#but i think it's important to point out that... if you want to start doing comm work. you better get ready to be humbled and feel Awful

[fluffyotters]

I used to think this and yeah there are times where okay but what if's outside ideas are better because they're less constrained to group think (at first). However, like the bible, letting people pick and choose whatever contexts and plot points they want and apply any headcanon or idea they have leads to some utterly garbage understanding and stories. And lots of them that are not even close to what the character actually said or did in the canon. People rewrite it to their own story headcanons, regardless if it makes sense to the actual original text or not. They're no longer just headcanons. People start to actually believe that that was what the story was when you leave out all the other context. Which is why for any genuine criticisim and reformation, text fidelity IS important. You can think it outdated and bad but you have to at least include so you know what is outdated and bad about it and how to fit in a new understanding that's better. It has to at least plausibly fit in with the character motivations and context and not just be...made up they wouldn't do that! type stuff. If you change everything to the extent its no longer recognizable as the original and is now your own story...you're no longer a fan of the original but the new thing. Which might but very rarely will be better. It's usually worse. But that's no longer the thing then and you're not a fant of the thing. You just took the thing and stripped it of everything that made it the thing you are supposedly a fan of which is how you get fandoms that hate the things they're allegedly fans of whether it be Christianity or any other religion, or big fandoms like Star Wars, Teen Wolf, etc.

[jakesimfromstatefarm]

──── YOU USED TO LOVE ME . ↳ one shot // also part of the no doubt series !

✎ᝰ .ᐟ aka jake's #1 hater is...his own girlfriend?

── sim jaeyun x f!reader ౨ৎ wc. 749 ⌗ fluff, crack, rom-com, yn bullies jake, jake still loves her, skinship, cuddles, slice-of-life

↳ IMPORTANT NOTE .ᐟ ── this is part of my no doubt series ─ a sequel series of short drabbles that take place after the events of my fic no doubt, and show jake & reader's relationship throughout their first year together (& how jake wins her trust & love back hehe) ── THIS CAN BE READ AS A ONE-SHOT, however, there will be some easter eggs if you've read no doubt before!

↳ addie's ✉ .ᐟ ── IM SORRY IF THE TITLE MISLED YOU into thinking this was going to be angsty...WHOOPS ! no angst here,,,just lots & lots of downbad loser!jake and annoying cuddles to remind me how single i am !!121!#!$Y@*3723 (totally not crashing out) anywhoozers the next part is the last official part everyone.....·°՞(¯□¯)՞°·. & also! happy comeback era :D

“Babe.”

“No.”

Jake blinks from his spot on your couch.

“Hey, wha—I didn’t even say anything yet.”

You don’t move from where you stand in the kitchen, arms crossed, staring at him with the look of a girlfriend who has seen some things, “Because every time you call me like that, you either ask me to do something insane. Or stupid. Or both.”

Jake feigns a gasp, holding his chest like you just eternally wounded him, “I am deeply offended. Since when have I—”

You lift a brow.

He stops. Blinks once.

“Okay, fine. But this time, I’m serious.”

You peer your eyes at your boyfriend—sprawled all across your couch, hair a tragic mess, hoodie slipping off one shoulder, his limbs haphazardly hanging off the couch.

And unfortunate for you—

You love him. Severely.

“Alright,” you exhale, abandoning the lunch you were prepping on the kitchen island and walking over. “What is it?”

Jake looks up at you from where he’s draped on the couch, then—a small smile plays on his lips.

Oh no.

He points at the floor—right next to where you stand—dramatically.

“I dropped the remote. It’s all the way over there.”

You blink at him.

You follow his gaze.

Then you blink at the remote.

Which is. Literally. Three inches away from his fingertips.

“You—” you start, then cut yourself off—because you need a second to physically restrain yourself from throwing something at him. “Jake.”

“Yes, my love?”

“I’m a second away from punting it even further across the room.”

Jake pouts.

“So mean.”

“I'm—” you take a deep breath, genuinely at a loss for words. “Why can’t you pick it up?”

“I’m so comfy,” he whines, fingers reaching out but barely grazing the remote.

“I can’t stand you.”

“Yes, you can,” he smiles sweetly, his arms now moving to reach for you instead. Then—

He grabs your wrist and yanks you right on top of him, trapping you in his arms before you can protest.

You let out a yelp, half-laughing, half-screaming, “JAKE—!”

“Shhhhhh,” he coos, his hands already patting your head as he nuzzles his face into your hair. “No more talking. Just cuddles.”

You squirm, wiggling in his grip, but the smile remains bright on your face as his arms stay locked around you, his warmth suffocating you in the best way possible.

“Sometimes I genuinely wonder if you were starved of affection as a child,” you mumble jokingly as you manage to wiggle enough to grab his cheeks in your hands. “So desperately adorable.”

He gasps again, “Wow. Bullied by my own girlfriend. Twice. In one day.”

“Oh my god.”

“You used to love me,” he sniffs, closing his eyes theatrically and turning his face away from yours. “Now…now you just berate me.”

You roll your eyes dramatically, poking his cheek before laying your head back onto his chest, “I still love you. I just…also want to throw you into the sun sometimes.”

Jake perks up instantly.

Ignores the solar threat.

“You love me?”

You blink.

“No. Jake. Not this aga—”

“YOU LOVE ME!”

His arms snake back around you as he rocks you in celebration, like he just unlocked a new life achievement.

You’re laughing again, your words of protest muffled as he shakes you back and forth joyfully within his arms.

“You never say it first, this is like—” he pauses, his eyes shining with literal gold specks in them, you confirm, “—this is life-changing. This is monumental. I’m never recovering.”

“Okay, okay, we get it,” you groan against his hoodie, lifting your head up slightly to look at him again.

He grins back at you. Smug. And stupidly gorgeous.

The kind of face you hate to love and love to hate and also just…love.

And then—

“One more time.”

You sigh.

You’re not surprised.

Jake’s lips form a slight pout.

“…Please?”

Then your chest does that thing it always does whenever you see Jake. That warm, stupid, traitorous thing that you love.

A small smile grows on your face. Then, you lean in, kiss his nose.

And whisper—

“I love you.”

And you think he lets out a literal squeak.

A squeak, a squeal, then a squeeze as he promptly rolls over, dragging you with him until you’re both buried in the couch cushions.

“Mine, mine, mine,” he mumbles, peppering kiss after kiss to your forehead, your temple, your hairline. “So, so mine.”

And you laugh endlessly—helpless, doomed, and utterly gone.

The remote never sees the light of day.

<< past || no doubt m. list || next >>

tag list! (open ! // bolded couldn't be added!)

@bluxjun @ki2rins @why-did-i-just-do-this @favoritten @lovialymisc @xylatox @vivimura @leehsngs @puma-riki @lezzleeferguson-120 @enhaprettystars @laurradoesloveu @sievenderz @somuchdard @kristynaah @hinryh @ltfirecracker @lov4hoon @taeheexx @niyzu @chunkzdeluluwife @jakeflvrz @fangirl125reader @0429jw @dreamy-carat @yuons @thestarinstarbucks @miszes @llearlert @ppeachyttae @hoomin10 @teddybeartaetae @tanisha2060 @therealmrsbahng @beomgyu-bears @ikeulove @jiyeons-closet @youngheejay @wxnderingthoughts @fuevrois @soobundle1009 @isoobie @enhypenova @zoemeltigloos @lizdevorak @deluluscenarios @bloomiize @hasuyv @ijustwannareadstuff20 @veilstqr @dreamiestay @jakeyyyjakexoxo

[melodyofmbaku]

Touch of a Woman (Elijah "Smoke" Moore x Annie)

Preview: “Annie, laughing at another man’s touch... And just the thought alone made Smoke sick to his stomach."

Warning ⚠️: sorry in advance

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N Wheeewww. I haven't done something like this in a while. Hope you like it. I really appreciate your comments/reblogs, it's what keeps me writing. Can't wait to hear what ya'll think! 😘 My Masterlist __

The invitation came in a stiff white envelope with gold trim and Smoke’s full name printed on the front like he was somebody important.

Elijah Moore.

An old acquaintance from Chicago — one of those slick-talking men who still called him “Big E” — was throwing a formal dinner and ball just outside town.

Society folk. Wine glasses so thin they looked like they’d shatter from a hard look. Smoke hadn’t planned on going. But the man insisted. Said he wanted both of them there.

That’s when the fight started.

It wasn’t loud at first — just a look from Annie when the name was mentioned. A tightness in her mouth when she asked, “So… this friend of yours. He the same one you used to run with your Chicago crowd?”

Smoke didn’t answer right away. And that silence was all she needed.

“I ain’t never hear you mention this man before.”

“Annie, we was boys,” Smoke said, shrugging off his shirt. “Ain’t seen him in years.”

“But clearly ya’ll close enough for you to get an invitation. Funny.”

Smoke exhaled. “What’s funny?”

“That every time I turn around, there’s some part of your past I ain’t never heard about. And now I’m expected to smile pretty and shake hands with folk who think I don’t belong in the same room?”

He turned to her. “Ain’t nobody said that.”

“They don’t gotta say it. It’s in how they look at me.”

Smoke stepped forward, voice low. “You think I’d bring you somewhere you didn’t belong?”

“That’s not the point,” she snapped. “ I know I belong. It’s just exhausting havin’ to prove it.”

Smoke’s jaw worked. “Annie—”

“I seen the way you talk when you’re with them. Straighter posture. Less drawl. Like you gotta prove something.”

He swallowed. “That ain’t fair.”

“No, you a man who had a life before me. And that life’s gonna be there in that ballroom. That’s fine. I can handle it. But don’t expect me to smile while I’m bein’ measured.”

He didn’t have an answer. So he didn’t speak. He just watched her gather herself. The tension swelling in the room.

“We don’t have to go.”

“I’ll go,” she said finally, looking at her shoes. “I’ll play nice. I’ll wear the dress and I’ll eat the food and I’ll do the dance.”

Her voice dropped then — more vulnerable than she meant it to be.

“But don’t you dare act like I’m crazy for feelin’ what I feel.”

And Smoke didn’t respond. Just shut down.

They got dressed in silence. Shared a ride in silence. And now here they were — walking into the ballroom, with smiles that didn’t reach their eyes.

___

The room sparkled in soft golds and low voices, the kind of place where everything smelled like money. Annie looked like she belonged — radiant in a deep plum dress, hair pinned to perfection, chin lifted with that sharp, self-made grace.

But her stomach was tight. The heat hadn’t left her all evening, and the champagne did little to cool it.

The two had parted a bit earlier after doing their rounds. Annie with a few ladies she met near the restroom and Smoke to the man who called out to him obnoxiously across the room “I know that ain’t who I think that is!”

It had been some time and she was looking for her anchor. 

She turned her head — her eyes searching the room — and stopped cold.

There he was. Smoke. Near the far end of the room, framed by marble pillars and candlelight.

And across from him, smiling like memory never faded, stood Delilah.

Green satin. Long lashes. Too-close posture.

Annie couldn’t hear a word, but she didn’t need to. Delilah’s hand touched his coat sleeve, light and deliberate. Smoke didn’t move. Didn’t push her away. Just stood there.

Just fuckin’ stood there.

Annie’s throat went dry. Her grip tightened around the stem of her glass.

From across the room, it looked like something private. Something kept.

She didn’t watch long enough to see what came next. Didn’t give him the chance.

She turned.

Walked away.

And the rest of the night passed like the taste of something bitter — stuck in the back of her throat no matter how many times she swallowed.

__

As they entered the house, Annie set down her purse and slipped off her shoes.

“Well, she was real pretty. Real refined. Bet it brought back memories.”

“I didn’t know she’d be there.” Smoke said.

They’d reserved their argument for when they got home. Wanted to spare the cab driver's ears.

He had 40 minutes in the car to formulate an explanation as to why he was talking to his ex girlfriend at the party and that's what he came up with? He was cooked.

“We ain’t even made up from earlier. You barely said ten words to me. And then here she comes — all soft smiles and shared history. Ya’ll get a quickie in the broom closet too?”

Smoke shot her a look.

“Don’t start. You had an attitude before we even got there. This ain’t got nothing to do with Delilah and you know it.”

“Bet you were happy to see her. Your favourite city girl.” She scoffed. 

Smoke noticed it under all that anger, there was a thread of insecurity. 

He sighed deep. 

“Annie. I can’t help that I had a life — a woman —before you.”

“I’m sorry that people got to experience a different version of me, I can’t do nothing about that.” 

She spun on her heel quickly. Heat in her eyes. 

“I ain't talking about people. I’m talking about her.”

Smoke still stood his ground and refused to fight fire with fire. 

“Ain’t no her. I ain’t seen the woman in 7 years Annie and the fact that we talking about this in our home right now is insane.” 

He started towards her. Fingers flexing lightly. He wanted to hold her. Tell her she hadn’t a thing to worry about. 

She stopped him before he got close with a hand. “You stay right there.”

Smoke nodded to himself, once but kept his distance.  A shift passed over him — the soft gave way to something sharper. His mouth pressed into a line, and when he spoke again, the edge was back.

“No woman can hold a candle to you. You ain’t weak. You got nothing to be jealous about. I’m yours. I’m right here!” he beat his chest.

She looked at him almost shocked. 

“Wow.”She laughed bitterly. “That’s what you think this is? Cheap jealousy?”

She shook her head softly before responding. 

“Elijah I’m not mad because you ran into her, I’m mad because…”

She paused before she said the words that broke Smoke's heart into pieces. 

“You let her touch you like she still had a right to.” Her hands shook as she gripped the vanity behind her. 

“Like you ain’t belong to another. You ain’t see anything wrong with that?” She asked.

Now this? This — Smoke could understand. 

He reached out to her once more and she snatched her hand away from him.  

“She touched you.”

Her voice broke. 

“And you’re mine.”

The room went still.

He swallowed. The hurt in her voice hit him in his chest. It wasn’t just about Delilah — it was about him.

“I want you to put yourself in my shoes Elijah.” She started. 

“Another man, with his hands on me. You’d sleep well after that?” She pointed a finger at him. 

She was getting heated again. 

“That image won’t flash behind your eyes everytime you close them? It won’t sow a seed of uncertainty in you?”

Smoke didn’t answer right away.

But the truth crept in — heavy and hot. The picture she painted etched itself behind his eyes: Annie, laughing at another man’s touch, her hand on his chest, her eyes soft.

And just the thought alone made Smoke sick to his stomach.

She saw it land.

“So yeah, maybe it's me. Maybe I’m weak, but if being strong like you means I let people mess with what's mine and I gotta be cool with it? Then I don’t wanna be like you at all.”

He took a step closer, real slow.

“You think I belong to anybody but you?” he asked, voice rough, worn.

Annie didn’t answer. She just looked away.

He exhaled hard, pinched the bridge of his nose.

“You ain’t gotta fight for me,” he said, softer now. “You already won." He sought out her eyes. "Baby, I'm right here."

“She touched you,” she said, voice cracking and eyes watering. “And you let her. You didn’t move. You didn’t even look uncomfortable.”

“I didn’t even notice,” he said honestly. “I swear to you, baby. I didn’t notice. I’m sorry.”

Annie swallowed, her voice low and cutting.

“Right. Just muscle memory then.”

Smoke stood there, fists clenched at his sides. He had been keeping himself at bay. Swallowing his anger. Trying. Apologizing. And she’d have none of it. 

Smoke exhaled sharply and stepped back.

Then, without a word, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small, wrapped parcel. Set it gently on the table between them.

“Here,” he said. “This is what she gave me.”

Annie blinked, not moving. She looked up at him accusatory manner.

"Whats this?" she snarked.

“Open it.”

With shaky hands, she untied the twine and peeled back the cloth. Inside, nestled in paper, was a small muslin pouch — familiar, fragrant.

Sweet balm.

The note underneath read:

“For your lady. Knew she’d need it. You’re lucky, E. Don’t mess this up. —Langston”

Annie stared at it, blinking slowly. Her lips parted, the words not quite coming.

“That’s what she handed me,” Smoke said, voice flat. “That’s what you saw.”

She didn’t move.

Smoke spoke low. “Langston was supposed to bring it from Chicago. I asked him to get it. For you. He got shot last week. Couldn't travel. Sent it down with her.”

Her fingers hovered over the pouch.

“I didn’t even ask her directly,” he said. “She just handed it off. Told me to give you her best.”

Annie’s breath stuttered. The guilt landed heavy.

And that’s when Smoke’s voice changed — quieter, rawer.

She started towards him but it was his turn to keep her away. He shook his head no and took a step back. 

He nodded, more to himself than her.

Smoke stepped back once more and pointed at her.  “You think I’d let another woman put her hands on me — for no reason?”

Annie’s throat bobbed, her fingers twitching on the twine.

Her eyes stayed on the note even as something sharp — shame or sorrow — pulled at her ribs.

“You said you liked that balm from Miss Halloway’s shop. The one you used to buy before from upstate. You been rationin’ it. Thought it might make you feel good to have it again.”

Her arms fell to her sides.

And Smoke saw it—that flicker of realization. The regret. The dawning ache in her eyes as her gaze landed on the envelope with her name on it.

He waited, watching her crumble. But he didn’t soften.

“You wanna know what I find funny?” His voice stayed level, but there was heat beneath it. 

“You stay making all this noise about the person I used to be. About how filthy my lifestyle was to you. And I ain’t say nothing. I took it.”

“But the man I was in Chicago? That’s the same Smoke I am now. Maybe a little softer. But the same damn man. That life — that work, those people — it shaped me. It gave me the spine to stand up for you now.”

“And maybe that’s the problem. Maybe you don’t want that version of me.”

He shook his head slowly. 

“I love this life we built. The domestic shit. I really do. I ain’t never been this happy.”

He looked down before looking her in the eyes. “But that don’t mean I don’t carry everything I used to be in my back pocket.”

“I ain’t never dragged up your past like this. I ain’t never ask you to explain that broken engagement. I ain’t never made you pick apart the pieces of who you used to be. I took you. Whole. Mine.” He beat his chest once more.

Annie’s stare didn’t break, but something in her posture shifted. She didn’t stand so straight anymore. Her arms slowly dropped to her sides. The righteous indignation went right with it.

He looked at her, eyes tired. “I know I gotta be strong. I’m a man. My back ain’t supposed to bend, or break. I get it...”

His voice dropped, thick now. “But this? What you doing right now?” He gestured between them.

“You tearing us apart.”

“I knew I’d have to protect myself from bullets, cuffs, and the mother fuckin’ KKK but I ain't never think I’d have to protect myself from you too.”

Annie’s lips parted — but nothing came out.

“And for what?” he asked, nearly whispering. “A trophy for who the most holy?”

His laugh came bitter, breathless “I don’t wanna play anymore. You got it.”

The room felt too small for the two of them. Too tight to hold all that pain.

Smoke nodded to himself, like he’d said what he came to say. He turned, ready to put distance between them.

“You stay here,” he said softly. Always softly with his Annie. “I got the couch.”

As he walked past, Annie reached out — just two fingers brushing his sleeve.

“Elijah…”

He pulled away gently. Didn’t look at her. Just kept going.

The door closed behind him with a soft click.

Annie stood alone, the silence pressing in.

She looked down at the sweet balm on the table. The note with her name on it. The care he’d shown — even when she’d doubted him.

Her chest rose, then fell.

The tears came slow. No sound, just heat.

She sat down, elbows on her knees, and stared at her trembling hands.

And in that quiet, she saw it clear:

Her grip on his past was standing in the way of their future.

Annie dropped her head into her hands.

And sobbed. __

A/N Ya’ll know me for the love stories but I’m actually an angst monster. ✨Surprise ✨ 😂 

With all this focus on the trio I thought I’d bring it back to give some attention to the OG lovers. 

I am still working on the fic with Annie soft-domming Smoke. Alot of ya’ll asked to be on the taglist for it. It’s there, I’ve got about 3 variations I’m working through. Will likely post it next weekend.

Your thoughts and encouragement keep me writing. Can't wait to hear what ya'll think 🥰

____

Interested in my future works? Let me know if you'd like me to add you to my tag list. My other works can be found in My Masterlist. Thanks for reading!

___

All Fic Taglist @chaneajoyyy @pyraomen @browngirldominion @sarcastic-sunshines @rolemodelshit @bbymuthaaa @boonoonoonus @joysofmyworld @twistedsistas-stuff @blackctrl

@heytemporary @lizbehave @blaqgirlmagicyallcantstandit @raysogroovy @prettygirl2800 @girlsneedlovingfanfics @hotcommodityyy @blackctrl @kkbeauty86 @voydess @soufcakmistress @destinio1 @theethighpriestess @coolfoodrunworld-blog

[hanquokkasjeekies]

[how they react to you being angry/horny] - hyunjin

stray kids scenarios/headcanons

bf!hyunjin x f!reader

word count: 0.7k

genre: smut (i think), established relationship

warnings: licking/sucking (this sounds weird- it's supposed to be hot) ⋆ implied sex ⋆ groping ⋆ slight dom/sub dynamics ⋆ sub(ish)!hyunjin

ot8 list

~ ~ ~

card game

“uno” hyunjin says moments before placing his final card down, laughing at your annoyed expression. and you have every right to be annoyed since you just lost for the fourth time in a row.

hyunjin collects your cards before shuffling them all together. “i guess this means you’re paying for bubble tea next time ♡”

you give him a glare before letting out a sigh of defeat. you had really wanted to win– more than anything; and at this point you'll do anything to win.

it’s beyond unfair how you’ve been defeated over and over again by hyunjin who’s just been sitting there all relaxed and… looking so fuckable…. way too fuckable to just be playing cards with.

“just one more time?” now all you want is to win once.

“fine~ you know you’ll just lose again though” hyunjin quirks an eyebrow at you, leaning forward to rest his arm on the table between you.

“what should we make the prize this round? better make it worth my time, baby” his eyes meet yours before he sucks in his lower lip, bringing his fingers up to play with it (an unnecessarily hot habit).

you look over at him in thought before taking hold of his hand and tracing the veins with your nails. “hmm– handcuffs.’

“you or me?” he asks, his eyes shining

“me, obviously, you’d wear them any day”

hyunjin doesn’t say anything, just sits up straight and starts splitting the cards. he’s buzzing with excitement and getting all serious like this card game is the most important thing in his lifetime.

~ a while later ~

hyunjin’s sitting up beside you and waving around his last card in your face. if he’s trying to make you mad– it’s definitely working.

“i told you i’d win-”

“i know.” you cut him off quickly, your irritation showing.

but then you have a thought, the kind of one that should come with a levitating light bulb, and you place your hand on his chest sweetly, “you’re just too good, hyunnie~ my smart, pretty boy, aren’t you?”

his face flushes from the sudden praise. you push him back and he lets you, easily falling to the floor as you hover over his large frame.

you trace your fingers down his shirt before leaning down to whisper right beside his head. “so you’ll let me win, won’t you? since you’re so smart– i'm sure you know what’s best for you.

“we’ll see about that, sweetheart.” he tries to sound stern but it comes out a bit breathy and how his eyes are sweetly gazing up at you doesn’t help.

you smile and lift his hand up to your mouth before kissing his palm and knuckles.

“no, wait, stop– this is-”, he pauses as you take the tip of one of his fingers between your lips, your hot tongue swirling around it as you suck, “...cheating.”

with hyunjin under you, slowly unravelling, the frustration from your losing streak has long gone and been replaced by a smug feeling– knowing you’re the only one who can make him like this.

you pick up the long forgotten card hyunjin dropped next to him. “so it was green” you say before reaching over to place your ‘pick up four’ card on the pile.

with hyunjin pinned below you like this between your thighs, he can’t do anything and he doesn’t even complain when he sees you discard all your cards onto the pile and a satisfied “uno” leaves your lips.

“congrats”, he says wryly, “so, um… will you take care of the little problem you created?”

you look down at the bulge pressing against your thigh. “no way… i only sucked on your fingers, hyunnie, how are you hard already?”

“fuck– i don’t care, just help me out, yeah?”

you place your hand lightly over his dick, watching him shiver. “hmm, okay… but only since you lost, and you probably need help getting over that pathetic defeat ♡”

ot8 list

[albonoooo]

yeah no.

"that´s called censorship" i am telling people not to act like egregious cunts on the internet (admittedly, in a slightly aggravated tone because at the time i wrote the original post, several fanfic authors i know were being harrassed by people for their writing choices et cetera which is simply rude and now that i recall it, i think my tone actually wasn't aggravated enough). i am urging people to recognise the difference between ao3 and goodreads, a point i will refer to again later, and to realise the direct impact their decision to be mean when they could use their time so more positively can and probably will have, and to act accordingly. to equate this to, broadly speaking, an active suppression or prohibition of forms of expression shows a concerning misunderstanding of what censorship is on your part because i am in no way infringing upon their ability to do and say whatever the fuck they want. i am simply appealing to them to interact sensibly with fandom and fanfic specifically.

"not 100% of the readers must love the fic" agreed. which is why i wrote "if you come across a fic that you don't enjoy, that's totally fine". however, ao3 and tumblr aren't goodreads (or fable or storygragh, you get the point, i hope). if we were talking about people who's job it is to write stories and be good at it, i would agree that positive and negative feedback alike are valid and should be considered by the author. but we aren't. this is about people who write fanfiction as a hobby, for the love of whatever it is they're writing about and for the joy of sharing it with fellow fans. this does not require a performance review because it is not their job but something they do for fun. i'm baffled by your insistence that shitting all over this, all over people's passions and labour of love, all over their hard work for the sheer delight of it, is appropriate and needed, even.

"there´s nothing wrong with saying you don´t like a fic and leaving a respectful comment saying it" but there is. there is because it is unsolicited. it is completely and utterly unnecessary and unhelpful to tell a fanfic author you didn't like their fic (even more so because people who do this tend to not do it in a "respectful" manner) and in the worst case, it will discourage them from writing and/or sharing their writing again in the future which is always a loss. especially in the context of fandom, there is an important difference between someone sharing their work and asking for criticism and someone sharing their work and just getting criticism they did not ask for. your failure to understand this nuance could be an honest mistake, the way you flaunt this ignorance so loudly and proudly is a conscious decision and an appalling one at that.

"maybe the writer should work on their own self-esteem" be so fucking for real. posting fanfiction takes courage. to brave the blank page and start writing, without formal training, maybe not even in your native language, but out of enjoyment and the urge to exercise your creativity, to craft something and then overcome any insecurities you might have about your work to put it on the internet for all to see and judge is a very vulnerable thing to do. it's a beautiful act of creativity, vulnerability and community. personally, i wish for this practice to be continued and cherished the way it deserves to be. the bare minimum us fanfic readers can do to ensure that is not be rude and adhere to generally accepted etiquette. we can leave kudos and nice comments if we liked a fic or simply not interact and keep any negative opinions to private conversations if we didn't like a fic (note how neither ao3 nor tumblr offer a dislike/downvote button or anything of that nature). i promise you, it's incredibly easy and quite rewarding.

the only instance in which i will not immediately judge and most likely block you for speaking negatively of a fic/a fic writer publically is if they in fact aren't one and have plagiarised or if they have used their fic as a means to perpetrate harmful stereotypes or language.

now frankly, i don't really care if any of this gets through to you specifically. but maybe it'll make it click for someone else. and if not that, at the very least, this might serve as a reminder. i'm not much of a writer myself, but i will not have this kind of ridiculousness being spewed under a post of mine, least of all this one.

decidedly unfriendly reminder that fanfiction is written by real people with real feelings for free in their free time. it's a labour of love and something to cherish. if you come across a fic that you don't enjoy, that's totally fine, but it is your due diligence as a fellow fan and decent human being to click away. leaving mean comments, absurd rating systems or harassing writers in their inbox while hiding behind an anonymous icon is not an acceptable manner to behave in any fandom and online space ever. it's disgustingly entitled, wildly disrespectful and only serves to discourage people from sharing their writing in a community that is meant to be fun and supportive. the next time you read something you don't enjoy, stop reading it and move on with your day. read something you like and leave kudos and a nice comment there instead. have some common sense and don't be a fucking asshole. it's not that fucking difficult.

[stylesispunk]

So. Joel with a reader who has a bad habit of calling him “dude” or “bro”. She doesn’t even mean to do it, it’s just a big part of her vocabulary for some reason. Maybe she’s been hanging around Ellie a bit too much… maybe it’s a habit she’s always had and just can’t seem to kick, slipping up every now and then.. how would he feel??

Hi baby! I'm not sure if this is what you had in mind, but it went like this!

"CALL IT WHAT YOU WANT IT BUT THAT!"

gif credits to @/bratmillers

Pairing: jackson!Joel Miller x fem!reader

Summary: You have the bad habit of calling Joel dude or bro and he is done with you.

warnings: none really. mutual pinning and perhaps me being meh.

Joel Miller swore he could bear anything. Yes, the thousand times he had almost died but survived. He could handle clickers, raiders and a freezing winter that made his skin burn out.

But as everyone, he had a weakness, and his was that he couldn’t handle being called “bro” one more time.

Because that weakness came with you, and yes, you were his weakest point.

It had started the moment Ellie had come into your lives. But after arriving at Jackson and being here for a couple of months, fitting in the routine of your new quiet life. You became different, you fit here just perfectly, but just as Ellie, your mouth ran faster than your brain. It was like the both of you had become the extinction of each other, a fruit of the same tree.

After all it felt like that. The three of you were a family.

But Joel hated the way you called everyone “bro” and “dude” because you called him the same and that made him felt less important for you.

“Dude, you scared the hell out of me”

“Thanks for the help, bro”

“Dude, you’re a lifesaver”

He fucking hated it. He didn’t say anything, because what was he supposed to do? Call you out in front of everybody? Tell you it made him feel like some awkward kid on the outside of your life, while he wanted to be at the very center of it?

After one particularly rough patrol the both of you stepped inside the house.

You kicked off your boots and your jacket while groaning, “Bro, remind me why we signed up for this again?”

And Joel had stiffened, jaw tight, ears hot.

Ellie, who was sitting on the couch, holding a comic in her hands, just grinned like a damn Cheshire cat.

Joel didn’t say a word just muttered something under his breath and made for the stairs, boots heavy on the steps.

“You know?” she drawled, “you keep calling him bro, people are gonna start thinking you’re not into him,” she teased, biting into an apple.

You flushed. Heart stammering inside your ribcage “Ellie.”

“What? I’m just saying. Dude, did you see that face? Poor old man looks like he’s gonna combust every time you do it.” She wiggled her eyebrows at you.

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “It’s a habit, okay? I don’t even realize I’m saying it. It’s like breathing.” You glanced the stairs Joel had walked on for a bit “Besides, it’s because of you.”

“Yeah, and it’s killing him.”

You peeked at her through your fingers. “Really?”

Ellie grinned. “Swear to god. Next time you call him dude, watch his face. It’s like someone just stabbed him in the heart and kicked his puppy at the same time.”

You groaned again, dropping your head back against the couch cushion. “Fuck.”

“You might want to do something about it,” Ellie sing-songed. “Unless you wanna keep breaking his poor old man heart.”

“Hey, he’s not that old.” You defended him.

Ellie snorted. “Please. The man grunts more than he talks. That’s how you know.”

You huffed out a laugh despite yourself. Then silence settled between you, the fire crackling softly.

“You think I ruined it?” you asked quietly.

Ellie glanced at you, expression softening a little. “I think that if you go up there right now and maybe try calling him something that’s not bro, you’ll be fine.”

You nodded, anxiety crawling in your chest, determination setting in, but still not ready to face it.

“What are you waiting for?” she asked, exasperate “Go get your man, dude!”

You stood, raking a hand through your hair. You flipped her off without looking back and headed for the stairs.

You took the stairs slower than you probably should’ve. Each creaky step felt louder than the last, like the whole damn house was tattling on you.

By the time you reached Joel’s door, you half-considered turning around and blaming it on Ellie. She was the one who started it, after all.

You lifted your hand and knocked softly.

No answer.

“Joel?” you called; voice weirdly tight in your throat.

A beat, then his rough voice came through the wood.

At least, you hadn’t called him dude

“Yeah?”

“Can I… come in?”

Another pause. Then, “Yeah.”

You pushed the door open to find him sitting on the edge of the bed, fiddling with the strap of his watch like it had personally offended him. He didn’t look up right away, and when he did, his brown eyes met yours, a little guarded, a little vulnerable and everything hit you right in the chest.

“Hey,” you said softly, stepping inside and closing the door behind you.

He made a low sound in response that came out as more of a grunt.

You chewed your bottom lip, feeling your palms go a little clammy.

“Listen… I, uh. I wanted to say sorry.”

That got his attention. He straightened, frowning slightly. “For what?”

“For—” you exhaled, gesturing vaguely. “The whole bro, dude, thing. I know it probably sounds dumb but… Ellie kind of pointed out I do it a lot. To you. And I didn’t mean to make you feel like…” you trailed off, not sure how to finish the sentence without sounding like an idiot.

Joel set the watch down and finally gave you his full attention, his brow furrowed.

“Like what?”

You swallowed. “Like you’re just some guy to me.”

That’s it. You had confessed it.

But the room went quiet. The kind of quiet that felt heavy and you felt the rush up to your cheeks.

If Ellie had played a joke on you…

Joel’s jaw tightened, and he rubbed a hand over the back of his neck.

“Well,” he said gruffly, “I’m not mad. Just…I kinda wish you’d call me something else.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “Yeah?” you smiled, shyly.

“Yeah.”

You took a cautious step closer. “Like what?”

He gave a small, crooked smile, a little shy, a little rough around the edges. “I dunno. Something different to bro” he said, making a sign with his fingers.”

A soft laugh bubbled out of you. “I can do that.”

Another step closer. You were standing right in front of him now, and Joel tilted his head up to look at you. His gaze was warm and steady in a way that made your stomach flip.

“Okay then,” you said, voice quieter now. “How about… Joel?”

He chuckled “Really? What if I call you kid?” he challenged.

You opened your mouth in offense, hand to your chest “I’m not a kid.”

“I know, you are past thirty-five already.” He said, smiling at you.

You gaped at him. “Excuse me? Past thirty-five? I’m in my prime, old man.”

He laughed outright at that, the warmth in his eyes unmistakable now. “Yeah, you are.” The way he said it, softly, honest, a little rough around the edges, sent a flush creeping up your neck.

You cleared your throat, trying to recover.

“Okay, so… deal. No more bro, no more dude.” You said, trying to recover from your own shame, but your heart was pounding like a drum in your chest.

Joel’s smile softened, the teasing still lingering in the corners of his mouth. But then, without another word, he reached out and caught your wrist, not rough, just steady, fingers curling gently around yours like it was the most natural thing between the two of you. This kind of touch.

You looked down at where he held you, then back up at him, breath hitching.

“Come here,” he murmured.

And before you could overthink it, before you could make another dumb joke or call him dude by accident, Joel tugged you in and kissed you.

It was this perfect, slow, finally kind of kiss, the kind that said everything neither of you had been brave enough to say out loud. His hand slid from your wrist to your waist, steadying you, anchoring you to him, while your fingers instinctively found the fabric of his shirt.

When he pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his voice was low and rough.

“Been wanting to do that for a while. You had been killing this whole time with the dude thing”

A crooked grin tugged at your lips, the flush in your cheeks impossible to hide now.

“Sorry,” you murmured, though you didn’t sound sorry at all.

Joel shook his head, his thumb brushing a slow arc against your waist. “Yeah, you are. But it’s alright.” His voice dropped even lower, the corners of his mouth twitching. “I got something better to call you now anyway.”

Your stomach flipped. “Oh yeah? Like what?”

He smiled, warm and a little smug. “Mine.”

And you swear you could’ve died happy right now.

[suzukiblu]

Hey, I was reading through "kidnapping your soulmate for fun and profit" (which I adore, Tim's plot to kidnap Kon is gonna go great with definitely no more derailments for sure) and it seems like there's at least one post missing? Between the one ending with the "You didn't even look at me, though." "Didn't I?" dialogue to the one starting with "Superboy carts him halfway across town" without actually showing Superboy finding out about Tim's matching soulmark.

I . . . what the actual fuck, haha, there's like a good 700 words of PRETTY IMPORTANT CONVERSATION missing there and I cannot find ANY sign of any posts that should have them, mis-tagged or not, so like . . . Tumblr, what. Or ME what. Either Tumblr fucked up or I fucked up, and hell if I know which at this point. I could swear I posted those words, but god knows what happened to them and I am definitely not gonna go through ALL of this blog figuring out why they're not where they're supposed to be, so WELP, fuckit, here's just everything of this WIP so far all together and all in order behind the cut: 16.7k of an incredibly normal Tim Drake being an incredibly normal civilian about this situation.

Apparently Cadmus knew Experiment Thirteen was the one to invest in because Experiment Thirteen had a soulmark. 

Apparently Cadmus also considered terminating Experiment Thirteen because Experiment Thirteen had a soulmark. 

Tim knows this because he broke into the place and stole a copy of Superboy's file the day after they met. He also knows what Superboy's soulmark looks like, because these absolute bastards not only took multiple pictures of it, they put those pictures in his fucking file. Not even, like, classified or tucked away behind a firewall or a password or anything. Not even in a separate folder. Just right there in his standard file where literally any random scientist or doctor or goddamn intern could trip right over them without even meaning to. 

Forget the fucking mind control; that's fucked up. 

So yeah. Tim knows what Superboy's soulmark looks like. It's a stark, dark red, all sharp angles slung low in the V of his Adonis belt and cutting from one hip to the other, looking not unlike a stylized bird in flight coming at the viewer head-on. Bold. Undeniable. Very much like Superboy himself, really. 

And exactly like the mark that came in on Tim when, he now knows, Superboy was first put together in a fucking petri dish. So that's . . . a whole thing, there. 

Well. At least his soulmate is only literally fifteen years younger than him, not physically and mentally. 

Although that doesn't really seem like a big improvement, to be honest. 

Tim didn't even know he was into guys, actually? Definitely didn't know Superboy was into guys, all things considered. Like, he would not expect somebody like him to ever be subtle about who or what he was into. 

Maybe they're platonics, Tim tries to tell himself. The fact that his first reflex upon learning that Superboy was his soulmate was to immediately question his own sexuality doesn't really support that theory, though. 

Though it does help explain why Poison Ivy putting her hands on the guy had pissed him off so bad. 

Like. It very much does. 

Tim doesn't actually know what to do about this. Bruce still thinks he doesn't even have a soulmate, due to Tim previously really, really not wanting to deal with the absolute embarrassment of admitting that said soulmate was an actual fucking baby, so Tim never got the Bat-version of the soulmate talk. Bruce'd sat him down to give it to him when he'd first become Robin, but Tim hadn't had a mark then, obviously, so they'd both just assumed he didn't have to worry about it. Tim is pretty sure Bruce had been as relieved as he had to dodge that particular bullet, really. Apparently Dick had needed visual aids and hadn't understood the "gilly talk" version. And Jason had had questions. 

Lots of questions. 

Creative ones. 

Sometimes Tim suspects Jason might've been an asshole. Like, just a little bit of one. 

So no, Tim does not blame Bruce for deciding to skip that particular talk with him, especially when they'd both thought he wasn't gonna need to know any of it anyway. 

So . . . yeah. He doesn't know how he's supposed to approach this situation. Obviously telling Superboy that they're soulmates would compromise Tim's secret identity and therefore Bruce's, and everybody and their damn mother knows Superboy himself doesn't even have a secret identity so it's not like Tim can figure that out and approach him that way. 

On the other hand, not telling him that they're soulmates isn't a great start to being soulmates, now is it. 

Crap, Tim thinks. 

Then he calls Dick, because if he has to sit through the Bat-version of the soulmate talk, at least maybe Dick will be slightly less embarrassing to hear it from. 

As long as there's no visual aids involved, anyway. 

"Hey, Tim," Dick greets as he picks up the phone. Tim has a carefully crafted plan of attack, of course; several, in fact. He's got all sorts of subtle ways to lead the conversation without revealing anything too damning or too specific and while keeping everything in hypotheticals. Just making the whole thing either a quick thought exercise or casual curiosity from an unmarked kid who's heard one too many soulmate stories and wants to know more. So Tim's prepared. Tim's ready. 

Tim panics. 

"Poison Ivy kissed my soulmate and I want to burn down her entire life," he blurts. 

"Uh," Dick says. "You're . . . gonna have to catch me up a little here, baby bird. For starters, I thought you didn't have a soulmate." 

"I didn't," Tim says as he starts to pace back and forth across his bedroom floor, because he's already screwed this up so there's no point in playing coy now. "Then some dickheads in Metropolis decided to steal Superman's dead body and make a cocky asshole with douchey shades and a leather fetish out of it." 

"Ohhhhh boy," Dick says. "What'd B say?" 

"I found out like half an hour ago and you're the only person I've told, so nothing yet," Tim says. "What's the Bat-protocol for finding out your soulmate is somebody in the community, exactly? Specifically somebody in douchey shades?" 

"Depends," Dick says. "How'd the kid react?" 

". . . I don't know how to say this without sounding like a total creep, but he doesn't know," Tim admits with a wince. "I broke into Cadmus to make a copy of his file after I met him and they just . . . had his soulmark in it. Like. There wasn't even a password. It wasn't even in an isolated folder. It was just there." 

"That is the most fucked-up thing I've heard since the last time I had to talk to Jervis Tetch," Dick mutters in obvious disgust. "Alright, well, how are you reacting, then?" 

"My soulmate is a baby," Tim grumbles disgruntledly, dropping into his desk chair. "A baby who is also a teenager." 

"Tim, you're a teenager too," Dick reminds him wryly. "You are very much so a teenager too, in fact." 

"Yeah, and it sucks," Tim says emphatically. "And I have, like, actual legal guardians and a home and a trust fund. Superboy just lives somewhere in Hawaii with a sleazy businessman and his kid and some random guy from Cadmus!" 

"That's, uh, actually not great," Dick says, sounding a little troubled. 

"You think?!" Tim demands. "He's a baby! An infant! And he lives with his frigging manager!" 

"What the actual hell," Dick says. 

"Just–is it ethical to kidnap your own soulmate and does that even matter if they're not legally a person and so you couldn't actually be charged for anything anyway?" Tim mutters speculatively, drumming his fingers on his desk for a moment and then booting up his computer. "I mean, B can't get mad at me for doing it if the courts can't get me for doing it, right?" 

"Wait, Superboy's not legally a person?" Dick asks incredulously. 

"Nope," Tim says. "Which neither Cadmus nor the sleazebag selling his likeness for a living has in any way tried to correct, for the record. Technically he's classified as intellectual property, but Cadmus forfeited legal possession when Superman turned up alive again, presumably to avoid Superman ever finding out that they'd had said legal possession, so technically if I went and kidnapped him it'd be more like . . . salvage, maybe? Like, in the eyes of the law, I mean." 

"Yeah, okay, in that case kidnapping your own soulmate might be less an ethics question and more a moral obligation," Dick says. 

"Good point," Tim says, frowning consideringly as he pulls up his browser. "Do you think if I just do it as Tim Drake I can avoid compromising my identity?" 

"I have no idea but if I were you I'd already be booking my flight and thinking up a cheap excuse to 'accidentally' flash a teen heartthrob superhero my soulmark anyway," Dick says. 

"I am already booking my flight," Tim says mid-click of said booking. "Although, uh, flashing him our particular soulmark might require, like . . . third base, and I don't even know if he likes guys. I don't even know if he knows if he likes guys, he's like five minutes out of the cloning tube and like, I'm literally fifteen and don't know if I like guys, so why the hell would he?" 

"Okay, yeah, that could be an issue," Dick says. "Hm. Wardrobe malfunction? Slutty beach day? Wet T-shirt contest?" 

"I'm not above any of those options at this point, frankly," Tim grumbles, even though those ideas are all very "Nightwing" and not very "Robin". Technically he shouldn't be approaching this like Robin would anyway, because god forbid Superboy recognize his methodology. 

Slutty beach day might have to be a thing, Tim realizes with resigned dread. He is really not comfortable with slutty beach day being a thing. 

. . . maybe if he just gets lucky, he can catch Superboy having his own slutty beach day. Not to make any assumptions, just Tim's pretty sure if either of them were ever going to be the type to wear a speedo or low-waisted swim trunks or just walk around with their soulmark out in general . . . 

Which, in Superboy's defense, well–his soulmark is already on file with Cadmus, so yeah. He might not even care if other people see it or not, considering that. 

Then again, if Tim knew that a bunch of random strangers who'd wanted to mind-control him had all seen and taken pictures of his soulmark, he'd never wear anything that risked exposing it again. Like. Ever. Possibly he'd just live and die in a wetsuit. Or coveralls. Overalls. Or just–whatever. Something like that. 

. . . come to think of it, Superboy's costume is all one piece, isn't it. 

Cadmus is full of assholes, Tim decides as he confirms his booking, then gets up to throw together a go-bag. He has no plan whatsoever, but whatever; it's a twelve-hour flight. He's gonna have time to think something up. 

One go-through with airport security and a twelve-hour flight later, Tim has not thought anything up. 

Dammit. 

It's early morning in Honolulu and Tim is very, very tired. He didn't sleep on the flight because he was making plans, but to be honest said plans are all shit. His best option is gonna take six months to fully execute, for starters. Which is a reasonable amount of time to have to spend getting a near-complete stranger to trust you enough to let you kidnap them away from everything and everyone they know, he knows, but still. It's not even that solid a plan, even discounting the frustrating time delay. It's just the best of a bad lot. 

Maybe Tim should've, like . . . actually stopped long enough to tell Bruce what he was doing and get some advice. Or at least Alfred, anyway. 

Just . . . it's fine, Tim tells himself as he and his go-bag get a taxi. This is just preliminary work anyway. Recon more than anything else. Ideally he'll manage to "meet" Superboy, but he's not dumb enough to think he's going to get the guy to like him this quick, much less trust him. The goal is "passing awareness of his civilian identity's existence" and nothing else. 

Then the street kind of blows up in front of his taxi. 

So that's a whole thing. 

And here's Tim without so much as a damn domino in his pocket. 

People are screaming, things are very literally on fire, and some rando in lycra is yelling at the cop car on the corner. Normal Tuesday, really, except it's broad fucking daylight and again Tim doesn't have a mask on him, much less his bo staff or utility belt or anything actually any kind of useful. 

Fuck airport security, Tim thinks. 

"Who's the jerk with the monologue?" he asks the driver, who seems largely nonplussed by the whole situation and has definitely left the meter running while they're trapped between the other cars and the blown-up street. Priorities, Tim guesses. Can't blame a guy for having them. 

"Beats me, man," the driver says with a shrug. "I don't keep track of the spandex set, I just take the necessary detours around 'em when I'm working." 

"That might be lycra," Tim says, reaching for his wallet. "But fair enough. How much do I owe you?" 

He doesn't have a mask right now, no, but he can't just leave civilians unprotected. He can at least help people get out of the area and maybe distract the lycra rando for a bit, if it comes to it. If nothing else, he can–

Somebody in flashy red and blue and a black leather jacket crash-lands on top of the lycra rando with very deliberate flair and a very loud crow, and then the street blows up again. 

This time, though, the explosion is definitely telekinetic in origin. 

Specifically tactile telekinetic, Tim thinks it's safe to assume. 

He pays the driver, then grabs his go-bag and gets to getting people out of the area as subtly as possible while Superboy and the lycra rando tear up the street even worse. Like, almost impressively worse. Tim really wouldn't have thought the damage could even get that much worse, but they both find a way. 

He is going to have such a hard time convincing Bruce to let him drag Superboy to Gotham. 

Well, it's a six-month plan. Maybe the guy will mellow out a bit somewhere in there. Learn some subtlety. Pick up a bit of finesse. 

Tim isn't actually that delusional, obviously, but that's the lie he's gonna tell Batman when he pitches it. 

Superboy takes down the lycra rando without Tim having to improvise any assists, fortunately, and Tim manages to keep any civilians from getting in the other's way as he handles the fight. The street officially looks like a gravel road, but nobody's dead or even particularly injured–to surprising degrees, in fact–so Tim will take it. Superboy doesn't seem concerned, though a few of the civilians mutter disparaging things about what this is going to do to their commute. 

Tim technically understands their point, but also Superboy did just save at least those cops from getting blown up and the street was already pretty much fucked before he even got here, so he's not sure why they're all complaining about being alive and in one piece. People in Gotham are more intimately familiar with their own mortality than most private citizens, though, and also just grateful when it's not the Joker, so maybe it's just a regional thing. 

He shoos the last few civilians over to the EMTs to get checked out and starts trying to figure out his own exit strategy for this situation before any cops try to write his name down or something. Chances of getting Superboy's attention right now are slim, so it'd be best to just–

"Hey, man," Superboy says, landing lightly right beside him. "Thanks for the assist. Saw you getting people out of the way, made things way easier." 

Tim stares at him. 

"You didn't even look at me, though," he says reflexively. Superboy grins at him. 

"Didn't I?" he asks. His suit is torn right across his stomach and low down along his hips. His soulmark is not even slightly obscured and he is going to absolutely no effort to hide any part of it. 

Tim has never experienced something this convenient in his life. 

So yeah, Bruce is definitely going to assume that he deliberately hired some metahuman stranger to go to Hawaii and rip up Superboy's clothes in very indecent and very public fashion when he tells him this story. 

Frankly, that would've been a better plan than the slutty beach day one, so maybe Tim will just pretend that he did. 

"Uh," Tim says, really not sure what to say right now. Superboy flashes him the cocky smirk from all those lame teen magazine posters, still not going to any kind of effort to cover his soulmark. 

Tim hates Cadmus, but also is kind of embarrassingly affected to be seeing his mark on someone else's skin live and in person. With the photos, he was more distracted by the violation of their existence than anything else, but here and now Superboy is just standing in front of him with their mark bared for the whole damn world to see like he wants it seen. Like he wants Tim to see it. 

Like he wants everyone to know that he belongs to someone and exactly who that someone just so happens to be. 

So yeah. Tim is . . . affected. 

Tim is definitely, definitely affected. 

And increasingly less convinced of any possibility of this bond being platonic, too, because there is no way in hell that their mark looks half as good on him as it does on Superboy. Like. Not a chance. 

Tim really, really wants to touch it, which is technically SOP with soulmarks but is also a bit more fraught of an experience when said soulmarks are more suggestively placed. And they are very much in public right now, so, uh . . . yeah. 

So that's a thing and all. 

"Alright there, man?" Superboy asks, pushing his sunglasses up his nose. "Didn't get your bell rung or anything, did you?" 

Tim decides to just accept the gift the universe has given him and go for broke here. 

"This is really forward of me, to be honest, but that's me," he says, gesturing meaningfully at Superboy's soulmark. Superboy blinks. Tilts his head. Tim assumes he doesn't believe him, because why the hell would he believe a random stranger just saying that to him in the middle of what is technically a crime scene and completely out of nowhere, and resigns himself to having to flash his own mark on a public street with a bunch of way too interested people around. It's unfortunate and not remotely to plan, but there's no way he'll get Superboy actually alone this easy, so . . . 

"What, seriously?" Superboy says, looking bemused. 

"Seriously," Tim confirms. 

Superboy blinks again. Tim puts on a carefully sheepish smile and steels himself to–

Superboy jerks forward and grabs him, and the next thing Tim knows they're a couple hundred feet up in the air and zipping off to . . . who the hell knows where, even. Tim was so genuinely not expecting this turn of events that he didn't even register the instinct to hit Superboy with a nerve strike for lunging at him like that. 

Is he being kidnapped? Is that what's happening right now? 

. . . well, it'd be fair, admittedly. 

At least Superboy went with bridal style over, like, a fireman's carry. 

Not that bridal style doesn't have its own attached embarrassments, but still. 

Tim avoids doing anything as stupid as staring at Superboy's very close face and pretends to be interested in the view. It is a nice one, so it's not hard. Kinda makes him wish he had his camera on him, to be honest. Superboy doesn't say anything, so he doesn't either. He doesn't know how well they could hear each other with the wind in their ears anyway; according to those files from Cadmus, Superboy's not due to develop super-hearing for at least another year or two, and Tim definitely doesn't have it either, so it's probably just better to wait for the moment to avoid having to yell. 

Superboy carts him halfway across town and then lands them on a totally random-seeming rooftop that Tim assumes he has some reason to have chosen, though hell if he can tell what it was. The sight lines are all terrible and there are literally no defensible positions, and there's not even a single decent hiding place or useful perch. 

The local architecture is definitely nothing like Gotham's. 

"Uh," Superboy says as he lets Tim down on the roof, taking a step back from him and suddenly looking embarrassed as he pushes those ridiculous douchey shades of his up into his hair. "I maybe could've thought that one through a little better." 

"Well, I'm assuming you want to see my mark too, and this is better than me flashing it in front of the local press," Tim says, trying not to smile too wryly at the guy. 

Superboy blushes. 

Welp, there's another strike against platonic. 

"Um, yeah, I���" Superboy starts awkwardly, still blushing, and Tim decides to put them both out of their misery by lifting his shirt and tugging down his waistband just enough to reveal his share of their soulmark. Superboy visibly forgets what he was saying and just stares at it. 

"Honestly, I'm pretty relieved," Tim says as he directs Smiling Normal Civilian Face #4 at Superboy and tries not to get flustered by said staring. "I was absolutely expecting to have to deal with a literal baby in my future and I just don't need a soulmate who's gonna think Vena Cava is old news." 

Superboy flicks his eyes back up to Tim's face and sort of . . . grins, kind of, and looks unexpectedly . . . happy, almost? Tim thinks? 

Huh. 

Weird. 

"Uh, I . . ." Superboy starts, then just trails off like he's lost for words or maybe just not quite sure what to say. 

"Do you want to touch it?" Tim offers, because that's normal social behavior with a first recognition of matching soulmarks, and only realizes why maybe that wasn't the best suggestion when Superboy blushes even darker. Which–well, Tim might be blushing a little too, now. 

They really did get a pretty suggestive placement for their mark. 

"Uh–sure?" Superboy says, then somehow turns even redder and sputters: "I mean yeah! Yes. Definitely." 

Okay, Tim probably isn't straight. And this mark probably isn't platonic. 

That is . . . a lot to deal with right now, so he just buries it under Smiling Normal Civilian Face #4 and tries not to blush any harder himself as Superboy strips off his gloves and shoves them into his jacket pockets and then sort of–pauses, seeming a little uncertain, which is very weird to see on him. Superboy is the opposite of uncertain–to a fault, is he the opposite of uncertain. 

Then again, this is literally the second time they've met and most of what Tim knows about him came from either a Cadmus file or tabloid news and teen zine interviews, so maybe he's been making some assumptions here. 

"Together?" he suggests, holding up his own hands. Superboy nods immediately, his face still flushed almost as red as their mark. 

"Together," he agrees, and they both reach out at the same time. Superboy slips his fingers up under Tim's shirt and Tim slips his own between the torn edges of Superboy's suit, and they both just . . . touch. 

Tim's surprised, a little, by how soft and near-reverent Superboy is about it, and puts another strike against platonic. Then he immediately gets distracted, because touching your soulmate's mark is apparently very distracting. His fingers feel warm; his body feels warm. And Superboy feels . . . 

The empathy bond that Tim had always assumed to be exaggerated or romanticized settles in soft and warm and with a sense of rightness, and Tim feels a sort of nervous excitement and hesitant hope and an entirely unanticipated shyness and sweetness and softness where he was really expecting to get more like . . . brash and cocky reckless energy and just . . . very different things, really. This is really just not what he expected to get from Superboy, of all people. 

Not even a little bit, is this what he expected. 

And Superboy . . . Superboy looks flushed and flustered and fascinated, and Tim has the thought that if they, like . . . hugged or something like this, then their marks would touch each other, and then they'd be sharing the empathy bond through them directly, and . . . 

Yeah, okay. That's . . . a thought, definitely. 

Fuck. 

. . . although if either of them were, like . . . turned on or hard or anything, then they'd–never mind. 

Any potential platonic-ness of this mark is really, really losing ground here. 

Tim really does not know how he worked with Superboy last time without tripping over himself, at this point, but to be fair at the time he hadn't known what the guy would look like with his costume all ripped up and their shared soulmark exposed for the whole damn world to see. 

Tim is definitely, definitely kidnapping this guy. If it takes six months or six years, he's kidnapping him. He absolutely refuses to leave that soft little curl of shy hope and unexpected sweetness in this goddamn bullshit situation. He is kidnapping him and getting him legally recognized as a person and out of the stupid predatory contract with his manager and out from under Cadmus's supervision, and he is burning down literally anyone who tries to stop him at literally any point during the whole process. 

He will burn down fucking Superman if he has to. And also the US government and all of Cadmus and–

Just–anyone. Literally anyone it takes. 

"What's your name?" Superboy blurts, and Tim cannot believe he didn't even fucking introduce himself before asking the guy to touch his soulmark. What kind of fucking idiot is he, exactly? 

"Tim," he says quickly. "Um–Tim Drake. I'm from Gotham. Just, you know, visiting." 

"Hi, Tim," Superboy says, and gives him a soft little smile that all those lame teen magazine posters don't even deserve. Tim's heart does a rapid series of Dick-Grayson-level acrobatics in his chest. God, he hopes Superboy doesn't have super-hearing yet. He doesn't, right? God. 

Just–god. So, so many gods. 

"Hi," Tim echoes, feeling ridiculous. He clears his throat, then reclaims his hands from Superboy's soulmark. Superboy bites his lip, then does the same and takes a step back. 

Tim wants to throw himself off this roof, but unfortunately the lack of grapple is going to interfere with that theoretical escape attempt. Crap. 

Superboy's hands are still bare. 

So is his soulmark. 

"You did good with that guy who wrecked the street," Tim says, putting on Smiling Normal Civilian Face #2, which is a little more reserved than #4. Superboy turns red again. 

"Technically I also wrecked the street," he says, looking embarrassed. 

"It was already a wreck when you got there," Tim snorts. Property doesn't mean shit next to people. "And this way nobody died or got hurt too bad." 

"You helped with that part," Superboy says, still red-faced. "Made it a lot easier to keep everybody safe with somebody who was thinking straight about getting them all out of the way, like I said. It's hard to, uh–concentrate on that many at once, you know?" 

"Keeping track of where all the civilians are has to be a pain in a fight," Tim agrees, though he tries to make it sound more like he's following Superboy's logic than already fully aware of the vitality of situational awareness from his own vigilante gig. Superboy blinks, cocking his head. 

"Oh–no, that part's easy," he says. "I can feel everybody. It's just, uh . . . actively spreading the force field out that much? I gotta concentrate a lot harder. So it's just way easier when nobody's in the line of fire." 

Tim . . . pauses. Tilts his head. He is, technically, aware of how Superboy's tactile telekinesis works, but that sounded like . . . 

"Sorry," he says. "You had everybody there in your TTK field?" 

"Mostly," Superboy says. "Like I said, it's hard to concentrate on that many people, especially if they're running around all freaked out." 

"Why would you split your focus like that?" Tim asks, a little mystified. Though he guesses this explains how Superboy noticed what he was doing without ever actually looking at him, come to think. "Doesn't it weaken your powers?" 

"Well, yeah, but that dude was blowing up the whole street, man," Superboy says, making a face. "Somebody could've gotten shrapneled or something." 

It occurs to Tim, slowly, that the amount of injured civilians really wasn't as high as it should've been, and in fact most of the injuries he did see had almost definitely been caused in the initial attack. So that means . . . 

Oh. 

. . . huh. 

"Huh," he says. "I didn't realize that was something you could do.” 

"I try not to advertise that one," Superboy says sheepishly. "So, uh, bad guys won't start going after civilians harder when I'm fighting 'em. Or pick crowded areas to pick fights in." 

"I was under the impression that you advertised most of what your powers can do," Tim says wryly, though again, he did get that impression from stolen files and cheap magazines. 

"Well, yeah," Superboy says with an awkward shrug. "Otherwise people don't think I'm doing anything. Like, that I'm just punching stuff or whatever. Uh, so–how long are you in town for, then?" 

"Just for the day," Tim says while making further mental re-evaluations of his soulmate. And it's an admittedly terrible cover, but–"I'm flying back to Gotham on a redeye. I just dropped in to get some time to myself, but I've got school on Monday and a paper to write for it. You know how it is." 

"Not so much, man, I don't do that," Superboy says, and Tim . . . pauses, again. 

"You don't . . . what, go to school?" he asks. 

"Naw," Superboy says, shaking his head. "On account of supervillains attack it when I do.” 

"So you're home-schooled?" Tim assumes, trying not to cringe at the idea of Rex Leech teaching Superboy math or economics or anything even vaguely in that wheelhouse. That could not possibly end well. 

"Naw," Superboy repeats with another shrug. "Got superhero shit to do. And also, like, brand deals to do. Not really my thing anyway." 

. . . Tim is reminded, again, that Superboy is not in fact legally a person and is therefore not in any way protected by labor laws, and Rex Leech and every single dodgy opportunist he's been selling Superboy's likeness to probably knows that. Not even the laws intended for civilians or metahumans or minors or animals would apply, in fact. 

Fuck. 

The next six months of this kidnapping plot are going to be an agonizing wait, Tim's already realizing. 

Fuuuuuck. 

"Oh, I see," he observes non-committally, trying to figure out if he can move up that six-month timeline somehow. There's got to be some corner he can cut or something he can cheat, if he just–

"Do you wanna hang out for a little while before you leave the island?" Superboy asks hopefully. Tim stares blankly at him for a moment. What kind of question is that? Most people would be upset to find out they'd only have a little while to hang out with a newly-discovered soulmate, but Superboy's asking like he expects him to want to just . . . what, swap cell phone numbers and then go on about their original plans for the day? 

First of all: no. Second of all, Superboy doesn't know it, but this is Tim’s plan for the day, so still no. 

"That sounds cool, yeah," Tim says, applying Smiling Normal Civilian Face #5, which is a little softer. Superboy brightens, inexplicably turning red again. Tim has the even more inexplicable urge to pat his head about it. 

This is definitely not a platonic soulmark, no. 

Okay, so Tim's . . . gay, he guesses? Bi? Pan? Just–some sexual orientation that includes telekinetic alien hybrids that are at least male-presenting, anyway. That or Superboy is a trans girl and just not out yet, which he supposes is an equally logical option. 

. . . probably Tim being at least a little bit gay is likelier, though, because Superboy really is a look in that torn-up skin-tight costume he's (she’s?) barely wearing right now. Though Tim could also be bi and Superboy could be trans; it's not like either of those possibilities precludes the other. Actually, that combination would probably work out pretty well, right? In theory? 

At least, he assumes it would. Tim has admittedly not looked into that kind of thing too much, what with assuming it wasn't ever going to be directly relevant to his life. He infiltrated a GSA-style support group for a month and a half once for Robin-business and that's all he's really got to go on. His cover had been "kid with a newly-out older brother who was seeking basic information", just to minimize any potential concern about him dropping off the face of the earth after the necessary recon in the center was done, so he hadn't had to know anything even then, really. 

Apparently he should've been paying less attention to the layout and staff and more to the actual conversations. 

Go figure. 

"We could go grab some lunch," Superboy suggests, leaning towards him a bit. "I know all the best local places. Like, the not-touristy shit, I mean. Or maybe hit the beach?" 

"This is going to sound ridiculous, but I didn't pack a swimsuit," Tim admits. The possibility of the slutty beach day plan would've required a very different cut of swimsuit than his usual trunks, so he'd just figured he'd just buy a new one if he needed it. 

"I could lend you one," Superboy offers. He’s a little bigger and broader than Tim is, so Tim’s sure they don’t wear the same size, though he supposes if he had a pair of trunks with a drawstring waistband, or at least an elastic one . . . 

"Do you have a spare?" Tim asks, mildly dreading the thought. He's a Gothamite. They're not bred for the beach. And also, that would entail wearing Superboy’s clothes. 

Why didn’t he just say yes to lunch? Why is he stupid? 

"It's Hawaii, dude," Superboy says with a laugh, flashing him a wide grin. "Half my closet is swimsuits. Actually pretty sure I have more swimsuits than T-shirts, come to think.” 

Tim isn't sure if that means Superboy likes the beach that much–which would admittedly make sense for a Kryptonian hybrid, given the ridiculous amount of yellow sun that's out there free for the taking–or if that means that Superboy just literally never wears civilian clothes. He must sometimes, right? In theory? 

. . . Tim hates Rex Leech, he's pretty sure. Like. Really, really hates him. And also Cadmus. And Superman is on thin fucking ice, at this point. 

Very thin ice. 

He could get out the kryptonite ring again, if he had to. Like, that's an option that happens to be available to him. Just in case. 

"We could do the beach," he says as he reverts to Smiling Normal Civilian Face #5, because he’s an idiot, apparently. "Since it is Hawaii and all." 

"Cool," Superboy says, grinning wider for a moment before seeming to remember himself and straightening back up from leaning in so close. "Uh–cool, yeah! C'mon, I'll give you a lift." 

Tim, again, doesn't even have time to register the instinct to hit Superboy with a nerve strike before he's in the guy's arms and they're taking off into the air again. Does Superboy have super-speed? Tim was pretty sure he didn't. Like, at least not yet, anyway. Maybe all that constant island sun is paying off early. 

Hm. Note to self: look into that. He should really know if his soulmate has super-speed or not. 

Superboy doesn't actually tell Tim where they're going, but Tim assumes "his place" is a safe enough bet. Which is . . . a whole thing, actually, since it includes a marked risk of running into Rex Leech, who Tim absolutely cannot threaten this time. Which is really unfortunate, frankly. 

Then again, maybe if he can get the slime alone while Superboy is digging out that swimsuit for him, he can say something with some plausible deniability to it and Smiling Gotham Civilian Face (Nighttime Edition), which Tim has on good authority terrifies just about every other possible flavor of Normal Civilian. At least in the States, anyway. 

He'll have enough mercy not to use the Crime Alley version on the guy. 

Maybe. 

The flight isn't long, but the view is still nice, so Tim wouldn't have minded either way. Superboy sneaks a few glances at him from behind his sunglasses and Tim politely pretends not to notice so he doesn't have to deal with the weird fluttery feeling it puts in his stomach every time he does. It's not like Superboy can't feel him perfectly well with his tactile telekinesis right now, and also just his normal sense of touch; there's no real reason to keep sneaking peeks at him unless–

. . . wait. How well can Superboy feel him with his tactile telekinesis right now? Like . . . exactly how well? 

Oh god, Tim thinks, and desperately pretends that his only concern in regards to the answer to that question is if Superboy might notice he has more muscle and scars than a normal civilian should, whether they're from Gotham or not. 

Actually, if he can potentially feel something as subtle as scars–

Oh god, Tim thinks again, and then very quickly stops thinking altogether in self-defense. 

The flight to Superboy’s presumable place isn’t too long, like he said, so Tim manages to keep his brain from running off in too many buck-wild directions, and they’re landing in front of a big but slightly shoddy-looking plain wooden house before he’s catastrophized too badly. Or like . . . maybe not too badly. In theory. Probably. 

Superboy lands in front of the porch and the little group of people who appear to have been talking on and around it, and doesn’t even let Tim down before he’s excitedly blurting, “Everybody, this is Tim, he’s my soulmate! Tim, this is, uh . . . everybody.” 

Tim’s done his research at this point, so he recognizes Rex Leech sitting in a chair on the porch, Dubbilex sitting in another with a ratty-looking little white dog in his lap, Tana Moon standing by the steps, and Roxy Leech sitting on them. He doesn’t know the dog’s name or whose it is, but the rest of them he’s researched, for obvious reasons. They all look startled, then bewildered. 

Tim feels a little awkward about the whole situation, considering Superboy still hasn’t let him down from the bridal carry, but ignores it in favor of Smiling Civilian Face #4 and a polite little wave. 

“Nice to meet you, everybody,” he says. 

They all stare at him blankly for an awkwardly long moment, at which point Superboy finally seems to realize he should put him down, and then Roxy Leech lights up and jumps to her feet to run over. 

“Oh my god, SB, that’s amazin’!” she says brightly. Tim immediately clocks her as full of shit, but more in the sense of “trying to be happy for someone when not remotely happy herself” than “just being a fake asshole”. “Hi, Tim! I’m Roxy!” 

“Hi, Roxy,” Tim says, offering her a handshake to go with Smiling Civilian Face #4. She throws her arms around him and hugs him instead. Again, he’s too baffled to register the nerve-strike instinct. “Um . . . hi?” 

Dubbilex gets up and comes over with the ratty little dog in his arms and stares intently at Tim, who does his Bat-training best to think nothing but normal civilian thoughts. The dog sniffs him curiously and then jumps out of Dubbilex’s arms and straight for him. Tim barely catches it in time, which means now he’s got a dog and Roxy attached to him. Which . . . okay, sure. This might as well happen. 

Oh god, the dog’s licking him now. Why is the dog licking him now? 

“Krypto seems to approve of you,” Dubbilex observes. Tim continues to think very normal civilian thoughts, and Dubbilex tilts his head, looking . . . thoughtful. 

. . . Tim hopes these are normal civilian thoughts. 

“He’s cute,” he lies with Smiling Civilian Face #2, taking a blind guess on canine gender. The dog–Krypto, apparently–looks like a wriggly wet rag, actually, but that’s not the dog’s fault. Well, aside from the wriggling. Dubbilex still looks thoughtful. 

“Don’t lick him, you little shit,” Superboy says, eyeing Krypto dubiously. 

“Aw, you don’t think your soulmate’s lickable, SB?” Roxy asks with a sly grin, and Superboy turns bright red. 

“Don’t you lick him either,” he threatens, grabbing her off Tim and floating up into the air a few feet with her in his arms. She cackles delightedly and throws her arms around his neck. Tim wonders if she’s his girlfriend. It’d track with her being anxious about him finding his soulmate, but recon on Superboy’s interpersonal relationships was . . . unclear. 

Meaning, he couldn’t for the life of him figure out if the guy was platonic about a single woman or girl in his life, so who fucking knows. 

Tim really doesn’t know what that means for their mark, considering. 

He pats Krypto’s head, for lack of a better idea, and gets slobbered on again for it. Dubbilex still looks thoughtful. Rex and Tana come over a bit more grudgingly than he and Roxy did, Rex looking leery and Tana just barely frowning. Tim pretends to be an oblivious moron and ignores both their suspicious expressions to keep up Smiling Civilian Face #4. He is a perfectly normal civilian with a perfectly normal smile and perfectly normal thoughts, and that is all. Really. 

( and he’s going to get Superboy away from this fucking BULLSHIT living situation and into literally ANYTHING better, and away from Rex Leech and Cadmus and every single shitty person who’s trying to take advantage of him, and into legal recognition as an actual fucking PERSON while he’s at it, no matter which politicians he has to Bat-blackmail into passing some goddamn LEGISLATION already! )

Dubbilex tilts his head. Tim doesn’t panic, because he’s a perfectly normal civilian having perfectly normal civilian thoughts. There’s absolutely nothing in his head that Dubbilex would hear and think was weird. Nothing. Normal thoughts. All of them. Normal. 

. . . Tim needs to work on his normal civilian thoughts, maybe. Like, just a little. 

“A pleasure to meet you, Tim,” Dubbilex says, tone mostly neutral but still polite. “My name is Dubbilex.” 

“Nice to meet you too, Dubbilex,” Tim says like someone who definitely didn't already know that. He puts on Smiling Civilian Face #11: “Meet the Parents” Edition. It is . . . not actually one he's really had to use before. Like, not even with Ariana or–and actually also it’s probably not the right face to be using either, really, but Dubbilex is the closest thing to a not-an-asshole adult in Superboy’s life and he doesn’t want to be an asshole to him. 

Unless he turns out to be one after all, in which case all bets are off. But only then, obviously. 

“You sure this guy’s your soulmate, Kid? Not just some weirdo fan trying to take advantage or something?” Rex Leech asks suspiciously as he finally comes over, folding his arms and narrowing his eyes at Tim skeptically. Tim finds that a deeply ironic statement. And also a deeply hypocritical statement. 

Prick. Like Leech hasn’t been taking advantage of Superboy since he first fucking heard of– 

Civilian thoughts. Niiiiice civilian thoughts. Nice and normal and civilian, just like all his thoughts. Normally! 

. . . don’t think about white elephants, Tim tells himself, and immediately winds up with a full stampede of albino pachyderms in his head. 

It’s not non-civilian thoughts, so he’ll take it. 

“Relax, Rex, he showed me his mark,” Superboy says as he lets Roxy back down and lands again, the tips of his ears turning just a little bit pink. Tim considers both the reaction and the fact that he just noticed said reaction, then puts another point in under “not platonic”. It’s . . . getting to be a lot of points, at this point. No pun intended. “It matches. Like, it definitely matches.” 

Superboy doesn’t mention the fact that they’ve already touched each other’s marks to confirm, even though that’s a pretty normal thing to do upon mark-recognition. Tim makes a mental note of that, but doesn’t comment. He assumes there’s a reason for it, or otherwise why wouldn’t he? Not like Leech could argue with that, after all. 

Tana Moon follows Leech over to the group, looking a little wary herself. Tim sizes her up in his peripheral vision, pretending not to notice her approach. He’s “just” found out who his soulmate is, so he can sell the illusion of only paying attention to Superboy right now. It’s not an unusual reaction. 

It’s a pretty typical one, actually. The fact that Superboy decided to immediately show him off to everyone he knows is actually the less usual option, in fact. Not unheard of either, of course, but still. A lot of newly-discovered soulmates tend to just forget about the outside world for a few hours. Or days, even. A few missing person cases that Tim’s been involved in solving turned out to be cases of “I met my soulmate and we just eloped/ran away/went on a road trip/holed up in a hotel room without telling anyone”. 

Tim had thought it was ridiculous at the time, if obviously preferable to ending up with either a dead body or a traumatized victim, but Tim is currently in the process of planning an ethically-necessary kidnapping less than twenty-four hours after first cracking into Superboy’s file and not that much longer after first meeting him, so he supposes soulmates just bring out most people’s less pragmatic sides. 

Though he personally thinks carefully-planned ethical kidnappings are an improvement on spontaneous weekends in Vegas, pragmatically-speaking. But whatever. 

“He showed you?” Tana Moon says, glancing Tim over suspiciously. Superboy’s face reddens this time and he tugs at the slash in his own suit. 

“He, uh, saw mine first,” he says. “Kinda got into it with a dude downtown and Tim here was in the area, and like, he recognized it, obviously.” 

“It’s fairly noticeable as a mark,” Tim supplies helpfully, figuring he should be being supportive of his soulmate here, and also be shutting Rex Leech up as efficiently as possible. “And Superboy came over to check on me after the fight, so it was hard to miss.” 

“Sure it was,” Leech says, his face souring. “So then you won’t mind showin’ yours to–” 

“Shut up, Dad!” Roxy hisses, kicking him viciously hard in the ankle. Leech yelps in pain. Roxy is immediately his favorite, Tim decides. By far Roxy is his favorite. The dog’s kind of cute and Dubbilex seems decent, but definitely Roxy is his favorite. 

Her dad definitely fucking sucks, though. 

And as for Tana Moon . . . 

“You’re a tourist?” Tana says, just barely frowning down at Tim. She’s taller than him. She’s also taller than Superboy, because she’s a grown-ass woman and why, exactly, is a reporter even here right now? How is that necessary or reasonable? 

. . . admittedly she’s also taller than Leech and he’s a middle-aged man, but that’s not the point here. If Tim has to “no comment” this situation and figure out how to get either his parents or Bruce to kill a story, he absolutely will. He isn’t even slightly gonna hesitate there. He is gonna the opposite of hesitate, in fact. 

“Yes,” he lies, which might not endear him to Moon, given she’s a native, but is better than confessing to having premeditated designs on kidnapping a teen idol superhero. Especially to a reporter. 

Even if it is legally salvage. 

“I’m just in town for the day,” he continues. “I needed to get away for a little while, you know how it is.” 

“Sure,” Moon says, narrowing her eyes at him. “Who doesn’t.” 

“He’s from Gotham. And he helped the civilians get out of the area while I was fighting that guy downtown!” Superboy says eagerly, which is . . . odd, actually, and throws Tim off a bit. That seems like a weird thing for Superboy to be eager about, considering. Like . . . just very weird. 

“Well, that’s a Gotham thing, probably,” Tim says, putting on a sheepish Civilian Smile (#7). “We’re used to rogue attacks with area of effect concerns involved, so we get pretty good at clearing a street.” 

“You did awesome, man!” Superboy says, grinning excitedly at him. That is . . . still weird, yeah. Tim really doesn’t get it. 

Well, maybe Superboy’s just relieved to have a soulmate who knows how to stay out of the line of fire and what to do in a crisis, given how often crisises probably come up in his life. That would make sense, considering. 

“It was nothing, just a little light crowd control,” Tim tries, assuming that’s what a normal civilian would say. Probably, right? Almost definitely. “Nobody even needed any urgent medical attention. And you used your TTK really strategically and contained the guy too, that was much more impressive to pull off in a mess like that.” 

Yeah, that was normal civilian talk, he thinks, pleased with himself for managing it. 

Superboy turns pink, then grins again. Dubbilex . . . tilts his head. 

Normal. Normal. Normal civilian. That’s what Tim is. A civilian! Who’s normal! Very, very normal! 

Normal. 

He smiles Normal Civilian Smile #4 and pats Krypto’s head again. Krypto makes an enthusiastic attempt at licking his fingers off. 

Ew. 

“‘Light crowd control’,” Moon echoes. That’s what Tim said, yeah, so he’s not sure why she’s repeating it. Well–reporter, again, so it’s probably a trap. 

It’s almost definitely a trap, actually. 

Really definitely it’s a trap. 

“Sorry to just show up like this, hope I’m not interrupting anything,” he says to Roxy and Dubbilex with a smile, politely pretending not to be ignoring Moon. He is definitely ignoring Moon, though. Again: reporter. She may not be a Lois Lane or even a Vicki Vale, but he’s still not giving her any information he can avoid giving her. And he’ll just ignore Leech while he’s at it, too. 

“I invited you, dude!” Superboy says with a laugh, shaking his head. “We’re gonna hit the beach for a while, go hang out. Just swung by to grab Tim a swimsuit I can lend him.” 

“You came to Hawaii to ‘get away’ and didn’t pack a swimsuit?” Moon says skeptically. 

“Yup,” Tim replies with the most placidly innocent expression he’s ever worn in his life. Nothing. He is giving her nothing. Let all her reporter instincts strike against mirrored glass and high-security privacy windows and come to naught. 

Moon stares at him in silence, clearly waiting for him to fill it. Tim doesn’t fall for the incredibly obvious bait and just keeps the placidly innocent expression on. 

She frowns. 

“C’mon, man,” Superboy says cheerfully, apparently–and fortunately–oblivious to their stand-off. He grabs Tim’s arm and drags him towards the front porch. Tim seriously doubts its structural stability, from the look of it, but tactile telekinesis is hard to argue with. 

The steps manage not to collapse–possibly also because of tactile telekinesis, Tim can’t help suspecting–and Superboy pulls him straight into the house, which is . . . not particularly well taken care of, no surprise. The furniture looks like it all came from a thrift store, and not a nice thrift store. 

Admittedly Tim’s upbringing might be showing here, but also the corners need swept and there’s random boxes of assorted Superboy merch everywhere, most of which looks like cheap junk, and a huge stack of mail and four empty pizza boxes on the coffee table and overflowing trash cans with random junk scattered around, and it’s just . . . it doesn’t look taken care of, no. Which is something Tim would expect from a teenager or two, and maybe Dubbilex doesn’t know how chore wheels work or whatever, but fucking Rex Leech should at least be capable of getting out the broom once a week. 

Assuming there is one, anyway. Tim isn’t particularly optimistic on that one, honestly. 

Superboy’s room is even messier than the living room, covered in dirty clothes and abandoned comics and crumpled-up papers, but Tim’s bedroom looks like a bomb went off in it so he’s not gonna judge. Anyway, that’s Superboy’s personal space, not a common area. He can keep it however he likes, Tim figures. 

Somebody should really sweep that living room, though. And throw out those old pizza boxes, too. 

Tim isn’t judging, just–well, no, he is very much judging, actually. Specifically what he’s judging is Rex Leech, noted asshole sleazeball manager with predatory business tactics. 

Fuck that guy, seriously. 

“You want trunks or a speedo?” Superboy asks as he lets go of his arm to fly over to the cluttered dresser. Tim turns seventeen different shades of red and nearly disassociates. 

“Trunks,” he says quickly. “Please.” 

“Gotcha, man,” Superboy says easily, and then all the dresser drawers yank out at once and dump out crumpled piles of . . . mostly swimsuits and super-suits, it looks like, yeah. Like, basically nothing else but swimsuits and super-suits and a couple of cheesy-looking Hawaiian shirts. 

Well, that might be one lonely, lonely pair of cutoffs sticking out from underneath the swimsuits. But otherwise, that’s pretty much it, yeah. 

Fuck, that’s depressing, Tim thinks. 

Superboy comes back over with an armful of swimsuits, just about all of which have the S-shield either printed or stitched on them. Tim wonders why the guy even has this many swimsuits, especially considering he barely has any other clothes at all. At least not as far as he can see, anyway. 

He also wonders if he’s gonna die if he wears Superboy’s clothes. Is that a thing that might happen? Because it really might happen, yeah. 

Also wearing something with an S-shield on it feels like just a little too much to handle right now, so Tim’s hoping for a basic black option to be buried somewhere in that pile. Given Superboy’s apparent fashion sense, it seems unlikely, but hope springs eternal. 

“Take a look, see what’s good,” Superboy says, dumping the entire armful of swimsuits on Tim. Tim’s just grateful he remembered to stick to just the trunks, at this point. 

“So you spend a lot of time on the beach, huh?” he says wryly. 

“C’mon, man, it’s Hawaii,” Superboy says with a sheepish grin. “And I mean, I look good in anything but wet leather is just not a comfortable fit, you know?” 

“I guess it wouldn’t be, no,” Tim says, giving him Civilian Smile #4 again. Superboy’s ears redden a little again, and then he leans back and zips back across the room to shove all his drawers back shut. Tim lays out the pile of swimsuits on the bed, since it’s right there anyway, and then immediately feels embarrassed to be this close to Superboy’s bed. Which is stupid, even if they aren’t platonics. They’ve just met; it’s not like anything’s gonna happen. 

. . . even if Superboy is a notorious flirt and totally shameless and–

Tim is just not gonna pursue that line of thought right now, he decides. Just for his own sanity and all. 

He accidentally knocks some paper off the bed as he’s laying out the suits to get a look at them, and reflexively leans down to pick it up. The room’s a mess, yeah, but it’s Superboy’s mess. It’s still rude to just drop shit wherever. 

The paper isn’t as crumpled as some of the others, and Tim sees a glimpse of color as he picks it up. His inner detective reflexively wonders what it is, and . . . 

Tim uncrumples the paper a little, and blinks down at it in surprise. It’s a little kid’s drawing, it looks like. A sunny beach rendered in bright colored pencil and simple, awkward shapes all painstakingly but clumsily colored in and–

Superboy’s suddenly right back next to him snatching the paper from him and immediately hiding it behind his back, looking absolutely mortified. Tim’s confused, for a moment. What’s he embarrassed about? It’s obviously not anything he’d have drawn himself. It’s probably just something a fan or a neighbor’s kid gave him, or . . . 

Tim pauses. Then he recontextualizes just how much crumpled-up paper is lying around Superboy’s room and wonders, very briefly, if a bunch of STEM majors with delusions of grandeur would’ve bothered programming their custom-designed “Superman” with anything resembling art skills. 

So . . . maybe that is something Superboy drew himself. If Cadmus didn’t program him with the muscle memory or knowledge of how to draw . . . well, then he probably would draw like a little kid, wouldn’t he. 

And given Superboy’s cocky, braggart personality and defensive ego and how all that paper is all crumpled up as if in frustration . . . 

“Gift from a fan?” Tim “assumes” with Smiling Civilian Face #4, pretending to be oblivious. 

“Uh–yeah!” Superboy blurts quickly as he jumps on the provided excuse, though he keeps the paper behind his back. “Yeah, just–you know, just some kid gave it to me at a signing, whatever. Uh, bathroom’s through there, if you wanna get changed. Or like, whatever.” 

“Thanks,” Tim says, and resists the itching urge to peek at a few more of those crumpled-up papers. It’s just a lot of paper, especially if Superboy’s upset with the results. 

He wonders why the guy draws so much, if he’s that frustrated and embarrassed by it. Maybe it’s a rebellion thing, since it’s something Cadmus didn’t want him to know how to do. Tim would definitely understand that logic, if he were in Superboy’s situation. Or maybe he’s just bothered not to know how and trying to teach himself to make up for the perceived failing. 

Or maybe he just likes it, Tim supposes. That’s an option too. 

Probably a less likely one, though, given that it’s Superboy. Not to be an asshole or anything, just it’s a lot easier picturing the guy assuming he should be able to do something and getting fixated on trying to pull it off than just, like . . . liking to draw. Also, judging by all that balled-up paper, it doesn’t seem like there’s all that much there for him to “like”, either. 

Tim takes the plainest set of trunks with a drawstring waist, which are black and dark blue but still have an S-shield iron-on patch sewn onto their waistband, for whatever reason, and ducks into the bathroom with them. He realizes belatedly that said S-shield is probably going to rest right up against his soulmark, then feels like an idiot for feeling flustered by that idea and just sets his bag against the wall and starts getting undressed. 

He’s definitely wearing one of the spare shirts in his go-bag for this, he decides as he stuffs his clothes into his bag. Just–definitely, yeah. 

The trunks fit once he cinches the drawstring enough, but the S-shield definitely does rest right against his soulmark. Tim has never actually considered the sight of the S-shield to be, like . . . relevant or interesting outside of work, but he’s realizing that he sure does feel differently about it now that he knows his soulmate’s one of the people wearing it. 

Which is a little ironic, really, considering Superboy wears the S-shield as a branding thing or whatever and lets Leech slap it on whatever cheap shitty merch he can think of. Like, he’s probably the least respectful S-wearer there is.

Tim pulls on a plain clean T-shirt and a short-sleeve button-down to go over it, figuring that’s beach-friendly enough. He should’ve packed sunglasses, probably, but he was a little distracted by his kidnapping plans and didn’t think to. 

Seriously. He didn’t think to bring sunglasses to Hawaii. 

This whole situation definitely has him off his game, yeah. 

Soulmate thing, he guesses. 

Tim eyes himself in the bathroom mirror, mentally decides he’s being an idiot to worry about how he looks right now, and then grabs his bag and heads back out into the bedroom. Superboy’s changed into low-waisted S-shield-themed trunks of his own and flip-flops and nothing else, which does in fact give Tim an embarrassingly good and embarrassingly distracting view of their soulmark. It’s not quite distracting enough for him to miss the fact that the amount of crumpled papers strewn around the room has noticeably decreased, though. And there’s definitely more of them sticking out from under the bed and dresser and in the back of the closet than there previously were. 

Which is kinda cute, honestly, but Tim should probably not say that. Like, ever. 

“Thanks for waiting,” he says, smiling Normal Civilian Smile #4 at Superboy as he hitches his bag up a little higher on his shoulder. “And for the loan.” 

Superboy stares blankly at him for half a second, then seems to startle a little and puffs himself up. 

“Uh–sure, yeah!” he says quickly. “No problem, man. Anytime.” 

“‘Anytime’ seems pretty open, as an offer,” Tim jokes, because normal civilians make that kind of joke, and Superboy turns red. 

“Oh, uh–you know what I mean!” he sputters awkwardly, holding his hands up, which seems kind of a lot as a reaction, and then somehow manages to nearly knock over his dresser without even touching it. Well–that'd be the TTK, Tim guesses. 

It wasn't even that much of a joke. Like, lame suburban dad joke territory, that's all. 

“I do, yeah,” he says with a wry smile. Superboy finds a way to turn even redder and shoves his dresser back into a corner. That also seems like kind of a lot as a reaction, but Tim doesn't comment. Just seems, well . . . awkward? Unnecessary? “Are we good to go, then?” 

“Um, yeah, yeah,” Superboy says, clearing his throat and then zipping out into the hall. Tim wonders if he always flies indoors this much. “All good, dude! Let's head out.” 

“Sure,” Tim says, keeping the smile on. Superboy is still red, but floats along down the hall. Tim follows. Okay. They’re almost definitely not platonic, but Superboy clearly isn’t any more sure what to do with that than Tim is, so . . . small favors, he guesses. Like–that they’re at least roughly on the same page there, he means. 

Unless he’s just reading into things because of weird personal biases he didn’t even know he had, and Superboy is completely straight and just kind of socially awkward around civilians, and Tim’s just being socially pressured by the background radiation of living in a society that over-values romantic soulmates in comparison to platonic ones and sometimes disavows the value of platonic soulmates altogether. 

He supposes technically they could be familial, rare as that is. It’s not like he really knows how he’d feel about having a brother. Dick’s the closest thing to one he’s ever had, and that’s just . . . not actually the same thing, obviously, even if sometimes he wishes . . . 

Anyway. It doesn’t matter. He’s pretty sure having a brother wouldn’t in any way involve this level of embarrassment and unexpected hormones and just general sexuality-questioning over every little thing. Like, that seems very much not like what having a brother would be like. So–maybe he isn’t straight, or maybe Superboy’s not actually a boy, or maybe both of those things are true, or maybe he’s just really, really bad at having a soulmate. 

Entirely possible, under the circumstances. Tim’s not really all that good at getting close to people. If he got a little confused about how to handle having a soulmate, well . . . that wouldn’t really be a surprise, would it. 

Or maybe he just doesn’t want to have to figure out how to come out to his dad or Dana or the goddamn Batman. 

One or the other, probably. 

. . . statistically speaking, the likelier explanation probably is not wanting to come out to the goddamn Batman. 

“Wanna fly someplace or just chill on the beach out front?” Superboy asks as he floats backwards into the living room. Krypto runs up and jumps on Tim excitedly, his tail wagging so hard his whole little body’s wagging with it. He’s a weird-looking little mutt, but he’s really friendly, apparently. “Krypto, oh my god, get off him.” 

“I don't mind,” Tim says, leaning down to give Krypto a polite little pat on the head. Krypto barks happily and wags his tail so hard he knocks himself over. 

Yeah, weird dog in general, Tim thinks. But again, really friendly. 

“We can go wherever,” he says. “You're the local, you know the best places to get a little time alone to hang out, right?” 

“‘Alone’?” Superboy repeats, his ears reddening again as he somehow manages to trip in mid-air and hits his head on the doorframe. Tim can probably safely write off the idea of “platonic” at this point, but is still a little bit wary of his personal bias interfering. Though . . . “Uh–yeah! Totally! Yeah! We can do that!” 

Yeah, Superboy really isn’t selling the “platonic” idea here either. 

Does Tim have a boyfriend now? Is this how boyfriends happen? 

. . . well, or a girlfriend, maybe. He still hasn’t ruled out the “maybe Superboy’s just trans” option. That seems like a thing that might confuse his sexuality a little, if nothing else. 

This is definitely not anything like any previous girlfriend-getting he’s experienced, though. Like, not even a little bit. He’s not complaining, exactly, because admittedly it’s actually a little bit easier going into a new relationship with a plan and a cover established, even if the plan is still in flux and the relationship’s “romantic” vs “platonic” status is still unclear. It’s still something he can approach like a case, which is much more straightforward than just floundering around trying to figure out how normal people work. 

And Superboy’s about as far from a “normal person” as it gets, so really, this is a pretty ideal set-up on Tim’s end. 

Hopefully Superboy feels similarly, though he also, like . . . is lacking some pretty important information there, so . . . yeah, that might be an issue. Bruce would definitely not have appreciated Robin telling Superboy he was his soulmate, though, and who knows how Superboy would’ve even taken that. Going in as a civilian is going pretty smoothly, though, so Tim’s pretty sure it was the right choice. 

Hopefully it was, anyway. 

“Cool,” Tim says, keeping up the placid harmless civilian face and thoughts and Totally-Not-A-Vigilante vibes. Superboy does a very bad job of pretending he didn’t just bump into the doorframe and ducks back outside, putting on a cocky grin of his own as he does. It occurs to Tim, briefly, that maybe Superboy has his own catalog of performative expressions. None of his friends really seem to, but Superboy is in the community too, so . . . well, it’d make sense, right? 

Also he does sell his likeness via a sleazy manager’s sleazy business deals, so yeah. It does kind of make sense. 

Huh. That’s . . . a thought, he guesses. 

Not a thought he’d really had yet. 

Just . . . something they might have in common, Tim guesses. 

Though so is being in the community to begin with, obviously. And they're physiologically about the same age and have similar coloring, though Superboy is–well, not actually mixed with East Asian, because Krypton did not have an actual place called “Asia”, but he does have subtle hints of that look, same as Superman. Easy to mistake for just being white, but recognizable if you know what you're looking for. Superboy would be at least half-white given Westfield's DNA, Tim guesses, but . . . 

Yeah, no, he doesn't even know how to begin to figure out the nuances of racial identity on a dead planet he knows next to nothing about, much less any potential experience parallels there might be for a second-generation half-alien immigrant with effectively zero access to their own culture, but maybe he could–

Right, okay, he needs to focus here. There's some fascinating stuff there that he can theorize about and investigate later, once he's kidnapped Superboy properly. The kidnapping is the current priority, though. Like, it is very much the current priority. 

Tim follows Superboy back out onto the porch. Everyone else is still out there, which is fine in regards to Roxy and Dubbilex and not fine in regards to Leech and . . . well, jury's out on Moon, maybe. 

Also the dog. He doesn't really know about the dog. Though said dog does run after him and jump up for attention wagging his scruffy little tail hard enough to wag his whole little body, which is sort of cute. 

Or as cute as a wet dishrag can get, anyway. 

Tim’s trying not to judge Krypto for that, since obviously he didn't ask to be born as the living embodiment of a wet dishrag, and anyway he's a really friendly dog, so judging by appearances seems like a dick move. Even if Tim kind of wants to iron him, to be honest. Steam-clean, maybe. 

At least take him to a decent groomer, if nothing else. 

“Down, you little shit, Jesus!” Kon says, scowling down at Krypto and trying to shoo him away. Krypto growls at him, which seems weird, then goes back to fawning all over Tim. Tim leans down and pats his head, figuring it might calm him down. 

“It’s okay,” he says. “He is cute.” 

“Whatever,” Superboy grumbles, folding his arms and inexplicably glowering at his dog. 

“You gonna go swim, or just hang out?” Roxy asks curiously as she comes over to them again. 

“Oh, we’re–” Superboy starts, but Moon cuts him off. 

“Want some company?” Moon inquires, pleasant and suspicious all at once. Superboy looks–conflicted, momentarily, and then awkward. 

“Um, well–Tim’s only in town for today, so . . . next time?” he hedges. Tim resists the urge to eye Moon. Can I just spontaneously insert myself in your first day with your brand-new soulmate? is incredibly rude, as a suggestion. And incredibly fucking disrespectful to boot. Like, what entitled-ass kind of thing is that to ask, exactly? 

How old is she again? Twenty? Twenty-one? He should look that up later. Well–no, she’d graduated college and started her career by the time Superman had died, which was a good eight or nine months ago now, so unless she skipped a grade or two in there, she’s gotta be closer to twenty-four, if not twenty-five or twenty-six. 

That’s . . . a thought, considering there is definitely news footage of Superboy kissing her in Metropolis. Like, Tim very definitely saw news footage of Superboy kissing her in Metropolis. And she was very definitely kissing him too. 

In retrospect, that seems like something someone should’ve, like . . . done something about? Or at least addressed? And is definitely further proof of how fucking useless and slimy Rex Leech is. Sure, let the five-minute-old clone make out with a twentysomething reporter and hang out with her at home; all publicity is good publicity, so it’s fine, right? Sure. Why wouldn’t it be? 

Tim is going to absolutely decimate that bastard’s credit the first chance he gets. Leech probably already has terrible credit, mind, but he’ll make it worse. He’ll find a way. 

. . . though he’ll wait until he’s sure Roxy is eighteen and financially independent, he doesn’t actually know if she is or not. Roxy seems nice, she doesn’t deserve that particular fallout. 

“It’d be nice to get to know each other later, I’m sure,” Tim says before Moon can say anything, smiling Gala Smile #1 at her, which is a targeted psychological attack and not actually very moral to be trotting out this quick, probably. 

He has no regrets, for the record. Absolutely none. 

Moon narrows her eyes suspiciously. Tim blithely strokes Krypto’s ears, Gala Smile #1 flawless and unphased. 

“I’m sure,” she “agrees” frostily. Superboy remains apparently oblivious to the tension and grins brightly at both of them. 

“Cool!” he says. Oh, sweet summer child who has clearly never socialized with sharks, Tim thinks resignedly, petting Krypto again. Has Leech taught him literally nothing about conversational warfare, for fuck’s sake? At least living with your sleaze of a manager should be good for that, dammit! 

Then again, Leech is probably not actually competent enough to teach Superboy anything actually useful, so maybe that’s for the best. 

If nothing else, Superman could’ve taught him a bit of “bless your heart”, but apparently that’s not a thing either. 

Tim has a brief moment of dread that maybe underneath his personal list of performative expressions, Superboy might just be a straightforward and honest person, which is a concerning thought. He doesn’t even know how to talk to a straightforward and honest person at this point, after this long as Batman’s emotional support sidekick. How do you form a lasting relationship with someone who isn’t habitually using at least three layers of double-talk and constantly locked in on all your microexpressions, anyway? 

That’s going to be a weird experience, yeah. 

“Ready to go?” Superboy asks Tim, grinning brighter at him. Tim feels momentarily overwhelmed and just sort of . . . has to collect himself about that, a little. 

Or a lot. 

“Lead the way,” he says, smiling at him. He’s flustered enough to forget to use an appropriately-planned smile, which is embarrassing, but Superboy just grins even brighter–which should not be physically possible, but apparently is–and reaches out to scoop him up into his arms and into the air again as Krypto lets out an offended bark. It’s totally overkill and not even slightly necessary. 

Tim isn’t complaining, just–well–

It’s really flustering. 

“Air Superboy up, up, and away!” Superboy says cheerfully as they float up over the others’ heads. His face is way too close to Tim’s face. 

Tim is gonna need a bit longer to collect himself this time, he’s pretty sure. 

“Do I get an in-flight meal?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. Superboy laughs, which is even worse than his grin, and then takes off across the beachfront with him. It’s another bridal carry, which is quietly mortifying but could be worse, probably. Maybe. 

Somehow. 

Superboy flies them straight across the beach and then straight out over the water, skimming them along just above the waves. Tim makes a briefly startled noise, reflexively tightening his grip on the strap of his bag. 

“This isn’t waterproof,” he says just as reflexively, and Superboy laughs again. 

“I’m not gonna drop you, dude,” he says. Tim actually more assumed Superboy was intending to either dive-bomb them both into the water or just dump him in on purpose, because that seems like Superboy’s sense of humor, but maybe that was an unfair assumption. 

He really is not prepared for how it feels to be held in close against Superboy’s bare chest and arms like this, even if he’s still wearing a shirt himself. The idea of possibly doing that while they’re both wet seems a lot worse. 

Yeah. Definitely worse. 

Tim should’ve worn long sleeves. And maybe a wetsuit. And maybe a few layers on top of that. 

Jesus. 

“I’m gonna hold you to that,” he says, barely resisting the urge to loop his arms around Superboy’s neck as the other hangs a right and swoops them back around towards shore. Flying over the water like this is a pretty cool experience, admittedly, now that he’s not worried about Superboy dumping him in the water. 

Well. Less worried, anyway. 

Camera next time, Tim promises himself, glancing back over Superboy’s shoulder towards the shining horizon. The sun reflects off the waves bright and beautiful, and the sky is a smooth and perfect blue dotted with sparse but billowing clouds, and everything smells like salt and sea and leather, which is probably Superboy, even without the jacket on anymore. 

Definitely camera next time. 

“Definitely holding you to that, actually,” he says, and Superboy laughs again and brings them down in the surf just past the tideline with a splash. Neither the splash or the water goes high enough to soak Tim's bag, so he figures it could've been worse. 

Assuming Superboy isn't planning to toss him or anything before he can put his bag down somewhere safe, anyway. 

They both settle down into the surf and onto their feet, and Tim becomes very aware of how close together they’re standing and also how very, very shirtless Superboy is, and in fact the only thing between their soulmarks is the very thin layer of cotton of Tim’s own shirt, and if he leaned in just a little bit . . . 

Jesus, Tim thinks faintly, and forces himself to take a step back before he can make it weird. 

He smiles Generically Pleasant Civilian Smile #2 just to make sure he doesn’t look like a creep or anything, and Superboy grins excitedly at him. Tim allows himself all of two seconds to be overwhelmed by that gorgeous expression and their physical closeness and the reflection of the light in Superboy’s eyes, as bright and perfectly blue as both the sky and water, and then reasserts standard operating procedures and keeps Generically Pleasant Civilian Smile #2 locked in place on his face. 

“The water’s really warm,” he observes, glancing down at it. “Is that normal?” 

It’s probably not an impending supervillain thing, he tells himself. 

Maybe global warming or something, though. 

“I mean, feels normal to me?” Superboy says with a shrug. Tim considers mentioning the average ocean temperature, comparatively speaking, or at least the average temperature of the water off the docks in Gotham. Admittedly, Gotham waters barely count as “water”, legally speaking, but that’s not the point. 

“It’s pretty out here,” he says instead, and Superboy grins at him and leans in. He’s pretty sure it’s more an instinctive thing than a deliberate one, just from the way Superboy does it, but that doesn’t exactly make it less flattering. 

Or flustering. 

“I mean, it’s Hawaii, man!” Superboy says, grinning wider before kicking at the surf. “‘Course it’s gonna be pretty!” 

Actually you specifically are possibly the prettiest damn thing that I have ever seen, Tim thinks, but isn’t stupid enough to actually let out of his mouth. Superboy, unfortunately, continues to be all warm and grinning and lit up by island sun. Tim did not come prepared enough for this. 

“I don’t know, I’m pretty sure I’d be the guy who came to Hawaii and got a monsoon,” he says wryly, and Superboy laughs brightly. 

Tim really did not come prepared enough for this. Like, not at all. Not even slightly. 

“Guess you’d just have to come back, then,” Superboy says, grinning wider again and kicking at the surf again as he floats back up out of it. It’s–weird, a little, looking up at him like this. 

Well, not weird, just . . . yeah. 

Something like that. 

“Guess so,” Tim agrees, feeling embarrassingly flustered. Superboy’s friends can probably still see them from the porch, distant though it is, but part of him is still just considering very weird and dumb and insane ideas like maybe tugging Superboy back down to earth and into the surf and just . . . confirming the little sexuality crisis he’s been having since breaking into the other’s file and seeing their soulmark in it, maybe. 

Just, you know, ruling things out. Making deductions. Going through the process of elimination. 

Kissing him, maybe. 

He could very, very much kiss Superboy right now. They’re on a gorgeous beach in the surf and under the sun and Superboy is floating in front of him and grinning as happy and excited as could be and Tim’s stomach is fluttering in a stupid and also-embarrassing way, and . . . 

He could kiss him. That’s all. 

“I mean, it’s a nice place to visit, right?” Superboy says casually, linking his hands together behind his back. 

“The tourism industry seems to think so,” Tim says, wry again, and wonders what the “normal civilian who didn’t come here specifically looking for his soulmate to kidnap/salvage him to begin with” thing to say is here. He has absolutely no idea, because he actually has absolutely no idea how normal civilians react to superheroes. Robin is . . . not exactly an urban myth, necessarily, but definitely not a publicly-recognized superhero. He’s a vigilante that’s just barely allowed to operate outside the law, and not one with any kind of publicity or celebrity involved. 

Superboy, on the other hand, is not only a superhero, but a professional superhero. He’s selling his likeness and doing events and has signed a stupid predatory contract with a sleaze of a manager that technically shouldn’t even be legal, given Superboy isn’t even considered a legal person by the government. Apparently no one has ever realized that, though, or at least no one’s ever let Superboy realize that. 

Tim really doesn’t love that that’s a thing, to put it mildly. 

Actually, he just fucking hates it. 

Superboy laughs, and looks very, very pretty doing it. Tim continues to wonder what a normal civilian would do here, and for lack of a better idea falls back on small talk. 

God, his best plan right now is small talk. What is his life, even? 

No wonder he’s gonna have to take six months to kidnap Superboy, ugh. 

“So, uh–this seems like a weird question to be bringing up this late in the conversation, but what’s your name?” he asks, because it’s occurred to him that he actually has no idea what Superboy goes by when he’s off-duty. He knows he doesn’t have a secret identity, obviously, but there’s no way his friends just call him “Superboy”. Well–maybe his slimy asshole manager does, but otherwise. “I mean, if that’s okay to ask. Marks or not, I understand if you don’t feel like we’re there yet, given the whole superhero thing and all.” 

Robin knows Superboy doesn’t have a secret identity, after all, but Tim Drake is a normal civilian and shouldn’t act like he knows too much about any superhero in general, so–

“Naw, it’s fine, I don’t even have one,” Superboy says, for some reason just beaming at him, which is . . . weird, Tim thinks, but nowhere near as weird as that answer is. 

“You don’t . . . have one?” he repeats slowly, and Superboy shrugs easily. “Like–not at all?” 

“Yeah, everybody pretty much just calls me 'Kid' or 'SB', when it's not Superboy,” Superboy confirms. “Oh, and Knockout calls me 'Pup' when she's around but like, that's really just a 'her' thing and she’s low-key a supervillain, so yeah. So, you know, you can call me whatever.” 

Tim stares blankly at him for a long, long moment, speed-runs all five stages of grief, and also discovers a couple of new and unexpected ones. 

Alright. Well, he officially regrets literally nothing about this impending kidnapping. 

“Oh, okay,” he says. “Um–sorry, I guess I just assumed you’d have a more . . . civilian-ish name too, I guess?” 

“I’m a clone, man,” Superboy says, looking like he thinks Tim’s said something funny. “The only other name I’ve got is ‘Experiment Thirteen’, which is definitely not something I answer to.” 

Tim discovers a few more stages of grief that hit with all the subtlety of a spiked baseball bat and makes himself nod as much like a normal person as he can. 

“Yeah, I don’t think I’d go for that one if I were you either,” he says. “Kind of a mouthful, if nothing else.” 

Superboy laughs, then grins at him again. He is actually doing so, so much of that, Tim’s realizing. Tim was really not prepared for how much of that he’s been doing, in fact. He just did not come prepared for any of that at all. He’s got some nebulous kidnapping plans, but everything else here–from the supervillain attack to Superboy’s ripped suit and exposed soulmark–has been a crime of opportunity. 

He probably should’ve done more research. Actually, he definitely should’ve done more research. He kind of just panicked and bought a ticket and flew right over, and just because Dick didn’t stop him doesn’t mean it was a good idea. He just–he should’ve done more research. Planned more. Not shown up without something concrete. 

Admittedly Superboy doesn’t hate him yet or anything, but this was just . . . yeah, this was not his brightest idea at all. Not even slightly. 

Why didn’t he do more research? 

“You really can just call me whatever you wanna, don’t worry about it,” Superboy says with another one of those too-easy shrugs as he settles back down into the surf, which, unfortunately, puts him back into kissing range and is therefore incredibly distracting. 

Dammit, Tim thinks, trying to beat his stupid teenage hormones into order. Why is he even a teenager at all? It’s so inconvenient. He really needs to live to twenty just so he can stop being one, because god forbid he die at fifteen too and end up, like, a teenage ghost or something. He would just not be okay with that. He feels even worse for Jason thinking about that, actually. 

“Whatever I want?” he repeats, because he’s an idiot with no control over his hormones whatsoever. 

He really needs to make it to twenty. 

“Well, except for Experiment Thirteen. That one sucks,” Superboy says with another grin. Tim politely pretends not to notice the slight tightening of the corners of the other’s mouth as he says it. 

“Uh, okay,” he says, clearing his throat. He guesses Superboy doesn’t really care what his name is, then, but being told to just call him whatever he wants to is . . . well, a weird feeling, maybe. “What do you do when you just want to be a civilian for a while, though?” 

“I don’t,” Superboy says. 

“. . . don’t . . . what?” Tim asks slowly, not sure if he should be dreading the answer or not, but–

“Be a civilian,” Superboy says. 

Tim’s running out of new stages of grief, he’s pretty sure. 

“Ah,” he says. 

Superboy–for a second, Tim thinks he looks self-conscious, but then he’s grinning again before he can be sure, and . . . 

“Why would I, man?” Superboy says, puffing up proudly. “I’m Superboy! Nothing else I’d rather be.” 

Given how limited Superboy’s options for anything “else” he could be probably are . . . well, Tim’s not sure what to think of that statement. He doesn’t think it’s anything good, whatever it is. 

Yeah, he thinks as he looks at Superboy’s too-bright grin and thinks about how he just said "nothing" and not "no one". Definitely not anything good. Whether that was intentional or just an unknowing slip . . . well, who wouldn’t pick being “Superboy” over being “Experiment Thirteen”? 

And what else would Superboy even know how to pick, if he thought those were his only options? 

“Doesn’t that get . . . tiring?” Tim asks carefully. “Being Superboy all the time?” 

Superboy blinks. Tilts his head. 

And so, so obviously doesn’t understand the question. 

Dammit, Tim thinks. 

“Naw, man,” Superboy says confidently, grinning at him. “It’s great!” 

Tim genuinely cannot imagine how it could even be mediocre. They’re very different people, obviously, but–always? Always being the hero persona? Only being the hero persona? 

Not even being able to call it a persona, because it was all you ever were or had been? 

Even normal celebrities dress down sometimes or try to sneak around under the radar. A celebrity superhero . . . how does Superboy even do anything? Ever? It’s not like he lives in a gated community or a wealthy area or around any other famous people or superheroes; he’s an anomaly in both Hawaii in general and in his neighborhood specifically, as far as Tim can tell. Well–as much as he’s in a “neighborhood”, anyway. There seems to be a decent amount of space between houses, which makes Tim wonder exactly how expensive this house was, especially since it’s basically right on the beach, but also it’s not in particularly good condition and– 

God, he really wants a look at the setup of Superboy’s licensing deals, actually. And his bank balances and investments and just anything like that. And specifically, Rex Leech’s finances in relation to those deals and balances and investments. 

Seriously, fuck that guy. Tim wouldn’t trust Rex Leech with his spare change, much less literally everything about the entire livelihood of a teen idol with limited legal personhood. 

“Oh, cool,” he says with a very careful reissue of Civilian Smile #7, trying to sound like he isn’t actively fantasizing about faxing all of Rex Leech’s tax returns for the last entirety-of-Superboy’s-existence to the IRS with some very pointed notes in red pen. 

Very pointed. 

Superboy grins at him again. Tim thinks he’s going to have to start just inventing new stages of grief, at this point. The current ones aren’t going to cover this situation. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it, I just thought it might be a little harder to hang out together if you’re really never doing the civilian look,” he tries, and Superboy–stills, suddenly, and the grin vanishes all at once. Tim has a moment to be split between having an anxiety attack about having said the wrong thing or having an anxiety attack about the supervillain attack that’s about to land on his head when he still doesn’t have a mask, and then–

“You–what?” Superboy asks, looking startled. “I mean, uh–like–you wouldn’t get bored doin’ that?” 

“. . . hanging out with you?” Tim asks blankly. They’re soulmates. And also Superboy is quite possibly the literally least boring person he has ever met, douchey shades or not, and the list of “least boring” people in his life includes Bruce and Dick and more superheroes than he could shake his bo stick at. How is someone getting bored around him even a concern that would occur to Superboy? Like, literally ever? 

“No, I mean–” Superboy turns red, looking briefly embarrassed. “You wouldn’t have more fun hangin’ out with Superboy than just, uh–some guy?” 

It takes all of Tim’s Bat-training and gala-experience to not stare at him over that. That–what kind of question is that? 

“I mean, I’m just some guy,” he lies. “But I just meant it’d be way easier to hang out if we weren’t having to deal with people bugging you for selfies or autographs or whatever all the time, you know?” 

“I–uh, I guess,” Superboy says, still looking flustered. “Like–probably, I guess.” 

“Also I don’t want, like, a Gotham rogue randomly deciding you being in town is a good reason to start some shit,” Tim says wryly, because he definitely does not want that, in fact. “Feel like Batman wouldn’t like that very much.” 

“You believe in Batman, dude?” Superboy asks, raising an eyebrow at him. 

“You’re a half-alien clone and you think Batman’s hard to believe in?” Tim attempts to deflect with, because that was definitely a fuck-up on his part, and Superboy just laughs. 

“No, man, I just have literally never met a Gothamite who’d admit to believing Batman was a real dude,” he says. “I literally met Robin like a week ago and, like, pretty sure he was low-key trying to convince me he didn’t believe Batman existed.” 

It was not even a week, Tim thinks, mildly indignant for no good reason, then puts Dubious Civilian Expression #1 on his face and rolls his eyes. 

“Okay, Batman’s one thing, but no one actually thinks Robin’s real,” he snorts, and Superboy laughs again, sounding straight-up delighted about it. 

“No, he totally is!” he protests, grinning at him again too and linking his hands together behind his back as he leans towards him, which is incredibly, incredibly distracting for him. “Dude’s got the sick flips and everything and I totally saved his ass from Metallo. And, uh, then he totally saved my ass from Poison Ivy. Long story. Also he’s got a stick up his ass, like legit you would think that was where he kept that quarterstaff thing of his.” 

This is a dangerous topic, Tim recognizes while forcing down the instinct to reply it’s a bo staff, actually, they’re pretty different, and tries to figure out how to change the subject as quickly and thoroughly as possible. Robin talk is not a good idea right now, when there’s a risk of Superboy possibly noticing something about him, what with meeting Robin a reasonably fresh experience in his mind. 

Not that fresh, apparently, since he thinks it was “like a week” ago. But whatever. Not the point. Tim’s just annoyed by the inaccurate intel. 

. . . seriously. A week? 

“Batman or not, you apparently already have beef with Poison Ivy, so definitely I’d be worried about you being publicly in town without needing to pack a super-powered weed-whacker,” he says wryly instead of anything more damning or secret-identity-blowing. Superboy looks–weird, for a moment, leaning back a little bit to straighten back up. 

“You’d, like–actually be cool with me visiting you in Gotham? Like–that wouldn’t be annoying or whatever?” he asks, sounding just barely uncertain about it, and Tim again has to force himself not to stare at him. First: Superboy being any kind of uncertain whatsoever is the weirdest thing he’s ever seen, and second: they’re soulmates. People will spend a lot more time with their soulmates than occasionally visiting each other in different cities, especially five minutes after meeting them when they’re still trying to figure out who and what they are to each other. Again: Tim has investigated multiple missing persons cases that turned out to be “I found my soulmate” cases! Multiple! In Gotham, even! 

“Yes,” he says instead of any of that. “I would actually really like you to, in fact.” 

“Oh,” Superboy says, and turns red again. “I–uh–yeah, I guess that’d be cheaper than you needing to buy a plane ticket or run up your phone bill if you ever feel like shooting the shit or whatever, huh?” 

“I have unlimited minutes, actually,” Tim says, forcing down another stare. The staring would not help, at this moment. Or like–ever, probably. “And the plane ticket was only like a week’s allowance, plus my dad’s got a disgusting amount of frequent flyer miles saved up he never remembers to use anyway. I’ll buy you a plane ticket if you don’t feel like flying yourself.” 

“. . . uh,” Superboy says. Tim should stop talking, probably, but– 

“Also you’re my soulmate,” he says. “I could get, I dunno, an after-school job if I actually needed to cover anything like that. I just figured we could take turns flying over or something. I mean, if you decided to go to college in Gotham in a couple years or something I wouldn’t complain, obviously, just we’ve just met and that seems like a bit much to suggest first thing. Especially, uh, since you don’t actually have any transcripts, apparently. Um. Just, well, if you ever did want to be a civilian sometimes . . . like, eventually, I mean? Well, Gotham would probably be a good place to hide a Super, right? Nobody’d expect to see you there, and it’s not like you can’t commute.” 

Superboy is staring at him now. Tim thinks maybe he said something wrong after all. Or maybe the lycra rando is about to jump him from behind. 

Fifty-fifty, given the way his life tends to go. 

“Um,” he says. “Like–no pressure or anything. I could also look into colleges out here, do you know if there’s any good programming–uh, programs around? Like just tech in general.” 

Superboy is still staring at him. 

. . . okay, at this point, it’s probably that Tim said something wrong, yeah. 

God, he’s usually so much better at subtle social manipulations. Is this the panicking thing again? Is he panicking again? 

Apparently, yeah. 

“Um,” Tim says again. Superboy jolts like he’s just gotten shocked by static electricity or something and turns blazingly red. 

That is definitely not a color achievable by human circulatory systems, yeah. 

“Uh!” Superboy says, looking incredibly awkward for a second and then clearly forcing a casual, cocky pose as he raises an eyebrow at him with a smirk. It might come across as more convincingly casual if he weren’t still blushing, but Tim isn’t going to judge; blushing is generally an involuntary response. “I dunno, man, I don’t ask the college babes what their classes are like, you know? Not really my priority in the conversation.” 

. . . Tim might judge a little. Just, like–in passing. 

He really needs to figure out if they’re platonic or not. Just–very much so does he need to figure that out. 

“Well, if you get the chance next time, maybe you could just see what they think about the curriculum,” he suggests, because maybe they are platonic, and Superboy–hesitates, for a second, and then Tim’s not sure if he said something stupid or not, and then Superboy just grins at him again, crooked and easy, and it sort of fries Tim’s brain a little. 

Okay, so like . . . uh. Another mark against platonic, Tim guesses while he’s trying to remember how his slightly-fried brain even works. At least another mark against platonic on his end, anyway. Superboy talking about “college babes” is kind of a mark for platonic, admittedly. 

Unfortunately, Tim is still the guy whose first reaction to finding out Superboy was his soulmate was “wait, am I gay?”, so . . . yeah. 

So like, that’s a few things he’s gonna have to process at some point this week, he guesses. 

He can probably fit it in Thursday, he tells himself. 

“I mean, if you want me to chat up some campus coeds for ya, I guess I can be a soul-bro like that,” Superboy says, grinning wider. His grin is unfortunately gorgeous, and the statement is unfortunately heterosexual. Or at least very strongly platonic-soulmate-leaning, anyway. 

And Tim, to his awkward embarrassment, thinks he might actually be disappointed by that. 

. . . maybe he’ll fit in his processing on Sunday, he amends. Sunday he has a little more spare time to work with, and there’s just . . . going to be a lot of it, definitely. 

Just a lot. 

[laughingcatwrites]

I'm linking the article because this is a really good case study for media literacy. Spoiler: this article contains a secret second topic that is not mentioned anywhere in the title or the first half! I'll break the article down below the cut and give some of my own interpretations.

Please DO NOT TL;DR this. A lot of this breakdown is about how news organizations can and do misrepresent situations by relying on people TL;DRing partway through an article.

The title: Click bait, designed to trigger an emotional response. Many people take this as a true description of the article and don't open it to read.

The opening paragraphs: Hyperbolic descriptions like "eager to welcome Musk" that don't specify who the descriptions are about. The start of a quote that is cut so that it evokes a feeling of Musk being viewed as an equal leader in some kind of negotiation. ("Be in a dialogue with ...")

This is the point at which most people who have gotten past the title think they understand the gist of the article and stop reading.

The meat: One paragraph later, the quote finishes to show that the speaker wants to educate Musk on the values of the Democratic party. Suddenly it's not a meeting of equal minds, but a teacher and student situation with Musk as the student. (The person doesn't state it directly, but the list of values given heavily implies that the talk is to point out what poor business practice it would be for his companies if he keeps supporting Republicans).

Then there are a bunch of quotes over the next few paragraphs about how much damage Musk has done, how many Democrats want nothing to do with him and some might want to engage with him just enough to keep him from funding the Republican party, how unlikely it is that he actually had a change of heart, and how the party shouldn't start focusing on him.

People who have gotten past the opening paragraphs would probably stop here because the article seems to have concluded the headline topic.

And now for something completely different: Surprise! There's an entire additional half of the article. And it's not about the Democrats at all, it's about the aftermath of DOGE taking over the US Institute of Peace and how they absolutely trashed the building before turning it back over. And, interestingly enough, the article mentions that DOGE left marijuana scattered everywhere and smoked it in the building, but doesn't pick up on the point that as federal employees, DOGE members are subject to federal law and their use of marijuana is illegal.

So, what did that breakdown show?

1. Not just the title, but the first few paragraphs are misleading, designed to elicit an emotional response, and designed to look as though they're summarizing the entire article. Think about why news organizations might choose to do this, who benefits, and who is harmed due to the misunderstanding. I think the phrase "divide and conquer" is very apt here, as you can see from the initial responses to the headline.

2. Quotes can be cut so that they imply different things. Think about how important wording is. In the actual article, the cut-off quote used in the opening paragraphs is "be in a dialogue with." What does that phrase evoke to you? To me it evokes CEOs of rival businesses or leaders of different countries meeting to discuss something as equals. Does it still feel like that once you read the rest of the quote in the next paragraph?

3. The actual topic of the article might have nothing to do with the title or initial topic. Think about who might want to bury big news like an entire building being trashed. Which people benefit from this not becoming a large news story? How does the lack of title or introductory paragraphs introducing the topic affect who will find and read it? I personally find it very interesting that the harm caused by DOGE employees, as well as their inappropriate behavior and illegal actions are buried so deep in the article that you would have no idea it had been reported on without reading it through. Politico can truthfully claim they reported in it, but how many people will actually learn about it?

If you made it through this, congratulations! I highly recommend you read the entire article because it really is a masterful example of how an article can be twisted to misrepresent and hide the actual information within it.

The democratic party would rather try and whitewash the nazi billionaire who mainstreamed nazi talking points buying twitter than literally do anything that their progressive anti genocide base wants.

[artist-issues]

I just rewatched all the Lilo & Stitch movies today and have a new appreciation of Jumba ngl. Especially after Stitch Has A Glitch(best Disney sequel ever. Easy).

If possible could you do an analysis on Animated Jumba? I was looking for a good analysis on him in the animation but Youtube is full of Lilo and Stitch 2025 reviews rn.

I just Like Him a lot

Of course I will! I love Jumba too! (An Uncle to one and all of us)

Okay so basically the main point of the original movie is “Family love chooses you and transforms you, whether you make it easy or not.” Right? I mean, it says “Ohana means family, family means, etc.” but that is just the simple charming one-liner. If you dissect that phrase, based on what happens in the movie, it’s “Family love chooses you and then transforms you, whether you make it easy or not.”

And Jumba is a really good opposite of that theme when we first meet him. Not even Stitch is the exact opposite of the theme like Jumba is, because Stitch is learning where he fits in the world. When we meet Jumba, he thinks he’s already figured that out. Think about it:

When you meet him, he’s on trial for a crime he did commit—and he’s actually working for the same government that’s accusing him (Galaxy Defense Industries.) So it should tell you something that even though he works for a Galaxy that’s United (under a federation) he’s not unified with them. He’s out here making monsters to tear them down. Jumba thinks he has no place in the Galaxy. And for a guy who works for Galaxy Defense Industries, he’s certainly not interested in defending it.

…you know what he is interested in defending? Himself. He’s lying to save his skin at first, but then when they reveal the evidence, he gets overwhelmed with passion about describing Stitch’s abilities and function.

That’s still Jumba defending himself. As long as Stitch is associated with him, (that’s important, remember that for later) he’ll defend his idea, which Stitch represents. He’ll describe his powers, chuckle with glee when he breaks stuff, laugh at the fact that he designed Stitch to be unstoppable and it’s working. Because that’s the only thing Jumba really cares about: himself, and how he thinks he fits in the universe, which is: “I’m a genius, I don’t fit, so I might as well own it.”

He wants to be called “evil genius.” Emphasis on the genius.

Not that we don’t see that much evil, at first. He did create Stitch. He’s definitely insensitive. He’s throwing Pleakley around and insulting him and aiming guns carelessly at children. And he is there to capture Stitch, his own creation, just to save his own skin. But! That’s the thing. Is he in a big rush to do it?

No. Obviously he can’t do much, that’s the point of Lilo being Stitch’s human shield. But even right before that, when he has a shot, he doesn’t immediately take it. Because he’s fascinated with his own creation.

And then for the rest of the chase, he’s just hanging out, enjoying Hawaii, watching his creation. This is Jumba’s idea of a good time—he’s not in a rush to catch Stitch as long as he can watch his creation doing what he made it to do.

In fact, the only moments we see Jumba get mad at Stitch are moments when Stitch mocks him. Because remember, Jumba’s always defending himself.

Even that whole rampage scene, where Jumba’s determined to start doing things his own way and he still wants to take Stitch apart, is so interesting! Because 1) he wants to take Stitch apart only after Stitch has insulted his creator and thrown him across the ocean. And 2) Jumba is excited about being fired, because it means he can do things his own way. And remember, he thinks he’s an evil genius, and the most recent offender in treating him like he’s not a genius is his own creation. So he’s going to get payback.

That’s why he says to Stitch in the woods, “You don’t have (a family.)” And then he lingers on, “I made you.”

Do you see what I’m saying?

For the whole movie Jumba is fine with Stitch as long as Stitch represents him: an unstoppable variable who doesn’t belong in the rest of the universe.

But as soon as Stitch starts insulting him and making his life harder, Jumba turns on Stitch. He wants vengeance. He chooses to get active when he notices that Stitch has developed beyond what Jumba programmed him for: going into the water that could destroy him, and for what? Not to destroy anything, like Jumba intended. But because Stitch is searching for belonging? That’s not fascinating in the way Jumba likes Stitch to be fascinating. It’s not devious. So it’s like in that moment Jumba remembers why he’s there: to catch this little monster that’s mocked him and landed him in prison.

And when he does catch Stitch, he’s beating him up. Because Jumba’s been insulted. And that’s all he cares about: defense of Jumba, Jumba the Genius Who Doesn’t Belong.

But then…he sees Stitch cares about the Earthling family. Even though he knows that Stitch knows that he “can never belong.” He sees Stitch, in one scene, stop being the monster he created, and turn around and ask Jumba to help him save a family that isn’t his.

DO YOU GET IT

Jumba thought this whole time that he was alone in the infinite universe, a genius, and so he owned it. Nobody’s ever going to make a place for him to belong, nobody’s on his level, so he’s going to make whatever he wants to burn it all down. Stitch was just an extension of himself, in his mind.

And then it’s Stitch (an extension of himself) who transforms, so that he can fit into a place of belonging. Instead of being the creature Jumba created him to be, a creature that can NEVER BELONG, Stitch is transformed and teaches Jumba to belong.

In like one funny, quirky scene. And from that scene you can tell that Jumba always would have belonged somewhere, if he thought it were possible. He doesn’t hurt Lilo even when he could’ve, for example, and he does turn around and decide to become a hero really quickly. But the point is, before Lilo’s love transformed the monster Jumba made, Jumba didn’t think it was possible to belong.

He was defending himself. He was even willing to take everything out on the creature he created as SOON as that creature made his life harder. But that’s the thing: Nani doesn’t leave Lilo even though she makes his life harder. Lilo doesn’t leave Stitch even though he makes her life harder. And Jumba is witness to the result of that: Stitch won’t abandon Lilo, even though rescuing her and asking for help to do it technically makes Stitch’s life harder.

Jumba goes from selfish to selfless because he sees Stitch do it, and he knows on like a molecular level that that shouldn’t be possible. But if his monster can be changed by a love that powerful, Jumba learns that he can be, too.

And he like. Jumps at the chance.

That’s what makes him so great. He goes from “I’m special and I’m going to be me, and if anyone has a problem with it or makes my life harder I’ll drop them” to “Love isn’t about me” in like two minutes. It’s amazing.

[bbina]

it was pouring by the time you stepped foot out of zhong inc.

"shit" you curse under your breath, holding your bag above your head as you take a good look between the distance of where you were standing at and the bus stop

thank fucking god that the company's location was just right by a bus stop so you wouldn't have to worry about getting even more drenched

taking a deep breath and mentally preparing yourself, you bolted towards the bus stop with your bag above your head. the same bag that had your work laptop, a bunch of printed decks and a lot more important papers stuffed inside

you let out a big sigh when you reached the bus stop. your clothes were slowly starting to stick with how drenched you were. your hair sticking to your forehead like a wet dog

this is so humiliating almost but this was on you for forgetting an umbrella. in retrospect, you didn't expect to stay this late nor did you expect that it'd rain

but of course chenle had other plans. a surprise team meeting just a little after your call with just do it co. talking about how he wanted to speed the process up a little because production may take a while

you check the time on your watch that reads it was now 11:43 PM

great, you think to youself, only a few more minutes til the last bus arrives

or so you thought.

a loud crackle erupts from the sky, causing you to jump. followed by heavy platters of rain

"you've got to be fucking kidding me" you cursed outloud, closing your eyes in pure disbelief that only shit like this could happen to you. you being borderline stranded at a bus stop near your office

great. just fucking great.

it was already a long day to begin with, juggling two companies to make sure everything is going well even if the partnership just started. you had to relay messages from your end to another company and hope that they get it right the second time because god forbid your boss would scrap everything the last minute just because he didn't feel the new visuals

suddenly a sleek black car pulls up to the bus stop

the windows slowly roll down and lo and behold, your boss, the same man you don't really want to see before the day ends, in all his glory.

chenle

warm and dry in his car while you were still at the bus stop, wet and cold waiting for a damn bus to come pick you up

"get in" he says over the rain, loud enough for you to hear

you blink. once, twice before shaking your head no

"no thank you. i'm taking the bus"

chenle cocks his head to the side, raising an eyebrow. he looks around the empty road then back at you like you just grew a second head

"what bus?"

you purse your lips. gesturing at the bus schedule behind you

"it'll be here soon"

chenle gives you a look that screams 'are you serious right now'

"it's raining. the next bus will probably be here by tomorrow" he points out, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel

"so?"

"so you're just going to wait there?"

"for the last bus to arrive? yes"

"seriously?" chenle deadpans, "just get in" he reaches over to open the passenger door himself

your eyes widened, shaking your head again

"seriously. it's just rain. i can handle myself" you muttered, looking away from chenle hoping and praying that a miracle drives by and a bus actually shows up

"and i'm making sure that my assistant doesn't get sick right off the start of a really important partnership that we just signed. get in the car and i'm not gonna ask twice" chenle says sternly, getting impatient

why were you being so difficult for

"you're carrying the lifeline of this partnership and if that thing gets wet, we have to redo the entire thing and i'm not trying to waste more time" he continues, rubbing his temples. what was so hard about getting in his car anyway under the pouring rain?

"are you seriously threatening me right now over pitch materials?!" you grumbled

"yes i am. don't make me call kun right now since you're being more difficult than hyuck" chenle holds out a menacing finger like that will scare you (kun does scare you a little)

another lightning crackled causing you to jump again. you internally curse yourself for your reaction because now you don't even have a reason to refuse chenle's ride

chenle watches you intently. the way you were starting to shiver and the fact you just jumped off your own skin when the lightning struck. there was no way you were going to say no to his offer now

with a sharp exhale. you surrender

"fine." you murmur, grabbing the straps of your bag tighter around your shoulder as you make your way towards the passenger side of chenle's car and slid in, closing the door behind you immediately

you instantly felt the warmth of the heated leather seats—

"ah shit. your seats—"

"it's fine" chenle cuts you off, shifting the car to drive, "took you long enough to accept my offer"

you fought the urge to roll your eyes. you were in his territory, his car, his space and the fact that he was practically doing you a huge favor

"because i initially didn’t want to" you say, "and i don't want to be indebted to you" you mumbled the last part but chenle catches it and doesn't say anything

after that it was just silent. only the sound of rain pounding against the car as chenle drives onto the highways of seoul

"where do you live?" chenle asks, breaking the silence between the two of you

you wiped your nose with your wet sleeve, not even looking at him when you answer

"you can just drop me off at a convenience store. there's a cu on the way so you can just drop me there. its near"

a moment of silence passes by and you're afraid to look over because this is the same kind of silence he emits when some intern just said the most obvious thing in the world

"are you actually serious right now?" chenle exasperates, now pinching the bridge of his nose

"what? it's near.." you say, attempting to get away from the conversation

"just tell me the address, y/n" chenle huffs, voice going into ceo mode. the voice he uses against people knowing they can't say no to him

with a sigh, you begrudgingly tell him the address

"thank you. now that wasn't hard, was it?" he says sarcastically, inputting your address to the car GPS. when the GPS loads and calculates the time and distance, chenle's eyes go wide

"you live 30 minutes away from the company?" chenle says more of a shocked statement than a question

you feel yourself shrink to the leather seats. it wasn't that far. besides you were used to it and the bus rides are somewhat therapeutic for you after a long day of work or more like dealing with the devil himself, your boss, chenle

"i'm used to it. plus its therapeutic" you shrug, stealing a glance at chenle who kept his eyes on the road

but you two ultimately share eye contact

"therapeutic how? that sounds more tiring than assisting me at work"

"exactly. it's peaceful because i know you aren't on my ass for 30 minutes" you snap back, narrowing your eyes at the boss

chenle snorts, "that's definitely one way to put it"

you grumbled, turning away to look at the window. hoping that this ride end faster

BUSINESS PROPOSAL ᝰ.ᐟ . . . GET IN

✎ . . . things aren't going as planned the way you thought it was going to be. especially the part where you find yourself falling in love with your own boss– which was definitely not part of the agreed proposal.

[ PREV / NEXT ]

✎ AUTHORS NOTE . . . FINALLY. we're finally MOVING

✎ TAGLIST . . . @mrkleelvr @jenodigital @https-dandelion @rik0shii @spacejip @yyangj3lly @multifandomania @taroddori @222brainrot @amouriu @defzcl @va1entinaa @carelessshootanonymous @onlywonb @flaminghotyourmom @do-you-remember-summer-127 @grimlinshere @yayayaiheardyouthefirsttime @hoeingthefuckup @meltinghershey @alwayswook @dutifullyannoyingstrawberrie @dudekiss3r @sibwol @planetmarlowe @morklee02 @httpsxnox @firydst @yuyita-rosier @ayukas @cottonjaems @monomya @neocults26 @greenyweirdo @cinneorolls

[hanginginthevoid]

Blessing in Disguise

pairing: bob reynolds x reader

a/n: Technically pt.2 to ‘Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back,’ but i think it can be read as a standalone piece! reader is mentioned to be right-handed - not allat important but still. i hope it lives up to everyone’s standards!!

summary: things have been great. bob’s been learning to control his powers, you’ve been able to stay above the rough waters that are college. you didn’t think that him being an avenger would be a problem, he’s barely seen on missions and rarely mingles at galas. unfortunately you were wrong.

warnings: ooc bob + void, knife mentioned, reader almost gets her finger cut off, kidnapping, negligent friends?, lmk if i missed anything

wc: 3.5k

—

Since deciding to give Bob a chance, your life has been less mundane. Not because your activities or lifestyle has particularly changed, but because there's someone constantly by your side.

Bob’s always sharing stories about the team, something Walker said or did, the way Alexi still doesn’t understand social cues, the one time Bucky had to leave a televised congress meeting to go on a mission and the conversation that followed on the jet, how Ava still phases through walls because ‘it’s much more convenient’ even though everyone’s asked her not to. 

It brings a sense of excitement to your life, even though you’re not the one experiencing it. When you do actually get to meet the team it’s odd. You know so much about them, yet you’ve never heard their voices not through a screen. 

It feels a little like you’re getting interrogated. You don’t blame them for it though, with their upbringings and every experience that’s brought them to this point it makes sense. After they’ve concluded that you aren’t a sleeper agent placed to ruin them, you’re welcomed like a long lost friend.

Regardless, you don’t drop by the tower often after that. Every once in a while you would pick something up from Bob, or hang out for a few hours if he wanted company. Most of the time everyone would just go to your apartment. That drew less suspicion to you, and it let them feel free of Valentina’s clutches.

Oftentimes you’d come home from school or work and someone would be sprawled out on your couch. Or banging pots and pans in your kitchen. You’ve even caught Yelena filling up your tub for a bubble bath - twice!

So when you come home to your apartment and hear some chatter and obvious movement, it doesn’t raise suspicion. A little bit odd that more than one of them would come at the same time, but maybe someone was just getting ready to leave when another was heading in and they got to chitchatting. 

Not like they didn’t have all day to do that. Y’know. Because they live together. But you digress.

“Hey! You guys planning on staying for dinner?” You’re placing your keys and grocery bags on the counter, trying to peek around the corner so you can get a feel for how many extra portions you’d need.

You get silence as an answer. It means that they heard you, otherwise the chatter would have continued. Why wouldn’t they respond then?

You’ll give them a few minutes. They wouldn’t act this way without good reason. To fill your time you start putting the necessary foods away, keeping the ones you were going to use on the counter.

A huff leaves your lips. They can’t barge into your house, expect you to cook for them, to entertain them, and not speak to you. You’re a woman on a mission, marching out of your kitchen with your jaw set in mock seriousness.

Then you’re catching the butt of a gun to your temple, and crumpling into the man on your left. You can barely see him, vision starting to fill with black dots.

Who was he?

When did he get in here?

Who hit you?

What’s happening?

Then you’ve faded completely. Full ragdoll on the man, a bit of blood running down your face before it can soak into your hair or the man’s shirt.

—

It’s been a busy week for Bob. He’s been training with every member on the team. Each of them have something different to teach him and his want to be useful leaves him like a sponge in the ocean. 

If he’s not training, he’s in therapy. He’s hoping, believing, that if he gets himself sorted out then he’ll be able to go out and be the Sentry. It’s been pretty helpful for normal things too though, aiding him in not feeling like everyone is going to up and abandon him one day. Really giving him a sense of purpose, you’ve been doing that too though.

If he’s not doing either of those things, he’s working on his cooking skills. The two of you had gone on a date last month where you learned to make pasta from scratch. You were overjoyed, even if it looked and tasted a little wonky. He wanted to see what you’d look like when he made it perfectly, like a real chef.

The team wasn’t too upset. Maybe too much pasta for their liking, but Bob changed the sauce and protein every time so it didn’t get exhausting to eat.

Now that he has some time to think about it, he hasn’t seen you at all this week.

He wasn’t too worried though. You had exams coming up, you had reminded him of it last week. When you had exams you tended to shrink into your own personal bubble, not wanting a distraction to prevent you from getting the best grade possible. Maybe he’d stop by and bring you a dessert, something to reward you for all your hard work.

“Where are you going Bob?” Yelena asks, not even looking over the back of the couch she’s lounging on.

“To visit Y/n.” He’s facing her even though she’s not looking at him. Something’s been up with the team this week and he can’t seem to get it out of anyone, “I’m gonna stop at the bakery by her place, get her a slice of the cake that she likes.”

“Oh - That’s sweet.” Bob’s nodding along, Yelena turns before she finishes, “But no can do.”

“No… can do?” 

“Yes. Right. No can do.”

“Why not?” You’re his girlfriend, there’s no reason that he shouldn’t be able to go see you when he wants. You haven’t even explicitly said you didn’t want to see him. Unless you told Yelena to keep him away?

“I just do not think it would be good to distract her from her studies.” Yelena’s jutting her lips out a little as she nods along to herself, like it’s the best thing she’s ever said.

“I won’t be there long. She shouldn’t be studying this late anyway.” Then Bob’s pressing the down button for the elevator.

Yelena can’t stop him without raising uncertainty in Bob, she’s backed into a corner. Either let him go and let him see the empty apartment where you should be. Or tell him that when Ava went by earlier this week she was greeted with an empty apartment, spoiled food on the counter, and a note left behind demanding that some criminal be released from prison.

Either way the risk of the void being unleashed was imminent, the only difference was the location; unleashed to the public or unleashed in the tower. Neither choice was good, the team still incapable of fully subduing the void in a normal sense. But they were the Avengers, they needed to take these hits.

So Yelena stops him. Drags him to the dining table and tells him to stay. Then she’s rounding up the rest of the team so they can all break the news to him together.

Since she stopped him, it’s her responsibility to break the ice, “Y/n went missing a few days ago.” 

“I-I don’t understand.” A skeptical look overtakes Bob’s eyes, “What do you mean went missing?”

“I went by to watch that Mormon wives show with her a few days ago and she was gone.”

“So she was out. Running errands like a normal person.” Bob moves to get up. This is ridiculous, no need to stress him out.

“No. There were groceries left out on the counter. And - and a note. Saying they took her to make a deal.”

Bob’s eying everyone up. Trying to figure out if this is some sort of prank and if anyone will slip and say that they were just testing him, trying to make sure he could control himself. 

When Walker, of all people, gives him a look of sympathy he knows its not a joke.

“So did you do it?” 

“Do what?”

“The deal. Did you make the deal or not.”

“Not yet. We were trying to keep the asset in prison and get Y/n out but we haven’t got the exact coordinates to her whereabouts yet.”

Ever the congressman. All about diplomacy and doing things the right way. If it was someone he cared about Bob is sure Bucky would have been trying harder. 

“Show me.”

“The file? We can’t Bob. It’s too risky, especially because nothing's official yet.”

He’s lucky that his hands are below the table, fingers starting to get encased in black. His eyes are downcast too, as long as no one looks too deep they wouldn’t be able to see the way they’re flashing gold. 

He’s competent. He’s been doing good. Going to therapy. Training. Setting himself straight. And they, his supposed family, couldn’t even tell him that his own girlfriend went missing? That she was being held for ransom?

“I just want to look. A fresh set of eyes never hurt.” He’s doing his best to keep his voice level. Doing all he can to not allow anyone to know the turmoil he’s truly going through. 

The tension could be cut with a knife. Every member looking at each other, doing their best to communicate telepathically. To figure out how many of them really trusted that Bob wouldn’t go ballistic, that he could just assist like he was trying to make them believe. 

“Yeah. Yeah you’re right Bob.” It’s Yelena. Always trusting in him, always being his number one supporter. “We’re sorry that we doubted you.”

He doesn’t say anything, just shoves his hands into the kangaroo pocket of his hoodie and follows them down to the briefing room. He goes through all of the information fast, as it’s spread around the digitized walls.

The main thing he cared about was the suspected location, and who took you. There’s no for sure ID on your kidnappers. They knew exactly how to evade the cameras, either that or there was someone helping them become invisible. 

He didn’t mind sending everyone in that facility to the void though. It’s what they deserved.

He plays it off cool. He’s got a ‘level head’ and really did his best to come up with valid input. Everyone seems to truly believe that he just wanted to help by the end of their discussion. 

Bob lets out a yawn. Not too loud - then it’d be obvious he was faking. But loud enough to draw some attention. Then he rubbed his eyes, pressing the pads of his fingers to the inner corners and rubbing outwards. Followed a few minutes later by blinking for a few seconds, then trying to hold his eyes open wide to the point that they couldn’t close.

When he knows that everyone has seen him exhibit signs of being tired at least once, he excuses himself. He’s just ‘much too tired to be any real help’, and they all understand. It must be a lot for him to comprehend, a lot to take in unexpectedly. They let him go with no resistance, and he couldn’t be happier. 

As the last light went out, and everyone had been confirmed to be asleep he would leave. Well to be correct - Void would leave. Bob was working on coming to an understanding with him because of you, so he would do Bob a favor and bring you back.

Any shadows left in his wake, those were at the fault of the Avengers. They should have told him right away, or done their job properly.

—

Your sense of time was distorted. The only light you have is a single lightbulb, far beyond your reach. Guards coming in specified intervals, either to bring you sustenance or to try and interrogate you. 

It was always the same routine - Guard comes in, questions on how you know the Avengers, questions on their weaknesses. There weren’t any questions today though.

A guard you’ve never seen before steps into the cell. “We’ve been nice. You understand that right?”

You nod, smart enough to not provoke him. Even if everyone knows kidnapping someone isn’t considered ‘nice’.

“You’re comrades haven’t been as nice. Seems they need some… Motivation.”

“They’re not my comrades! We’re just friends, and I wouldn’t even call us that! They don’t tell me anything anyway, it’s all confident-” you’re cut off by the back of the man's gloved hand. You can feel the bruise forming on your cheekbone. 

“Keep sayin’ that. Hasn’t gotten you anywhere yet, maybe tomorrow’ll be your special day though.”

A couple more guards filter into your cell. One goes behind you, the other waiting by the door, something underneath his armpit that you can’t identify, “What’s your dominant hand sweetheart?” 

“M-m-my left.” He couldn’t be asking for any good reason, lying seems like your best choice. 

“Bullshit, you always eat with your right.” Then the man from the doorway is closing in on your right side, placing a wooden board beneath your hand and splaying your fingers out.

You start to thrash, trying to jerk your hand out of his grasp before your biceps are grabbed by the guard behind you. “What are you doing?”

“Told you. Your friends need motivation.” He flips out a switchblade, “Usually an appendage is enough. Won’t take nothing too important.. Yet at least.”

“No, no, no, no. Let me talk to them. Please.” You’re still thrashing, hoping that by some act of god or any higher being, you get enough strength to free yourself, “I-If I could talk to them I’m sure they’d get you whatever you’re asking for.” 

His tongue clicks, head tilting side to side as if he’s in thought. There’s hope! He’ll bring you a phone, you’ll talk to Yelena, or Bucky, or even Bob, and they’ll get you out of here.

“Nah.” 

What does he mean ‘nah’. He’s really going to cut your finger off? For what? Because you don’t know the Avengers personally enough for him. Come on, you work in a bookshop for Christ's sake.

He’s lining up the cut when everything goes dark. You can still feel the other two grips on you, so it must be some electricity issue, but the grips went a little slack when the lights turned off. 

You throw your head back, connecting with something behind you - probably a nose from the crunch you heard. Then you’re taking your left hand, shoving it in the direction you think the head of the man holding your right arm down would be. Connecting with his face you look for his eyes, pushing inwards as much as possible when you locate them.

You’re stumbling through the room, trying to stay as silent as possible. The entire compound erupted in chaos when the lights went off. People trying to figure out what happened, who’s to fault, how to get the lights back on. 

The noise allows you to creep out of your cell. Pressing your back against the wall you try to move in only one direction, hoping it will lead you to an exit.

On your way around a corner you hit something. It’s solid, so you don’t move. Praying it’s a file cabinet, just a weird divot in the wall, even a fridge. But then it inhales, and you move with its chest.

When you look up to assess the damage you’ve just done, you’re met with two pinpoint white eyes. You’d think you were hallucinating them if they didn’t seem to track over your face, like they were assessing you.

“Stay here.” It’s a command, not a statement. His voice is deep, sort of gravely or raspy. His arms grasp your biceps, nothing like the last person who held you like this. It’s soft, gentle, like you mean something. He’s maneuvering you however he pleases, pushing you into a sitting position in the corner.

Then you hear footsteps, fading away in the direction that you came. 

The noise progressively gets quieter and quieter. Surprisingly, there’s no gunshots, no grunts or groans, not even thuds of bodies hitting the ground. Eventually, there’s complete silence, not for long though, soon there’s footsteps heading in your direction.

You keep your head down. You hope it’s whoever put you here, whoever told you to stay, but there’s no guarantee. Better to be safe than sorry.

There’s a hand lightly brushing your shoulder, “You hurt?”

A small sigh leaves your mouth, recognizing the voice as the same one from before. Hearing it again brings an odd sense of familiarity to you. “N-No.”

“Good. I’m going to pick you up.”

Before you could deny, informing the man that you were perfectly capable of walking yourself, you’re in his arms. It’s dark outside, not like anything you’ve seen in the city. No lamp posts, no buildings, nothing supplemental to aid the stars in lighting the sky.

You can see more than in the building though. The fingers that are gripping the back of your knee and your bicep are black. More black than humanly natural, like a tar. Maybe it was just spandex gloves over your saviors suit?

You look to the left and quickly realize you’re mistaken. The entirety of this man is black. Like he was drenched in it, no part of him free from it. His pupils are white, the only indication that you have that he’s got thoughts going on in his head. 

He takes off, bursting into the sky like a rocket. You assume this is how he got here, but you would have thought he would be more considerate considering you have minimal clothing on. 

You wouldn’t complain though. While the Avengers, your friends, had left you high and dry this man came and saved you. You’d forever be grateful. 

There’s plenty of time to stare at this man during your flight. Quickly, you’re able to identify him. Or at least you assume you can. He has all the same features as your boyfriend.

Same cheekbones, same nose, same jaw, same hair. Did Bob have a twin that he was hiding from you? 

Oh.

Wait.

Was this the void? The one who sent you to that shame room all those months ago? The reason you avoided Bob in the first place?

If he senses your turmoil, he doesn’t mention it. He doesn’t talk at all actually. You’d think it bothered him to save you, but his fingers are digging into you. Not enough to be painful or bruise, but enough to make sure that he never lost focus, never risked you being dropped.

You’re flown back to the Watchtower, directly into Bob's room. You’re placed gently on the bed, sitting on the edge. The void gives you a once over one last time before the darkness is receding. It flows down Bob’s body, as if there’s a drain on the floor and it’s all flowing downwards to it. 

After a couple of seconds Bob’s eyes shoot up. Surprise overtakes his features, “Y/n?”

“Hi Bob.”

“Oh my God. What happened to you?” His fingers are ghosting over the bruise on your cheekbone, then they’re making their way over to the scabbing on your temple.

“Uh - A lot. Yeah, a lot.”

“Let’s get you to the med room. You gotta get patched up.”

You shake your head, moving a bit in his firm grasp, “I just want to shower and sleep. If that’s alright.”

“Yeah, yeah of course that’s alright. We’ll get you patched up in the morning.”

Bob wanted to know what happened, everything that happened. Wanted to know how you got here, who took you, what really happened in your apartment. But if you wanted to shower and cuddle up in his grasp for the rest of the night, he wouldn’t deny you.

When he woke up before you, heading out to get you a cup of coffee and some waffles, the rest of the team cornered him. Asking him how he was feeling, that’s when he remembered that he essentially faked exhaustion to leave the briefing room.

They informed him that an underground facility was found this morning, some unknown source tipping off local authorities. Inside they found tons of information on a terrorist group, no one to guard it however. Only shadows plastered to the ground, unable to be smudged or wiped up. 

Bob raises the mug he’s carrying in mock toast on his way back down the hall to his room, “Not sure how that happened, I do wanna get back to my room before Y/n wakes up though.” 

You could answer their questions later. Figure out some therapy probably too. Right now though Bob wanted you to rest. He was sure that you weren’t able to for a long while, so he’d make sure you stayed undisturbed until you wanted to wake. 

Even though the Void has always been a burden on him, making his life hard, miserable even. Bob couldn’t help but believe it was growing, changing into a better force. The one who could do the hard things when he couldn’t. The one who was able to dish out the proper judgement. A true blessing in disguise.

Likes/comments/reblogs mean so much!!

[omegapausestuck]

I've been thinking, since the act has ended, I've got a prime chance to gather my thoughts; and open a dialogue about the merits and perhaps the pitfalls of the current writing direction of the new comic. Besides, this post was getting WAY too long, so I hope to start a fresh one at the beginning of every act so as not to destroy people's dashes QUITE as much. I've never done a liveblog before, and honestly I wasn't planning to, but it just kind of happened this way, so I'm still figuring everything out. Let me know if you think I'm doing the shittiest job in the world, and you know SO MANY ways to improve it!

Anyway, I think we all know the state of the fandom, when hsbc started updating. We had just come off of the tragic release that was the epilogues, and then the subsequent insult to injury that the previous team had left behind with Homestuck². Nobody was left to believe in this thing, and I was certainly one of them.

I had kind of this general attitude of "Let's all point and laugh at how hard they bungle it THIS time!" but then something strange started happening. The writers were actually listening to the fan feedback, for once, and making marked improvements—in characterization, in tension, in dialogue, in art style, and in scope—it slowly dawned on me that I was genuinely excited to read the next page, not ironically.

I think a part of me wanted this to work, all along. Like sonic fans who had to sit through the most painful, doggiest shit of a game, like clockwork, every year, just in hopes that Sonic Team would get their act together and make something great that they wouldn't have to feel ashamed for their clear, undying love and devotion for the series.

So, when they showed themselves capable of admitting their faults, and refocusing themselves on making something that was completely new, and refreshing—I still cracked jokes, but—I started to root for them, too... and I'll tell you right now, that this era of the comic feels at times more homestuck than Homestuck proper.

These characters are no longer pastiches, or flanderized amalgamations of their various assorted stereotypes, but have a renewed sense of depth, and mature emotional resilience that I found criminally lacking as Homestuck drew to a close.

I've been very vocal about my opinions on Homestuck's "ending," if you can even call it that. It was made by fans, for fans; and it ultimately had nothing important to say about anything actually impactful. All of the themes of adolescence, and child soldiers, and societal indoctrination, and the cold calculus of war were thrown out in favor of the black and white brutality of "Big green man video game boss needs beating," and it's nice to see that depth woven back into the world again.

I'm not going to go into any spoilers, but a few standout moments to me were Jake's speech about believing in all the other Janes enough to give up on the monster this one had become, and Rose opening up about her insecurities with her sociopath of a father; where we realized along with him that he genuinely loves her, and didn't enjoy the burden of being in control. Also, Vriska's whole dream sequence was a very close second that I'd feel guilty to not lend its flowers. (They managed to make me give a shit about her again, and that's an ASK! I was so sick of her raggedy, tired ass schtick! Grow up, bitch!) I'm not sure that the former team would have bothered with those scenes, and they're the most gripping parts of the story, for me.

We're still here because of these characters, and the fact that the authors finally understand that—and are developing them in ways that seem both natural, and respectful—has done more to heal the reputation of this franchise for me than any big multimedia push from the likes of Viz Media, or even Andrew Hussie himself would have, ever, achieved.

Now, we have a chance to see something new, and ambitious. I was cautiously optimistic before, and now I'm essentially just overcome with hope. If this is what we should come to expect from Homestuck in the near future, then we've actually got quite the incredible life ahead of us.

I can't help but look forward to it. How about you?

my reaction to that information.....

I guess this is a thing that's happening.

[thetidesthatturn]

Sunday Ritual

I’ve been thinking about aphrodisiateez for a while now, and I just can’t get it out of my head. There needs to be infinite amounts of these fics!!!

Pairing: Hongjoong x freader, Wooyoung x freader

Warnings: smut, substance use (kinda?), roommate au, non-idol au, overstimulation (if you squint), use of y/n, unprotected sex - list is not exhaustive, read at own risk

18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI

It was just a normal Sunday—at least, that’s what you thought.

It started like always: too lazy to cook, you ordered take-out and settled on the couch for a movie. It had become a ritual, the perfect way to cap off the weekend.

After graduation, you’d moved in with your two best friends from college. It felt natural, like puzzle pieces clicking together as you all stepped into the “real world.” Hongjoong, a budding music producer, had landed an internship at a local record label—a dream come true for him. You couldn’t have been prouder, even if it meant late nights and constant burnout. Still, you made sure to drag him out of his creative cave for your Sunday movie nights—no exceptions.

Meanwhile, you and Wooyoung had somehow ended up co-managing the little café where you’d worked through college. Neither of you had any plans to leave, despite your degrees pointing you elsewhere. It was comfortable, and you weren’t ready to let go of that comfort just yet.

“Joong, get your ass down here!” you called from the couch. Wooyoung immediately cracked up beside you.

“You know he probably hates us, right?”

You rolled your eyes. “I’ll let you know when I care.”

A moment later, Hongjoong stomped down the stairs, muttering under his breath. He paused on the last step, glaring at you both.

“I was busy.”

“You know you have commitments on a Sunday,” you teased.

“This isn’t as important, Y/N. You know that,” he grumbled.

Wooyoung fell back dramatically onto the couch, clutching his chest. “Joong… I can’t believe you’d say that!”

Hongjoong crossed the room, grabbed a cushion, and lobbed it at Wooyoung’s head.

“I’m getting snacks,” he announced, stalking off to the kitchen.

You chuckled and headed to the bathroom. Nothing worse than pausing the movie mid-flow.

When you returned, the coffee table was littered with snacks, and the two of them were already bickering over what to watch.

“You always want to watch that, Joong. Can we pick something else for once?”

Hongjoong’s eyes narrowed. “I was forced to be here. We’re watching what I want.”

“But—”

“But nothing!”

You sighed and stepped between them. “Okay, what do you both want to watch? I’ll decide.”

“Harry Potter!” Wooyoung pleaded.

You laughed. “Woo, we always watch that too.”

“He wants Pirates of the damn Caribbean again!” he whined.

“If I recall, we just recently re-watched the entire Harry Potter saga because you wanted to. My vote goes to Joong,” you declared.

“WHAT?!” Wooyoung screeched, but Hongjoong was already smacking him with the cushion. He shot you a grateful smile.

You grabbed the remote, queued up the movie, and settled between them under a blanket. Ten minutes in, you glanced at Wooyoung. Despite his earlier protest, he was fully engrossed, shovelling snacks into his mouth like a machine. Without looking, he passed a pouch of gummies behind your back to Hongjoong, who grabbed a handful before passing them to you. You took a few, popped them in your mouth, and immediately grimaced.

“Eugh, what even are these?”

Hongjoong shrugged. “Found them at the back of the cupboard.”

Dismissing it, you returned your attention to the movie. But after about fifteen minutes, a heat started to spread through your body.

“Is it just me, or is it hot as hell in here?” Wooyoung panted, pulling the blanket off his legs.

“I was just thinking that,” Hongjoong muttered, tugging at his shirt collar.

You got up to check the thermostat—nothing. When you came back, both of them were squirming in their seats.

Wooyoung’s eyes darted between you and Hongjoong. “Something’s wrong.”

“Yeah… I don’t feel right,” Hongjoong added, his voice strained.

“Oh god, I hope it’s not food poisoning from that take-out,” you muttered, wiping sweat from your forehead.

“I don’t feel sick… I feel…” Wooyoung’s face flushed, his hands coming to rest tentatively over his crotch.

Your eyes widened. Hongjoong was in the same position. Panic gnawed at your mind. What could’ve done this? Your gaze dropped to the table—those gummies. The only thing all three of you had eaten.

No.

No way.

Memories from your Amsterdam trip crashed down on you. The joke aphrodisiac gummies you’d bought at that sex shop as a dare. You’d stashed them at the back of the cupboard, assuming you’d never actually use them.

“Shit.” You swore under your breath.

“What?!” they both demanded.

Your feet moved before your brain could catch up. You snatched up the pouch and squinted at the label.

“These are fucking aphrodisiacs!” you shouted, brandishing the package. “Joong, did you not even check the label?!”

His eyes went wide, panic etched into every line of his face. “I—I didn’t think I���d need to!”

Wooyoung doubled over, howling with laughter. “Wait, wait—how many did we all eat?”

“I had three,” you mumbled.

Hongjoong’s hands flew to his head. “I had like fucking ten!”

Wooyoung’s tears streamed down his face as he gasped, “I had at least fifteen!”

“This isn’t funny!” Hongjoong snapped, smacking Wooyoung’s thigh.

Wooyoung straightened instantly, his ears burning bright red. “Oh…” He gasped. “They work, alright.”

“What do you mean they work?!”

“I’m so fucking horny.” His eyes find you, now beginning to glaze over.

“Oh no, no no no. We aren’t doing this.” Hongjoong stands to leave the room, but as he does the blanket falls to the floor, revealing how strained his pants now were.

Wooyoung falls on his side, bleating and gasping as his laughter consumes him. “He’s… ha HA HA! He’s HARD!”

Hongjoong’s face washes crimson as his hands fly down to his crotch, trying to conceal his erection. Wooyoung continues to giggle, which turns Hongjoong’s embarrassment to fury. He snatches the blanket from Wooyoung, throwing it across the room.

“You’re in exactly the same position!” Hongjoong hisses.

Meanwhile, you’re stood watching all of this unfold, painfully aware of your own predicament. You absentmindedly shift from foot to foot, trying to relieve some of the pressure building within you. That is, until Wooyoung catches you. His laughter is gone now—replaced with a look you’ve never seen on his face.

Pure, unadulterated lust.

The way he’s looking at you, lips parted, eyes darkening. Like he wants to eat you alive. It’s too much.

Before you can stop it, a whimper leaves your own parted lips.

Hongjoong’s head snaps to you, beads of sweat forming at his hairline.

“Fuck.” Wooyoung gulps, now palming himself over his pants.

“Woo…” You shake your head.

This cannot be happening, they’re your best friends. Sure, anyone with eyes could see just how attractive they both were, but this was a line you couldn’t cross. Not with them.

You turn to leave, but Wooyoung whines.

“No. Please. Don’t go. Please.” He’s on his feet now, his legs carrying him across to you in two quick strides. He grasps onto your arms, sweat pouring down his face, hands shaking. His pupils dilate as he looks at you, his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. His breathing is shallow as his fingers grip into your flesh.

“Wooyoung.” You swallow, trying to shake out of his grasp, but he just claws tighter.

“Those pretty noises,” He breathes, now unconsciously beginning to rut against your thigh. “Please, please. Please, Y/N.”

“Please what?” You gasp as his lips attach to your neck, planting sloppy kisses along your jugular.

“Wooyoung!” Hongjoong shouts from the spot he’s frozen in by the couch. “She wants you to stop. So stop.”

Wooyoung peers up at you from your neck. “Is that what you want, Jagiya? For me to stop?” His fingers are drawing lazy circles into the exposed skin of your waist now. You bite your lip, hesitating. He smirks, then turns his head to Hongjoong.

“Come on Joong, don’t tell me you haven’t thought about this before.”

You could swear Hongjoong turned into an actual tomato on the spot, the wash of scarlet travelling up his neck and across his face and ears.

“I have not!”

“Liar.” Wooyoung chides, then in one swift motion he twirls you around and presses your back to his chest, his hands winding up your torso. You squirm, breathing heavily, the room around you beginning to spin.

“Look at her, she wants this.”

Hongjoong is practically drooling now, watching you as your chest furiously rises and falls, how your eyes flutter when Wooyoung’s fingers graze your skin. Slowly, he walks over to the two of you, stopping just before you.

“Is this what you want?” He murmurs, his arms hovering hesitantly at his sides.

Wooyoung’s fingers reach the curve of your breast, and as they brush against it you arch into him, letting out the smallest of moans.

“Jagiya, Joongie asked if you want this. Be a good girl and answer him.” Wooyoung breathes against your neck.

“Yes! Yes, yes, yes.” You chant, launching yourself forward onto Hongjoong.

Your hands grapple into his hair as you pull him flush to you, your mouth melting to his. Immediately his hands are on you, everywhere all at once.

Hongjoong’s lips crash into yours, his breath warm and hungry as his hands roam over every inch of your body. A tremor of desire pools deep in your abdomen, intensified by the aphrodisiac coursing through your veins.

“God, you’re so responsive,” Hongjoong pants against your mouth, his eyes blown wide and dark. He pulls back just enough to stare at you, his lips parted, chest heaving. “So beautiful.”

Wooyoung is behind you now, his mouth at your neck, teeth nipping at your pulse point. “Can’t believe how much I want you right now.” His voice is rough, desperate, and it sends another jolt of heat spiralling through your core.

You whimper, your legs weak beneath you, and Hongjoong catches you before you can stumble. His strong arms hold you steady as Wooyoung’s hands slide lower, dipping under the waistband of your sweatpants.

“Fuck, you’re already so wet,” he groans, his fingers finding you with no resistance.

Your head tilts back, a low moan escaping your throat as your hips buck into his hand. Hongjoong watches you like he’s starved, his own need painfully obvious as he presses his thigh between your legs.

“Look at you, taking everything we give you,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing your cheek with unexpected tenderness even as his other hand skims up your side, under your tank, to cup your breast.

Wooyoung’s fingers work you in slow, torturous circles, the aphrodisiac heightening every sensation until your mind is a haze of need and pleasure.

“Please,” you gasp, your voice trembling. “Don’t stop—please.”

Hongjoong’s mouth captures yours again, this time slower, deeper, as if he wants to savour every single shiver he pulls from your body. Wooyoung chuckles darkly against your ear, his breath hot.

“Don’t worry, Jagiya,” he purrs. “We’re just getting started.”

Wooyoung picks up the pace, and the sounds tumbling from your lips are beyond obscene.

“Fuck, I might cum in my pants.” Wooyoung grunts, his eyes rolling back as he grinds against your ass.

“Upstairs,” Hongjoong pants, “My room.”

The three of you bolt up the stairs, rushing into Hongjoong’s bedroom. Wooyoung’s eyes are frantic as he pushes you back onto the bed, ripping down your sweats and panties. “I wanna eat you out, please. Please.”

You nod, unable to form words. As soon as you do, he parts your legs and dives in. You cry out as his tongue flicks across your clit, fingers digging into his scalp. Hongjoong, now just in his underwear, lifts up your head and settles in behind you. His hands grasp at your tank, lifting it up to expose your breasts. He runs his thumbs over your nipples and you gasp, squeezing your thighs around Wooyoung’s head.

“Fuck, fuck. I’m gunna cum.”

Wooyoung laps at you furiously, pushing two fingers inside of you. You pulse around him, body spasming. One hand in Wooyoung’s hair, the other clawing into Hongjoong’s arm, you come undone. Wooyoung detaches himself, falling forwards, hands balling up into the sheets. He lets out a strangled groan.

“I just came in my fucking pants.” He mumbles.

Hongjoong is practically whimpering behind you, hands frantically kneading into your flesh. “Y/N, fuck. Fuck. Please, can I fuck you. Oh god. Please.”

Never in your life have you witnessed the Kim Hongjoong beg before. This was priceless.

“Fuck her. Fuck her now.” Wooyoung is standing now, pulling his shirt over his head and discarding his pants.

Hongjoong scrambles from behind you, whipping off his underwear and settling between your legs. “Can I?”

He’s looking at you with those big boba eyes, pleading.

“Give it to me.” You breathe.

Before you know it, he’s sliding into you. You both groan as he bottoms out, stretching your walls so deliciously. He picks up the pace, slamming into you mercilessly as you writhe beneath him.

Wooyoung is now next to you on the bed, dick in hand. His pupils are blown as he watches his two best friends fuck.

“Y/N,” Hongjoong pants, “Do you think Woo deserves a piece of you too?”

“Fuck, please. Suck my dick, oh my god I could just cum again thinking about it.”

Hongjoong pulls out of you, and you start to complain, but he cuts you off.

“On your hands and knees.” He instructs.

You oblige immediately, and Hongjoong re-enters you. From this new angle, you’re seeing stars from the moment he pushes in. Wooyoung shuffles over to you, shaking with anticipation.

“Where do you want me?”

“Lay… down. Ah!” You can barely force the words to leave your lips as Hongjoong drives into you from behind.

Wooyoung does as instructed and you lower yourself down onto your elbows, taking his pillowy head into your mouth. His hips buck up, but you keep taking him in, flattening your tongue and sucking around him. He’s babbling uncontrollably, a symphony of curses and moans and ‘please please please’. Behind you, Hongjoong is mirroring him, as his thrusts become sloppy and uncoordinated.

“I’m—oh god. I’m gunna cum.” Hongjoong hisses as you clench around him.

“Fuck, me too.” Wooyoung pants.

With one last squeeze, and a flick of your tongue, they are both coming undone. Hongjoong pulls out, spilling over your lower back with a groan. Wooyoung twitches as ropes of hot cum coat the back of your throat, but you keep going.

“Y/N! Y/N stop! Ah!” He’s thrashing underneath you, overstimulation rocking him to his core. You pull off with a pop, peering up through your lashes at his beautiful, fucked-out face.

Hongjoong collapses beside you, chest heaving.

“Well… that just happened.” Wooyoung smirks, his eyes closing.

“And it’ll never fucking happen again. We don’t speak of this.” You cover your hands with your face, muffling a chuckle.

Hongjoong huffs a short laugh, still unable to process the events of the evening. Wooyoung looks at him, and winks.

“That’s what you think, Jagiya.”

[isshonihongo]

Furigana & Okurigana

As you progress with your Japanese studies, you will see two very important kinds of Hiragana. They are called furigana and okurigana. In this post let’s take a look at each of them and how they both help Japanese learners and natives read Kanji!

But first, let me introduce a chart for the vocabulary that you’ll see in this post. Each word is written in Kanji and then in Hiragana, with its part of speech and meaning.

1) Furigana

Furigana, also known as よみがな or ruby, are the Hiragana characters either on top or to the side of Kanji characters.

As you can see, if the writing is horizontal, the furigana will be on top and if the writing is vertical, it will be on the right side. Either way, furigana tell you how to pronounce the Kanji characters.

There may be anywhere from 1 to 5 Hiragana characters represented by a single Kanji character!

We Japanese learners need furigana when we start studying Kanji and reading Japanese text. But Japanese children also need furigana when they are learning Kanji and even Katakana. Here you can see furigana used to learn Katakana characters.

Whether or not you see furigana depends on a few different factors:

the intended readers

the rarity of the Kanji

Generally, you won’t see many examples of furigana. However, if you pick up a book/novel intended for elementary-aged children, you might see lots of furigana. This is because (like us!) they either haven’t learned the Kanji’s readings or the writer intended the Kanji to be read in a certain way.

Some websites, books, IG posts, Youtube videos, etc that are intended for non-Japanese readers will also have a fair amount of furigana. Granted, it is helpful at first, but it’s a good idea to wane yourself off of furigana as you get better (or if you WANT to get better). The more you see a Kanji character, the more likely you are to remember its reading.

Gikun

Sometimes furigana doesn’t actually tell you the reading of the Kanji. Instead it’s used to add details or add shades of nuance, as in the examples below:

In these cases we call the furigana gikun, which loosely translates to “a false reading”.

On the left, the Kanji reads 希望, which means “desire or wish” but the furigana reads ひかり, which means “light”. This conveys to the reader that light is a metaphor for hope in whatever setting you are seeing that Kanji. 

On the right, the Kanji reads ちきゅう, which means “Earth” but the furigana reads ふるさと which means “home town” or “where someone is from”. This tells the reader that someone is an Earthling – as compared to a Martian or an alien from another planet.

This is a more-advanced way that furigana is used, so you won’t see it unless you are reading manga or novels aimed for native speakers.

First the Word, Then the Kanji (Ateji & Jukujikun)

On the day that I arrived in Japan, they asked me for my name in Katakana at the airport. I hadn’t really thought about it so they wrote my name how it sounds to the Japanese ear.

A few days later, I was thinking about this, and it occurred to me that in the same way that they just “assigned me” katakana, I could also give myself Kanji for my name! My name is Albert but I took my nickname Al and “Hiraganized” it, getting ある. At this point I needed 1 or 2 Kanji that sounded out ある. I eventually decided on 亜琉. I’ll come back to this a bit later.

亜琉 is what is called ateji. I started with a word and “worked backwards” to end up with Kanji, based on their readings. Another example of ateji is the Japanese word for The United States. Written with Hiragana it’s あめりか, but written with Kanji it becomes:

亜 read as あ 米 read as め 利 read as り 加 read as か

Keep in mind that these Kanji have nothing to do with the meaning of “America” or “The U.S.” (whatever that is lol). They were only chosen based on the way you read each Kanji. This is the idea of ateji.

A similar concept is Jukujikun. The word あさって means “the day after tomorrow”. When it came time to assign Kanji to this word, the following 3 were chosen:

明 meaning “tomorrow” 後 meaning “after” 日 meaning “day”

You can reasonably see how this combination of Kanji can come to mean “the day after tomorrow”. The thing is, the actual way you read those Kanji are nowhere close to あさって！They were chosen because of their meanings and not their readings. It’s almost the reverse of ateji. 2 more examples are:

今日 is read as きょう but 今 is not きょ and 日 is not う

下手 is read as へた but 下 is not へ and 手 is not た

When it comes to jukujikun, because the furigana can’t be separated between the characters, it will appear either in the middle of the characters or stretched across them.

As for my Kanji, because the characters sound out ある, 亜琉 is ateji. However, I also chose 2 Kanji with meanings that I liked. 亜 means “Asia” and 琉 means “gem” so I chose my name to mean “gem of Asia”.

2) Okurigana

Now, let’s talk about okurigana. It is similar to furigana, except that it only appears next to Kanji. Okurigana is thought of as “hanging off of” Kanji characters.

The okurigana tells you how you should read the 食 Kanji. In this particular example, both words mean “to eat” so mixing them up is not the end of the world (depending on who you are talking with!). Other times, however, the meanings will be drastically different so okurigana is a vital part of Japanese.

Adjectives and Verbs

Most of the time, you’ll find okurigana with adjective and verb forms. This is because they have a core part (called the stem) that will not change, and an ending that changes to add different shades of nuance to the core meaning. Think of the difference between “kick”, “kicks”, and “kicked” in English.

Notice that sometimes the adjective or verb stem doesn’t overlap with the okurigana (Type 1). Other times, part of the stem is included in the okurigana (Type 2). The main thing to remember is, the okurigana is the Hiragana after the Kanji.

Another time you will see okurigana is with compound verbs. This is where two verbs are combined into one. In these cases, there will be okurigana both between and after Kanji characters. Examples are:

思い出す, which means “to remember” 食べ残す, which means “to leave food half-eaten”

Nouns

Most of the time, nouns are made up of only Kanji. However, there are some occasions where they will have okurigana. Most times, they will end in a character from the い VSG.

This is because they actually come from verbs! Here are some examples:

匂い (from 匂う) 好き (from 好く) ーーーーーーーーーー 乗り場 (from 乗る) 立ち飲み (from both 立つ and 飲む)

Other times, they aren’t derived from verbs, they are just simply nouns:

勢い, which means “force, power” 後ろ, which means “behind, rear” 全て, which means “all, everything” 情け, which means “pity, sympathy” 斜め, which means “diagonal, slanted”

Same Kanji, Different Okurigana

The function of okurigana is to point you in the right direction of how to pronounce a given Kanji. There would be no reason for this if each Kanji had only 1 possible reading. As it turns out, a single Kanji can have many different ways to say it. Here are some examples:

As you can see, depending on the okurigana, 汚 can be read as きたな or as よご. On the other hand, the Kanji 広 is read as ひろ in all 5 of those words! For this reason, I would recommend learning Kanji like 広 early in your studies.  It will be much easier for you to remember a Kanji with only 1 or 2 readings than a Kanji with many different readings.

Same Kanji, Same Okurigana

It’s rare, but there are times when the okurigana unfortunately won’t tell you decisively how to pronounce the Kanji. Here is an example:

As you can see (with the help of the furigana!) BOTH the Kanji and the okurigana are the same, making them different words but homographs. If it weren’t for the furigana, you might not know which reading of the kanji to use. In this situation, they both mean “to open” but the way and the kind of opening is different. Japanese often separates very similar meanings by using different Kanji. In English, we just take it for granted that you can open your eyes and you can also open a door. In Japanese, they are two different kinds of actions, and so different Kanji are used. (It won’t matter when you speak, but when you write or type, it would be good to be aware of the difference.) In these kinds of cases, you will have to rely on either context or on furigana to know which reading is correct.

Conclusion

As you can see, both furigana and okurigana will help you when it comes to reading Kanji. Sometimes you will have both, other times there will only be okurigana. Later on in the Kanji section, we will take a look at other ways to help you guess a Kanji’s reading. Until then, good luck with your Japanese journey!

And with that, you are finished with the Hiragana section. Congrats!

Rice & Peace,

– 亜琉 (アル)

👋🏾

[murderbot-moodboard]

And we're back with assorted thoughts on episode 5! (Drafted during my second watchthrough.)

- Arada's already showing good potential in her willingness to immediately start shooting at a potential threat. Yeah, she jumped the gun (haha) a bit, but considering they just had a hostile SecUnit ostensibly trying to mow them down that's understandable. And I'm not sure whether she missed on purpose or on accident, but I don't know if we'll find out (or whether it's important in the end anyway).

- LeeBeeBee over here displaying some (blinks rapidly)... imagination. Maybe she doesn't have any experience with ComfortUnits.

- Ratthi, I'm pretty sure Pin-Lee is not ready to talk about starting a family with you at this time, lol. (Also "Sec Unit" is an objectively terrible name for a child, but I think Ratthi also gets a bit of a pass considering what they've just been through.)

- It's actually pretty cool to watch Pin-Lee and Bharadwaj doing repairs on Murderbot. I like finding out that Bharadwaj can be the steady hands doing delicate work in a crisis. And we get more in-universe glasses rep from her this episode! (I always like to make note of this for future cosplay purposes—as a required-glasses-not-contacts wearer it's very hard to find futuristic scifi shows where glasses are accepted in-universe.)

- Murderbot: "He looks way too into this." Gurathin: *looks maybe slightly determined*

- I love all the data compilation sequences, the visual and audio effects are really cool.

- Also love all the book lines that are preserved pretty close to verbatim in this episode. It's cool how they swapped in Bharadwaj for Volescu's part in this episode (and cool that she's more involved in everything at this point than in the book).

- "Seccy?" 😂

- I think it's interesting how Gurathin looks so vulnerable for a minute after getting not-strangled. (Has he been attacked by a SecUnit before?) He also immediately goes "see?" probably thinking now they'll listen to him about SecUnit since he just almost got strangled, but Mensah immediately goes to talk with SecUnit instead. No wonder he's not happy.

- Murderbot's face when LeeBeeBee kisses it 🤣

- That was kind of a nice moment between Mensah and Gurathin before Murderbot interrupted, lol. (Peepee blocking much?) I suspect Murderbot not only wants to annoy Gurathin but also wants to protect Mensah from what it sees as Gurathin's creepy interest. But based on their interaction, there definitely seems to be undercurrents of something else that Murderbot isn't picking up on.

- To be fair to LeeBeeBee, I thought she was potentially going to be really annoying, but she's only a normal amount of annoying.

- Did we get a subtle pronoun self-correction from Mensah? Cool!

- Aww, Murderbot's first real conversation and it's with Mensah. 🥰 Also they show Mensah being smart and insightful the same way she was in the book!

- Oh shit. Talk about a cliffhanger! Was Murderbot rushing to grab the controls? To protect Mensah? Are they going to have to walk back to the habitat?

And that's the end of the episode! I have some more theories, but I think they veer into spoiler territory for future episodes, so I'm going to leave off here for now. Until later!

[alacants]

idk how to word it but ive always felt like novak, deep down, is bitter for the lack of warmth towards him in contrast to fedal. he tries to act unbothered (and to some level he probably is), but the disdain is There. and then theres jannik who at least seems to not make any effort to appear more likable (very funny contrast to carlos but lets not go there yet). anw all this to say im so excited for the novak vs jannik semis rpf implications 😃😃

i wrote 400 words in gdocs on my work computer and then reopened tumblr and realized they weren't even ON TOPIC. ok let's see how much of this i can salvage.

there is an instructive contrast between "has established a persona of not caring what people think" and "actually doesn't care about what people think." novak's case is complicated, right—his problem, for a given value of problem, is that he wants to have his cake and eat it too. he is demonstrably a people person who wants to have friends and be liked and make people laugh. and he is a ruthless competitor who is unwilling to compromise in pursuit of his goals, and by now he knows—must know—how much better he performs when he's not comfortable or happy or liked. so if that means being the bad guy, then he will be THE MOST bad guy you have ever seen. wimbledon_grasseating.mp4.

it's true that i wouldn't be surprised to find out there was an element of cognitive dissonance/wounded innocence at play—why can't you see this is what i'm doing to win. this isn't about me or who i really am or what i really want. (besides the trophies.) i definitely think that the crowd-baiting started out as a defense mechanism, he might care but you won't catch him letting you know that he cares. otoh when you've kept up the act for seventeen years at some point it stops being an act. i do think he's struggling right now with the desire to consolidate the right legacy in his last active years on tour, vs the instinct to fight back against being defanged as some kind of cuddly elder statesman we're just happy to see walk on two legs.

meanwhile jannik. i've talked a little bit about my read on jannik before, which is that there's a distinction between what's emotionally real (family/friends/hometown/hobbies/his personal relationship to the practice of tennis) and what isn't (the greater tennis world/media/celebrity). so… why would you go the trouble of expending all that energy for affection that might not even be real? of course if it comes your way, it's nice—rome, the atp finals, all those davis cup matches and celebrations. but the lack of it isn't something he has to develop a weapon to handle.

like, last year so clearly took a toll—but the psychological burden seems to have been much more about his existential future as a tennis player than about the court of public opinion. for one thing, he seems perfectly willing to forget some of the slights that other players would take to their grave lmao. lehecka and bublik both had things to say about favoritism—so what? he's playing practice sets, he's giving them hugs and smiles and saying nice things at the net. it's fine. it's whatever. (which is why "people i expected to reach out who didn't" is faaaaaaaaaascinating…)

at the same time you've got the people from tennisworld, or celebrityworld, who have become real and important to him—matteo and jack and gianluigi donnaruma, lmao. (and anna, while it lasted.) so it's not like he isn't ready to open up one-on-one, or like he doesn't value closeness, or like being a top ten player is a barrier to that closeness.

i am going to go out on a limb and guess that if novak decided he wanted to be jannik's alpine skiing ac milan-supporting big brother on tour, those overtures would get reciprocated stat. but novak's not going to do that unless jannik makes himself approachable, and jannik isn't going to make himself approachable unless… etc.

and maybe that's for the best. because carlos alcaraz isn't on that list, and maybe that's because their personalities clash or maybe that's because jannik doesn't trust carlos means it or maybe that's because carlos alcaraz is the one player jannik cannot afford to be friends with. 

novak wants and needs to beat jannik more than jannik wants or needs to beat novak. he has to, to prove that he's still a real live threat. whereas if the kid at the top loses to the great novak djokovic—who hasn't? he'll be winning slams long after novak's gone, after all. it's not like how he can't seem to win against carlos alcaraz. 

i doubt novak would enjoy finding out that jannik can't afford to be friend with carlos, but can afford to be friends with him.