the kitchen. The freezer. The bedside table. Shelves in the closet. Medicine cabinet. Somewhere you'd stash something unassuming but precious but that you don't want anyone else to come across and ask questions.

But it’s as you pass back out through the bedroom, and lightly push the door open a bit wider that you hear a clinking and tapping on the other side.

There, hanging off a hook on the back of the bedroom door, is a silver chain.

With five women’s rings on it.

Yahtzee.

You snap a few photos with your phone before moving through the apartment again, looking for anything else, just in case your first instincts were wrong.

But your instincts are very rarely wrong.

Criminals love trophies. Little keepsakes of their thrills. Look for a collection of something that seems out of place and you’ve probably found your clue.

You’re just about to call it good and head out when you hear a key turning in the lock.

No need to panic, you’ve got this.

As Mike enters and kicks off his shoes before making his way to the bathroom, all you have to do is stand silently beside the far side of the bookshelf.

He doesn’t even turn on the light. Even easier.

Once the bathroom door closes, you’re able to silently slip out.

“It’s only a matter of time before somebody really sees you.”

Doubtful, Tim. But I wish I could tell you how sweet your concern is.

____

True to form, Tim’s is one of the only lights burning at the office when you slide through the department well after midnight.

It’s not often that you show up here as the Shadow, but you make sure it’s only at night when most of the lights are out. Even if you’re seen engaging with one of them, the detectives all know to look the other way and not to ask questions when someone on the force has requested your services. 

They see nothing, and say less.

When you get to the back offices, you have to stop for a moment in the shadows and take in the scene.

Tim’s here in the dim room, standing at a desk full of evidence bags. The one with the knife in it lays on a lightbox, the glow of which reaches up to caress his face, dragging at his cheeks and the bags under his eyes, his brow and bottom lip succumbing to the pull of contemplation.

You have to wonder if the detective has any joys outside of his work, if he reads or paints, if he’s into woodworking or collecting memorabilia. You often find yourself wishing you had the means to learn more about him and find yourself watching him from across the office as if you could read it in the stretch of his aching neck, in the hunch of his gun-holstered shoulders. 

But you’ve grown used to your quiet life. You wouldn’t know what to do with yourself if someone else actually paid you enough attention to let you into their life–

“What have you got for me?” he asks, and you flinch. He hadn’t even turned around.

“Plenty," you rasp through the voice modulator. "How did you know I was here?”

“I always notice you,” he says. “And I could ask you the same thing.”

“Where else would you be?”

“I have a home.”

“Do you ever go there?”

He laughs and finally turns. “Yeah, not lately.”

Emerging from the darkness, you hand him a few photos you ran off from your phone at home, knowing he'd appreciate the analog. There's the plate cover. The ID. The chain of rings. You also hand over the gun you pinched. “Just in case you need to run a match on any casings.”

It’s here that Tim’s look grows sour. “You took this off him?” Then he tilts his head, scanning the photos. “This one…taken inside his house?”

“Yes. Most likely a collection of his trophies–”

“You went into his house??”

His intensity stops you. Something’s….wrong. “It was necessary. I wasn’t seen.”

“I told you, nothing dangerous. What if he’d come home?”

“He did.” This gains an unprecedented look of alarm from the otherwise calm and calculated man. “I told you, Detective, I wasn’t seen. I never am. That’s what I do.”

“That’s not the point, Sunshine. He murders women and dumps their bodies. This is different from the drug smugglers and counterfeit runners you usually surveil…”

He stops, registering what he just said only a couple of seconds after you do, a calm sigh of regret washing over him before being replaced by the bloom of concern.

You could choose to ignore it.

But it's useless. Tim would never let an assumption take hold as truth unless he had absolute proof. He’s the best. The best of the best and doesn’t even know it. So long you’ve wished to tell him, to make him see what you see in him, but it would mean opening yourself, becoming visible, being seen.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. This is your superpower, this anonymity, this blurring at the edges, this void of connection…

And you should back away when he approaches.

But you don't want to. 

Nor do you dodge as he slowly reaches up to remove your mask. Your hood. Fits his palm to your jaw and runs the length of a cheekbone with his thumb. “It doesn’t work on everyone, Sunshine. Not if they really want to see you.”

As his warm, weary brown eyes find yours, two thick, generous tears spill down your cheeks, two surprising hot spikes of your heart right there on your face. It’s like being thrust underwater without the chance to take a breath, the panic of suddenly being the center of someone’s attention, and you gasp for air only to release a sob, slapping both hands to your face in embarrassment.

Tim doesn’t pry your hands away, he merely runs a knuckle over one as if to say, hey, you’re still hiding.

And you realize that you are.

When you finally don’t have to be.

When you lower your guard, he’s waiting there patiently to welcome you back.

“You okay?” he asks, handing you a napkin for your tears.

Nodding, you take it and use it quietly before swallowing, trying to steady a voice out in the open. “What now?”

He looks pointedly over at his desk and gestures for you to head over there. “I thought maybe we’d start with dinner. I figured you'd come by.”

There are two Chinese takeout boxes on the blotter, both bearing a code in black ink. 

22C. His standard.

Lucky13. Your favorite. With the sauces on the side, just like you like it.

Speechless, you look at him in awe. You do see me.

And he tucks his hands in his pockets, softening back at you with a look that can only be described as Yeah.

_____

In the following days you’re able to hunt down photos of the killer’s victims that clearly display their hands and the rings that you found in his apartment.

Undercover targets are planted in the club to entice Mike Cross, and sure enough, he takes one to the back room, pays for privacy, extra for a later cleanup, but gets caught with his fingers around her throat as a whole squad breaks down the door to take him into custody.

There’s no doubt he will never see the outside of a prison again.

Club 88 is shut down and a long investigation into its ownership and practices begin. The Shadow is called in by the investigating team for your fly-on-the-wall services and at first you’re afraid that perhaps, now that you’ve been seen, that the shine of your powers has dimmed or–to be more precise–a newfound confidence makes you even brighter than before.

On the contrary, you’ve never felt more powerful or more in control of your abilities. 

Perhaps because the one person who can detect your sunshine also pours pride into your shadow.

Or maybe it’s the regular diet of Lucky Number 13 and a new morning view these days. Who’s to say?

____

MASTERLIST

CHARACTER MASTERLIST

[hazshit-hotel-hater]

Surprise! I am going to rant about my own redesign and art! I think this is me mentally preparing for the helluva boss episode next week and praying to god it’s actually good. I’ve also been nursing a bit of a hangover today so forgive me if my wording is a bit more jumbled than usual

Im a big fan of my Angel Dust redesign, but in the general aspect of my art, a lot of my poses are a bit flat. That can be from either posing issues on my end, trouble with facial features, or just some secret third thing, but I think so far Ive been enjoying drawing much more cartoonishly as of recent. That vox canon & headcanon drawing was super super fun to do even though it was supposed to be vivzies style, but I used to have a style with more sharp angles and pointy curves that I honestly kind of miss, I also miss playing with cartoonish proportions!!

My art style may end up changing eventually, but my main pieces will stay in my usual style and my more doodle-y ones will probably be in a more cartoony style like the ones above. While theyre definitely closer to canon and meant to be inspired as such, the difference is that I can draw diverse body types in said artstyle! I also cant lie, Angel’s chest fluff is one of my absolute favourite things to draw and it’s so easy in this style…

About my redesigns though! This is mostly about Angel, but I’m gonna slap this here from DMs with a friend: “Im so pleased with this genuinely im so happy he has his little pedipalps, theyre technically also still his fangs but now he can move them and stuff and :33 typically for male spiders the pedipalps are a reproductive organ but that isnt the case for angel or many other arachnid or insect sinners id say so I think personally most of them have developed pedipalps for primarily other reasons like fangs in Angels case or maybe something similar to cat whiskers for other people”

In my original angel dust redesigns I just couldn’t find a way to draw his fangs in a way that made me happy because I want to keeo the same energy in his face as the original. Big clunky fangs that stick out just didn’t work for him and while they made him look like a spider, he lost that sort of angel-ness that I need when drawing him so I instead looks to the pedipalp aspect of spiders to move them off of his mouth and more onto his cheeks. It’s a very small change but it improved the design in my eyes significantly and just really made me a lot happier. I wont be updating his redesign post as of right now and maybe never will, but if I do yknow why now!

I just really really like drawing this guy a bit rubbery, hes supposed to be fluffy so like he should move kinda soft in a way? I dunno how to explain it rn, its 2 AM at the time of writing this so im gonna lay the hell down now!

[epiicaricacy-arts]

victim of your fathers plan to rule the world

thinking about the similarities between the penacony dream pool and baptisms …

process discussion + scrapped version utc

i kinda talk about my own religious experiences in the discussion but i keep it pretty brief. i’ve marked where it starts and ends as well in case people wanna avoid it

im trying to get back to my usual painting style after doing a lot of experimenting for so long. i took some inspiration from Yuming Li for this illustration, because they do a lot of angel illustrations with these very pretty light purple + yellow colour schemes.

Ok i’ve been thinking about this concept for a while (like ever since i finished penacony probably..) baptisms are considered an entry way or the door to church membership and a welcoming into gods world, similarly to how penacony’s dreampool was the doorway to ena’s dream.

(religion discussion starts!!)

baptism rituals are performed with water, whether it’s pouring water over someone’s head (usually for babies/small children) or dipping someone into a body of water. i thought about how sunday was manipulated into following the order, and so i wanted to draw him being pushed into the dream pool by gopher wood.

as a kid i always felt like religion was forced onto me. even with how me and my family live now, we don’t practice or actively participate in the religion, even sometimes going as far as saying we’re basically atheist. but despite that i’m always told i’m catholic and that i should be practicing more. we volunteer for catholic organizations and my parents get people to give me blessings when i am struggling.

i wanted to draw from my own experiences with this drawing so it’s a little more personal than my other works. although i’ve never experienced catholicism on that deep of a level i still feel like it’s been significant to my life and i find comfort in adding some of my personal feelings into my art like this.

(religion discussion over!!)

i had a really hard time with this drawing cause originally i wanted to try an illustration with lineart

but i spent several hours just fucking with colours trying to find a way to render it and i physically could not comprehend how to do it like how i was imagining so i just started painting again 😭

originally it was a lot bluer lmao (and fit more with the song blue by billie eilish i was quoting in the caption) but i really wanted the painting to have some purple like the dream bubbles in penacony!!

this painting took me like over 20 hours 😭 that doesn’t include the other times i’ve attempted to illustrate this concept which have long been scrapped despite getting pretty far into the draft stages. i just knew i wanted to be completely satisfied with this drawing since it does have some personal connection to me.

discussion over!! thank you for reading :]

[steddieunderdogfics]

This week’s writer spotlight feature is: indelicate/@steddielations ! They have 13 fics in the Stranger Things fandom and all of them are in the Steddie tag!

lees_musings recommends the following works by @steddielations:

A Cup of Good Intentions

Trouble Looks Good On You

Wrap Me Around Your Finger

"their fics are so heartwarming and tender, i read them like comfort food"

"a cup of good intentions was the first steddie fic i read, it has a little velvet box in my heart <3" -- lees_musings

Below the cut, @steddielations answered some questions about their writing process and some of their recommended work!

Why do you write Steddie?

They’re just a really fun ship that you can do so many different things with. Just guys who need some healing and loving and I like giving it to them!! Also I see a lot of myself in both Steve and Eddie, so there’s some catharsis in writing them too.

What’s your favorite trope to READ?

Friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, friends with benefits

What’s your favorite trope to WRITE?

The same as above definitely

What’s your favorite Steddie fic?

These are all phenomenal and I think about them every day, they truly stick with me METAMORPHOSES by fastcardotmp3 A Certain Type by ann_anotherthing Sugar on my tongue by deadratz shake and sway me through the night by Craftnarok

Is there a trope you’re excited to explore in a future work but haven’t yet?

I feel like I’ve written all the canonverse stuff that I wanted to now, so I’m excited to try out some au’s. Maybe once I finish up my current wips, I have this batman Steve and comic book writer Eddie idea that’s been in my mind forever now

What is your writing process like?

I brainstorm by writing down all the ideas I have for a particular story, then I try to organize it into a plot. Sometimes I just plan scene by scene, but I always write the dialogue first and then build around it.

Do you have any writing quirks?

Usually the best things aren’t added until I’m editing at the end, going back and doing finishing touches. Like with Trouble for instance, I didn’t add the kitchen conversation or the porch swing conversation or the joking scene with Gareth originally, it was all stuff I just decided to add when editing. Same for a lot of my fics, usually the things I get comments about the most are things I almost didn’t add.

Do you prefer posting when you’ve finished writing or on a schedule?

I’m the worst at scheduling and posting so whenever it’s done is when it goes up

Which fic are you most proud of?

I’m most proud of Bleed Me Dry Before You Go because it’s the fic that I was really able to put the most of myself into.

How did you get the idea for Trouble Looks Good On You?

Well I knew I wanted to write a sub Eddie discovery fic, and honestly this just started as like a gag, just thinking about Steve’s jock habit of slapping asses and what would happen if he did that to Eddie, and that’s what awakens it. Then it gradually became something more serious and more thoughtful. I wanted to explore more of Eddie having this past where he’s had bad experiences with certain dynamics, and what it would mean for him to be comfortable enough to get to explore that side of himself with Steve.

When writing Trouble Looks Good On You, what was something you didn’t expect?

It started out as mostly crack so I didn’t expect it to become my longest, most character involved fic. Also I didn’t expect people to read it or like it because it was mostly for myself, so I’ve been very pleasantly surprised and grateful for the response to it.

What inspired Wrap Me Around Your Finger?

I realized I hadn’t written a virgin Eddie fic, and at the same time I wanted to explore more of what Eddie’s aftermath in Hawkins would be like, the full extent of his injuries and his reputation in the town, and maybe Steve helping him out, so it all meshed together. I worked on this for like a year so it had many phases, but adding in some Flight of Icarus lore also inspired me to make Eddie more gritty in this, very stubbornly attached to his independence, and I just love the depth it gave him in that fic in the end.

What was your favorite part to write from Wrap Me Around Your Finger?

Definitely all the banter, especially during the smut scenes, love a silly smut scene. Also can’t forget “I made sure there’s no stairs”

How do/did you feel writing A Cup of Good Intentions?

I cried so many times writing that. I just put myself in the position of Eddie and Wayne, thinking about my relationship with my dad. It was cathartic just writing that familial bond between Eddie and Wayne, and how deep that love goes through mourning and missing each other and then actually getting to reunite. It was an emotional one.

What was the most difficult part of writing A Cup of Good Intentions?

The fic had several different tones from grieving to yearning to suspense and also fluff and romance, so it was hard to blend that all together and make it flow without whiplash. Not sure if I succeeded but it was hard to do.

Do you have a favorite scene and/or line from any of your fics?

The cold open in Trouble, where it sounds like they’re hooking up but they’re actually moving an amp, probably the most clever innuendo unfolding I’ll ever make

Do you have any upcoming projects or fics you’d like to share/promote?

I’ve got some stuff for sub Eddie week but after that I’m just focusing on finishing up Trouble finally

Outside of these questions, Is there anything YOU would like to add?

At the moment that I’m writing this, I don’t know who nominated me, so I want to say thanks so much to that person!! I’m so flattered and I appreciate it!! Also to anyone who reads my fics, thank you genuinely. And to the mods of this blog, you’re all awesome for doing this and you’re so appreciated in the fandom!!

Thank you to our author, indelicate, and our nominator, lees_musings! See more of indelicate's works featured on our page throughout the day!

Writer’s Spotlight is every Wednesday! Want to nominate an author? You can nominate them here!

[halfmoth-halfman]

My MWIII Thoughts

I’ve finally taken the time to get all of my thoughts about the new campaign together and put them in a single post. There are no spoiler tags since the game is officially releasing today/tomorrow, but everything is under the cut with a warning. I have a lot of things to say here, so I’ve tried to organize it point by point. The points I think are most important are first, and I ask that you take the time to read through them. If you want to skip to the points about characters and that death, the beginning of those sections is marked with red, but be prepared to scroll.

I watched the custscenes, with gameplay, all the way through once and I’m not doing it again. I tried to go back to specific scenes to reference in this post, but even that was a lot for me, so if my timeline in here is a little screwy don't fault me too much.

If you just want my quick, overall thoughts: This campaign was two hours of egregiously incoherent, poorly written, shoddily thrown together military propaganda, even more than the cod games usually are, and your money would be much better spent donating to help Palestine - there are links to do so in this review, marked with green, as well as boycott information, and the same donations links are also provided on this shorter post if you want to go directly to them.

(There are spoilers below, and this is long. I'm not kidding. Do not click the readmore unless you are prepared to scroll.)

Military Propaganda/Islamophobia

I spoke about this some already here and here because I felt this was an important enough topic that deserved its own post.

Call of Duty has never been has never been the game where I expected to see proper representation of the Middle East or Middle Eastern politics. It is first and foremost military propaganda. More than that it is American military propaganda. Just like with every superhero and pro-military movie post-9/11, it should be expected that you’re not going to get any kind of meaningful insight or depth when it comes to Middle Eastern storylines and characters, but there is usually more of an effort to hide the Middle East = Terrorist subtext.

To say I was shocked at how overt and blatant the Islamophobia was in this game is an understatement. We get four deaths of named characters in this game. Two of whom are Middle Eastern women, Dena and Samara, from the country Urzikstan, the fictional combination of Syria and Afghanistan and home to terrorist group Al-Qatala (real subtle, right?). Both of these women are associated with the ULF, the Urzikstan Liberation Force, Farah’s group of freedom fighters whose goal is to free their country from foreign subjugation with Samara no longer being an active member. Both of these women are introduced in this game. Both of these women are minor characters. Both of these women, Samara in particular, are trying to live their lives peacefully now that their country has been freed.

Both of these women are given deaths more brutal and more shocking than the other two deaths of two main characters in the series.

We meet Dena at the beginning of the game when we’re first re-introduced to Alex and Farah. We see her have a heartfelt reunion with Farah, and the two have a conversation while driving where Dena expresses her concerns about wanting Urzikstan to remain peaceful but assures Farah that everyone will support her. After, Dena is suddenly shot in the chest, and Farah is forced to take control of the vehicle they’re in, which ultimately flips over and we get Farah’s first death fakeout.

It’s in this cutscene that we see a lingering shot on Dena as well as her corpse being thrashed in the car as Farah tries to take control and as it flips. We are given a Middle Eastern woman showing hope for her country that the peace she has fought for will be maintained only to then watch her die for shock value and a fakeout for another character, and watch her body fly across the car as it flips. We don’t get that with either of the other two gunshot deaths in this game. Soap’s is just as sudden, but we see it coming, and there are no shots of his body being thrown about, no closer views of his face like there are with Dena. Shepherd’s is entirely off-screen and all we’re left with is a shot of him lying face down on his desk - no blood or bullet wound in sight.

Notably, the only other person we see a comparable amount of blood on in this game is Makarov, the enemy of the series.

Samara, who gets the worst death in this game, in my opinion, is a retired ULF soldier we’re introduced to on a plane. I’ll start by saying I was under the assumption this may have been the reboot replacement for No Russian, the mission in which Makarov and Co. shot up Zakhaev International Airport to frame America for terrorism in the original series, and the mission that was teased after the credits in the MW2 reboot. We get the scene of Makarov and his men at the airport before boarding the plane, which could just be a nod to the original mission. However, until there is an official reboot of the No Russian mission, I’m going to assume this was Activision’s new take on it. 

In this mission, we learn that Makarov plans to use this plane bombing to frame Urzikstan, Farah and the ULF specifically. The thing is, as Big Mak and friends are in the airport preparing to board, we are shown that the ULF is already being blamed for the missile attack on Arklov Military Base from the previous mission where their missiles were stolen, capped with Konni’s chemical gas, and one was detonated. There’s even a news sequence showing that the world already thinks of the ULF as a terrorist organization, and has not-so-quietly thought that for years. That makes this upcoming scene feel not only unnecessary but like a deliberate choice made by Activision to be extra cruel to a Middle Eastern character. 

We see Samara text with her family and are shown a picture of her husband and children before the man next to her begins speaking to her in Arabic. He compliments her family and, I assume as we’re not directly shown, gets the No Russian text - a text, for those who have not played the original games, meaning to not speak Russian to not tie the terrorist act they’re about to commit back to the Russians. The Traveler, as he's called, then reveals that he knows who she is, knows her family, and knows that she is a former ULF soldier and fought the Russians. He then pulls a gun on her and Makarov and Konni take the plane hostage, purposely speaking Arabic and declaring this is for Urzikstan. 

We are then forced to watch as Samara fights back, but is ultimately taken to Makarov where a bomb is strapped to her chest. He gives his usual cryptic speech, and over-explains to the audience what’s happening before diving out of the plane D.B. Cooper style. 

Samara is then dragged to the back of the plane by a Hijacker, where the remaining passengers are, kicking and fighting and trying to reason with him to stop. He pauses and we then get this exchange:

Hijacker: Are you a terrorist?

Samara: No…

Hijacker: You look like one.

He then puts a gun in her hands, tosses the cellphone that will let her stop the bomb, and shoves her into a crowd where we have to watch her struggle to explain what’s happening to her and that she needs the phone to a crowd of people that are either afraid of or angry with her. She is shoved to the ground by a random man, forced to fight through people trying to tackle and beat her, and, when the phone is finally within reach in the hands of a scared passenger, the plane blows up. 

I want to emphasize that most of this is a cutscene. There are a few button presses for the player to try and get the phone, and you are allowed to look around and try to fight back, but that is quickly stopped, and you are forced to sit and watch through Samara’s perspective. The end result? There’s an investigation for who may have done this, and you play as Farah collecting evidence from the crash site so Makarov can’t frame the ULF. The mission succeeds, because it’s a story mission and it has to, Makarov is unable to control the narrative so people can only suspect the ULF did it but can’t prove it, and Samara…died for nothing. All of that was so people could suspect the ULF was a terrorist organization, which the game has previously gone out of its way to establish was already happening before Makarov got on that flight. This entire sequence and the mission after added nothing to the storyline other than the brutal forcing of a Middle Eastern woman to hijack a plane 9/11 style and die a death worse than two of the series’s main characters.

Two side characters, two Middle Eastern women who have never existed before this game, are put in this game solely to die in ways where their deaths are more emphasized and graphic than a character we’ve played as since the series began, and one of the main villains. 

There is a genocide happening in Palestine. Islamophobia in the United States, and the West as a whole, is rising to post-9/11 heights. There is already so much propaganda being spread in an attempt to dehumanize the men, women, and children who are being murdered by Israeli forces, to justify the actions - the war crimes - of the Israeli forces. Could this be a sloppy attempt at Activision trying to mirror real-life stereotypes and how quick the media is to jump to the Arab = Bad narrative? Possibly. I don’t think it is. I think this was a deliberate change from the original No Russian mission in which America is framed for terrorism, made by an American company that makes games meant to garner interest and support in the American military, during a time when the American government is being criticized for funding and aiding an ethnic cleansing. 

As slapped together as this game was, I don’t believe they couldn’t have changed the campaign in the time since the situation in Palestine escalated to this level. I firmly believe it was a purposeful choice to write that scene, to film that scene, to keep that scene. 

It is blatant, it is clear, it is as in-your-face as it can possibly be. It is not something this fandom gets to ignore because they don’t like the campaign. It is not something this fandom gets to overshadow with Soap’s death as poorly written as it was. It is not something this fandom gets to stay silent about while also posting about #freepalestine. 

I have never expected the best when it comes to Islamophobia from the Call of Duty games or its fandom. I’ve never expected anything beyond mildly okay. Call of Duty is military propaganda, I know. The fandom is known for its racism and it’s not getting better, I know that especially. But I don’t see how anyone, in the times we’re living in right now, would be able to look at this and not acknowledge it for what it is. 

It is the purposeful brutalization of Middle Eastern characters. 

It is propaganda.

It is racism. 

It is Islamophobia. 

It is wrong. 

Engaging Critically/Acknowledging Privilege

While I may be stepping back from the CoD fandom, I understand that not everyone is going to. For some people, these games are a comfort or an escape. I’m not here to call for a boycott of Call of Duty or Activision while there are more important boycotts to be focusing on - and you can find more info on them here & here.

What I am asking, particularly of those of us in the fandom that are not being directly affected by what’s happening in Palestine, is that there is more acknowledgment of the level of privilege that we have and that people learn to engage more critically with the media they consume. 

It is a privilege to play a game like Call of Duty and not have to think about the propaganda. It is a privilege (and ignorant) to say “it’s not political”, “it’s just pixels”, or “it’s not real”. It is a privilege to be able to just turn the game off and never have to think about war, and the impact of the representation of the characters, and the real-life events that these games base themselves on. And this isn’t just a CoD issue, this is something that should be considered with every piece of media you engage with. 

There is no such thing as a “politics-free” book/movie/game/show. Everything carries the biases - conscious or subconscious - of the person or people who created it. There is no such thing as media or fiction not having an effect on real life, especially in a fandom for what is essentially War Crimes: The Game.

I’m going to take a quote from this post by @yeyinde.

"It’s incredibly egregious to pretend that the media you consume isn’t based, in some part, on real life or has no repercussions outside of it just being fiction. And it’s especially dishonest to say this isn’t the case within the COD fandom when people have said that the erasure of Gaz from the fandom in favour of a white character is traumatising. The portrayal of the Middle East is traumatising. The portrayal of Makarov in fiction as an uwu-sympathetic babbie is traumatising. The portrayal of the military as heroes is traumatising. These are real people expressing real emotions and bringing up important matters that impact them long after they’ve logged out of tumblr. Just because they stop being relevant to you after that does not, and SHOULD NOT, matter. Their trauma, their feelings, and their interpretations shouldn’t be ignored in favour of some catch-all excuse to limit your responsibility as a consumer to think critically about the media you’re devouring just because it has no consequences for you."

Fiction mirrors real life whether you want to admit it or not. It shows real biases, and it affects real people. Participating in fiction and the surrounding culture does not magically absolve you of consequences. It does not suddenly mean you get a free pass at things like sexism, racism, ableism, colorism, romanticization of abuse and sexual assault, etc. just because your escapist fantasies are conveniently free of people who are different from you.

It may be your fiction, but it is someone else’s non-fiction, and you do not get to decide that it isn’t or that the impact doesn’t matter because it’s about fictional characters.

I'm going to link another post from @yeyinde with another quote here.

"It’s easy to get swept up into something when you have no tangible ties to the effects of what’s being portrayed, which can lead to making dismissive or hurtful statements out of pure ignorance. My biggest gripe was the excuses being laundered out and (either unintentionally or intentionally) giving the creators a pass for what they created and the harm they caused other people to experience. Just because they did not experience the same trauma, it does not diminish its impact on others. This is a very important distinction, which I think was being missed."

Does this mean you can’t ever write or read about traumatic things, or that you can’t enjoy the CoD games ever again? No. 

But I need you all to understand that you can criticize the media you enjoy. You should criticize the media you enjoy. Criticism does not mean never letting yourself enjoy a piece of media again. Criticism does not mean trying to get a character or creator “cancelled”. Criticism does not automatically equal hate.

Criticism is an act of love, and it is necessary when deconstructing and confronting biases - both yours and other people's.

Resources To Support Palestine

The lovely @moondirti provided some organizations where you can donate to support the humanitarian aid in Gaza with the note:

It's important to acknowledge that, while limited aid is being allowed through, recent negotiations have allowed your charity to reach the people of Palestine.

DOCTORS WITHOUT BORDERS

PALESTINE CHILDREN RELIEF FUND

UNITED MISSION FOR RELIEF – PALESTINE EMERGENCY

ANERA

Onto the actual game.

The 141

I don't know what happened during development between this game and MW2, but the relationship between the members of the 141 is severely lacking. We get the usual Soap and Ghost banter for one mission, because, let’s be real, that's what got a lot of people into the last game, but that's about it? There’s nothing new, nothing added to their relationships, and the game sticks to the same duos (Ghost/Soap & Price/Gaz) that we’ve had for the past two games. Even Soap and Ghost’s banter during the attack on Milena’s private island doesn’t have the same impact on the characters as their banter during the Alone mission in MW2. They get a few lines about Soap admiring Milena’s cars and Ghost taunting him about marrying an Oligarch, and…that’s it until the cutscene where they interrogate her.

There’s maybe a few quippy lines here and there, but overall the 141 gives off the same feeling as a group of semi-friendly co-workers that sometimes work on the same project rather than an actual team that has shed blood, sweat, and tears with each other.

This would’ve been such a great time to explore deeper into the team dynamics, show us pairings we don’t get to see as often and build on those relationships, make us really feel for these characters on a personal level. In the original series, you got a feel for every character and their team dynamics, and the player felt the impact of each death as they watched the other characters react (something I’ll talk about later). With this game, we get…what? Four men that desperately need a lozenge throwing a few sassy one-liners at each other and giving each other a harsh pat on the back like a bunch of dads at a barbecue?

I feel like so much of the heavy labor regarding the 141 in the reboot is done through fanfiction at this point because this game especially gives us barely anything to go on, and that’s such a missed opportunity on Activision’s part considering how so much of MW2’s popularity came from the relationship built between Soap and Ghost. It all just feels so hollow and surface-level; there’s no depth here, no attempt to build a connection from the player to this group as a team. In my opinion, Activision relies too heavily on the older fanbase’s connection to the original series, and the newer fanbase’s self-created characterizations, to fill in the blanks so they can leave these characters as empty and vanilla as possible in order to appeal to a broader audience.

And they’ve still somehow managed to fail at that. Speaking of failing...

Graves and Shepherd

Graves should’ve died in that fucking tank, and I will stand by that opinion even after I die. It was such a cop-out to have him live, and for him to suddenly come back with the excuse, “Well, I wasn’t in that tank, blah, blah, blah.”

This is supposed to be a game series where characters die and stay dead. The characters die. Some die heroically, some die horrifically, some die quickly, some die painfully slow, most die bloody, but they die. It’s a staple of the series, like Game of Thrones pre-season 5. I don’t know if Activision didn’t know what to do with his character, or if they realized he was semi-popular with the fans and decided to magically bring him back via deus ex remote-controlled tank, or if they were trying to “subvert expectations” and give us all a little surprise plot twist, but it sucked.

Also, no one checked the tank for a body? That seems to be something everyone has a problem doing in these games, and I don’t know what Activision thinks that does for the 141, but what it does do is make these elite military officials look incompetent as hell because their “dead” enemies keep coming back.

There was nothing different that Graves did in this game from what he did in the previous game. We get the same air support mission from him that we got last game, and really that’s it. Okay sure, he’s working with Farah now, that’s a little different, but what did he do in that mission? Give her vague instructions on where to find some GPS trackers and then give her more vague instructions on where to find the missile containers to slap the trackers on? He could’ve easily been replaced with one of Farah’s people who scouted ahead, or Alex, or a decorative cowboy hat, and the mission would have gone the exact same.

Other than that he spends the entire game hiding behind Shepherd like a scared child up until the end when he ultimately turns on Shepherd, and even that felt so blah. He faces no consequences for his (racist) actions in Las Almas other than Gaz refusing to shake his hand, he faces no consequences for betraying the 141, going so far as to lie that it even happened in front of Congress, and he gets off completely free as far as we know. There was no point to his character, no point to bringing him back, no point to him being in this game at all, and if I find the Activision employee who decided to keep him alive I will be throwing hands expeditiously. 

Shepherd was…there, I guess? I’m sure he was meant to be a menacing, sly, back-stabbing character, but he came off as more irritating than anything. His rescue mission felt akin to being forced to babysit your annoying younger sibling who questions everything you do. They give you a cute little nod to the OG series with his cutscene with the 141 in the snow (because Activision has to rely on nostalgia and easter eggs since they know this game is emptier than the promises of an absentee father), but most of it is spent with Shepherd preaching about how great he is and threatening the 141 like he’s been doing the entire game. I’m sure he’s supposed to come off as clever, outsmarting the 141 and tricking them into rescuing him - this big, bad, battle-hardened General - but all of that is undercut by him getting captured to begin with.

The General Shepherd in the original series killed two of the player characters. How am I supposed to be intimidated by this nagging grandpa briskly jogging through the snow behind me in his ugly pajama jumpsuit? Even his ending is lackluster. He’s outwitted in front of Congress by Graves of all people, and then we get a cutscene where Price shoots him off-screen. That’s it. There was no satisfaction like in the original series, no triumph, no sense of vengeance, only a tired feeling of thank god I don’t have to deal with this anymore. This constant attempt at build-up in this reboot series of Shepherd being this looming figure over the 141 ends not with a bang, and not even with a whimper.

Makarov

I’m going to start this off by saying I mean absolutely no hate to Julian Kostov, Makarov’s actor, he definitely did his job.

Unfortunately, that job was playing a random Russian man that happened to have the same name as the Vladimir Makarov from the original series. He’s literally just a dude. There’s nothing particularly menacing about him, nothing that really screams Leader of an Ultranationalist group, nothing that would set him apart in a line-up of kind-of-gruff white men. I wasn’t expecting him to be some over-the-top supervillain, but he feels too normal, too regular, too everyday. Maybe that was the point Activision was trying to make - that having a villain with too-sharp features, eyebrows with in-your-face arches, and two-toned eyes is realistically too much - but it feels like they leaned too far in the opposite direction to compensate.

How am I supposed to take Makarov seriously when they gave him such big, brown, babygirl eyes? Though I realize this may be a character model issue because everyone in this game seemed to have huge doe eyes at one point or another (looking directly at you and those unblinking baby blues, Soap).

The first time we get a proper cutscene with Makarov, he shoots one of his own men – one who had questioned his plan in the rescue mission – and he gives some passionate Make Russia Great Again speech that involves a lot of big gestures, promises of showing the world “true power”, and him being weirdly touchy with one of his men. It’s not a bad scene, and I think Julian really shines here as Makarov. It’s a little in-your-face for me, but overall not a bad introduction to what is supposed to be the overarching big bad for the rest of the series. It gives you a good enough sense of danger, and just enough worry for the main crew as they get ready to go up against this guy.

Unfortunately, the rest of the game doesn’t really follow through on that. Makarov spends more time monologuing, asking his men “philosophical” questions about prisoners and guards, and cryptically foreshadowing at the 141 than he does doing…anything. We are told about all of the bad deeds he’s done. We are told how evil he is. We are told that Makarov needs to be stopped at all costs. The only problem is, we aren’t shown any of that. We see the aftermath of Verdansk, a distant explosion after Makarov has been captured, but we never see Makarov do any of that. When we do get to see Makarov, his men are doing all of the dirty work while he stands around and looks evil. It’s his men fighting and killing guards to get him out of prison, his men attacking Farah and her soldiers, his men launching missiles topped with biochemicals, his men forcing Samara to blow up a plane, his men guarding Milena and his finances. The most he does during any of these scenes is order his men around and give evil villain speeches to give the audience exposition about why he’s doing all this.

We probably see more of Makarov’s shirtless Tinder pic than we see him in action. 

In the original series, we see Makarov being at the forefront of his movement, unafraid to get his hands dirty. He is part of the group that commits the massacre/terrorist attack on Zakhaev International Airport, he kills the two FSO agents protecting President Vorshevsky, he’s the one who shoots and kills Yuri, and that’s only part of what we see in-game. Sure, we’re told about his other crimes, but we’re shown enough to back up the claims that he is evil. In this game, he kills two people himself, one of them being his own soldier that I mentioned earlier, and the other being Soap (and we’ll get to that later). Two extremely lackluster deaths that are over before you get the chance to really digest them. Maybe he kills more people during the intro mission when you rescue him, but it’s during gameplay and easily missed when you’re too busy trying to fight your way out of this Arkham-esque prison. I think I could look past it if he wasn’t also present during some of the scenes where his men are carrying out his atrocities for him, but instead, Activision chose to have him in the background standing there…menacingly. 

I don’t want to say Makarov was a bad villain; he was certainly better than Shepherd and Graves. I just think Activision made very strange choices with his character that resulted in him becoming this weird mishmash of an average monologuing movie villain and the micromanaging boss that stands over your shoulder, and it took a lot of the “oomph” out of his character for me. 

Soap's Death

I hope whoever made this decision at Activision has to live the rest of their life constantly feeling like they have to sneeze and are never able to. What the fuck happened here? In what world did Soap’s death make any kind of sense here? This felt like they knew fans were expecting someone to die (and they already retconned the yeehaw war criminal) so they put a bunch of names in a hat and had some poor unpaid intern pick one out. 

I have not been quiet about how much death I wanted in this game. I expected at least two deaths, with one of them preferably being Price. Going into this I was prepared to lose characters, and I was prepared to lose them to a heroic sacrifice, to an exhaustingly epic gunfight, to an explosion in a clocktower, to literally anything, but I was not prepared to lose a character to bad writing. And that’s what Soap’s death was. There is no build-up to it throughout the game other than a cryptic, “I’ll see you again, MacTavish.” from Makarov in a flashback scene. There’s no exploration of Soap’s character arc, his background, his family. There’s nothing.

Price and Soap try to defuse a bomb, Makarov shows up and his men overpower them, Makarov goes for the kill on Price, and instead shoots Soap when Soap tries to stop him. The entire cutscene can be summed up as A Series Of Conveniences. Makarov conveniently gets to Soap and Price just as they’re about to defuse the bomb, the officers they have with them are conveniently incompetent to stop any of Makarov’s men, Makarov’s men conveniently don’t notice Soap getting up to stop him from shooting Price, Ghost and Gaz are conveniently one second too late save Soap, and a train conveniently passes by to let Makarov make his escape. It’s over in less than a minute, and there’s little to no reaction from the surviving 141 members before the game starts shoving in your face that there’s a bomb you have to defuse that has conveniently not gone off yet and was conveniently missed in all of the gunfire.

Aside from the bullshit way it happened, the most disappointing thing here was the cutting of Soap’s arc and the lack of reaction from Price, Ghost, and Gaz. There was no growth for Soap in this game, no building of his story that would make his death feel like a satisfying conclusion. We just got the same Soap we’ve had in the rest of the series, and then he was gone. And the fact that we got absolutely nothing from the team in that moment was so…frustrating. Yeah, Ghost kneels by his body, and gives a brief, “Johnny!” but that’s…it? Price says nothing. Gaz rushes to the bomb and says nothing. After that moment in the cutscene, Ghost says and does nothing. There’s not even a hitch in their voices as they finish disarming the bomb. In Soap’s original death, we got Price screaming and begging over his body. We got to see his grief and pain and hurt at losing someone so close to him. Here we get…them standing over the body, a cut to black, and then a funeral cutscene that doesn’t feel earned full of commiserations that feel empty, hollow, and generic. 

Maybe I’m too nostalgic for the Captain MacTavish we had in the original series, and the death they gave him that was impactful enough that people still talk about it to this day. Maybe there’s something meaningful here that I’m not seeing. Or maybe Activision can’t write for shit and rushed Soap’s death without a care just like they rushed this game as a quick cash grab to ride the hype of MW2.

Whatever the reason, these characters deserved far better.

Soap deserved better.

And I deserved to see a rebooted Captain MacTavish.

Gameplay

This section is going to be short because I didn’t spend money on this game to actually play it, I only watched gameplay. The general consensus seems to be that this game is nothing but glorified DMZ, and I can’t disagree with that. Supposedly, at least two of the campaign settings were ripped straight from Warzone, the Gulag and Verdansk Stadium, and I think that really shows how much of this game was slapped together because Activision wanted to hurry to release so they could capitalize off the CoD hype as much as possible. The combat is the same in every mission, the air support mission is as boring as ever, the NPC AI is all over the place, and the character models constantly shift from being really good to mobile game bad within the same cutscene.

I’m not saying I could do better, but I don’t think I could do worse. You can take that however you’d like.

The Writing/Storyline

Starting off, I’m going to say this with my whole chest:

Main story content should be in the main story, and not in optional or additional content.

Look, I don’t mind an easter egg here and there in DLC. I don’t mind the mention of a big bad in an extra, paid quest to build up hype. What I do mind is when the understanding of the main storyline of your game is dependent on things that happen in content that players are required to complete outside of the main game. 

Do you know how we found out Alex was alive? An optional Raid.

Do you know how we learned Graves was a little bitch and wasn’t in the tank? An optional Raid.

Do you know how we–

You get my point. These kinds of reveals should have been in the main storyline because they pertain to the main storyline. Otherwise, you have people reacting with confusion because the main campaign was all they played, and they were left under the assumption that Alex may or may not be dead, that Graves burned in that tank in Las Almas, that Farah’s brother (Remember him? Activision doesn’t.) was alive and out there somewhere, etc, etc. It feels like they’re trying to do what Marvel does when they interweave their cinematic universe with their television shows: leave references to things only the more committed audience - the audience who will watch every show, play every game, see every movie, buy every DLC - would understand while punishing everyone else. It feels lazy on Activision’s end, and cheapens any kind of suspense they may leave us with going forward.

I wouldn’t even be surprised to see something like “Oh, Soap died and Makarov escaped at the end of the main campaign? Just kidding! They revealed in the newest Raid that Soap actually survived, and Makarov got hit by that train at the end.”

Outside of that, the whole storyline just feels unnecessary. This whole game feels unnecessary. I know there are rumors that this was meant to be a DLC for MW2 that got extended into a full game because Activision wanted more money, and if I didn’t already believe that, the writing would confirm it for me. Nothing feels fleshed out. Not the story, not the plot, not the characters. It all feels very surface-level and shallow, like more of the exact same thing we got in the last game, but somehow worse. The banter between the 141 is just not there, the tell don’t show when it comes to Makarov, the rapid POV switching, it all feels so thrown together, so last minute, like the writers had no idea what they wanted to do up until release. 

One thing that really bothered me was the constant death fakeouts. It felt like every mission something awful would happen and one character would be left with their fate unknown in a dramatic cut to black as a cheap way to build suspense…only for that suspense to be immediately undercut by showing them alive in the very next cutscene. This happens with Farah (twice), Price, Alex (partially, there’s no cut to black, but there is a fakeout that he has been captured), and Laswell all within the first half of the game. At some point, it starts to get irritating and kills any and all suspense going forward. I was spoiled on Soap’s death, I knew it was coming before I watched the cutscenes, but by the time I got there, I was almost expecting Soap to show up in the next sequence without a scratch on him. Up until that point, I had stopped caring when characters were in danger because the writing led me to believe everyone was safe. There’s a way to build suspense, and every writer understands that, a majority of the time, less is more, so I don’t get how this went so unbelievably wrong. 

The characterization is also so weirdly off. In what world would John “Somebody has to make the enemy scared of the dark. We get dirty, and the world stays clean.” Price not immediately take a kill shot when he has Makarov in custody? Soap was ready to kill every person he talked to in this game, so why did he let Makarov live? Why would Gaz advocate for giving Shepherd a gun after his multiple betrayals that he shows no remorse for? Why would Farah continue to begrudgingly work with Graves after learning about Las Almas? Why is Makarov over-explaining his plans to his victims?

I’m not saying I expect Shakespeare-level writing from a Call of Duty game, but I expect something better than whatever this is. 

I don’t know who Activision hired for their writing team, but there are so many instances here where I almost have to believe that they may not have hired one at all.

Overall Thoughts

I wish I had a time machine so I could go back to who I was before I watched this campaign. This whole game was nothing but a DLC lazily stretched to two hours with assets taken from other games and a storyline that was slapped together using blindfolds, a dartboard, and too much alcohol. Please do not use your money to buy this game. Your money would be much better spent donating to help Palestine.

[ynscrazylife]

His Agent

Summary: When the Avengers save a team of kidnapped S.H.I.E.L.D. Agents, they discover something new about their Captain.

A/N: I’ve been working on this fic for a little while and I’m proud of this idea/plot so I really hope you enjoy!

Masterlist

The first clue that something was off was the change in Natasha and Clint’s behavior. They could usually hide it, being master spies, but it became difficult to constantly put on a mask around the people you live with, people you saved the world with. Steve, Tony, Bruce, and Thor all noticed how the pair retreated into themselves like turtles would into their shells. They had always been reserved - Natasha especially - but it went to a deeper level now. They would talk in hushed whispers to each other, were always hunched over something, their backs to the rest of the team, and were distracted when it came to Avengers business. 

The next clue was when Director Fury postponed his meeting with the Avengers. Since establishing the initiative, he had made a point to have monthly meetings with the team to discuss any recent updates, missions and threats. Fury was adamant that these meetings were very crucial to the Avengers’ success, so to hear that he was pushing it back right as they were gathering around the conference table was a surprise. Still, not enough for them to think it might be related to Natasha and Clint’s behavior. Fury said the meeting would be in a few days, that was all. 

Then, things went from being off to being wrong. They all sat at the table, ready to see Fury’s face come up on screen, but he never appeared – Deputy Director Maria Hill did. 

“What happened?” Natasha asked almost immediately, not even letting Maria get a word in as she leaned forward in her chair. It was clear that she knew more than what she was letting on. 

“Director Fury cannot make it today, he’s dealing with a crucial issue, one that we hope we can call on you, Avengers, to help us with,” Hill said, her words flowing calmly, but there was still a spark of urgency, almost desperation, in her eyes. 

“What’s going on?” Steve asked, wearing a puzzled look. If S.H.I.E.L.D. was coming to them for help when they had the best agents around the globe, and the Director was attending to it, they must be in some sort of crisis. 

“A week ago, we lost contact with a six person team that had gone undercover to investigate an uprising organization who’s been trying to create their own superhumans. We received intel that they had been torturing people and creating illegal serums and devices for their superhuman projects. After being unable to contact any of them, we also found that none of their trackers were online,” Hill explained. 

“So you think their cover was blown?” Tony guessed. 

“We do, yes. We had a team scout the building the agents had gone undercover in a few days ago and found no sign of them. We think that they’ve moved them somewhere else,” Hill answered. 

“Who’s missing?” Bruce asked. 

A file flashed onto the screen, a list of names with pictures. Everyone leaned forward in their seats to get a better look, their eyes skimming the document. The sound of wheels rolling back caught their attention as Steve suddenly stood up, spun around on his heels and walked out of the room. The door slammed shut behind him.

“What the hell was that?” Clint asked, utterly confused - like everyone else. 

Hill sighed. “It may have something to do with one of the Agents on the list – Y/L/N. She helped Steve a lot after he came out of the ice, they were good friends,” she said. 

//

One, two. One, two. One, two. One, two. One, two. One, two. One– 

Steve panted as he stared down at the punching bag which clattered to the ground, sweat coating his raised biceps. 

“You know, if you really want to get your frustrations out, you should spar with someone,” a voice floated into his ear and Steve glanced up, only to see you lifting some weights. 

He straightened his arched back, dropping his arms. “Oh, yeah? How do you reckon that?” He asked, curious. 

You smirked. “You’re not the only one who’s broken the bag,” you said, shrugging. “Though, it took me a lot longer without the super strength.” 

Steve raised his eyebrows, wondering what got you so mad, but not commenting on it. Then, he couldn’t help but fix you with a confused gaze. 

“What?” You asked, still smiling at him. 

“You’re not, uh, gawking at me,” he said. 

You chuckled, asking, “Am I supposed to?” Before he could answer, you made a silly, dramatic jaw-dropped, eyes wide face, causing Steve’s laughter to mix with yours. 

“Ever since I woke up, everyone’s kinda been . . . gawking at me. Except for Director Fury, that is,” Steve said. 

“Well, I’ll admit, I kinda gawked at you at first when I heard about you . . . But I saw you one time, in the medbay . . . I don’t know how to explain it, ‘cause you weren’t just Captain America, you know? When I saw you, with all the blankets and the wires and stuff . . . I just thought about a guy who had been something traumatic. I thought about the Steve that your war buddies always described you as,” you said. 

From that day on, you were a light in Steve’s life. You two became fast friends and, at least on Steve’s part, his attraction for you grew exponentially, and you even spent some time with him at the Retreat. After joining the Avengers, he had been so busy that he hadn’t seen you and now . . . Your name was on a list of MIA Agents. 

He paced up and down the hallway outside the conference room, hand tangled in his hair. All logical and rational thoughts jumped out the window as panic seized his body, twisting his heart into a knot. His mind was filled with you: your name, your image, your memory. He couldn’t stop his thoughts from giving him horrible scenes of you being tortured or experimented on by these freaks. Hurt. Kidnapped. Scared.

The only way to get you back was to return to the conference room and face it, so that’s what he did. Thankfully, no one called out his abrupt departure, they were all focussed on Hill’s debrief. She was saying something about how she thought they were close to finding another base of the group’s, where they might have the captured agents, but could use Natasha’s hacking and cyber skills to decode their intel. She readily agreed. 

“Can you guys suit up and meet us at headquarters?” Maria asked, to which they all nodded. She ended the call and the Avengers all spurred into action, splitting up to change into their suits and arm themselves. 

On the way out, Natasha patted Steve’s arm. “We’ll save them,” she assured her friend, but he picked up on what she was really saying: “We’ll find Y/N.” 

// 

Steve realized pretty quickly, as he changed into his suit that if he wanted to get through this without falling apart, he’d have to switch to his Captain mode. He had to think strategically - they were saving a team of agents, not just you (even if you were the most important agent to him). He’d put Natasha, Clint, and Tony on fighting the kidnappers, Bruce would standby with the medical team in case they needed the Hulk, and Steve himself and Thor would recover the hostages. He also assumed they’d have S.H.I.E.L.D. agents to secure the base and to back them up. It was a solid plan, Steve told himself, and it was going to work. It had to work. 

When they got to S.H.I.E.L.D.’s headquarters, Steve relayed this plan to the team. Everyone was on board and now it was a waiting game as S.H.I.E.L.D. agents to crack the location. Steve was about to wear a hole into the floor with all the pacing he was doing, his heart hammering in his chest. Every second that passed felt like a decade. 

After the location was found, it was all a blur. Coordinating with the agents, talking with Hill and Fury, and getting to the base seemed to just all pass by. The moment he woke up was when he was entering the base alongside Thor, the agents and Avengers ahead of them to take care of their enemies.

“I can handle the rescue, Captain. You can focus on your agent,” Thor chimed in as they walked down the hallway, towards the cells they were told the hostages were in. 

Steve paused for a second to look at his friend. “Are-are you sure?” He asked – for once the mighty soldier was taken aback. He wanted nothing more than to devote all his attention to you, but he also knew he had a job to do as an Avenger and a leader. He owed it to all the hostages to give them his best self. 

“He has me, of course he’s sure,” Tony’s voice came from behind them as he approached. Steve could practically hear the snark in his voice (Tony Snark, he should be named, but he’d have to save that quip for another time). “They’ve got it handled up there so don’t worry, Cap.” 

Steve looked from him to Thor, who gave him an encouraging nod. “Okay,” he agreed, emitting an unspoken word of gratitude which both men received. For the first time in a long time, he felt a weight being lifted on his shoulders. For once, he got to abandon Captain America for a second and walk in there as Steve. For you. 

The three Avengers walked down the rest of the hallway and turned, finding a row of cells. Thor and Tony took charge, allowing for Steve to glance through all the cells until he found you. Finding you was what he wanted but the sight he was met with when he actually laid his eyes on you shattered him. The urge to vomit and also send every person responsible for this to hell hit him in one fell swoop. You were sitting, slumped back against a dirty metal pole that your wrists and ankles were chained to. You were still wearing your S.H.I.E.L.D. uniform, though it was dirtied, bloodied, and torn in places. So was your skin, Steve realized. He ached at knowing you went through pain. Your eyes were closed and Steve hoped to God that you were simply sleeping.  

Steve quickly bent to his knees and used his shield to break the chains, the harsh clang rousing you from your sleep. You mumbled something he couldn’t understand and he hushed you softly. “It’s alright, I’m here. It’s Steve, can you open your eyes?” He asked. 

It took you a couple tries, but eventually you got there. “S’ve?” You tried to say, struggling to talk. 

“Yep, it’s me,” he affirmed, feeling a pang at the fact that you could barely even speak. When he had thought about when he’d see you again, this was never in the realm of possibilities. “I’m getting you out of here.” 

True to his word, he hoisted you up in his arms. He had to put you over his shoulder like a Fireman’s carry in case there were any lingering enemies that escaped the team. Being upside down was surely uncomfortable for you, but he wouldn’t risk not being able to defend you. With long strides and quick glances, Steve got you out of there. 

Stepping outside into the world, he slowly lowered you down and maneuvered you into a princess carry, not going fast so as to not dizzy you. In the distance, he could see your other teammates getting loaded onto ambulances, with some of the Avengers assisting. 

“Hey, you with me?” Steve checked in, returning his attention to you. You were definitely out of it, eyes glazed over as you looked at him. You didn’t seem to really get what was going on, but you didn’t look panicked, so you must’ve known you were safe. With him. 

For a second - Steve was taken back. The tired look in your eyes reminded him of the aftermath of the first time the two of you had sparred together. 

“Are you sure you want to spar together, Y/N?” 

“What? You don’t think I can take you? Prepare to have your ass beat, Rogers!” 

With the super soldier serum running through his veins, it was actually you who had your ass beat by the blond man. You had probably known that would happen when you said it, too. Still, Steve needed to train and you were determined not to let his superior strength intimidate you like it had done with the other S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. Afterwards, you had insisted you were fine, but Steve knew that the many rounds you guys went through had exhausted you. He tried to apologize, but you refused to hear it. You knew what the terms were and you agreed to it - he won fair and square. You had fallen asleep on his shoulder that night, much like how you looked like you’d fall asleep in his arms now, and Steve swore in that moment that you were the most precious thing ever. 

“Steve,” you mumbled, blinking slowly at him like a cat. His heart thumped with such force in his chest - oh how he regretted drifting apart from you after he became an Avenger. 

“Hang on a little longer. We’ve gotta get you to S.H.I.E.L.D. medical,” he said, shifting you up a little higher in his arms before heading over to the ambulances. 

“S.H.I.E.L.D.?” You echoed grumpily, eyes half-closed. 

Steve bit back an amused chuckle at the way you scrunched up your nose. Truly like a cat (or a kitten, but he knew you’d raise hell if he called you that). You never much appreciated the medical agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s. You knew they meant well, but something about the whole thing made you uneasy. Steve was well aware of that and he thought about it as you walked. The Avengers had a pretty good medical facility . . . Not to mention, the thought of leaving you again and walking away like he had done with the Avengers felt like a knife twisting in his gut. He couldn’t do that. 

“Would you rather recover at the Avengers’ tower? I’m sure I can make the arrangements and I’ll, um, I’ll be around much more,” he offered, his eyes finding you again. He could never look away from you for too long. 

Steve was still a little nervous about this. You had every right to say no, to be mad at him for abandoning you. If you did make the decision to go to S.H.I.E.LD., he’d show up in your room with flowers as much as you’d let him, he decided. 

“Mhm,” you hummed, nestling your head against his bicep and closing your eyes. 

That was like music to his ears. He knew that things between you weren’t 100% back to normal, but this felt better than what he had ever expected. With a newfound purpose and his feelings for you blossoming, he marched towards the other Avengers to tell them about their new addition to the compound. 

[kiwanopie]

New Recruit!

Crime Au!Sakusa Kiyoomi x fem!Reader

short drabble because I’ve been on a mini crime au brainrot

cw: fluff. minor character death, misogyny (not by Kiyoomi) references to a criminal organization, a little gore, a lot of Kiyoomi being whipped beyond comprehension

wc: 1.5k

You just showed up one day.

Granted, the boss’s behavior had been a little weird for a while. Less picky about the little things, less prone to administering punishment over something small. He’d take his lunch breaks out of his office now more often than not, which in itself was its own brand of odd. But coming back an hour later with his hair disheveled and his cuffs tucked up his sleeve, a few odd bruises hidden on his collarbone; that was just uncanny. Nobody could really comprehend a mean stickler like him getting a girlfriend.

But then one day, Atsumu trudging himself to his boss’s office with a sigh - Eyebrows already cinched by the stress that should come at telling his less than congenial boss that his team has been crunching the numbers, and it looks like they might be dealing with a mole. Already out of patience for the lecture he’s about to suffer through, before going through the wearisome task of rounding up all the workers, and then sitting through the world’s most boring execution. He can already hear Kiyoomi’s irritated sigh. And if this were any regular job he just might say he's been due some vacation time.

Atsumu runs an exasperated hand through his blonde hair. “Aye boss, you-“

There’s a girl sitting on his lap.

A pretty thing too. Soft pretty doe eyes, softer satin skin, cute little dress that rides up your thighs as you sit on his boss’s lap and fuck if you don’t look squeezable. Just getting a glance at you from his spot at the door has him turning pink. He barely even realizes he’s staring. - Where the fuck did he pick you up from?

“Uh… Sorry,” Atsumu clears his throat. “I can come back later if yer busy.”

You tilt your head as the hand comfied on your back scoots lower with a quiet hiss, Kiyoomi makes an effort to keep you comfortable by hooking his hand over your hip. “It’s fine. What’s the issue?”

Atsumu’s stare flickers between you both. “The-… Adrian and the boys downstairs have been summin’ up our contract to success ratio over the past couple months and uh, it looks like we might be dealin’ with a mole.”

Kiyoomi expectedly doesn’t look very pleased at something like that but it’s a far cry from his usual scowl and tirade combo. More of a… frustrated grimace? Annoyed more than anything else. “Do they have any idea who it could be?”

“We got it down to Sugar, Ayame, Ren, and Susumu. Since they’ve been the only ones who can’t be accounted for durin’ some bumps in the day.”

Kiyoomi nods slowly. “Okay…”

Atsumu watches you lean for one of the luxury pens in his pencil holder. Last time he reached for one those the bastard flicked him hard on the knuckles. But you study the carefully cashmered casing without so much as glancing up for a response.

Kiyoomi pulls at the bottom of it until the cap releases with a small click, reaching for a notepad on his desk to jot down a few quick numbers. “Yeah, okay… Kill them all then.”

“Wha- You sure?”

“Let’s not risk it.” He says. Like it always could have been that easy. “We’ll send a few flowers to their families, say they died on a contract. If the mole’s people are smart they’ll know it’s a lie. Then it’s up to them to make their move.”

Wha- So this guy can pick and choose when to be difficult?! “O.K.! I’ll get that handled for ya then.”

“Lock the door on your way out.”

He bows as he turns for the door again, twisting the lock before closing it carefully.

And then he’s blowing out a disbelieving raspberry.

It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out this guy is head over heels for whoever the hell this chick is. Kiyoomi’s not exactly a sociable guy, or a… particularly affable guy either, so seeing him start to go so out of his way to make sure someone’s happy feels like stepping into the twilight zone. He hasn’t completely changed, don’t get him wrong. Just cause he’s laying down a path of roses for his sweetheart doesn’t mean the bed of eggshells the rest of the guys have to stumble on gets any less sharper. The guy started enforcing a whole rule against loud sudden noises just cause they startle his princess whenever you drop by. No fights - at least, not without the threat of mutilation should they start one when you’re around. No overtly coarse language, no gun play near his office, if you gotta kill a package do it where you won’t hear it scream, and under no - No circumstances do you touch or even stare too long at the missus.

“Or what?” Kaio snorts. “With all the bullshit he’s making us do for this chick, I could at least expect some eye service?”

Atsumu scoffs as Hinata winces. “Yeahh… You probably shouldn’t say something like that out loud.”

Kaio snorts. “Why? Cause she’ll hear? She walks around in those skimpy little dresses and I can’t even look? Feels like a buncha work with no pay off. Least tell us where you found the slut. Whatever she’s got has to be pretty fuckin’ good if he’s already this whipped.”

Atsumu glances at Bokuto who snorts into his coffee cup. Reacting more to the way his coworker wearily shakes his head than the guy talking himself into an early grave.

He licks his lips before commenting. “You’re pretty stupid, Katsuro.”

“Says the guy who shot himself in the ass playing poker. Twice.”

Kaio grimaces before sitting back in his seat, looking on at his fellow high ranking coworkers as they avoid his place in the room. “What? Am I wrong? The broad’s turned this place into a daycare center. First no yelling, then no fighting - hell, give it a few months and she’ll tell the bastard that we can’t kill anymore-“

Click!

The cold metal against the back of his head sends shivers down his spine.

Kiyoomi affirms flatly. “She wouldn’t do that. ‘Wouldn’t be able to keep business booming like it is.”

“B-Boss-“

“The pay off is that by doing what I say, you get to live another day. A worthless piece of shit like you can comprehend something like that, right?”

“Ye-Yes, sir.” Kaio swallows. “Look I didn’t mean anything by-“

Kiyoomi presses the barrel a little firmer against his head, enough to make him flinch. “Don’t go back on your word, Katsuro. You said what you said and you meant it. - At least, say you died for a reason.”

Atsumu has to cough into his shoulder to keep himself from outright laughing at the way Kaio all but turns blue. “Sakusa-san-“

“I shouldn’t have to say how dumb it was to speak out of your ass about my fiancé, especially on my soil. - Eating my food, and wearing my clothes, and breathing breaths that I gave you. The money in your pocket, the bed you sleep in at night, every fucking thing you have is because of me. Can you understand that?”

“Yes, of course, sir.”

“That makes you my property?”

“Y-Yes.”

Kiyoomi exhales out of his nose. Tall broad frame casting a shadow over the man as he all but towers behind him. “What do you suppose I do when my property - one of my things starts to behave defectively? I don’t need something that doesn’t work anymore, do I?”

“Please, Sakusa-san-“

“A gunshot makes a pretty loud noise,” Kiyoomi squares his feet. “Aren’t we lucky she didn’t show up today.”

“I’m-“

The barrage of blood stains Hinata’s suit jacket.

Kiyoomi scowls at the mess before him as he backs away from the sodden chair, brain matter already soaked into his button up and turning cold in the breeze of the AC. The waste of a good bullet makes him kiss his teeth, but blowing his cool like that makes him frown altogether. He’s been trying to work on his temper. If you were here, he knows you’d be disappointed, and he can’t afford to blow his top in front of you should something like this happen when you’re around.

He sighs as he flicks the safety with his thumb. Piece of shit like that wouldn’t know the word compromise if it blew his skull in. He opens his mouth to tell one of them to call for clean up.

Before Bokuto’s blowing out his eardrums. “Oh my god! You got engaged?!! Congratulations!!”

Kiyoomi freezes.

“…Thank you.”

“Hell yeah, Omi,” Atsumu reaches for his brandy. It’s 10am. “Congrats! Happy to see an old firecracker like you get tied down.”

“Shut up.”

“Oh! When’s the wedding?! Do you have a date or anything set yet?”

“I’m hoping this winter,” Kiyoomi exhales. “Spring at the latest but I’m not worried about expenses. Just what it’ll take to fly her family out this way.”

“Do any of them speak Japanese?” Atsumu asks.

Kiyoomi’s sighing again. “No.”

He narrows his eyes as his number two snorts.

Hinata clears his throat. “Does anybody have a towelette?”

“Uh - Yeah,” Kiyoomi bashfully reholsters his pistol. “Sorry about that.”

reblog? 🥺 uwu

[curtis-corner]

STAND BY ME (Darry Curtis) PART 7

Fic masterlist here

Fun fact: the end of this chapter was one of the first ideas I had when coming up with this story. Enjoy and I promise an update next week because I think y'all are going to want one!

Taglist: @lovelylegolas2123 @amnestyliketaz

PART 7

You never used to mind working the later shift on Friday nights, but ever since you had starting dating Darry, you dread the time spent away. Knowing he was at his house and you could be there too made you antsy and you looked at the clock more than usual.

The door jingles and you look up from organizing receipts when you hear someone say your name.

“Sally?!” You exclaim, coming out from around the register to greet your old high school friend. It had been over a year since you last saw her, she got married right out of high school to an army man and moved up to Kentucky.

“I meant to write, I’m back for a week to visit with my folks. Needed to pick up a few things,” she gestures to the aisles. You catch up for a few minutes and help her find what she needs.

You are ringing her up when the door chimes again and you glance up to see Darry walking in. Sally gives you a not so subtle look as he approaches the register, she knew about your old crush on Darry and you know she’s going to go wild when she finds out you are dating.

“Hey baby,” he says when he approaches, leaning against the side of the counter and smiling. He glances over at Sally, whose mouth is wide open as she looks between the two of you.

“Sally, you remember Darry Curtis,” You awkwardly wave between the two of them.

“Hi Sally,” Darry voice is smooth, a clear contrast to yours. Sally closes her mouth, but her wide eyes turn to you.

“Seems I ain’t the only one forgetting to write with important news!” You groan. “Oh don’t you groan at me, missy, I was there when your Curtis crush started-“

“Curtis crush?” Darry raises one eyebrow and now your face is really heating up.

“And it was like pullin’ a tooth to get you to talk about it, but you’d blush even harder than you are now-“

“Alright, here’s your change.” You shove a few coins into her hand. “I’ll ring your parents tomorrow, we’ll catch up this week, I swear it.”

She leaves and you turn to Darry, who is smiling like a cat with a canary, but he opens his arms and you go right into his embrace.

--

It had become a little tradition on Fridays to have a date night in, and you felt spoiled by the effort Darry always put into it. He poured you a glass of wine and went about heating up your portion of baked chicken, potatoes and green beans. Darry always ate with his brothers, but made sure to save enough for you, and you made sure to always share some of your plate with him.

You had been dating Darry a few months now, but you still hadn’t gotten fully used to the feeling of being taken care of.

After dinner, you snuggle into his side on the old couch and lace your fingers through his. Steve and Soda had gone out and Pony was working on his story in his room.

“I think I need to repaint the kitchen.” Darry says, his thumb tracing circles on the spot where it met your hand.

“A nice light blue would be pretty.” You offer and he presses a kiss to the side of your head. You fight the urge to turn and capture his lips – you had already been caught making out once tonight by Ponyboy, you didn’t need to make him blush any harder.

“You wanna help me pick out the color?” Darry murmurs and you nod, snuggling closer.

“I’ve always wanted to paint a room.” You tell him. “My house is all white, nothing pretty going on. When I was little I would ask my parents if we could paint them, but they always said no. Once,” You giggle a little. “Once I took crayons to my bedroom wall and started coloring it.

“How much trouble did you get in?” Darry asks, chuckling.

“None, actually. I moved the vanity so it covered it. It’s still there.” Darry looks down at you and smiles.

“Smart girl.”

“They didn’t come check on me a lot anyway,” You say and Darry presses another kiss to the side of your head. “When I was little, sometimes my mom would have to take me on her jobs. She cleaned houses for some Soc families. I always knew I wouldn’t have a big old mansion on the West Side. But there’s these neighborhoods you pass on the way – like near the high school?” Darry nods.

“More middle-class kind of ones. We do jobs there.”

“I always thought those are nice. Nicer than what’s on the East Side, at least. I would look at them from the bus window and the yards were all kept up and it just seemed…safe.”

“I like those houses too.” Darry says and you sit for another minute, just holding hands. A door creaks open and footsteps come down the short hallway.

“I’m coming in the living room. I better not be scarred for life again.” He announces and Darry rolls his eyes.

“Smartass.” He answers and Pony rounds the corner with a knowing grin.

“Can we watch a tv show? My hand is cramping up,” he lifts his right hand and gives it a shake.

“Sure.” Darry slides over and Pony sits on his other side, leaning in close and Darry tucks his other arm around him.

You knew Darry still worried sometimes about not being able to take you out as often as he would like, or the fact that your time together often included at least one of his brothers, but the truth was you loved it.

You loved how Soda would turn up the radio when he was doing dishes and dance around so much it would take twice as long for him to finish them.  You loved that Ponyboy would sometimes ask you to check over your history homework since he knew it was your favorite subject. Even with everything the Curtis family had gone through, the house was still warm and bursting with love and you considered yourself lucky to be a part of it.

Pony fell asleep not twenty minutes after he sat down, and Soda and Steve came home tracking in so much snow that you though Darry was going to make them sleep outside. You talked with them for a few minutes while Darry walked a half-asleep Ponyboy to bed, and then Darry begrudgingly took you home.

It was freezing, but that never stopped Darry from walking you right up to the door. While you both pushed the line in private, at his core Darry was still a gentleman.

But not too much of a gentleman to give up pushing you against the front of the house and kissing you senseless.

“I hate sayin’ goodnight to you.” He murmurs into your neck and you sigh.

“I know the feeling.” He wraps his strong arms around you one more time before walking you to the door. His brows furrow.

“Doesn’t your dad usually leave a light or two on?”

“Only because he doesn’t remember to turn them off.” You reach into your pocketbook for your house key.

“He’ll be home in what, an hour or two?” Darry is still looking around. He had made it clear many times he does not like dropping you off at an empty house.

“Usually about that.” You hold off on opening the door and instead sneak one last kiss from your boyfriend. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” You two had plans to go to dinner and for a drive after you freshen up from your day shift.

“I love you,” Darry says, as earnestly as he did the first time. And just like the first time, it still nearly knocks you off your feet.

“I love you too. Drive home safe.”

The wind whips through the house when you open the door and you hear a few papers rustling on the table. You hope your neatly piled bills aren’t scattered all over the floor.

You do your usual bedtime routine – change into pajamas, brush your teeth, use a cold cream and washcloth to take off your makeup. It’s quiet but peaceful, and you are nearly snuggled into bed when you remember you forgot to get a glass of water.

You walk to the kitchen and catch the corner of a paper from under the table. When you pick it up, you see it’s not a bill but a note from your father:

In some trouble. Out of town. Lock the doors.

You read it again before an icy feeling starts to crawl down the back of your neck. You never locked the doors when your dad was out, he usually came home so loaded he couldn’t open them with a key. With the note clutched in your hand, you hurry to the front door and lock it.

You can feel your heart beating a little faster and you go back to your bedroom and try to take deep breaths.

You glance at the clock – nearly one in the morning. You’re having an internal debate on whether to call Darry when you hear glass smashing from the front of the house.

You hear a thunk, and then two male voices arguing, one sounding further than the other. Another smash of glass and the voices are slightly louder.

“You think he skipped town?”

“Better not have, boss will have a cow.  Now find that money.”

There’s movement and shuffling and the terror that has gripped you since the first sound of breaking glass suddenly propels you into action. You grab your pocketbook from the nightstand and shove your feet into slippers before opening your bedroom window as quietly as you can.

You hear more banging, and it’s getting closer. You hoist your leg over the windowsill and climb out. Your back leg hitches on the windowsill and you fall the short distance to the ground, landing on patch of ice and gravel.

You ignore the throbbing in your right arm and without another look back, you run like hell.

[yesimwriting]

Slow Nights

A/n in a bit of a jason todd mood and i’ve been dealing with the writers block that comes from going through a rough couple of days, so i’m just going with the flow! 

also i feel like the fic world has shifted away from first person, but i was in the mood for it and i write to improve and felt like working on my first person voice😭 pls forgive me   

Summary: There are a lot of risks that come from being a female waitress at a small diner in Gotham. You didn’t realize that one of them would be developing a small crush cautious friendship with the intimidating, broody guy that keeps weird hours and always squeezes himself into the smallest booth near the window with a paper back. 

----

Appreciate the slow nights. That’s what Marta said before my first closing shift, when it was just the two of us and the long window that displayed a nearly empty street. I understood instantly. In Gotham, nothing’s guaranteed. Most criminals--petty or psychotic supervillain--don’t have the decency to wait until nightfall for their crimes. But there’s something about working until 3 AM that’s eerie, like you’re daring some testosterone fueled, ego maniac that’s had a little too much to drink to do rob you. Or worse. 

“You think anyone would notice if we closed early?” It’s not an actual offer, just part of our routine. I ask this question anytime between 1:00 and 2:00 and Marta pretends to contemplate as she wipes down a counter or sweeps or does anything she can to keep busy. Her answer is always something about how Bobby, the owner, has a sixth sense about these kind of things or some other kind of joke that makes Bobby seem like the bottom line obsessed ass he is.

She lets out a small sound at the back of her throat, ending her dutiful organization of plastic protected menus. “I think that boyfriend of yours would.” 

The comment strikes a nerve deep in my stomach. An uncomfortable warmth begins to spread through my face. The fact that she’s straying from her usual joke to poke fun at that amplifies the message. The twitch of her mouth tells me she knows exactly what she’s done. “Oh, he is not--” She’s oddly smug for someone who’s always giving me a warning look when I linger around a certain table too long, a kind of worry that’s so distinctly grandmotherly I can feel the silent warnings against my skin. “He’s a costumer, a regular. That’s it.” 

“Your customer,” her eyes are back on her menus, two of them are stuck together, “Your regular.” She pushes the nail of her thumb between the edge of the barriers. They let go of each other with a soft pop. 

Maybe I always take Jason’s table, but it’s only because everyone else was too scared to at first and now it’s just...routine. Like Marta and I pretending we’d close more than a few minutes early or the way that Adam, my least favorite closing shift partner, never sweeps correctly and always tries to find an excuse to walk me to my car. “Only because everyone else is too scared to talk to him.” 

She hums once, low and disbelieving. “Okay, because you know he--” I frown as Marta struggles to find the words. A part of me wants to tell her she doesn’t need to bother. I know because despite all the teasing, she sees him almost as much as I do. Jason comes in and he’s a living canvas of deep blues and sick yellows and the kind of crimson that has to be fresh. 

That’s what initially broke the ice between us. Marta stayed behind the counter and when I finally walked up to his booth, the first thing I noted was the bloody knuckles and the Jane Austen paperback. He asked for a coffee, black. I brought it to him, along with a damp rag and a few bandaids from the first aid kit in the back. I didn’t think about how weird and kind of silly that was until I was at his table. Taking it back to the kitchen after he had seen it felt even more pathetic so I silently set them down next to the coffee. He barely nodded in acknowledgement before turning to his book. 

When I came back to bring him his check, he looked particularly annoyed as he stared at the pages in front of him. For a second, the potential aggression turned my blood to ice. Awkwardly, I noted the cover and how far into the book he was, so I nervously mumbled the first thing I thought of. “Darcy, right?” He had looked surprised and I quickly jumped to defend myself, “You just um--you look like you’re around the proposal scene and for me, at least, it’s um--it’s equally bad every time.” 

That got his expression to soften a little, enough for him to ask how I had managed to figure out where he was based on his facial expression and how open his book was. After that, it was something else, something that went on until closing and ended with a 20$ tip and a walk to my car. 

 “You’re too smart for that, Mija.” 

Marta’s words bring me back. I nod, the motion hollow. The quick acceptance leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. It’s a betrayal even though Marta didn’t really say anything and nothing she implied was factually wrong. Defensiveness immediately tries to crawl its way out of my throat. There’s a lot I could tell her. It might be so normal for Jason to have his knuckles split that the one time he didn’t, I teased him about it until he threatened to leave early and never come back, but he’s not whatever violence he won’t explain and I won’t ever ask about without a joke barrier for safety. He’s that one smile that makes you feel like you’ve earned something; and the jokes that kind of take you by surprise because you wouldn’t expect someone so physically intimidating to have a sense of humor that lighthearted; and he’s the books he reads, tears through so quickly he almost always has a new cover when he comes in. 

“Yeah,” I mumble, trying to convince myself that this isn’t the betrayal it feels like, “He’s just a regular that’s nice to talk to. It’s not like I ask him to come in or anything.” It’s not like I could, considering I have no way of contacting him. It’s not like he’s a friend I could text. 

The familiar creek of the front door’s tired hinges has Marta raising her eyebrows at me. A customer...around 2 AM...as we’re talking about Jason. There’s a silent understanding between us and the look she gives me isn’t subtle. We both know exactly who it is, so I push myself away from the kitchen counter we’ve been leaning against and grab a pot of coffee before placing a hand on the door that leads to the counters. 

“You ever think the stale coffee isn’t what he comes in for?” 

I still, the words rolling in my chest uncomfortably because the thought doesn’t bother me. At all. I push past the door before she can gage my reaction. 

He’s already in his usual seat--the farthest booth in the back, right next to the window. “Y’know the other day this family came in, three toddlers they could barely keep track of and a newborn in a stroller and the mom trying to get all their orders while the dad filled out the crossword on his phone.” I start pouring the coffee before I’ve even looked at him. “And the part I was most offended by was that he was sitting right there.” 

Jason’s watching me carefully, the curve of his lips gentle, “How dare he?” 

I look up, setting the pot on the table next to his cup. Even though I can practically feel Marta’s gaze on us, I can’t help but indulge in this part of our usual exchange. The moment in which I let myself really look at him, examining each part of his face for new or healing bruises or scratches carefully. 

There’s only one particularly notable mark, but this one is intense, right beneath an eye that’s clearly swollen. “Right?” I force my eyes to focus on anything else.  “We should put up a sign.” 

“VIP treatment,” there’s a shift in his tone that I feel more than hear, a precursor to some comment that toes the line between friendly and something else, “You saying I’m your favorite?” 

He tilts his head slightly, eyes watching my expression with a carefulness that’s tangible. That’s part of how he plays into the space between casual and flirty, through the small things. “Well, you are my best tipper.” 

Jason frowns, pushing himself a little further into his seat as if physically moved by his offense. “So that’s all I’m good for?” 

I roll my eyes, ignoring the dangerous warmth settling in my chest. “You never stop me when I start talking about books, so I guess you’re good for that, too.” 

“You guess?” 

Scoffing, I let my attention fall to the seat across from him. It’s not like I sit with him every time he comes in, if he comes in during daylight hours it’s usually impossible. But nights are different...

Marta’s words come back, a little heavier now. 

Jason takes a quick sip of his coffee and looks over at the space in front of him. “...You guys busy?” 

There’s something there, trying to hide in the way the sentence comes out. The glue that holds us together is the unspoken-ness of all of it. He never mentions the bandaids and wet rags I bring when he needs them unless he’s making a joke about it. And I never bring up the regularity of his presence. 

“Oh, yeah,” I joke, moving to sit across from him, “You should know how busy 2AM is for us by now.” I tap my nails against the surface of the table. “We might have to move you.” 

Jason lets out a small sound that’s somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. “Thought this was my table?” 

I shrug, trying my best to not seem too amused. “You were getting too comfortable.” He keeps one hand on the table, relaxing in his seat as he waits for me to continue. “Can’t have you thinking I like you or anything.” 

He inhales, letting the silence between us linger. There’s a fragile quality to the space between words that has me focusing on his physical appearance again. I did miss something. Not a bruise or a cut, but the bags beneath his eyes that seem deeper today than they usually are and the shadow tainting his expression and the fact that he hasn’t even mentioned the book he brought in with him. 

“I believe you.” 

I roll my eyes at his sarcasm because I’m supposed to. There’s no place for that kind of worry, no where for it all to go. He’s just someone that comes in for his coffee. Just someone that keeps me company during closing and sometimes makes a boring afternoon shift more entertaining. “Shut up.” 

Jason doesn’t immediately jump to push at what’s clearly a hollow response. The silence eases itself back into existence. Normally lulls like this make me feel flighty or like I need to say anything to make sure I’m not the awkward one. But there’s no stiffness that I feel the need to fight against, it’s just us.

Even though Marta’s definitely only pretending not to watch us as she wipes down the counter that I already cleaned, it really is just me and him, and when it’s like that, it’s easy to talk. Sure, we wrap the layers of heavier stuff in layers of teasing fluff and bad jokes, but that doesn’t mean it’s not there. 

“That eye makes you a little hard to look at.” 

He scoffs, his lips pulling downwards. “Ouch. That hurt worse than the punch, sweetheart.” 

My nose wrinkles. “Did not.” 

“Bruised feelings are--” 

I groan before he can get the rest of his words out, “Do not say ‘as bad as a bruised face’.” 

Jason’s mouth stays partially open, like the second half of his sentence hasn’t realized that it has no where to go. There’s something kind of funny about easily over 6′, looks like he belongs in some kind of alley Jason glaring at me like an offended goldfish. “You’re mean.” 

“And you’re cheesy,” I counter, leaning a little closer as my forearms relax on the table, “I’m just saying you need to take better care of your face, it’s one of your better qualities.”

Oh no. The realization that I’ve made a mistake doesn’t settle until the words are already out of my mouth. Jason’s relaxed posture as he reaches for his coffee makes it clear that he’s noticed, too. I blink, pained at the realization that there’s no where to backtrack to. 

He takes a long sip of dark liquid before setting the cup between us. “One of my better qualities?” 

The nail of my thumb presses into the wood of the table. “Okay, I said ‘your face was one of your better qualities’, it’s not like I called you hot.” 

Jason smiles in a way that’s so damn knowing, “I know.” 

“Then why are you smiling?” 

He shrugs, still too amused, “Maybe I missed you.” 

That’s...new. Sure, he’s been gone for a few days but that’s nothing crazy. It wasn’t even the longest stretch of time he’s disappeared for. All that matters is that Jason’s here more days than he’s not. All that matters is that he eventually comes back and things always feel like he never left. 

Part of the reason that it works so seamlessly is because we never talk about his absence (with the exception of me making a joke that must have been cheating on me and him swearing he could never). I never mention that when he does come back, he usually has more marks on his skin than usual...or the fact that I worry. 

“Maybe I missed you, too.” It feels like a confession, a weight peeling itself off of my chest. “Even though you’re a total dork.” 

“I’m the dork?” 

“The ‘one black coffee’ order is trying way too hard for you not to be.” It’s an argument we’ve had before. Black coffee with no additives in the middle of the night, like he’s working at being mysterious even though he cracks open as easily as whatever book he’s reading. 

He sits up a little straighter, an argument that likely insults my coffee order clearly ready. The squeak of the front door’s hinges steal the spotlight before Jason can get it out. 

I turn my head, looking past the booth and down the aisle. A group of four guys have already stumbled in. I instinctually stand. One of the guys is laughing, slurring out some story I can’t make out as his friend tries to push off of his shoulder as he sways. The shortest starts to laugh as well, punching his friend in the arm as he gestures vaguely towards me. Great. 

“We’re closing.” Marta’s voice is firm as she makes her presence clear. 

“You close at 3:00,” the tallest one challenges her, stepping further into the space, “That’s what it says on the door...and...” He makes a show of turning over his wrist and checking his watch, “It’s only...2:53.” The number comes out so slurred it twists in my stomach. He shuffles towards the counter, a look that’s too sharp to not feel sober taking over his expression, “That’s not a problem, is it?” 

“It’s fine.” My lips press together after the sentence, hoping that Marta feels safe enough to stay out of it. “I’ll seat them.” 

I grab a few menus from the hostess counter that Marta stocked for the morning shift. I lead them to the first table that’s angled away from the counter. Marta’s jumpy and not always good at hiding it. Besides, I like the thought of anything shady happening farther from Marta. She has some issues with her right knee and she refuses to get it looked at. If things ever came down to running... 

I force the thought out of my head as I set a menu down in front of the seats. 

“Thank you, love.” The tall one--when did he get so close. 

I nod once, attempting a polite smile that hopefully hides my nerves as I try to side step around him. The back of my arm hits something firm. “Woah.” Something squeezes my shoulder and my entire body turns to stone. “Pretty thing like you shouldn’t be so jumpy.” 

The taller one angles his body to the left, subtly blocking off my original plan of escape. Part of Marta’s face is blocked by the man’s shoulder, but I can still make out her concern. Her lips part and I want her help as much as I dread it. 

“Hey, babe--” Jason. The strangers, weirdly aware for how inebriated they seemed earlier, take their time looking at Jason. They take him and the implication of his presence in quickly. I’m released at a speed that I can barely register. Even the tallest one takes a step back to give me the space to breathe. “You almost done?” 

Even though the babe clued me into his strategy almost immediately (Jason’s nicknames choices are usually more creative), it takes a second for my thoughts to catch up with the rest of me. “Yeah, after them we should be good to go home.” 

Jason takes his time looking over at each of the strangers in a way that could pass as casual if it wasn’t for the lock of his jaw. Maybe if I wasn’t used to him, used to the way he looks when we debate plot points and recommend music to each other, his expression would seem less distinct. But I do know him, know the way he tends to shrink in on himself when little kids are running around the diner so he doesn’t seem overly intimidating. 

“Take your time,” he finally manages, attention falling back to me. I’m so distracted by the tension melting in my stomach that I barely register Jason moving towards me. I don’t know what he’s doing until his arm’s comfortably wrapped around my shoulders. Something in my chest jumps. I don’t think we’ve ever touched before. “I can be here all night.” 

He’s so warm. “Shouldn’t be long, babe.” 

“Hm.” He gives my shoulder one last, assuring squeeze before stepping back. He doesn’t go far, sitting at the counter instead of his usual seat in the back. Less than a foot away.

Jason’s proximity gives me the confidence to go through the whole waitress bit, “Can I get you guys started with something to drink?” 

The tall one looks over at his friends, awkwardly clearing his throat before saying, “Could we just get some waters to go? I’d hate to keep you past closing.” 

I now get the concept of scary dog privileges better than ever before. “Yeah, we can do that.” 

The excuse to get behind the counter, back to Jason and Marta is unbelievably relieving. I’m there in almost an instant. Marta’s already pouring water into to-go cups. 

“You okay?” Jason’s voice is low, eyes so soft it’s hard to believe that a second ago he was intimidating to anyone.

I nod once, “Yeah.” And I really am. The group was menacing and they got a little close than most creepy guys do, but it’s not the first time a group of guys found entertainment in terrorizing a waitress at the end of a long night out. “Drunk assholes are just a...work hazard.” 

My attempt to brush off the incident doesn’t seem to work. Instead of easing, Jason’s jaw locks again. “That happen a lot?” 

I shrug, kind of regretting saying anything. It’s not like I’m constantly in danger, but waitresses are easy prey. They have to be somewhat nice to you and they’re stuck in place. And we’re in Gotham, any type of assault case is low on the authority’s priority list, which makes it low risk. “You’re here most nights, Jay, you know it’s usually empty.” 

He nods once, the motion stiff. His unasked question sits between us: what about when I’m not here? I don’t want to get into the whole thing, so maybe it’s a good thing I have to go back and give the guys their waters. It’ll give me a chance to regroup an go back to something lighter. Those guys and all this tension have taken enough of our reunion away from us. 

I look over at the counter and the styrophone cups are gone. The one time I want an excuse to walk away from Jason is the one time Marta goes out of her way to leave us alone.

Marta re-enters the space behind the counter. “They paid, they’re leaving.” As if on cue, the door’s signature squeak overlaps with the last syllable. “And we’re finally closed.”

“Finally.” 

With no warning, Jason leans over the counter and grabs a napkin off of the stack kept next to the soda machine. “You have a pen?” 

What? Before I can ask where the sudden urge to draw something came from, Marta wordlessly hands over the pen attached to her apron. That level of acknowledgement from her throws me through a loop. Technically, she’s not even working anymore so the pen thing was completely voluntary. 

Jason accepts her offer slowly, as if worried that there’s a chance he’ll startle her and force her to either run off or stab him. Marta does give the energy that she could either way. 

“What are you doing?” He doesn’t even have the decency to look up at me in acknowledgement. “Are you trying to draw their faces from memory in case they need--” 

Jason slides over the napkin wordlessly so that 10 evenly written digits face me, two dashes dividing the numbers into two segments of three and one of four. A phone number. “This is--” 

“If anyone like that shows up again, you can text me and I’ll...I’ll be there as soon as I can.” 

The confirmation that this is his phone number hits me straight in the chest, and the reasoning behind the gesture forces the feeling to linger. Here’s Jason, always careful to never reveal too much about himself and he’s...he’s trusting me. I turn my head enough to look at Marta, who just nods patiently. That’s different. 

I pick up the napkin like it might dissolve into nothing between my fingertips. “So basically I call if I have a problem, and you come and beat it up.” 

“Basically.”

I stare at the number again, studying the surprising neatness of the line they’re in like it can reveal something new about the person that wrote them. Maybe I’m reading too much into it, but the gesture feels heavy. “Thanks.” 

Jason briefly angles his chin downwards in a subtle version of a nod, “Don’t mention it.” He probably means that literally, so I just set the napkin back down and fold it neatly. “Anything for my fake girlfriend.” 

“Fake girlfriend of two minutes.” 

He leans a little closer, “A natural two minutes.”

I don’t even try to disguise my probably too smug laugh, “For you, maybe.” 

“You caught on a little fast.” I narrow my eyes. “Leaned into--”

“I think the person that gave you that black eye also gave you brain damage.” The jokes are easy to not to mind when they’re about him being obsessed with me, not the other way around.

Jason presses his lips together in what could be either an attempt at sulking or scowling, it’s hard to tell with his eyes that soft. “It’s like being punched again.”

“Dramatic.” I fight to keep my expression flat as I step back from the counter. “I’m gonna change and grab my bag, then you can walk me to my car.” 

He scoffs, a brief puff of air that’s pretending to be more annoyed than it is. “Someone’s bossy.”

I turn towards the door that leads to a small break room, “Fake boyfriend duties.” 

The door to the break room shuts before he can say anything else. I put the napkin Jason gave me into my bag before changing out of my uniform and into sweats. Normally, knowing that I don’t have to work for two days is nothing but relieving. It’s still a relaxing thought, but something about it also makes me feel like I’m stuck. Maybe it’s the fact that Jason just came back and the next time I work will be a lunch shift--which is, for whatever reason, the shift he’s least likely to crash. 

I won’t see or talk to him for a few days, and that’s long enough for him to disappear again. More days, more weeks. 

Forcing those thoughts down somewhere deep, I roll my shoulders before grabbing my bag and shutting my locker. We still have the moments that take to get to my car, and that’s all whatever friendship we have is...tiny moments. 

“Okay,” I announce my return to the main area, “You ready?” 

He’s already standing, the book we never got to held loosely in one hand. “I was waiting for you.”

I hold my hands up in defense even though this is far from his most annoyed response. “Someone’s moody.” 

He sighs, taking a step towards me. I barely have the chance to pull my bag off of me before Jason hooks a finger around it’s strap. He swings it onto his shoulder easily. the walk to the parking lot is short, but Jason always takes my bag. I’m not sure how it started, but like most of us, it happened on accident and stuck. 

“Moody?” 

The word is repeated back to me with an offense that’s punctuated by a hint of surprise. It’s a fair reaction. Now that I’m thinking about it, the word feels like it’s underserving him. It’d be easy to take in Jason’s general vibe and sum him up as mostly angsty or just another tough guy born on the streets of Gotham.

We reach the door. “Eh...you’ve got layers.” 

He almost smiles, “Really?” I can feel his smugness growing and I’m glad that I’m in a position to open the door and step away from it. My hand moves forward. Jason shifts, angling himself in a way that leaves me still. He’s not blocking my escape, not really, but the implication of how close he’s standing is enough to make me still. “What are they?”

The air in my lungs jams itself in my throat mid breath. 

“I’m ready to lock up if--” Marta stops halfway between the tables and the door. Something about her expression makes proximity that felt innocent moments before off. “If you’re ready to go.” 

“Uh--yeah,” I hum, placing a hand on the door, “I’m--yeah, I’m--” I push the front door open as if that will prove my point, “We’re good.” 

Marta nods slowly, “Okay.” 

I walk out and Jason follows. After a second, Marta appears behind us. She mumbles a general goodnight instead of pointedly tacking my name onto it before getting into her car and driving off. 

Jason opens my car door for me. I get in, take my bag back, and turn on my car even though Jason’s still standing there and the door’s still open. “Your tire pressure--” 

I shake my head dismissively, ignoring the symbol that’s lit up on my dashboard. “I’m getting to it.” He gives me a look and I sigh. “I’ll go this week, mom.” 

“Funny.” He leans closer to my car with no warning, head peaking in to examine my dash. Nosy.

“Relax, I got my oil changed.” 

He eases a bit at that, moving back to where he was before. “After I told you to for a week.” 

“It was not a week.” It did come close, though. It was getting close to the end of the semester and my car wasn’t a priority. Plus, Jason’s lectures about it were a little entertaining and gave me another piece of information to file away about him. “Maybe I liked your car rants.”

“Yeah?” 

I shrug, relaxing into my seat, “You knew a lot of technical words.” 

The corner of his mouth turns up slightly, “So that’s what you’re into?” 

“You wish,” my return is a little slower, the early stages of drowsiness finally getting a chance to catch up to me now that things are calm. 

Jason frowns, eyes lingering on my expression. I guess I don’t pass his inspection because he says, “You should get home.” 

I nod, hoping no disappointment is visible on my face. “Yeah, it is kinda late.” My hand finds the handle of the car’s door. “See you around, dork.” 

Jason throws me a look, half glaring, “Night, loser.”

With one last look, I shut the door. I turn my attention to the steering wheel. Just drive. A part of me wants to linger, to maybe say something else. But there’s nothing else. 

In an attempted compromise, I reach into my bag and pull out the napkin. The numbers aren’t as easy to make out in the dark, so I have to squint to type them into my phone. This is normal. I mean, I might have a reason to text him later and if he doesn’t know that this is my number, he might ignore it or miss it or--

Ugh. Before I can over think it, I type a short text: it’s Y/n. Even though there’s no way for that to come off as weird, I’m glad I have an excuse to shove my phone back into my bag and not look at it for at least 15 minutes. 

----

This bag should be called the black hole, because the moment you need something, it’s swallowed into an abyss. I’ve found multiple sticks of gum, a handful of change, and a chapstick I thought I lost weeks ago, but not my keys. 

I sigh, picking up my phone so that I can use the flashlight. Before I can swipe to get the option, my attention shifts to the recent notifications. Two texts my phone has labeled as being from maybe: Jason. The first his just his name. The second is a longer message saying that I already knew that, because he’s the one that gave me this number. It’s a distinction that’s so specific and particular it’d feel a little awkward coming from anyone else. 

I let myself think about it for a second before swiping the message open. I type out a reply before erasing it. Another moment of deliberation passes before the words come to me. I type it out and hit send in the same breath. You’re lucky you’re pretty. 

I drop my phone back into my bag and shift around the contents. The void must have taken another victim, because it’s finally spit up my keys.

----

A/n i could see myself making a part 2 to this where this reader meets redhood and doesnt know its jason bc i was originally going to make this longer, but idk!