#it's very interesting to me that he is aware at least on some level about how he's attracted to men even this early on

[antiparticular]

hello???? looking at the bracelet after that ?? gayass.

[ellecdc]

Hiiiiii! I love your work sm!

I was wondering you would please be able to write something where the reader has a lot of restless energy and only feels calm around James?

It could be just James any pairing with James that you feel like! Thank you so much for filling the world with your beautiful stories! <3

soooooo I asked Liz first before I did this, but I've changed the pairing a bit in hopes that it would help combat my writers block - it's taken me longer to complete but I hope I've done the request justice even if it's not with our sweet Jamie <3 <3

Sirius Black x Potter!reader who feels like she's too much

CW: a little bit of misogyny/internalized misogyny, hyperactivity/trouble focusing

You’d recited the eleventh step of brewing the felix felicis potion silently in your head when you realised you were being called upon in class. 

“Miss. Potter.” Professor McGonagall called out, causing your head to snap to attention from where you’d been gazing out the window. “Are the birds outside more interesting than my lecture of Transfiguration?”

Yes.

“No, Professor.” You answered quickly as a few students around you snickered.

“Then I should expect your attention to be at the front of the class, Miss. Potter.”

“Yes, Professor.” You mumbled quietly as you sank into your chair, pinning your gaze to the board in front of you as you zoned out.

It wasn’t McGonagall’s fault; but Transfiguration was boring, at least to you.

Discussing the ‘intricate spell work and wand movements’ required to transfigure a button into a butterfly was childs play when one was already an animagus. You could probably [and may very well] produce butterflies in your sleep.

But she didn’t know that, she couldn’t know that.

So now, your knee was bouncing underneath your desk and your brain wasn’t fairing much better.

Sitting here and listening to McGonagall drone on about stuff you already knew couldn’t hold your attention, and it wasn’t long before you were eavesdropping on the two Ravenclaws gossiping behind you.

“I thought she was seeing the older Black?”

“She is, but that’s what he said!”

“I think he’s lying.”

“Honestly, I don’t believe 75% of the things to come out of Lockharts mouth.” 

Oh yeah, there had been a rumour that you had 'snogged Gilderoy Lockhart’ in a broom closet last week. 

You and Sirius had laughed and laughed about that. 

James didn’t find it nearly as funny though and charmed Gilderoy’s hair Gryffindor red for 48 hours. 

That was pretty intricate charm work now that you were thinking about it - you’ll have to ask your brother to teach it to you.

Perhaps some of the wand work would look similar to Transfiguration spells so McGonagall wouldn’t know you’re not paying attention.

Shit. You weren’t paying attention. 

You moved your eyes back to McGonagall who was still droning on about…well, Transfiguration, likely, though she had her eyes trained on you.

Dammit. You’d been caught. 

Your brain had been working in overdrive to keep your eyes glued to the professor that by the time class had ended, you realised you had been clenching your fists so hard that you’d created crescent shape indents in the palm of your hands. 

“Miss. Potter, a word?”

Oh, Godric. 

You heard a few classmates snicker again as you moved towards the professor with your tail tucked between your legs.

“It appears I had a difficult time capturing your attention today?” She asked; eyes and tone holding her same intensity, but a small uptilt in the corner of her mouth.

“I’m sorry, Professor. I assure you it’s not you; I just-”

“You’re a bright girl, Y/N, and I am quite aware that this level of Transfiguration may very well be below your level of capabilities, but I cannot allow you to set a precedent for daydreaming in my class. I have a reputation to uphold, afterall.”

“Yes, Professor.” You agreed readily. 

“Just try to daydream less obviously, okay Miss. Potter?” She offered you gently with a soft smirk. 

“Of course, Professor. I’m sorry, thank you.” You sputtered before you were rushing out of the room with what felt like a furious blush at being so clearly transparent in your restlessness.

Professor McGonagall was being patient with you but you doubted she understood you at all; you doubted she’d ever been anything but the dutiful, attentive witch that she is today. Her knee probably ever bounced under the table, her nail beds were probably never shredded, she probably never had to be called on in class because her mind was so clearly elsewhere. 

A sense of shame surged through you at that; you weren’t doing enough yet you were still too much. 

You knew James had a similar experience to you but it was different for him.

It was different because he was the enthusiastic, charismatic Gryffindor quidditch captain who exuded joy and excitement.

It was different because boys were supposed to be energetic and boisterous. 

“You need to sit still, behta’; this is not lady like.” Your auntie had scolded you as you and James raced around cousin Aparna’s wedding ceremony. 

You had been having fun - both you and James - before then. Neither of you understood why the fun had to stop, least of all why it was okay for James but not for you.

It set a precedent. 

It coloured every area of your life growing up; laugh, but not as loudly as James. Joke, but not as often as James. Shine, but not as bright as James.

And despite all of that, you never blamed him; he never discouraged you from being anyone but yourself. 

You loved that about James, though, he seemed to have enough love for everybody, even if they had a hard time loving themselves. 

You wish you could be more like that.

Be more like James, but not as much as James.

Fuck, this was exhausting. 

You hadn’t realised how fast your mind had been racing until you were standing outside of the boys dormitory in Gryffindor tower chewing aggressively on your lips as you picked away the skin of your nail beds. 

You shouldn’t bother them; you were too much.

Too much, too much, too much. 

They already had James to deal with; James was enough.

He was a lot, but not like you.

He was a lot, but never too much. 

And he was there first; he was their friend first.

And maybe Sirius was having a good day? Maybe he’d been having a good day and then you’d be showing up and ruining it.

Ruining it by being too much.

No, you shouldn’t be here. Perhaps you should leave.

But you couldn’t bring your legs to move fast enough before the door was being yanked open and Peter nearly crashed into you. 

“Whoa, Y/N. I’m sorry! Merlin, you scared me.” 

“I’m sorry, Pete.” You offered quickly. “I was just leaving.”

“Oh, hey bug!” James called from the room, leaning over on his bed so he could see you around Peter’s frame. 

“Hey Jamie.” You called quietly, acquiescing to Peter’s extended arm as he invited you into the room. 

Sirius sat up at the sound of your arrival, putting his book beside him on his bed while he smiled at you.

His smile faltered a tad when he saw the state of you, however.

You shouldn’t be here.

“Hey gorgeous.” Sirius offered softly. “How was your day?”

You looked over at Remus who was looking at you sympathetically, and James who was looking at you worriedly. 

“It was okay, how about yours?”

“Better now that you’re here.” He responded salaciously, offering you a wink when you visibly flushed at the attention.

“Prongs, why don’t we go see what Lily’s up to?” Remus offered pointedly, standing to gather his homework and nudging James in the side. 

“Great idea! I’ve been wanting to try out this new charm I learned that turns everything around us the colour of her hair. It’s so gorgeous - her hair, that is - don’t you think? I’ve never seen anything like it, Moony. I want everything I own to be that same shade of auburn. Would I look good wearing auburn? You know what, don’t answer that; I don’t want to know. I was also thinking-” James’ voice trailed off as Remus and Peter shared a knowing look behind James’ back and followed him out the dormitory door before closing it behind them.

You turned back to see Sirius looking at you intently; his expression so soft that you weren’t sure any of his friends had seen the likes of it before.

“Can I have a hug?” Sirius asked, opening his arms in invitation which you readily accepted.

You had barely dropped your book bag before you were all but cradled in Sirius’ arms; the tension immediately oozing out of your bones as you melted into him. 

“Was today a Too Much day?” He asked as he pushed some hairs away from your face before moving his thumb to pull your bottom lip out from between your teeth.

“I was Too Much today.” You corrected, immediately embarrassed at the stinging in your eyes and sinuses.

Sirius quickly tsked in disapproval as he placed his free hand between your hands; his other which was supporting your weight sitting on your elbow as his thumb rubbed circles against your joint. “You’re never too much, my love.” 

You let out a heavy sigh as you turned your face towards his chest, bringing his hand up towards your mouth as you fiddled with the various rings on his finger.

“You know that, right?” He asked at your silence, pressing a gentle ‘boop’ with his finger to your chin. “You know you’re not too much?”

“I was too much in Transfiguration. I was too much for McGonagall.” 

“Did she say that to you?”

“It appears I had a difficult time capturing your attention today?” “I cannot allow you to set a precedent for daydreaming in my class. I have a reputation to uphold, afterall.” “Just try to daydream less obviously, okay Miss. Potter?”

“No…” You admitted quietly, brushing the pads of Sirius’ fingers against your lips as you thought back to class. 

“No.” Sirius agreed; knowing that had been true before he’d even asked. “Because if there was anyone who was Too Much for McGonagall, it’d be me.” 

You chuckled then, finally bringing your eyes to meet Sirius’ striking grey one’s as he looked down at you. 

“You’re not too much, baby; you’re perfect.”

“You’re perfect.” You countered.

“You’re a liar.”

You shook your head as you removed one of your hands from Sirius’ to place it on his jaw, relishing in the contented sigh that escaped his lips as he leaned into your touch.

“Perfect.” You reiterated.

He smiled and looked to be fighting against an eye roll before leaning down to press a kiss to your hairline. 

“We’re perfect for each other, yeah?” He conceded.

“Yeah.” You agreed readily.

“And girlfriend or not, I will fight you for the title of McGonagall’s Too Much, got it? I’ve put years of blood, sweat, and tears into that honour and I will not let you take that from me.”

You let out a boisterous laugh as you took a deep stretch, feeling the last tendrils of tension seep from your body before turning back towards Sirius. “Fine, but I want to keep the title of Flitwick’s Too Much.”

“Deal.”

“Great.” You smiled.

“Perfect.” Sirius whispered.

Yes… yes he was.

[born-in-hell]

Hi!

As some of you might know, southern Brazil, specifically the state of Rio Grande do Sul, has been struck by heavy rains and a consequential flood. The rains started on monday (29/abr) and only stopped today (5/mai), in Porto Alegre ─ the state capital, and the city i live in ─ and in the other cities nearby.

The lake that borders PoA (named Guaíba) has reached more than 5m up its normal level. This is higher than on the historic 1941 flood. The city's center ─ a big residential and commercial hub, beyond being the host of most of our public services (such as the city hall and the state government) ─ is completely taken by the water. Many other neighbourhoods were also affected.

Smaller cities that also border Guaíba were even more heavily affected, such as Eldorado do Sul, whose territory was almost 100% flooded.

The state is, for a lack of a better word, abandoned by the people that were supposed to aid.

Our governor, Eduardo Leite, is more worried about his plitical campaign ─ making dramatic videos, changing his facebook pfp to one of him with a public defense vest, making streams with no useful information ─ than with the people's lives. This year, he destinated only R$50.000 (~ USD250.000) for the Civil Defense. For the entire year. He is now, delegating the responsibility of recuperating our state to the Federal Government, stating that "the rbuilding of the RS will demand a Marshall Project".

Porto Alegre's mayor, Sebastião Mello, has vanished. He sold our city out to big enterprises ─ Melnick, Zaffari and Panvel, mainly ─, and hasn't destined any public resources to maintaining the Mauá wall (a wall built after the 1941 flood with a system made to protect the city from other floods), which caused many points to fail and the water to invade the city.

This is the danger we all face with a neoliberal system.

Neoliberalism is an individualist ideology. All these people and companies I named did close to nothing to help us. Or even made it worse. The Civil Defense, for example, published a map of all the areas that would be affected, but had to take it back, since it didn't consider the topography.

Its the people for the people.

This situation is being aided by people using their own resources. Donations of various natures and volunteer work. It is very beautiful, in a way. It shows that colaboration and union can do great things. It shows, at least to me, that the world can reach, one day, a self sustaining way of living, contrary to the ultra-individualistic capitalism some preach. Humans can, and are, good.

But it also lays out how much the people that govern us failed us.

Human lives were lost because of their negligency.

This flood isn't normal. It is a product of the huge levels of degradation multi-billionaire companies are causing the world, supported by higher class and their representatives. Eduardo Leite changed almost 500 points of our state's Environmental Code, for the worst, when he was first elected in 2019. His actions, and the actions of all other neoliberal politicians, such as our ex-president Bolsonaro, are what created this situation. They are responsible for everything that is going on here.

This flood isnt the only environmental crisis this state has faced in the last 6 months. This isn't the last one that will happen.

This text is, beyond a personal vent, a warning. We need to keep fighting against a system that is actively trying to kill us. Please, do not support ideals and people ─ especially if said people will rule you ─ that go against the environment, that preach that the capital, the money, the posesions, are more important than lives. Of the people, of the animals, of the environment. Fight for a better world, i know there can be one.

Always be aware of the climate in your areas. Things like this won't happen only here. Please be safe.

Sorry for the long post.

If you're interested in donating, @decaf-lesbian made this post with some links for international and national donations.

-> If you're from Brasil, check this link, that has a copilation of maps of risk areas, shelters, places to donate to, etc, made by a UFRGS student.

[justagalwhowrites]

The Savage and the Sanctuary - Ch. 1: Wrong Foot

Joel takes on a new contract as a bodyguard. A continuation of The Savage and the Sanctuary, a no outbreak TLOU story, from the prologue found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

CW: Non-consensual groping (not by Joel.) Mention of grief and child loss. No use of Y/N. Whole fic will be explicit so minors DNI, 18+ only.

Length: 7.1k

Fic Masterlist | Masterlist | AO3 | Prologue | Next Chapter

Two years later - September 2024

“You really want me for this one?” he asked as he rode up the elevator at the nicest hotel in Austin. Even after two years protecting wealthy assholes, Joel wasn’t used to shit like this. The fast elevators and the plush carpets and the trappings of wealth that provided everything his charges needed. Everything, it seemed, except safety. 

For that, they needed him. 

Protecting people, as it happened, was something Joel was good at. It almost surprised him how good he was at it. It forced him to be aware of what was happening around him for a change instead of just moving through the world like a ghost. It took that awareness for him to even realize just how dead he’d been in the years since the death of his daughter.

Usually, things went fine. Most often, he was shepherding tech or oil executives with inflated egos from business meeting to business meeting while they were in town and looking the other way when they cheated on their wives or put half his salary up their noses. Nothing ever happened with those assholes. 

Occasionally, though, his job got interesting. Rabid fans tried to mob some pop star Joel had never heard of at a club on 6th Street once and he had to carry her out, forcing his way through the crowd before she got crushed. Then there was the supermodel who was posing for photos with fans when one little college-aged fucker thought it would be smart to grab her ass to cop a feel. Joel took a little too much pleasure in punching him so hard that he fell to the floor, knocked clean out. The football player had been the biggest trouble, though. Some hotshot asshole who’d just won the Super Bowl coming back to his college town to party. He picked a fight with the wrong drug dealer and damn near got shot for it, Joel whisking him away and getting winged in the shoulder by the bullet for his trouble. 

He didn’t want to admit, even to himself, that he liked when the work got dicey. Being shot at was the closest to alive Joel has felt in years. Getting to lay out some asshole without the cops trying to arrest him for it had been the highlight of his month. It made him very good at his job and he liked that, both things that surprised him. 

“You’re my best guy,” Tommy said. “You’ve seen more action on this job than almost any of the other guards and they want someone with a good history. Plus you don’t give a shit about… higher profile clientele. I can’t put fuckin’ James on a job with someone he knows, he’ll fan boy over ‘em. Remember when that one band came through?” 

“Jesus,” Joel groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. It had been an easy job but it was one that he’d had to do most of the work on, James practically giddy the entire time. “Yeah, you’re right. So, what, this some pop star or somethin’?” 

“Not sure,” Tommy said. “They’ve been playin’ it real close to the chest, won’t ID ‘em until we sign an NDA.” 

“So you got no idea what we’re workin’ with,” Joel said, grinding his teeth. 

“Just that it’s someone people know,” Tommy said. “Long term contract, real good money. They mentioned a stalker, they’re bringing all the information along on that to review, wanted you to see it before we signed on.” 

Joel nodded slowly. 

“Well,” he said. “Least it’ll be interesting.” 

They made it to the top floor of the hotel, only four doors and Joel fought the urge to laugh. God, this breed of rich asshole was a whole new level. 

Tommy led the way to a door labeled Presidential Suite and knocked, a young woman with close cropped dark hair and a headphone in her ear answered the door. 

“One second,” she said, tapping her headphone before she smiled at the two men. “Thank you for coming, Mr. Miller. My boss prefers to have people come to where she is when she travels, I’m sure you can understand…” 

“Of course,” Tommy said. “Happy to go wherever you need.” 

“Can I get you anything?” She asked, leading the way into a hotel suite that had to be damn near the size of Joel’s entire house. “Coffee? Water? Tea? Also have a variety of Coke I think you call it here if you’d like that.” 

“Water’s fine,” Tommy said. 

“Still, sparkling?” She asked. “Also have cucumber, lemon, mint…” 

“Uh,” Tommy blinked for a moment and Joel fought the urge to laugh. “Still’s fine. None of that other stuff.” 

She nodded before she looked to Joel, her brows raised. 

“Coffee,” he said. “Black.” 

“Of course,” she smiled, leading them to a sitting room and gesturing to a couch. “Quinn will be with you shortly.” 

She disappeared and returned with their drinks, handing them to each of them with a smile before she tapped the headphone again. 

“Thank you,” she said, her voice almost syrupy sweet as she went to another room. “I appreciate you waiting since you’re apparently so willing to try to fuck us over…” 

Tommy’s eyes went wide and he looked at Joel, the conversation becoming almost silent as she closed the door behind her. 

“Definitely ain’t from around here,” Joel said. 

“Guess not,” Tommy said. 

It wasn’t long - Joel only drank half the coffee which was far better than he was expecting it to be - when another door opened, a woman closer to his own age coming out, dressed in an expertly fitted gray suit, her dark hair in long, tiny braids that hung to her waist. Sarah had always liked hair like that, always begged Joel to let her get them. He wished he had whiskey for his coffee. 

The woman was on the phone, too, but she was on speaker. 

“I don’t care,” she said. “You know the deal and I’m not going to just sit here and pretend that you don’t because you decided today was the day to play fucking games. Call me when you want to handle shit like a fucking grown up.” 

She hung up and sat heavily on the couch opposite them, the girl who answered the door almost scurrying into the room and hovering near the large coffee table. The woman in the suit - Quinn, Joel assumed - giving her a single nod and she rushed off, quickly returning with a bottle of water and several folios. 

“Tommy,” Quinn smiled. “While it’s good to see you again, I’m sure you’ll understand when I say I’m looking forward to getting this settled so we can stop meeting like this.” 

Tommy smiled back. 

“Can’t say I disagree,” he said. “Wanted you to have the chance to meet Joel, he’ll be the lead on this contract assuming we go ahead. He’s one of my best guys, got the history you asked for…” 

“I’m sure being your brother doesn’t hurt,” she smiled a little. Joel raised his eyebrows and looked to Tommy but she answered his unspoken question. “We pulled backgrounds for everyone on your payroll. We can’t be too careful.” 

She tossed one of the leather folios on the table. 

“This is what we’re up against,” she said. “Redacted, of course, so you can’t ascertain who my client is but you’ll have access to the full versions should you accept the contract and sign the necessary NDAs. We’ve naturally brought them to the police and they believe the threat is credible. They have a lot of information - some of these were sent to my client’s private residence, for example - and it’s clear they’ve seen my client in person numerous times. We have reason to believe they will follow my client wherever she goes and there is genuine concern for escalation…” 

Tommy picked up the file and looked it over, nodding slowly, before passing a page off to Joel. It was the photo copy of a printed letter. 

You were beautiful today in that green dress. 

One day, you’ll come home to me. One day, I’ll make you see. 

Joel passed the page back to Tommy. 

“I can see why you’re concerned,” Tommy said, handing the folio back. “Don’t seem like anything we can’t handle. I think we’re alright to move forward with the contract as discussed…” 

There was a knock at the door and the girl ran to go answer it, Quinn ignoring it completely. 

“Excellent,” she said, grabbing another folio and passing it over. “This is the contract and the NDA, already reviewed by your legal team. We just require a wet signature.” 

Tommy nodded, looking over the pages, anyway, and Joel was starting to wonder why he’d had to be trotted out like some kind of prize show pony just to sign some damn paperwork when there was a commotion at the door. 

“This really isn’t necessary,” the girl was saying, her voice oddly pleading, the total opposite of how she’d been on the phone. 

“Oh I’m sure Quinn won’t mind,” another voice - a new one but there was a tug of familiarity to it that set Joel’s teeth on edge - said. “I am her favorite client, after all.” 

Quinn’s head snapped in the direction of the sound and, in a sweep of gauzy clothes and floral perfume, you were there. 

Joel recognized you immediately, everything about you seeming to have been built to be remembered. The whole world remembered you, it had been years since he’d been able to escape you. The biggest movie star on the planet, helming major franchises and winning fucking Oscars, on the cover of gossip rags at the fucking grocery store and on billboards advertising perfume and on Saturday Night Live. In person, from the second you appeared, you were a force. Your face, your voice, the way you held yourself, no wonder he always noticed you when you were all around him. No wonder his daughter had been obsessed with you. 

Your face was a poster on her wall, a picture where you had the slightest, confident smile on your lips but your eyes always seemed sad. You turned those eyes to him, ranging over him like you were taking stock and Joel’s heart stuttered before your gaze turned to Tommy and back to Quinn. 

“So glad you got the meeting started without me,” you said, all saccharine sweetness, stepping over Joel’s legs and sitting down on the edge of the couch between him and Tommy. You crossed one elegant leg over the other - your pants ever so slightly sheer so Joel could just make out your thigh below the loose fabric - and leaned forward, taking Joel’s white china coffee cup off the table and helping yourself to a sip with a jingle of your bangles that were piled high on your wrists. You gave him a wink as you did, setting the cup back on its saucer before leaning onto your leg, your arms folded in front of you. “I’m sure the fact that I didn’t know it was happening has nothing to do with wanting to cut me out of the decision making for something that’s going to be apparently integral to my life over the next year.” 

“I just don’t want to bog you down with petty things like this,” Quinn waved you off. “You have enough on your plate, that’s what you pay me for…” 

“Oh I’m sure that’s all it is…” 

Quinn leaned forward, too, meeting your steely gaze from across the table. The knowing smile that had been on her lips just a second earlier was gone. In its place was a no nonsense expression that Joel imagined carried her far when dealing with Hollywood assholes. She, it seemed, was done coddling you. 

“The studios know,” she cut you off. “Someone at the police station leaked it. And they won’t insure you without higher levels of security, especially if you want to spend this much time outside LA. You want to keep working? You need security. At least until we get to the bottom of whoever is sending you letters.” 

“Have you tried telling them how well the tickets will sell when I die?” You asked, brows raised. “I’m sure they’ll be champing at the bit then, especially now that they can just replace me with CGI for whatever isn’t in the can…” 

“That’s not funny,” Quinn said sharply. 

“Oh, come on. It was a little funny.” 

She glared at you. 

“Do you really want someone like that getting close to her?” She asked, her voice almost unsettlingly earnest and gentle. You almost deflated then, giving in. “It’s not safe, babe. I’m trying to keep you safe. It just so happens that it’s also in the studio’s best interest so you don’t have to foot the entire bill.” 

“You must not have told them about the boost in ticket sales, then,” you said wryly. She rolled her eyes. “But fine. If you really think there’s a risk to her? I’ll do it.” 

Joel wondered who this “her” was. Knowing movie stars, probably some tiny fucking dog you carried in your goddamn purse. 

You looked to Joel for a moment, your gaze oddly cutting, like you were seeing through every part of him before turning your attention to Tommy. 

“When does your contract begin then?” 

Tommy glanced at Joel, almost asking if he was actually OK with this. Clearly, this wasn’t what Tommy had expected either. Joel gave a minute shrug. 

“Tomorrow,” Tommy said, looking back to you. “Joel here will be your point man but you’ll also be working with a few other guys from my company. He’ll get you oriented tomorrow and we can work out a way to ensure your protection that’s minimally disruptive to your daily life.” 

You scoffed. 

“Something tells me having a wall of muscle follow me everywhere is going to disruptive,” you said. “But the studio says jump, we say how high, right?” 

“Hey, I don’t make the rules,” Quinn said.

“We all know who does,” you muttered darkly, getting to your feet. “Well, since all this was going to happen whether I wanted it to or not, I think I’m done wasting my time here.” 

You turned to Joel and he found himself in the unnatural position of looking up to someone, his jaw tight as you levied those exacting eyes on him again. 

“See you in the morning,” you said, reaching down and helping yourself to another sip of his coffee with a wink before stepping over his legs and heading out the door in a whirl of soft perfume and flowing fabric. He looked back to the coffee cup. Your lipstick was on the rim.

Joel tried not to think about how you looked at him as Tommy finished up with the formalities, the conversation between his brother and Quinn a drone he couldn’t really make out over the noise in his head as his leg bounced impatiently.

When Tommy had looked at him just now, the silent request for permission, he should have bowed out. He should have said he didn’t want to put his life on the line for some spoiled fucking brat and gone home. But he hadn’t and he couldn’t back out of this now. It didn’t matter how much you made him think of his daughter. It didn’t matter how your eyes seemed to cut him to the quick. He owed Tommy. When he’d started in this business, he’d told his brother that he could do this work and sometimes that meant doing shit he wasn’t comfortable with. He would just have to live with that. 

Eventually, Joel gave up on sitting still. 

“Be downstairs,” he said gruffly to Tommy when the conversation with Quinn lulled for a moment. He didn’t wait for a response before going for the elevator, relieved that it as empty on the way down to the lobby as it had been on the way up. 

But the ground floor of the hotel was not the quiet place it had been when Joel had arrived. Instead, there was a press of people just outside the doors, phones up and loud enough that he could hear them through the glass. He frowned for a moment before he realized what it was, the metal of your bangles catching the light as your arm rose above the crowd, a phone clutched in your hand as you took a selfie. 

“Jesus,” Joel muttered, stalking over toward the door. 

At least, he thought, he wasn’t on duty until tomorrow. If you really wanted to handle shit that bad on your own? Fine by him. 

The doorman held the door for him and Joel gave him a stiff nod as he tried to force his way from the building, but the press of people was becoming suffocating, every inch of sidewalk crammed tight. 

“Can I get a selfie?” 

“My girlfriend loves you, can you say hi to her on video?” 

“Can I have an autograph?” 

“Look, I’m happy to give you all whatever you want,” you said, voice friendly but still curt. “But I need a little room to breathe, OK? I’m not in a rush, we’ve got time, it’s…” 

Someone from the outside edge of the crowd shoved forward, sending the press of people toward you, Joel tall enough that he could see how they tripped and jostled, sending you stumbling into the person at your back. You had to fight for the space to stand up again, the man you’d fallen into’s hand running up your side to your chest, cupping the underside of your breast as you tried to find a way to separate from him. If it wasn’t for the look on his face, Joel might have given him the benefit of the doubt. But his lecherous smile gave him away, and the thinly veiled look of disgust on your face told him you knew exactly what this man was trying. 

Something that hadn’t existed much since Joel lost everything took over. It was rage, blind and violent and coursing through him sharp and heady. That rage didn’t give him a chance to really think, but then, it never had. Not when he was a kid and his dad was on some bender, not when he was some hotheaded teenager looking to pick a fight with a bully at school, not when he was at a bar and saw someone who could have killed his daughter. It was no different now as he practically dove into the crowd, forcing the group apart and not caring if people got pushed into the street or shoved to the ground.

“Move!” Joel yelled, not that it seemed to do much beyond warn people that he was coming for them. He reached you in a matter of seconds, towering over the man who’d decided to take advantage of your vulnerable position to grope you. The man - more of a kid, likely some student at UT who didn’t know his ass from hole in the ground - gaped up at him, his eyes wide and his hand still on your breast. 

Joel took your arm and pulled you, roughly, away from his grip, tucking you behind him before refocusing on the kid in front of him. 

“You think that shit’s funny?” Joel asked, his hand curling into a fist. “Touchin’ a woman without permission?” 

“I was just…” he looked afraid and something inside Joel flared with pride at that. Look at what he could do, he thought, it looked like he was capable of something after all. 

“Know what you were just,” Joel cut him off, mockingly, before grabbing him by his shirt and slamming him back into a marble pillar. The kids head smacked against it with sickening crack. “Do that shit again and I’ll bust your jaw.” 

Joel released him and the kid slumped to the ground before he turned to find you, looking down at the kid with your mouth slightly open. 

“C’mon,” Joel said, throwing his arm around your shoulder and pulling you into him, ducking your head down low to ruin the picture for anyone who might be trying to take one. “Let’s go.” 

He looked around, the crowd thinner now but all watching him. 

“Move!” He roared again. This time, they listened, parting like the Red Sea as he ushered you quickly away, back into the hotel. He looked to the door man, trying not to glare at him too hard. “Those assholes don’t come inside, we clear?” 

“Yes sir,” the man said quickly.

Joel looked to you next. 

“Where’s your car?” 

“Valet,” you said, your forehead in your hand. “I didn’t get a chance to even grab it yet, someone must have tipped off some fucking gossip blog that I was here…” 

“Got the ticket?” Joel asked. You sighed and fished it out of your pocket and handed it over before Joel took it to the front desk and told them to have your car brought out back. He also got directions to the loading dock before going back to find you, in the same spot on the plush lobby couch, fingers laced together, elbows braced on your knees. 

“C’mon,” Joel said, making you jump before looking up at him. “They’re bringing your car around back, we’ll get you out of here without those fuckers knowin’.” 

You looked back down at the ground before giving a stiff nod. 

“Thanks.” You got up and took a deep breath, raising your chin, an almost serene look on your face before looking to him. “Lead the way.” 

He did as you asked, watching like a hawk for anyone who might be stupid enough to try to talk to you. But no one seemed to pay you any mind, even as the two of you cut through the dining room - closed between lunch and dinner service - and into the kitchen, where dozens of cooks were working to get set for the evening. They just ducked around the pair of you, sometimes giving Joel a dirty look for getting in their way, and then you were at the loading dock. 

“Here,” Joel said, jumping down from the edge of it to the alley still damp from rain from the night before. He held his hands out to you. “I’ll help you down.” 

“Thanks, but I’d rather do it myself,” you said. You were more cautious about it than Joel but you jumped down and landed lightly beside him, brushing your hands free of the dirt from the dock before crossing your arms tightly over your chest. Your jaw was tight, the only sign on your calm, uncommonly beautiful face that something might be wrong. Joel crossed his arms, too. 

“You OK?” He asked after a moment. 

You looked at him for a second, your brows raised ever so slightly. 

“Fine,” you said after a moment before staring straight ahead again. 

“You sure?” He asked. He wasn’t sure why he was pressing. He shouldn’t care. He didn’t care.

“Yes,” you said and then you laughed once, sharply. “I mean, no, I’m not but what the fuck am I going to do about it? It’s part of the job, isn’t it?” 

Joel ground his teeth. 

“Shouldn’t be.” 

“Regardless,” you shrugged, glancing at him again. “Thank you for your help. You didn’t have to do that and… Well, I appreciate it.” 

“Sure,” he said as your car came around the corner. You dropped your arms before turning to face him. 

“Looks like it’s you and me starting tomorrow,” you said. “I’m sure your boss will give you all the details but I don’t think I caught your name.” 

“Joel,” he said after a moment. “Miller.”

You smiled, a small, almost hesitant one, the slightest upturn of your lips. 

“Joel Miller,” you repeated back to him. “It’s nice to meet you, I’m…” 

“Don’t need to tell me your name,” he said. “Pretty sure everyone on Earth knows your name.” 

You laughed again in that same, humorless way as your car stopped beside you. 

“Yeah,” you said. “I suppose they do. See you tomorrow, Joel.” 

“See you tomorrow, ma’am.” 

He watched you pull cash out of your pocket and smile more broadly at valet who was damn near gawking at you. You discreetly handed him the money as you shook his hand and Joel stayed there in the alley until he couldn’t see your car any more. 

“Holy shit,” the valet said and Joel looked down at him. He had to be about 18 years old, still wet behind the ears. Probably had fucking posters of you up in his room that he jerked off to before he went to bed. He held up the cash. “She gave me 100 bucks!” 

Joel looked down at him, making sure to draw himself to his full height. 

“You gonna tell anyone we got her out this way?” He asked. The kid swallowed hard and shook his head. “Good.” 

Joel tried not to grind his teeth as he went back inside to find his brother. He wished it wasn’t too late to back out of this. You, he thought, were going to be far more than he’d bargained for. He just hoped he was ready for it.

***

“I’m not wearing this.” 

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. 

“Seriously dude?” You asked, incredulous. “Can’t you wait like… two days before picking a fight?” 

“Have you seen this fucking thing?” Ellie’s eyebrows disappeared into her bangs as she held up the hem of the blue plaid skirt that, you had to admit, looked sickeningly unnatural on your 14-year-old niece. “You could put a whole circus up this thing! And how am I supposed to kick someone’s ass in a fucking skirt?” 

“First of all, language,” you said. She rolled her eyes. You ignored her. “Second of all, you shouldn’t be kicking anybody’s ass. Why are you starting your day thinking about ass kicking? You haven’t even met these kids yet, I highly doubt you’ll need to kick someone’s ass your first day.” 

“I’d like to be able to kick someone’s ass if I need to,” she said, incredulous. “Come on. You know this is insane.” 

You sighed as the doorbell rang and you checked your watch. 7 a.m. on the nose. Well, at least the man was prompt. 

“Fine,” you sighed. “Run upstairs, put on something else…” 

Ellie took off as Esmo, your household assistant, appeared next to you, Joel by her side. 

“Morning,” he said, voice gruff. You looked him over quickly, a side arm at his belt on a pair of jeans that fit him entirely too well. You doubted they were tailored, either, they just fit him like that, the bastard. Just your luck that you’d get stuck with a bodyguard who was unnaturally good looking but also an asshole. “Thought we could get started with…”

“Sorry, that won’t work, things are a bit off the rails this morning,” you said to him quickly, not giving him a chance to respond before turning to Esmo.

“Do you still have the name of the uniform store?” You asked her. “If you do, can you see if they’re open? I think we’re going to need to stop for pants…” 

“Yes ma’am,” she said, quickly pulling out her phone. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t think to get pants, the requirements were very clear…” 

“It’s not your fault,” you said quickly. Esmo had only been working for you for a few weeks and it felt like the two of you were still getting used to each other. She insisted on calling you ma’am. You insisted on doing too much for yourself. It was a delicate balance. “She’s just…” 

“OK,” Ellie came thundering down the stairs in the same sweater with a button down shirt and tie but jeans instead of the skirt. “Ready!” 

“Store opened at seven,” Esmo said, pocketing her phone. “I can take her and…” 

“I want to do it,” you cut her off, catching a glimpse of Joel’s shocked expression out of the corner of your eye as you looked back to your niece. “Alright trouble maker, ready to go?” 

“Fuck yeah.” 

“Girl,” you said. “Language, please!” 

She made a face but made her way to the front door, anyway, her thumbs looped through the straps of her book bag and you turned to Joel, still surprised at just how large he was, even after being against him the day before. 

“Assuming you’re along for the ride on this,” you said, jerking your head for the door. “But we gotta book it, with an extra stop we’re already not going to be early for her first day.” 

He still had a look of almost shock on his face but he followed behind you as you grabbed your keys and wristlet from the bowl by the door, Ellie bouncing impatiently from foot to foot. 

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were excited,” you teased as you made you way to the Porsche SUV you’d gotten specifically to haul Ellie around. “Almost like you want to go to school instead of hanging out with me all day.” 

“Spending time with old people does get… well, old,” she smirked, heading for the passenger seat but you stopped her. 

“Absolutely not, you’re in back,” you said, jerking a thumb toward Joel - who still hadn’t spoken. “This man has a good foot on you, we’re not making him sit back there.” 

“Ugh, fine,” she huffed but obeyed, throwing her book bag against the opposite door before clambering in as Joel went for the driver’s seat, holding out his hand for the keys. You gave him a look but he just raised his brow, his arm still extended expectantly. 

“Please,” you scoffed. “I’ll let you follow me around like some guard dog but I’m keeping some last vestige of my autonomy. I’m driving.” 

He narrowed his eyes. 

“No.” 

“And why not?” You asked. “Because you have control issues?”

“Do you know evasive driving tactics?” He asked. “How to watch for pursuers and safely out run them?” 

“No, but I did my own stunt driving for the Fast Track franchise,” you said wryly. “Think I’ll be fine. Now move, you’re making us late.” 

He ground his teeth. 

“We’re talkin’ about this,” he muttered before stalking off to the passenger side of the car. 

“Yeah I bet we are,” you said under your breath as you got in the car and programmed the GPS for the uniform store. 

“So,” Ellie said in a teasing tone as she leaned between the front seats as you started off. “Who are you?”

“Put on your seatbelt,” he said. 

She rolled her eyes but sat back and obeyed.

“This is Joel,” you answered for him. “He’s going to be around quite a bit.” 

“Is he like another assistant or some shit?” She asked. 

“Language,” you said and you caught a glimpse of her rolling her eyes in your rearview mirror. “And no, not an assistant.” 

“Ohhhh,” she smirked. “So he’s like a boyfriend then, got it…” 

Joel rolled his eyes. 

“I’m a bodyguard,” he said. “I’ll be protecting your…” 

“Bodyguard?” Ellie interrupted and leaned forward again, frowning. “Why do you need a bodyguard? You didn’t have one of those in LA, what the fuck?” 

“I have a bodyguard because you can’t go five minutes without saying fuck,” you said wryly. “My life is under constant threat because of…” 

“Please,” Ellie rolled her eyes. “You have a worse mouth than I do. But seriously, why do you need a bodyguard? Is something going on?” 

You saw Joel moving to talk but you spoke before he had a chance to. 

“This is just a different place than LA,” you said quickly. “People here aren’t used to people like me just showing up in grocery stores and stuff. It can get out of hand quick so the studio wanted me to have Joel around. It’s just a precaution.” 

She seemed skeptical but was satisfied enough by the bullshit explanation you’d just given her that she sat back, pulling a Savage Starlight comic book from her book bag and you smiled a little. A lot might have changed in the last few months but at least Ellie was still Ellie. 

You made it to the uniform store and told the woman inside - who was seemingly trying not to gape at you but was failing miserably - what you were looking for. She grabbed a few pairs of uniform pants in different sizes before leading Ellie to the fitting rooms and you hung back, waiting for her to change with Joel by your side. He stood facing you, eyes constantly sweeping the store as though this strip mall just outside Austin were a war zone. 

“No one told me you had a kid,” he said eventually. 

You smiled, sadly. 

“Yeah, well,” you said. “I have a kid. That’s a pretty new development, though.” 

That made him pause, his eyebrows drawing together as he looked to you. 

“I adopted her,” you said. “A few months ago. Her mom was a single parent and like a sister to me. When she got cancer, the first thing she asked me was to take Ellie if… I told her that she was nuts, that she’d be around forever and she wouldn’t need me to do anything for Ellie besides take her to Europe for a cool aunt vacation when she turned 18 but… well, now I have a kid.” 

“I…” His voice trailed off. “Shit. I’m sorry.”  

You shrugged. 

“It is what it is, I guess,” you said. “She’s why I’m here. Things in LA… I’ve always been in her life. I was the second person to ever hold her. But I’ve always kept the paparazzi far away from her, I’ve made sure she has privacy and that she was as sheltered from that part of my life as she could be. I want to settle into this with some version of normal, one that isn’t possible when I’m in LA. And you, Joel, are throwing quite a wrench into that.” 

“Oh this is so much better,” Ellie threw the door to the changing room open with a flourish, in a pair of blue pants that perfectly matched the blue of the sweater. “Not as good as jeans but better than that stupid freaking skirt.” 

“Alright,” you said. “We’ll take five of those and then we have to get you to school because there’s no point in loading you up on uniforms just to have you miss your first day, let’s go.” 

You weren’t as early as you wanted to be - you’d been hoping to have a chance to meet Ellie’s teachers before the day started but that plan was shot - but at least kids were still arriving. You grabbed a baseball cap from your glove box, Joel stiffening as you reached between his legs to open it and you resisted the urge to smirk at that. As though you’d be trying to come onto him at all let alone with your niece in the car. 

Hat on so you were somewhat disguised, you walked with Ellie and Joel to the front of the stone building, one that had clearly taken inspiration from the ivy league schools the kids who went here were all but destined to attend. A gray haired woman in a charcoal pantsuit rushed out to greet you, an almost stern look on her face. 

“Welcome to Austin Preparatory Academy,” she extended her hand. “I’m Amanda Stark, headmistress here.” 

“Good to meet you,” you said, taking her hand, feeling Joel standing oddly close to your back. “This is Ellie, she’s looking forward to starting here today and…” 

“We’re looking forward to having her,” she smiled a little at Ellie before redirecting her attention to you. “But I’m afraid there’s been some… ah… miscommunication about the uniform. Girls are required to wear skirts. I’m sure we have…” 

“No miscommunication,” you smiled a little, steeling your spine. From the moment you’d caved to Ellie, you knew this was coming. But you’d been prepared to fight far bigger battles over this kid, this wasn’t going to be any different. “Ellie just prefers to wear pants. It wasn’t a problem at her last school, I’m sure it won’t be a problem here.” 

Ellie stuck her chin out, smirking a little and defiant as ever and you resisted the urge to elbow her. She could at least act like she wasn’t going to get her way. 

“But it is,” the headmistress said. “The uniform code here has been this way for decades and…” 

“And I’m sure you’re not suggesting that just because something has been done one way that it should continue to be done that way at the expense of students’ comfort and learning experience,” you finished for her, smiling tightly.

“We have expectations for our students,” she said, her jaw clenched. “Just like they will have one day to be successful in life, and…” 

“And you’re wearing pants,” you nodded to her suit. “And so am I. Of course, if you’re suggesting that neither of us is successful then…” 

“No, no of course not, that’s not…” 

“Wonderful!” You said brightly. “I’m glad that’s settled. I’m sure Ellie won’t cause any disruption wearing the uniform pants and now I won’t need to spend my day contacting every major news network here in Austin and asking them to come here and chat with me about your archaic gender rules and expectations. Sound good?” 

You watched her grind her teeth for a moment. 

“Of course,” she said after a moment of silence hanging in the air. “But we are close to the start of the school day and…” 

“Yes, I don’t want to be a distraction,” you smiled before turning to Ellie, tucking a hair that had already broken free of her ponytail behind her ear. “Alright kid, behave yourself, OK?” 

“Yes Sissy,” she rolled her eyes. Your heart still tightened a little when she called you that. She sounded so much like her mother, Anna. You loved that Ellie called you the same thing her mother had but still, it stung.

“I’ll be back to pick you up,” you said, putting your hands on her shoulders. “Have a good first day, OK?” 

“Oh I will,” she said and you watched her head into the building with the headmistress at her side until you couldn’t see her anymore. 

“OK, she’s dropped,” Joel said, his voice tight. “Let’s move, this place isn’t secured.” 

“Well that sure seems like a gap in security, doesn’t it?” You said, brows raised. 

“One I would have fixed if anyone had bothered to tell me you had a damn kid,” he practically growled. 

“Probably a bad idea for your boss to not have insisted on bringing me into the conversation then, wasn’t it?” 

He looked at you, his face hard. 

“Keys.” He held out his hand.

You laughed once. 

“Keys?” You said. “Really? Just ‘keys,’” you grunted it like he did, “that’s it?”

“Your kid is inside,” he said, hand still out. “Don’t have her to use an excuse now so, keys.” 

You looked at him for a moment, the firm set of his jaw, the flecks of gray just starting in at his temples. He was a good looking man, tall and broad with a rugged look to him. He’d make a good cowboy in a western, you thought, or maybe a hardened detective. But protecting someone like you seemed out of place for him. Beneath him a little, almost like he was a sell out.

“No,” you said simply, ducking around him and heading for the car. 

He followed closely behind you, even his footfalls gruff and angry. You sped up a little but he stepped in front of you, anyway, his oddly large body blocking your door. He opened his mouth - probably to try to order you around again - but you cut him off before he had the chance. 

“I’m not letting you drive,” you said. “It doesn’t matter what you do or what you say. If you want to drive, you’re going to have to pick me up and move me so, if you want to get out of here quickly and without causing a scene, you’ll get in the passenger seat and we can go.” 

For half a moment, you thought he might actually throw you over his shoulder. Instead, he just grunted and stalked around to the other side of the car, ripping the door open roughly. You pressed your lips together, trying not to laugh. All this pretense over some stupid letters from some over zealous fan. 

You got in the car and dropped the keys in Joel’s lap. He frowned, picking them up. 

“You want to have the keys so bad? Fine.” You pushed the button and the car roared to life. “I’ve got them right where I want them.” 

“You gotta come to terms with how this shit is going to work,” he said sharply. “You can’t just do whatever the hell it is you feel like. I get that you’re some spoiled fuckin’ actress who only ever does exactly what she wants whenever she wants but I got news for you, I don’t give a shit how many movies you’ve been in or awards you’ve won. I care about keeping your ass alive and to do that, you gotta listen to me. I ain’t one of those fuckin’ ass kissers you spend all your time with so we can do this the hard way or the easy way but either way, it’s gonna be my fuckin’ way. Understood?” 

You watched him for a moment, your tongue between your teeth to keep from snapping at him. It was something you were used to, something you’d been doing since you were a girl, always shutting up while the people who were more powerful than you - people you’d made fucking rich - made every decision for you. 

That was one thing on set and in your career and even for posed fucking paparazzi shots but not in your real life. 

“I need coffee,” you said, putting the car in drive. “Coffee?” 

“I’m sure you got people who can do that for you,” he said, his jaw clenched. 

“Yes, but where’s the fun in that?” You smirked before nodding down to his wrist. “Oh, also? Your watch is broken.” 

You pressed the gas harder than you should have, the car jumping sharply forward, wondering just how far you could push your new shadow before he backed out.

Next Chapter

A/N: OK I'm already in love with writing how these two push each other's buttons. Annoying Joel Miller is my passion, I can't wait to drive this man absolutely insane over the arc of this fic.

Thank you so much for being patient as I wrapped up Yearling and went on vacation! I'm hoping to update this once a week going forward so you won't need to wait quite so long between chapters from here on out. I hope you enjoyed getting to know these two a little better!

Taglist: @christinamadsen @eff4freddie @brittmb115 @copperhalfcent @r3dheadedwitch @pedropascalsbbg @lovelyjess69 @yopossum @moel-jiller @picketniffler

[smhalltheurlsaretaken]

One thing I do like about TOTJ's take on Dooku's fall is that it really highlights that the Dark Side makes you absolutely masochistic. (Mega long post ahead).

One thing TOTJ establishes is that Qui-Gon's death is absolutely on Dooku (no matter if the show itself doesn't seem to be aware of it).

His tone is concerned and his attitude sympathetic and supportive, but he knows. He knows it's a Sith Lord (he even knows Maul's name). He knows Qui-Gon almost died and is marching right into another trap, but he asks questions anyway and affects ignorance.

"I've been warning them about the coming darkness for years," he says, "never to be taken seriously." Using the Council's skepticism as an occasion to complain about how they didn't believe him while lying by omission is a great case of that hypocrisy Dooku loves denouncing in others. Dooku would rather Qui-Gon share his disillusionment with the Jedi than actually do anything to help Qui-Gon. The Council don't believe him? Okay, Dooku, but YOU DO. You can just tell him what's going on.

But he doesn't.

On some level, Dooku has to be aware of what's about to happen. Qui-Gon is walking into grave danger, and Dooku's response to that - before it happens, when there is still time to stop it - is to put the blame on the people who don't know shit while not doing shit himself. (Why can't Dooku be there to protect Qui-Gon, other than because he's already slavishly loyal to Sidious' plans?)

And this moment puts every subsequent action of Dooku's throughout the Prequels in perspective - particularly his relationships with Obi-Wan, Ventress and Yoda.

Dooku is a glutton for punishment.

I've written here about why I think the 'Box' from TCW 4x17 is meant to parallel Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon's mission on Naboo. The dioxis, ventilation shafts, the catwalks and lightsabers, the ray shields, the fire pit... Dooku's idea of a test to find the best mercenaries around is to have them survive what killed Qui-Gon (what he allowed to happen).

During the challenge, it's pretty obvious he starts to suspect Hardeen is Obi-Wan.

Or at the very least, he's taking an interest in the man who supposedly killed Qui-Gon's own apprentice - Dooku's spiritual grandson (see RotS novelization), whom he's been trying very hard to either recruit or kill himself. And what does he do with that interest? Tries to push "Hardeen" to kill Eval in anger.

Dooku, who still mourns the Padawan he knowingly let walk away to his death, watches a pantomime of his Padawan's death, while putting in mortal danger all he has left of said apprentice. If he knows Hardeen is Obi-Wan (and it's pretty obvious that he does), he tries to get Obi-Wan to Fall (or potentially die) in a scenario reenacting Qui-Gon's death. If he doesn't know for sure, then he's encouraging his all but grandson's killer to win the tournament because he admires him (for killing someone Dooku wanted by his side).

Whatever the outcome, Dooku chooses to relive his guilt and chooses to make the same choice to kill his loved one all over again, even though we know he hates that he made this choice:

He misses Qui-Gon and needs him but tries to kill or destroy Obi-Wan, whom he needs and wants by his side. (I haven't counted just how many time he does try killing Obi-Wan in TCW while still expressing his indefectible admiration for him - it's frequent, the Box just stands out to me as one of the most noteworthy occasions.)

And he keeps doing stuff like that!! He keeps choosing the path that causes him the most pain. He does it with Sifo-Dyas, he does it with Yaddle, he does it with Yoda and he does it with Ventress.

Just look at him confronting Sidious about Qui-Gon's death:

He KNOWS following Sidious got Qui-Gon murdered and he KNOWS Sidious will continue to kill or order him to kill people close to him. And yet he's quick to reassure Sidious that this doesn't change anything. Securing his position with Sidious matters more than his rage and grief. The ONLY WAY this behavior makes sense is if Dooku is fully aware that he had a choice about Qui-Gon's fate, and decides that this is the path he's on now: Sidious might make him kill everyone he cares about, but he's going to do it. Every time, things will play out the same.

Sidious tells him to kill Ventress, his new apprentice? Sure, why not!

(And it's not even out of true loyalty for Sidious, because he constantly tries to double-cross him later on. It's pure self-destruction:)

He hates it, Sidious promises him more of it, and he goes along with it!

This is why Yaddle's attempts at bringing him back don't work, in my opinion:

"Whatever lies he's told you, whatever you have done, you can make up for it now by bringing him to justice." This might convince a man who is looking for atonement, except Dooku isn't. He is looking for punishment.

Killing or harming those close to him leaves him broken, furious or in pain? He'll just keep doing it.

Sidious offers him nothing more than agonizing slavery? He'll keep on kneeling.

That's when Yaddle literally offers him the Light - the light that is so much more powerful than the Dark that it has Sidious cowering, the light that can save him if he wants - Dooku just strikes her down, even though he was heartbroken over thinking he had killed her just a moment ago.

He chooses to kill her, regrets it and hates himself for it, and chooses to kill her again. HE KEEPS MAKING THE CHOICE THAT HE KNOWS WILL HURT.

His remedy to guilt is to pick a shovel, because by God if he hasn't hit rock bottom yet he's going to dig!

[deelavis]

I'm sure that some has talked about this before, but I have always been confused about Mello's reasoning for kidnapping Takada. I finished a read through of the Death Note manga recently and I FINALLY feel like I understand why. I'm going to break this down into 2 sections: Why he did it, and Did he intend to die?

Why he did it:

While I think it's meant to be kept somewhat vague for narrative purposes, the thing that I never understood fully was the wording in the scene:

Why specifically "his" name? Of course this line always made my little Meronia heart flutter, but before my manga read through I never quite understood it. If Near's plan to catch Kira went wrong, all of the SPK would die, not just Near. So why the emphasis on him? Especially if we are looking at a completely surface level reading of DN where Mello purely hates Near? But then I found this moment a few chapters earlier:

To summarize what is happening before and after these pages (Chapter 90), Near tells Light that there are 4 members of the SPK and that he is in Japan. He says they might meet soon. This is all coded language to challenge Light to an in person meeting. At this point Near admits that he doesn't have a concrete plan in place for confronting Light. But he knows they must meet Kira face to face and prove his identity by having a name written in the Death Note. This is prior to the SPK starting their investigation into Mikami. The part that stuck out to me was " When we meet Kira, the first person he'll write down is me, so..." To me this means that prior to finding Mikami and adding fake pages to the death note, Near planned to sacrifice himself to catch Kira if they didn't have any other options. This DIRECTLY correlates to Mello's line (read right to left):

Mello kidnapped Takada because he knew that if he didn't there was a good chance Near would die. This is literally the only reason that the text give us. Which leads me to our next part.

Did he intend to die?

While I've seen a lot of different takes on this, many of which I find very interesting, I now believe that yes, Mello kidnapped Takada with the intention to be killed by the death note. Here is my reasoning.

Mello knows better than anyone else investigating Kira how the death note works. Like L wanted to before his death, Mello used his time in the mafia to experiment with the rules of both the death note AND the shinigami eyes.

In the manga, Mello has one of the mafia members Kal Snydar (a.k.a. Jack Neylon) make a deal for the shinigami's eyes. Rod and Mello use Snydar's eyes to kill others for an extended period of time. This would give Mello at least a basic understanding of how they work; what face coverings inhibit the eyes, etc... And then after his encounter with Soichiro Yagami he becomes aware that there is always a chance that anyone associated with Kira could have the eyes. He also knows that Kira knows his name but not his face after the explosion. Meaning that he would know that the ONLY thing stopping Kira from killing him would be his face. Given that Mello never uses the death note himself but had other's use it for him, I believe that he also would theorize that Kira would do the same (such as X-Kira/Mikami, Misa, and Takada). Because of all of this he would be especially careful around anyone he knows has connections to Kira, such as Takada the spokesperson of Kira.

Moving on to the kidnapping. Mello wears a motorcycle helmet that appears to be tinted, but is clear enough to fully discern his face through. We know from previous instances that a dark tinted visor will block the shinigami's eyes from seeing your name, which most motorcycle helmets already have. Here is a comparison of a helmet used to block the face vs what Mello wore:

Mello specially chose one with a clear enough visor to see through. You could argue that he did this to show Halle who he was, allowing him to take Takada. However if this was his intention there were many other ways to make his identity clear to Halle without revealing his face. There is also the line on this page that intrigues me. "She's connected to Kira... Unless I do this..." The sentence structure implies that there is a direct consequence Mello envisions. Unless you do this...then what? Given everything else I have outlined above to me the implication is "Unless I do this then Near will die." You could argue that he’s thinking something like “Unless I do this then Near will win!” However, Mello has always been outspoken in his desire to be the one to catch Kira. If that’s what he was thinking wouldn’t it just say that? Whatever his reason is is something he can’t bring himself to say even in the privacy of his own brain.

If you were to argue that Mello didn't realize that his helmet was clear enough to see his face, this is then made moot when he takes it off in front of Takada. There was no reason for him to do this, in fact, there were a multitude of reasons not to. Even if Takada didn't have death note pages on her, Mello knows that if she escapes, Kira could easily ask her to write his name in the death note because she knows his face. You may then think "but why does Mello take precautions to not get followed and killed by Takada's men? He takes away and ships off anything that could be bugged and tracked including her clothing." This just further proves that he is trying to be killed specifically by the death note. The kidnapping is planned to a T, but he doesn't take the simplest precaution of concealing his face from one of Kira's biggest supporters.

So what was Mello’s plan? We know that Mello is someone who plans for a lot of different contingencies. We see this when he plants bombs through out his safe house in the event that he’s backed into a corner. Because of this I believe he had a few different plans. But no matter what his goal with kidnapping Takada is to force contact with Kira. In fact, Near thinks that Mello’s goal is to use Takada as bait.

What his exact plan was up in the air for me. He may have intended to be killed by her, thinking that she had access to a death note when kidnapped which would explain why he didn’t check her over before giving her the blanket to cover herself. He states that his intention of taking her clothes is to removing any tracers so her bodyguards didn’t find them. They make a deal that he will give her the blanket before taking off her underwear, where she’s hiding her pages of the death note.

Even if Mello didn’t know that you can used pages torn out of the death note, there are a few time in the series when a person hides a full death note under their clothes (Near being my favorite example). So it’s not out of the question that she could have had one tucked into the back of her underwear.

His plan also could have been to release her in some way so that she could get back to Kira and use the death note. Mello knows Kira has his name, now with Takada having seen his face Kira would have her write Mello’s name for him. Or it could have been that he intended to use her to draw Kira out and get killed by the death note in the process.

Going back to our first example from the manga, Near says "The fact that we replaced the pages in the notebook and the notebook happened to be a fake… I find it hard to believe that Mello thought that far ahead." I do agree with Near here. I don't think that Mello had figured out that the notebook was fake. But I do think that Mello could see that Near's plan had holes in it, and any mistake would result in Near getting killed. His solution was to be the name that was written in the book instead. You can argue in a lot of different ways why it was important to Mello that Near lives. Such as, Mello knew that with Near dead he didn't have any hope of catching Kira by himself with all of this resources and allies depleted. Or my favorite reason, despite his protests Mello deeply cares for Near and was willing to die if it meant Near would survive.

Please let me know any of your thoughts!

[impishjesters]

Agents of Cat-astrophe

warning(s): none unless you count Jax note(s): This gave me a good chuckle as someone who's consistently dropping more curse words than regular words, I'd imagine the system to just censor anything and everything that comes out of my mouth at that point. A/N: (In response to the requester) I wish I was taking breaks (I mean I am sorta), I'm fully aware I'm running myself ragged right now. But it's hard for me to stop myself... I'm caffeinated and chaotic and I don't wanna stew in my brain for too long. At least I get up and stretch every now and then. Request: Anyways, I’m requesting a Jax x reader (crushing stage) where the reader is sorta at the same level of meanness as Jax and likes to do pranks with him on the other characters. Also the reader’s digital form is a short cat that at first glance makes them look nice/friendly (obviously not an actual cat but yk what I mean), and they have a sailor’s mouth that is unfortunately censored but that doesn’t stop them (can also purr and does so when they’re content which is usually when there chilling in Jax’s room or with Jax in general). I think it would be fun if the reader surprisingly was sorta nicer to Kinger and has a small soft spot for him and does more playful pranks on him than mean/harmful ones.

When you first showed up, you looked so small and frail, like a literal little kitten completely out of place in this big colourful nightmare world

Ragatha thought you’d be like Pomni, and boy howdy was she wrong

You just ended up being another Jax—who you later met and found out was also an agent of chaos

Similarly to Pomni you cursed up a storm when you first arrived and the endless censorship that came with it

You have a knack for testing Caine’s patience when it comes to your sailor’s mouth, much to Jax’s entertainment. It’s not every day Caine loses his cool like that and you’re just a newbie, needless to say, you caught his interest

That sailor’s mouth also gets used towards the other’s and Jax won’t lie and say it’s not funny because shit’s hilarious.

Sure they all curse from time to time, but you just laid out an entire sentence that was completely and utterly censored. Like the system said “fuck this I’m gonna censor the whole damn sentence”

Unlike Jax who doesn’t show any remorse for who he pranks or how cruel they are, you draw the line at messing with Kinger.

Okay, that’s a lie you still mess with him but it’s not like how you mess with the others. Kinger has this sweet unstable dad/grandpa vibe and it kind of makes the place more homey in a weird way. (plus that man has been through enough trauma, give him a break, and talk about his bug collections or some shit)

The upside is that his mind is so scattered sometimes that using the same pranks on him always results in something hilarious. So you really don’t need to try for any new material. (he also really needs to consider actually using the lock on his door, he makes it too easy)

Jax considered you his little partner in crime the more time passed—not exactly a friend nah, but like a good ol pal that also likes to partake in joining him and his bullshittery

The first time he hears you purring is when the two of you are lazing about in his room, he’d gotten distracted collecting things for a prank on someone and heard the loudest rumbling coming from behind him

“Are you fucking purring?”

It’s a little embarrassing at first, you’ve uh, never done that before..

Jax has the biggest shit-eating grin, if he wasn’t using dumb cat-themed nicknames before he sure as hell is now

“Oh, like you don’t stomp your feet like a petulant child you overgrown rabbit.”

He does not stomp his fuckin feet like a temperamental rabbit, thank you very much (that’s a fuckin lie if I ever heard one)

Jax already had mixed feelings about you before, nothing particularly bad, just feelings he couldn’t place…that was until the prank…

He doesn’t know how you did it, or how he got so wrapped up in it. But you pranked him, and you pranked him good.

Oh, oh okay that feeling is new… butterflies don’t typically belong inside your gut, now whether Jax has ever experienced a crush before or not is probably beyond him. But these little butterflies are a bitch and it takes awhile of placing two and two together to realize he’s… caught feelings to some degree

You, however, probably had a crush on him for a while, perhaps really noticing it after the whole purring fiasco when you learned that it only happened around Jax

[miss-oranje-disco-dancer]

pleading the fifth

pairing: leon x reader x chris

cw: handcuffs, p in v, oral, degradation, praise, cop roleplay, vibrator usage

summary: chris remembers all the good times he had back in stars and he wishes leon could've experienced what it was like to be an rpd cop, so they take reader (their mutual friend) in for an interrogation.

a/n: i'm not sure how i feel about the final result but i really liked this concept and wanted to write it

wc: 3.4k

Leon and Chris decided to take you with them on their trip down memory lane. Chris was nostalgic for his time on STARS Alpha Team and Leon only got to experience one unusually terrible day as a cop for the RPD. The pair agreed that he deserved to have some fun. Leon was going to play the rookie and Chris would be his superior, as they should’ve been back in ‘98. Good cop and bad cop, a classic routine. All they needed was a suspect to interrogate and that’s where you came into play.

It started as an off-handed drunken comment. One that had not been forgotten. “I bet you both looked hot in uniform,” you said after you’d had a few drinks.

“I’m sure I have a picture somewhere,” Chris said.

“I might have something from the academy, but I didn’t get much experience wearing my real ‘cop gear’,” Leon said.

“That’s a shame. I’m sure you would’ve looked great in it.”

“I might have some stuff from STARS that would probably fit Leon; we’ll have to see about me.” Chris had grown a lot since the ‘90s, but at the very least, his handcuffs should still work after going unused for decades.

You weren’t privy to their plans ahead of time. It should be impromptu like a real interrogation, they thought. Chris and Leon showed up at your apartment on a Saturday evening, both dressed in uniform.

“Hello, Officers,” you greeted them at the door, playing into what you assumed was a silly joke.

“Good evening, Miss.” Chris spoke first, and you were immediately aware of who had the ultimate authority in this situation.

“What seems to be the problem?” you asked, already all flirtatious like you were trying to get out of a punishment preemptively.

“We’ve been alerted to some suspicious activity in this area,” Chris said. Truth be told, they hadn’t decided what kind of ‘crime’ they could accuse you of, so they had to remain vague until they were presented with an opportunity for arrest.

“May we come in and take along around?” Leon asked.

You thought about playing hard to get and refusing a search without a warrant, but you decided to let the two officers have a pass for their attractiveness.

“Sure,” you said, opening the door.

They immediately began to survey your apartment, doing a quick look around your living room and kitchen. You assumed they didn’t want to invade your privacy, so they were keeping the search surface-level. Until, they made a beeline for your bedroom wherein they scavenged through drawers until they found something interesting.

Leon held it up to show Chris – your remote control vibrator.

“Hey, put that back,” you said sternly. It was expensive, and you weren’t going to let the buffoonery of Officers Beefcake and Babyface take it away from you.

“I don’t think I will, Miss. This is evidence.”

Leon handed it over to Chris who fumbled with it for a moment before asking, “How do you turn this thing on?”

You didn’t dare mention the remote, but Chris wasn’t a novice in the world of sex toys. “Kennedy, is there a remote in the drawer where you found this?”

You almost beat Leon to it. “Are you trying to impede our investigation?” he asked, pretending to be appalled when you tried to snatch the remote.

“No, I just don’t want you to take it.”

“It’s evidence,” Chris reiterated Leon’s earlier point, “we could have you arrested for obstruction of justice if you don’t comply.”

You scoffed, and you swore you saw a hint of a smile break through Leon’s cold exterior. You lunged towards him in an effort to grab your vibrator’s remote, but he threw it to Chris before you could get it. Fast reflexes and good aim. Hopefully neither of them had fully loaded up on cop gear. Wouldn’t want to get held at gunpoint by either of them. Or maybe you would.

Despite losing the remote, you did manage to tackle Leon onto the bed, having the element of surprise on your side. You had to hold yourself back from kissing him. One glance down at his cocky grin made you want to rip his uniform off and wipe the expression off his face.

“Are you assaulting an officer of the law?”

“You’re not an officer of the law, Leon.”

“And now you’re going to disrespect me, too?”

You were forming a retort when you heard the buzzing of the vibrator, and you turned to see Chris playing with it.

“Stop messing with it,” you said. Truly irritated, you tried to snatch the toy from Chris’ hand, knowing he was too far out of your weight class for you to be able to tackle him the way you did with Leon. But he was a professional who couldn’t be fooled by your games. When you reached for the toy, he put it out of your reach and pinned you to the bed so you couldn’t make a break for it.

No, he pinned you to the bed because he saw how much you liked being on top of Leon and wanted to see your face when you were placed in the opposite position. Red with embarrassment and arousal.

“Why do you insist on having this back?” he asked, standing up straight and letting you have control over your arms again. He narrowed his eyes like he was conducting his search through your thoughts, too. “Is this something you use a lot? Would you miss it if I took it away from you?” The interrogation had already begun and you hadn’t even been read your rights.

“Yes, I would miss it, so please give it back.”

“You want it?”

“Yes, please.”

“Okay, Chris agreed, “then, take those shorts off.”

“What?” You were knowingly playing into their game at that point,but you hadn’t expected things to escalate that quickly.

“You said you wanted it, and I’m feeling nice enough today to let you have it.”

“I didn’t mean I wanted it like that.” You wanted the vibrator back in the drawer, you wanted the men in front of you to pleasure you instead.

Leon chimed in, “If you didn’t want your apartment searched, you could’ve always said ‘no’. We assumed you liked the idea of us being here, but we can leave if you’re not into this.”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t into it.”

“Oh, so you are into it?” Good cop seemed to be getting off on his brief taste of authority.

“Don’t be stupid, Kennedy, of course she’s into it. In fact, I bet she’s wet already,” Chris said, stepping closer to you.

“I plead the fifth,” you said, knowing your refusal to deny, was a confession in and of itself.

“I wish I could arrest you for being a slut-” Chris began, but Leon was quick to cut him off.

“Redfield, don’t call her a slut. I think this is her first time having her apartment searched like this, and she’s been a good girl so far, all things considered.”

You weren’t sure which term suited you more – good girl or slut, and, more importantly, what made you more aroused.

“A good girl? That’s rich, Kennedy. After she assaulted an officer and threatened to obstruct justice.” He looked at you disapprovingly. “All because you wanted this,” Chris said much quieter, dangling the toy in front of your nose like you were a kitten.

“I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s okay,” Leon said, “you’re doing good. How ‘bout you come back to the station with us and we’ll let you have your little toy back. We just wanna ask you a few questions, and we’ll make sure you have a real nice time.”

“I don’t think she wants a nice time,” Chris said, “I offered her this, but she didn’t want to take her pants off.”

“No, I want it,” you said, giving in, realizing that this was the only route to pleasure. Allowing Chris to have control. You weren’t as bold when you were sober, but your shyness wasn’t going to hold you back from allowing two hot men to fulfill one of your greatest fantasies. You pulled off your shorts and your panties so Chris could put the vibrator inside you.

“See? Good things happen when you’re obedient,” Chris said. The way he held back his praises made you want them more. He pushed the button on the remote to turn the vibrator up to its lowest setting. The sudden sensation made you gasp. When you used the toy alone, the lowest setting wasn’t enough to get you off, but when you were being played with by good cop and bad cop, the pleasure increased exponentially.

“Take her away, Kennedy,” Chris said, prompting Leon to get out a pair of handcuffs and attempt to put you in them. Of course, you struggled against him, being a good little criminal, but Chris turned the vibrator onto a higher setting, knowing it would throw you off balance, allowing Leon to get you cuffed.

“Okay, okay,” you said, “I’ll be good.”

It didn’t matter because you were already being led out to the car – handcuffed with the vibrator still buzzing inside you. You focused on making sure your knees didn’t buckle as you left your apartment. It would already be embarrassing if your neighbors saw you getting hauled off by “the cops”, but if they saw your wobbly legs when you walked, they’d have more fuel for their judgments.

At Chris’ apartment – “the station”, as Leon called it—they led you into the kitchen, sitting you down at a table with a chair on one side and two on the other.

“Are you going to read me my rights?”

“Would you like me to?” Chris asked with a smile, momentarily breaking his hard expression.

“Humor me.”

“There’s nothing funny about matters of the law,” Leon said, biting back a laugh.

“Alright,” Chris began, “You have the right to remain silent.” He looked you in the eye and with each statement, pressed the button to increase the vibration. “Anything you say can and will be held against you in a court of law.” It became harder to hold back your moans. “You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney one will be provided to you.”

Your legs began to shake as the sensation of the toy rubbing up against the sensitive spot inside you increased. “I’m so close,” you said through heavy breaths. You regretted your words almost instantly. Chris turned it off.

“Fuck you!”

“Only good girls get fucked,” Chris said, deadpan. It made you wonder how good he was at getting confessions back in the day.

“I want my lawyer,” you said.

“No, you don’t,” Leon said, “you just wanna cum, yeah?”

You nodded, dumbly, his sweet voice making you melt.

“I’ll help you with that,” Leon said. “All you have to do is confess.”

“To what? I didn’t do anything wrong!”

“Of course you didn’t do anything wrong, sweet girl,” Leon said.

“But we need you to answer some questions about that little toy we found.” Chris walked over to you, placed his hands on the table, and leaned in close to you. “First,” he said, “what is that thing we found, huh? What’s it used for?”

“You already know, Chris,” you said with an eye-roll.

“It’s Officer Redfield to you, and if you think I already know then why don’t you just tell me?”

“It’s just a vibrator.”

“Tell me about how you use it.”

He stood up straight and crossed his arms, but didn’t step back.

“You just press the buttons on the remote.”

“I wasn’t asking how it works. I want to know about the times when you use it. What do you imagine? Better yet, who?”

While Chris questioned you, Leon scooted his chair closer to you. He stayed down at your level and held a comforting tone with you. “Do you imagine someone treating you the way you deserve, baby?” Leon asked. “Maybe somebody touching you.” He ran his fingers over your cheek and coaxed you to look at him. “Maybe even someone kissing you.” Leon locked eyes with you and watched your lips part, the silent signal. He leaned in and kissed you, just enough to be tantalizing, not enough to be satisfying.

You nodded slightly, eyes dewy with desire threatening to overflow.

“I don’t think that’s it,” Chris said, looking you up and down like he was sizing you up. “I think you like it rough. I think you’d rather have someone use you. Am I wrong?”

You averted your gaze and stayed silent. You felt your cunt throbbing at his words.

“I knew it. I think you like being tied up.” He paused. “Do you?”

When you failed to respond, he said, “Well? It’s a yes or no question.” He grabbed your jaw and forced you to look at him.

“Yes,” you admitted.

“You know I could force you to bend over and spank you for the way you’re behaving. I could slap you, I could spit in your mouth, I could fuck you until you beg me to stop.”

Your mouth was agape. You didn’t expect him to be so vulgar. But you found yourself squirming in your chair, clenching your legs together, chasing some sort of friction.

You shook your head, lying, begging him to punish you.

He shoved his hands down the front of your shorts and asked, “Then why are you wet right now?”

“It’s ‘cause you were teasing me before with the vibrator.”

At your mention of the toy, he took it out of you.

“You expect me to believe that you’re soaking through your panties when I didn’t even let you cum?”

You wanted to cry when he took his hand away. Your hands were still tied so you couldn’t pull him back towards you. You were desperate to be touched.

“Sometimes sweet girls like you just get sensitive, yeah?” Leon asked, nodding, prompting you to do the same. Leon rubbed your arm like he was trying to soothe you. “You’re only wet ‘cause it feels good, and you shouldn’t feel bad about feeling good.”

His soft eyes gave you hope, rightfully so. Leon asked, “Can I see for myself? Will you let me touch you?”

“Yeah- yes, please.”

“Can you spread your legs a little for me, baby?”

You did as asked and Leon pulled your shorts off you, along with your panties. He rubbed his fingers over your folds, making sure to stop and play with your clit, despite his insistence that he was just taking a quick look.

“What’s the verdict?” Chris asked, impatient.

“She has the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen.”

“Hm,” Chris mused, “Think we should use her, then?”

You took a sharp inhale that you couldn’t pass off for surprise. You’d never admit that you wanted to be used by both of them, it’d been a dream of yours for quite some time.

“If that’s alright with her,” Leon said, looking to you. “I think we could continue our interrogation like that.”

“Yeah,” you said, quiet, but certain.

“Wow, so forthcoming once you want to get fucked,” Chris teased. “I’m going to take off your handcuffs, and if you try to escape, I will punish you. Got it?”

“Got it.” You honestly couldn’t decide if it would be better to struggle or not. The idea of a punishment sounded intriguing, but you needed to cum, so you complied.

Leon was the one to take off your handcuffs while Chris grabbed your face and kissed you hard on the mouth, pulling away when he felt you moan into his mouth. You were manhandled into their desired position, which was you in Chris’ lap, with your back to his chest and Leon in front of you on his knees.

Chris slid inside you without warning, and the stretch made you tear up. It took a moment to adjust to his size, but it felt good to be filled. Leon teased you by kissing your inner thighs. Leon was the one to move your hips so that Chris could keep hold of your wrists.

You looked down at Leon. “Please,” you said.

Chris interjected, “Not yet. I need you to answer another question.”

You whined in response.

“Is this what you get off to? Is it the two of us fucking you like this?”

“I-I don’t-”

“I bet it’d be a beautiful sight,” Leon said, “Watching you touch yourself.”

The moment Leon’s lips met your clit, you blurted out the truth, “I’m close. Please-” “No,” Chris said and Leon pulled away, “Not until you answer.”

“I plead the-” Leon moved your hips up and down once and you moaned, cutting off your own statement. “Please, please, please,” you begged shamelessly now, having been taken over by pleasure.

“Consider it a plea bargain. Confess, and you can cum.”

“Fuck, yes, okay, yes, I think about you fucking me- both of you,” you said. Chris let your hands free so he could use his thumb to circle your clit while Leon played with your tits. “Is it like this? Both of us at the same time?”

“Yeah-ah-” you moaned.

“I bet it’s not sweet love-making is it?”

“No, it’s not, it’s-faster-oh fuck-harder.” You were unsure if you were confessing or begging at this point but you got what you asked for.

“Yeah? Is it like this?” Chris gripped your hips while he forced himself in and out of you, rapidly increasing speed. The head of his cock was hitting your cervix with every thrust. Leon’s mouth returned to your clit and you could feel him moaning into your core as Chris struggled to hold back his own groans, opting to bite your shoulder.

“No, this is better. It’s so good.” You were unable to hold back the truth anymore. “Please, let me cum, please.” This time a tear rolled down your cheek as you begged.

“Cum for us,” Chris said. Though, you probably couldn’t hold it back anyway. Your legs shook as you were taken by your pleasure, unable to stop the pornographic moans from escaping your lips. You would be soaking the chair beneath you if Leon wasn’t lapping up every drop you gave him.

Chris mumbled things akin to praise in your ear and you could tell he was getting close too. You turned the tables, offering him something he couldn’t refuse. “Cum inside me, please,” you said.

He made no effort to protest, coating your inner walls as he filled you. You were tired, but not exhausted enough to throw away the opportunity for a round two. Not after you saw Leon’s dick, hard, and leaking from the tip.

“All out of energy, baby girl?”

You were quick to tell him that you weren’t, that you wanted him. You weren’t going to leave without getting both of your favorite cops to stuff you to the brim.

“I’ll be gentle with you,” Leon promised.

Chris watched in a post-orgasm daze as Leon held you to his chest, helped you roll your hips slowly atop him. He kissed you until you were so sensitive that you buried your face in his chest, and then he moved down to your neck, kissing you there and mumbling sweet praises into your ear.

“I’m getting close,” he warned you.

“Want you to cum inside me,” you mumbled. It was only fair, though, it was a selfish desire, too.

Leon’s orgasm sent you over the edge for the second time that night. Your eyes watered with over-stimulation and you were weak in the knees when you tried to get up.

When Chris carried you to bed so you could get some rest as they cleaned you up (and doted on you), he said, to your surprise, “I’m so proud of you. You were so good.”

You had gotten used to him playing “bad cop” and almost forgot how sweet the real Chris was.

You mumbled a thank you, making him chuckle as he placed you in bed.

“Did you have a good time?” Leon asked, knowing your answer.

“I think you know the answer to that.” The post-orgasm glow still lingered in your face.

“I hope you’ll think of it the next time you spend some quality time with your little toy.”

“Oh yeah,” Chris said, having completely forgotten, “Let me go get it. Wouldn’t want you to leave it behind.”

“I don’t think I’ll need it. It could never live up to the real thing.”

“Is that so? Then, what are you gonna do the next time you feel this way?”

You looked back and forth between the two of them with a grin. “Can I make another plea deal with you?” you said.

[mothwingwritings]

Your Yujiro x reader has been on my mind recently, and an interesting idea came into my head - what would happen if the reader somehow stumbled upon Yuichiro? What would he think of the whole situation, particularly because he is of a *very* different temperament than his son? Would he develop some sort of feelings for (reader)? I'm pretty sure Yujiro would be pissed to see his father meddling in things 😭

You're one of my fav writers on here!! Keep it up ❤︎ and make sure to take care of yourself ☺️

… I can’t believe I didn’t think of writing anything for Yuichiro before this ask lol. How could I write so much about the Hanma family’s favorite girl (you) and never mention Yuichiro???  Shame on me tbh, let’s change that now!

(And thank you for your kind words!!! You are very sweet! <3)

WARNINGS: Mentions of sex, noncon, past abuse, and stepcest.

If by some miracle act Yuichiro was able to obtain a corporeal form and once more walk amongst the living, he would be very intrigued by how far his lineage had come and what the Hanma’s were able to accomplish. Being the start of it all, he had a vague idea of how things most likely have progressed. There is no doubt that his unruly son has grown massively strong, and he’s sure that strength has caused countless problems for people near and far.

He was aware that Yujiro had children at this point, taking quite an interest himself in Baki and Jack’s development. Children weren’t always guaranteed to take after their parents, so it was always a delight when at least one of your offspring was able to carry on the family line with the strength and power you and your ancestors worked so tirelessly to cultivate. When Yuichiro found out that of all the children Yujiro had fathered, not just one, but two showed such immense potential? He was as pleased as he was proud, even more so to discover Baki and Jack lacked the level of belligerent arrogance that made their father an unbearably volatile presence to be around.

While he was taking note of his family line he happened upon a surprising outlier- you. He was at first puzzled by the fact that the Ogre, with all his rampant testosterone, was even able to produce a daughter. When he dug a little deeper and realized you were adopted into the family, while that in and of itself made sense, it left him with even more questions. Why would someone like Yujiro go out of his way to adopt someone else’s child, let alone a female, when he barely cared about the children he himself had brought into this world? Based on the limited knowledge he had of you, you didn’t have any kind of superior strength or secret, hidden abilities that may have spurred his son to take you under his wing. So how exactly did you become awarded with the name of Hanma?

The mystery became too intriguing to ignore, thus he sought you out.

The moment he saw you, he instantly began to understand your appeal. He kept his distance at first, not wanting to overwhelm you with his presence as he made his initial observations. From what he could gather, you were a thoughtful girl, kind and affable to your friends and strangers alike. He noted that you seemed a little jumpy, on edge in scenarios you should feel more at ease, and he worried that maybe he wasn’t concealing himself enough and you were catching on to his surveillance. You may not have Hanma blood in your veins, but you’ve been around them enough to recognize the specific aura they exude. He would need to be more careful, maybe conducting his research on you was best done through other means.

Hence, he decided to look into your relationships with his son and grandsons, hoping to get a better picture of who you were as a person and unravel the secret of how you became intertwined in their lives.

However, what he ended up finding out was not anything he ever expected.

As soon as he learned the horrific truth of how his family had handled you, the revolting nature in which not just his son, but his grandchildren, showed their ‘affection’ for you, he was at a loss for words. Yuichiro was beyond disgusted by their actions, particularly due to the fact that their aggressions were against an innocent woman who had no means of defending herself against the brutes that were incessantly at her heels.

Your jittery nature made complete sense now. You weren’t constantly on edge because you were a naturally excitable person- you were on edge as a defense mechanism. You had to be cautious around everyone for your own self-preservation, frightened that you may unwittingly be subjugating yourself and the people around you to extreme danger by being in a public space. The man who was supposed to be your father figure had assaulted you, hurting and scarring you in irreparable ways. The brothers that you loved and looked to for protection ended up having the same perversions as the man who had created them, betraying your trust in their attempts to force themselves upon you.

Disgusted wasn’t a strong enough word for what he had felt upon learning these revelations. His disappointment in his kin was immeasurable.

When he finally introduces himself to you, it’s apprehension that greets him in return. He can see the fear reflected in your eyes as you were faced with the instant realization of his strength the absolute power he held over not just you, but anyone who may step to him. Yuichiro was a complete stranger to you, in fact you probably hadn’t even seen a picture of him to make any sort of connection. But he could tell that within moments of making your acquaintance, you understood who he was. He was a Hanma, and therefore, he was a threat.

Seeing you cower before him, your whole body vibrating in a state of alarm, eyes darting around the vicinity as you tried to map an escape route should this meeting go south… it broke his heart. It wasn’t that he was immune to your charms, Yuichiro could definitely see the appeal of wanting to be close to you in an intimate manner, but to take you by force? To treat you so horribly, handle you so violently? It took all his power not to make his rage over the injustices you had faced show on his features, lest he frighten you further.

It took a while for you to warm up to him, but the relationship that blossomed was well worth the effort. You were a lovely person all around, beautiful in every sense of the word. The more he got to know you, the more he saw your true personality shine through, and the longer he spent with you, the more his affection for you grew.

Yuichiro had made his decision. You would be safe with him-completely and undeniably cared for under his watchful eye. He would be the father Yujiro never could be, the protector your brothers failed to be. He would become your family, a true family, and insure that you will never have to spend another day living in fear ever again.

In short, Yuichiro’s arrival would probably be the ONLY thing that would ultimately protect you from Yujiro and the rest of the Hanma family. This is great for you because he’s a man of his word, the moment you come under his care Yujiro’s entire existence is like a distant nightmare, and that is something you are exceedingly grateful for. However, you feel the absence of Jack and Baki much more profoundly, as you considered them to be your true family and still love them very deeply. Even though you know ultimately this arrangement is for the best, and you feel much safer and happier in Yuichiro’s care than you have ever felt with anyone else in your life, you still find yourself missing Jack and Baki greatly. Even with their betrayal shattering the last of your innocence, causing you deep and lasting scars, life without them still hurt, and you don’t think you’ll ever heal enough to ignore the pain.

… All this being said, it wouldn’t be on brand for me to answer this without fucking it up a little bit, right?

After some time living with Yuichiro, growing dependent on him for basic care and protection, his fondness for you begins to manifest in ways that are… shocking, even to Yuichiro himself. 

Maybe it was the long absence of a lover that began to steer his desires, or perhaps it was the sweet and selfless nature in which you offered your love to him? Who knew it would warm his heart so much to see you standing in the kitchen, sweet little apron tied around your waist as you hummed a little tune, hard at work preparing a new recipe you had picked out specifically to please him? All the little things you did without a second thought made is body and soul ache for you.

You were always cute, but when exactly did you become so irresistible to him?

It caught him off guard to feel a flutter in his stomach when he saw your smile or heard your laugh. At his age he figured he was far past feelings like this, especially with someone so much younger than himself, especially with you.

He didn’t expect the blush that dusted your cheeks when he entered the bath you were currently occupying to excite him as much as it did. He took great pride in the control he had over his body, keeping his emotions and desire in check was one of his strong suits. But seeing you there, bare and bashful, trying desperately to cover yourself while your eyes refused to linger on any part of his exposed body for too long… you were definitely testing his limits here, sweetheart.

Did you know how effortlessly beautiful you were? Did you realize just how tantalizing even the most innocent of your actions were? Would it upset you if he told you how pretty he found your body, as his eyes drank in every inch of skin you were working so hard to hide? Would it scare you if he helped you to understand just how much sway you had over not just his heart, but all of his wants and desires?

He had chided and scorned his family for their mistreatment of you, the sick, twisted feelings they pummeled you with not only threatened your existence, but were also a stain on the illustrious Hanma name. Yuichiro wanted nothing more than your happiness and your security, both were things he took great honor in providing to you, and he found his own joy in knowing you felt contentment with him after so much suffering. But he was starting to get an itch that was growing harder and harder to scratch. An itch he felt his kin was all too familiar with.

Maybe he’s not so different from his son and grandsons after all?

[duriens]

i know everybody has their opinions on why armand 'couldnt/could prevent it' and it is very interesting to read the various interpretations. the way i see it, there are three possibilities (and i'm for the third, spoiler alert):

one, armand couldnt prevent it because, even as a centuries-old vampire, he genuinely doesn't have the power to stop 13 vampires from eventually coming after him/him+louis if he didn't accept their ultimatum. he can make them faint, he can freeze time, he can sway the mind of the audience (with some difficulty...? true or false?) but how long can he keep these powers up and can he do it forever, for however long vampires' grudges last? he might have thought it was possible for him and louis to run away, but that eventually the coven would've found a way to manage to kill him. there's power in numbers? how powerful are centuries-old vampires, exactly? is the combined power of 13 angry vampires enough? armand himself says at some point 'they might've killed me' or smth along the line, meaning he at least believes them capable of trying to kill him. is he that afraid of confronting the coven, of doing battle with them, of failing and dying? (this is the blandest possibility)

second, armand couldnt prevent it because he didnt want to prevent it. armand is a master manipulator and he likes to manipulate others into destroying the things he's bored of/he's lost control over (the children of darkness, the theatre des vampires... his relationship with louis?) cause he doesn't want to take on the responsibilities that come with that destruction, and the eventual guilt/sorrow. armand is minimizing his role in deceiving louis and claudia and is portraying himself as helpless, a centuries-old vampire with limits to his powers, so much so that even the act of making the audience say one thing over the other takes a toll on him, cause it was so hard to just do that one thing, owwie, of course he saved it to when it came to louis' turn for the sentencing.

this is the armand we think of when we see the memes about his inaction, thinking he's smirking to himself bc he knows he could end it with a snap of his fingers.

now we all know that armand is manipulative and that he likes to be in control even when he cedes control, but is he always and in constant awareness of the degrees of his own manipulation and scheming? is he in control of all that, all the time?? does he do it purposefully, with evil intent, consciously selling out louis and claudia and agreeing to a plan involving lestat to get rid of the coven/santiago and consciously pretending to be weaker than he is to get rid of claudia? so this leads inevitably to

third, armand couldnt prevent it because he convinced himself long ago that he is completely helpless and no word or action of his could ever, ever, change a thing. this state of mind he's fallen into has obvious ties to his past, his slavery, his submissive tendencies, his inability to act and decide for himself. he's created this image of himself of someone weaker and powerless that he fully believes to be true, he manipulates others the same way he manipulates himself. his many expressions of grief, of sorrow, of guilt throughout the episodes are genuine because, at some level, he genuinely believes he 'could not prevent it', because he decided long ago he's the kind of person who simply can't on his own--that can't ever, ever be accused of serious stuff because in this narrative he created for himself he can never be a hundred percent at fault, he doesn't bear all the responsibilities. (he's still a manipulative and controlling individual here, just not as shrewd and consciously cunning as in option 2). in this light, the memes about armand doing nothing when he has the power to act become tragic in their own way, because it's tragic that he truly thinks of himself, a centuries-old vampire leader of the paris coven, as powerless and helpless as he had been when he was still alive.

[galaxy-fleur]

Replaying RE4R, and I am once again thinking of how Leon just straight up murders a guy the moment he attacks. Like yeah, sure, he lunged at him with a weapon, there is a bloody badge of an officer, things are sketchy to say the least, but still. It all happens so fast, I doubt he actually had the time to fully put two and two together quite yet.

And you can't tell me that Leon, a trained agent, just overestimated the power of his kick on accident. That ↓

Was a pretty much deliberate kick. What's interesting is that in the OG RE4, he at least tells the ganado to freeze a good couple of times (or maybe once, I don't remember the specifics, but my point still stands) before actually proceeding to harm him. Remake Leon, meanwhile... just breaks his neck without a second thought.

And his reaction right after makes it... pretty obvious, honestly.

There is no strong reaction there to offing an old man in his home. Now, granted, he hears a scream right after, so it's not like he has much time to stand and ponder over what happened! But the only thing he says right after is: 'This is not good.' And, yeah, true, but we do know Leon is capable of expressing some level of distress over something he finds disturbing, and he proceeds to do that literally a few minutes later once you start exploring the village. So really, it's an interesting scene and a very intriguing way of introducing this hardened version of Leon we'll be playing as.

I wouldn't be thinking about this as much if not for the circumstances surrounding it. Not like Leon is aware that this man is infected with anything. Up until the moment he gets back up, he could be just some disturbed, paranoid old man or something. And he did just walk into someone's house. He's an intruder here, really. But the moment danger presents itself, he eliminates the threat without a second thought.

I think it speaks volumes of the past 6 years that passed for him, and how they shaped him. We don't know much of Leon's job: what it entails exactly, what kind of work he does on the daily, how the entire structure operates. And before the events of RE4, it's not like he was a well-known agent, if I remember correctly. It's his successful rescue of Ashley that got him high in the ranks. His status as a Racoon City survivor didn't do that. Throughout RE4R, we see him regain his humanity through the connections with other characters, going from the cold, robotic way he caries himself at the start of the game, to the determined, emotionally-invested man we later see carrying Ashley to Luis' laboratory.

It's very neat to think about! And while we all love Leon for his kind heart and his drive to save innocent lives, he is more than capable of violence, and that's an aspect of him I wish was talked about more. That neck break was definitely not the first one for him, just saying.

[major-comet]

one of the things that’s most interesting to me about red vs blue

[and this is true of a lot of the shows i’ve watched over the years (here’s looking at you, star trek and rwby volumes 1-3), but i find it particularly true for rvb]

is that the writers seem to have very little grasp on what some of the most interesting and compelling parts of the show actually are, especially from a character perspective

so much stuff only gets kind of brought up, or honestly never even really touched on that would fully be enough to compel me as a character plot for an entire season At Least

like the whole “sarge is apparently some kind of robotics/surgery Wizard because not only did all of simmons’ cyborg parts not get rejected, none of the bits of simmons that grif now has rejected either. this is a medical miracle and it’s something about the pair that is almost Never brought up” thing. they barely even acknowledged that simmons has a whole ass robot arm, much less that grif is physically almost as much simmons as simmons himself is

or the “hey actually epsilon kind of just taking over as “church” actually has a lot of potential for body snatchers-esque horror that they never ever lean into” that i was talking about the other day

or how they only really explore the deeper effects of ai-human integration from a negative aspect - o’malley and the meta and such, but don’t *really* dive in on the effects it might have on a pair that works really well together. epsilon and carolina kind of get the closest to that, but even then it’s still pretty surface level. where’s the weird shit about a pair slowly becoming more of a *we* and those boundaries of human and ai blurring into human&ai in a way that feels not parasitic, but symbiotic? where both parties are not only aware of what’s happening, but perfectly content with it? like maybe i just have venom on the brain, but the ai are like the coolest shit burnie ever wrote and i feel like even though they drive the plot for huge chunks of the show they were barely explored. (i’m saying that delta and york should have had weird freaky mind sex. hello is this thing on-)

or the implication (confirmation? idk man it’s been a long time) that sarge may have been an ODST is actually a Massive addition to rvb’s underlying (and i think sometimes only dubiously intentional) themes of “once a soldier has outweighed their perceived usefulness, the government will not hesitate to cast them aside completely, no matter what they sacrificed for the cause, and this has negative lasting effects not just on that veteran but on society as a whole” that they do kind of sort of explore with locus a bit, but the implication that sarge was highly specialized and did a lot of particularly risky shit for the unsc only for him to, unbeknownst to him, wind up as a training dummy for soldiers perceived as “better” than him (and not even really that, picked explicitly because florida thought he would be totally harmless to the alpha) is INSANE and “sarge was an odst” mostly exists in rvb canon just as a joke but Jesus H Christ, man

there’s so much great material here that just got totally ditched for something else and it makes me SAD sometimes

[dean-winchester-is-a-warrior]

The Dangers of Hope Ch. 1

Series Summary: When Y/N shows up at Camp Chitaqua with her little girl in tow, her bloodshot eyes leave no doubt that she's infected. Or is she? Everything Dean has come to know for certain over the last five hellish years, is about to be challenged.

Pairings/Characters in the series: Endverse!Dean x Reader, Emma (OFC), Castiel, Sam Winchester, Lucifer, Michael, Zachariah, Risa, Johnston (OMC), Patrick (OMC) other survivors and soldiers.

Series Explicit 18 +/Warnings: Show level violence, some gore, angst, smut, fluff all the usual for a series of mine. ❤️ Endverse!Dean (that's a warning for his anger and callousness as well as his extreme hotness. 😁) Each chapter will have their own specific warnings.

Chapter Warnings: Not much in this first chapter. Some mentions of death and violence. I don't want to give away everything, but there are also some angsty mother/daughter moments, so be warned.

Word Count: 3468

A/N: So, I've had this idea for quite a while. Basically since I watched The Last of Us. I loved Pedro in the role of Joel, but I kept thinking how incredible Jensen would have been. Which then made me think of how amazing he was as Endverse!Dean which then led me to this idea. Lol! I've stolen the premise of Ellie's storyline from TLOU, but made her a grown up, a reader insert, and a love interest for Dean.

If you've never seen TLOU, don't worry - you don't need to have seen it to understand this story. 😊

I've taken some liberties with the Endverse in my story, changed a few things from canon, but kept lots of things too.

I sincerely hope you enjoy the story. It will be ten chapters and I will do my very best to post one chapter every weekend. ❤️

The divider at the top and bottom were created by @saradika

Series Master List

Dean punched open the flap of the canvas tent that he'd called home for the last several years. Sometimes he really missed having a door to slam. 

Or a wall to punch a hole through, he thought as he tossed down his duffel bag full of weapons. At least the bag made a satisfying thunk against the plywood floor.

They'd lost three men on their latest raid. The raid was successful; they'd pilfered enough medication from a pharmacy in Omaha to see them through the next few months. But the reason it was the only pharmacy within a two hundred mile radius that had any meds left, was because it also happened to be Croat central. 

It was swarming with the bastards. His soldiers had done a good job holding them off, but it had eventually led to ground fighting and three soldiers had been bitten. He'd put them down quick and quiet. But it made for a long drive home.

Home, he scoffed as he dropped onto the side of his cot. Home my ass.

As he rubbed his hand across his forehead, his tent flap opened again. He also missed privacy.

One of the soldiers that had been left behind to protect the camp, stood awkwardly for a moment before Dean barked at him. 

“Not now, Johnston.”

“Uh…” the man hemmed and hawed for a moment more. “There's a…an urgent situation, sir.”

Dean let out a huff. “There's always an urgent fucking situation. I said ‘not now’!” Dean's voice was sharp and angry. All he wanted was five minutes.

Used to having his orders obeyed, especially when they were issued in his harshest tone, Dean turned away and started to light the lamp beside his cot. Before he could spark the match however, Johnston was clearing his throat annoyingly.

“Jesus Christ, what?” Dean snapped.

“I'm sorry, sir…but Castiel, well he…he has a…a situation with a woman.”

Dean’s glare could melt ice. “What woman?”

“I think…he wants - he said he wanted to see you as soon as you were back.”

Dean ground his teeth together and tossed down the matchbook. He gestured angrily for Johnston to lead the way.

He followed the timid man through a maze of tents, aware of the eyes that followed him. He was used to that feeling. People in the camp always looked at him like that - with a mixture of awe and fear on their faces. To most of the survivors he was a little bit legend, a little bit savior, and a whole lot scary.

He was always given a wide berth.

But something more was in the air today. The evening breeze seemed to be buzzing with whispers that followed him up the stairs and into the main hall. It was one of the only wooden structures in the camp, and definitely the biggest. It was where they all gathered together when they needed to. 

He pushed through the squeaky door to find the angel standing in the middle of the room, just in front of one of the dozen massive, twenty-person, metal tables that had been constructed for large group projects like bomb making, or supply divvying. 

Dean tried to look past Cas when it became obvious there was a person behind him, sitting on the floor. But Cas just shifted so he couldn't see whoever it was, which only made Dean’s scowl intensify. Cas held out his hands towards him. 

“Okay, Dean. now just listen.” 

Dean didn’t like the sound of that, or the placating tone the angel was taking. “What the fuck is going on here, Cas?” He tried again to peer around him at the person on the floor, but Cas shifted his footing again to keep them hidden.

“You have to…before you do anything, just,,,you have to look at her. Really look.” 

He moved out of the way slightly and Dean could finally see a woman sitting on the ground. Her head was bent and around her wrists were manacles connected to heavy chains that yoked her to the immoveable table. Dean was about to once again ask what the hell was going on when the woman looked up at him and he saw her eyes - saw the perfect, blood red circle around her iris. 

Dean’s razor sharp instincts reacted without conscious thought, and his gun was out of his thigh holster and cocked, with his finger ready to pull the trigger in under two seconds. It was only Cas jumping in front of the woman again that managed to just stop him firing.

But Dean kept his gun pointing at the woman’s head, even though it was now hidden on the other side of the angel's body. 

“What the fuck is the matter with you?” He bellowed at the man who used to be his best friend, back when he still had friends. “She’s infected! Get out of the fucking way!”

Cas had his hands up again and was shaking his head. “No, Dean, look at her. Yes, her eyes show she should be infected, and yes she was bitten, but…just look at her. She’s not infected.”

Dean’s jaw ticked with his fury. “Yeah well, give it a couple hours and she’ll be strong enough to bust those fucking chains. Now, move!” He roared again. 

But Cas took a step backwards, closer to the woman on the ground. “No, it’s been days.” He looked over his shoulder. “Right?”

The woman’s voice was soft. “Almost a week.”

Dean scoffed. “Bullshit!” He shouted, unable to believe the angel’s naivete. “She’s lying.”

Cas was shaking his head and looking at Dean again. “Her arm, where she was bitten, it’s healed up.” He called back to her. “Hold your arm out.”

The chains rattled and Dean saw a slightly grubby arm stick out from behind Cas’ legs. Sure enough there was a bite on the outside of her forearm that looked pretty much healed. Dean felt something uncertain shift in his belly, but he shook it off. He knew better.

“So she’s a quick healer. She’ll still turn into a monster sooner or later. Now. Move.” He gave Cas a glare that had made lesser men crumble. But the angel refused.

“No, Dean, this might be something huge.”

Dean opened his mouth to argue, but the woman’s small voice spoke first. “Please. I just needed to get my daughter to safety.”

Dean leveled another glare at Cas. “Daughter?” He asked.

The woman continued speaking and Dean tried to see any part of her around Cas’ body. “We were living in the Billings camp near Piedmont, Emma and I. We’d been there just a few months when the camp was attacked. They lost a lot of people, and I got bitten. When the fighting ended and the Croats were all dead, the leaders started checking us all for bites. I knew they were going to kill me and I understood what had to happen, but I wanted them to promise Emma would be safe, but they wouldn’t.”

Dean’s hand had lowered slightly, enough that Cas shifted aside again so Dean could see the woman talking. There were tears falling from her bloodshot eyes and she lifted the heavy chains so she could wipe them away before continuing.

“She'd fallen on some debris in the mess, long after the Croats had been put down, and she had a scratch on her leg. They were sure she was infected too. But she’s not.” She shook her head vehemently. “They were going to kill her. I…I couldn’t let them. So I shoved them down, fought them off, grabbed Emma and ran. We’ve been running for almost a week. I’d heard about this camp, so I headed this way. I was terrified I was going to change before I could get Emma to some semblance of safety. But…it just never happened.”

She shrugged and shifted slightly. Her movement brought the barrel of Dean’s gun back up a fraction of an inch. She stared at the pistol for a moment and then caught his eye again.  “I just wanted somewhere for her to be safe. I understand that you want me dead. I’m…” Her throat caught and she closed her eyes and took in a deep, steadying breath. “But….” She opened her eyes again and a slight smile curved her lips.

“You don’t…you probably don’t remember me, but a long time ago - I was barely sixteen - you…you saved me.”

Dean knew he must not have hidden his surprise very well when her smile deepened. It occurred to Dean in that moment that she was really, remarkably beautiful, in spite of the dirt and the bloodshot eyes.

“My family I mean,” she continued, “you saved my family. You and your dad. We lived in Wichita at the time. We had a poltergeist. It was…it was cutting me. It carved words into me.” She put a hand on her stomach. “Words like ‘vengeance’ and ‘death’.” 

She shook her head. “I was so terrified. But you and John, you just swept in and got rid of the thing in a weekend. It was amazing.”

The long-forgotten case bubbled up in Dean’s mind. It felt separate from him, apart, as though centuries had passed in between, instead of a dozen years. But he remembered a young girl, a sweet kid with braces on her teeth and overwhelming fear in her eyes. He nodded. Yes, he remembered that smile now.

She wore it still as she shook her head and looked down. “It was a long time ago, a lifetime seems like, so I’m sure you don’t remember. But I still remember how Dean Winchester came and saved me.” She looked up at him again and her tears had returned. “So, I’m asking you to please, please save me again.”

Dean felt the same something as before, something that shifted in his gut, that felt tight and constricting. But he pushed it away and shook his head.

“You’re wrong, Y/N.” He said, as her name came back to him. He could see the surprise on her face. “I do remember you. I remember the poltergeist. I remember your family, your house. And I remember saving you.” 

He paused and let the memories retreat from his mind’s eye before he clenched his jaw. “But you’re right, it was a lifetime ago,” he shook his head, “and I’m not that guy anymore.”

He raised his gun and took a step forward aiming for a quick, straight bullet to the head, faster than blinking.

But as though time slowed down, he saw a blur of motion coming in from the side and several things happened at the exact same time. Y/N screamed and dove as far to the right as her chains would allow, Cas jumped forward to stop him, and Dean yanked his gun up at the very last millisecond before his finger flexed on the trigger, just as he saw the blur come into focus.

It was a sobbing, shaking little girl, in a tattered blue dress. Her long brown hair was pulled back into a braid and tied with a faded piece of lace. Y/N had leapt towards the child to shield her as the little one had flung herself in front of her mother. Y/N was now cradling her daughter in her arms.

Cas kept his hand like a vice grip on Dean’s shoulder where he’d grabbed him in an attempt to stop him. Though he wouldn’t have reached him in time. A feeling surged through Dean that he hadn’t felt in a long time as he breathed in and out harshly, as though he’d run a mile.

Two of his soldiers, Risa and Patrick, ran in seconds later, ashen faced and staring at the little girl. Dean yelled at them. “Why the fuck did you let her in here?”

Risa shook her head. “She got away from us.”

“Got away from you?” He continued to shout. “She’s a little girl!” 

When they didn't respond he gritted his teeth and spoke through them. “Why don’t you go see if you can handle all forty pounds of her this time.” He said, motioning with his gun for them to go get her.

As they moved to follow his orders he acknowledged what it was that had his heart beating triple time and his lungs unable to suck in enough air. 

It was fear. The forgotten, acidic taste of it was on his tongue. It had been a very long time since he’d been afraid of anything. But knowing he’d been less than a second away from firing a bullet into the body of an innocent, uninfected kid - that truth had him rattled. As did Emma’s heart-rending cries as she clung to her mother.

Risa and Patrick had reached Y/N, but looked hesitant to rip the child away from her mother. Y/N was pulling on Emma’s arms and she finally managed to unlock their death grip from around her neck. 

“Baby, shh.” She said softly as she brushed the little girl’s wispy hairs out of her face and cupped her ruby red cheeks. “It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s okay, you’re gonna be safe - “ 

Emma cut her off with a wail. “Noooo! Noooo! Mommy, I don’t wanna go.”

Y/N was shaking her head. “Hey, hey. No, sweetheart listen, listen to me. We made it here and now you’re safe.” She began nodding as Emma shook her head. “Yes, baby. Look at me, look at me, just breathe.” She said, and Emma began sucking in shuddering, choking breaths.

Y/N smiled and kissed her daughter’s forehead. “You are so brave. Okay? I just need you to keep being so brave. Can you do that? Hmm?” Y/N questioned, nodding even though Emma was shaking her head in denial.

Dean caught Patrick’s eye and gave a sharp nod towards the horrifying scene. He needed them to get the kid out of there. Patrick nodded back, but still didn’t move to take her. Dean seethed.

“I love you so much.” Y/N said, her voice breaking now, but she cleared her throat quickly and continued. “I love you bigger than big.” She was staring into her daughter’s eyes. “Bigger than big.” She repeated.

“And taller than tall?” Emma asked in a strangled voice, obviously repeating an often used sentiment. 

Y/N was nodding. “And taller than tall.” She confirmed. She gave her daughter a final smile of encouragement, her palms still clasped on her flushed, wet cheeks. “You - are my little angel.” She told her before pulling her against her chest one more time, trying to squeeze a lifetime of love into the small body she held.

Dean tried to keep his features in check as Y/N looked up at him. He wouldn’t bend. She needed to get her kid out of there. Y/N sniffed and pulled back from Emma. “Okay, baby. You need to go with…”

She looked up at Risa, obviously looking for a name. “Risa.” The soldier replied kindly.

Y/N gave her a grateful smile and directed her words up at her. “Go with Risa, she’ll look out for you.” It was obviously a question for the other woman, a plea. Risa gave a curt nod of agreement.

Emma was still sobbing as Y/N lifted her out of her lap and let Risa take her away. The little girl screamed and reached back for her mother and Dean saw the way Y/N flinched as she raised her manacled wrist and pressed her fingers to her lips before sending a parting kiss to her daughter.

As the child disappeared her screams still echoed, and Y/N slumped, covering her face, her shoulders shaking.

Dean swallowed down the feelings that tried to rise in him as he watched her weep. Every person who died left someone behind to grieve them. If they were lucky. And this situation was no different. Their camp had more than a dozen orphaned kids. Emma would be no different.

But as Y/N took a shuddering breath and looked up at him, he knew he was lying. Her words to Emma had resonated in his memory, pulling forth the image of his mother’s warm hands on his cheeks after he sought to comfort her, told her he loved her and would never leave her. 

“You - are my little angel.” She’d said, her voice full of love.

And another moment, in the dark, cuddled against his mother’s chest as she held him after a nightmare, just days before the fire. Her voice had been so gentle, so soft. 

“I know you’re scared, Dean, and that’s okay. Cause I know you’re so brave too. Can you show me how brave you are?”

Y/N’s last words to her daughter echoed some of the last words he remembered from his mother and he would be lying if he said it wasn’t affecting him. But as Y/N stared up at him, he tried desperately to shake it off. It changed nothing.

Y/N’s voice cracked as she tried to speak; she cleared it before trying again. “Thank you, Dean. For keeping her here, for giving her somewhere safe to be.”

Dean shook his head. “Nowhere is somewhere safe to be.”

He could see Y/N’s fear spring back up, and he shrugged. “But she can stay here, and have the protection of the camp. For whatever that’s worth.”

Y/N nodded and closed her eyes. “Thank you.” She repeated in a whisper, and then, without opening her eyes, “I’m ready.”

Cas gripped his shoulder again. “Dean, don’t do this.” He said, his low voice barely a whisper.

Dean shrugged off his hand and stepped closer to Y/N, close enough that he couldn’t possibly miss, so that it would be instant and painless.

He felt Cas’ disappointment and anger looming over him as he extended his arm. The muzzle of the gun was less than two feet from its target. Dean cocked it again and felt his stomach swoop at Y/N’s soft, quick inhale.

His finger caressed the trigger, a breath away from pulling it when from nowhere his little brother’s voice floated into his mind, a snippet of conversation he hadn’t thought of in almost a decade - from the first time they’d ever seen the virus.

“You know I’m gonna ask you why.” Sam had said, referring to the man Dean had left alive.

“Yeah, I know.”

“So, why? Why didn’t you do it?”

He hadn’t answered his brother then; he’d been too embarrassed to say that there had been something in his soul that wouldn’t let him shoot someone who wasn't yet a monster, even if it seemed inevitable that they would be.

But now, that same creeping feeling, that same cloying sense of wrong was pulling at his soul again. It shocked him and angered him that his soul was still capable of this dithering - this pansy-assed wavering - when his head knew without a doubt what had to be done.

With the same sick, frustrated feeling, however, Dean felt his arm drop. “Dammit.” He growled, just as he had then.

He backed away and saw Y/N’s eyes pop open, saw relief flood them just before he turned and stormed away. He barreled out of the cabin and heard Cas shout after him. But he kept marching forward, trying to get himself far away from the memories that had come there to haunt him. 

But with every step away from camp, with every inch he walked into the surrounding forest, his mother and brother’s faces became clearer in his mind until he finally just stopped abruptly. Giving a shout of pure fury, Dean pointed his gun at the dead leaves on the ground and unloaded his clip into the moist earth.

He was panting, teeth clenched, as he sensed someone approaching. He whirled around, instinctively pointing his empty gun towards the noise. But he immediately put it down when he saw it was Cas. 

Instead he walked up to him and shoved the angel backwards; though even with his powers gone, he didn’t move very far.

“Don’t fucking follow me.” Dean growled at him.

But Cas just stared at him and then a smile spread across his face. Dean scowled thunderously. “What the fuck could you possibly be smiling about?”

Cas shook his head and shrugged. “I just… thought he was gone, but he’s still there. Haven’t seen him in a long time.’

Dean’s expression was confused and pissed. “Thought who was gone?”

“My friend - Dean Winchester. I thought he was well and truly gone.” He repeated. “But it’s so good to see him again.” The angel’s brilliant blue eyes were beaming so bright, they almost seemed to be alight with grace once more.

Jensen RPF and Any/All Characters:

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Dean Fics Only:

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Any/All Fics Regardless of Character or Fandom:

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Everything Incl. Fan Edits:

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[cleo-fox]

As the Clock Strikes Midnight - Part IV

Series Masterlist Chapter Summary: In which you visit Loki's rooms. Chapter Warnings: Fingering, making out, orgasms, dirty talk, praise kink, more of Loki being a horrendous tease.

Tag List: I don’t have a tag list for this fic, sorry! The best way to hear about updates is to follow me on Tumblr or subscribe to the fic on AO3.

In the light of morning, this all looks like a very bad idea. You are a servant; he is a prince. There is no future with him, certainly, and while he seems to be infatuated with you at present, there’s no telling how long that particular whim will last. You have no guarantee that he has your best interests in mind. Sneaking around after dark was risky enough in itself when you were just going to the library to read—sneaking to a prince’s bedchamber for activities that most would consider indecent is a level of recklessness that you’ve never even come close to before. If Fritjof finds out about this, you are fairly certain you’ll end up in the dungeons.

But at the same time...the idea is appealing in a way that makes the risk seem worth it. Loki is handsome and clever and you like how his wit is as sharp as your own. You like how he makes you feel. You’d had some relationships before—a short-lived tryst with a handsome stablehand, a brief infatuation with a valet, a whirlwind romance with a merchant—but none of them had ever been quite like this. You hadn’t wanted them like you want Loki...and the thought of Loki wanting you is far more intoxicating than it has any right to be.

You should not go. You want to go. You shouldn’t. You want to. You go back and forth with yourself on this for most of the day, to the point that Anja scolds you for your inattentiveness.

There’s part of you, though, that knows all along what your choice will be.

And so, against every shred of good judgment you possess, you find yourself walking to Loki’s chambers later that evening. It’s a nerve-wracking walk and you find yourself jumping at every shadow, your heart nearly leaping out of your chest with every unexpected noise.

He opens the door before you can knock, almost like he can sense how fragile this is, how close you are to turning around and running back to your room, how wildly your heart is beating in your chest.

You’ve never been in any of the royal chambers before and you’re surprised by how immediately out of place you feel. His rooms are beautifully appointed and it only makes you more aware of the plainness of your work dress, reinforcing the fact that you’re not supposed to be here. You smooth your hands awkwardly against the fabric of your skirts as the door clicks shut behind you.

“Are you nervous?”

His voice startles you slightly, though you certainly haven’t forgotten his presence. You turn to face him, your chin jutting out defiantly.

“I am no maiden, if that’s what you’re asking,” you say.

He laughs quietly. “I wasn’t, but I shall take that under advisement.”

Your cheeks burn—you really need to think more carefully before you speak. It’s just that you’re so wildly out of your element right now that you don’t really know how to act, especially not with Loki looking like he means to undress you with his gaze. At least the library is familiar and dim enough to blunt the wrongness of what you’re doing. These beautiful rooms make you feel exposed and awkward.

You square your shoulders and stare him down as he approaches, trying to ignore the obvious smirk pulling at his lips.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he says softly, stopping mere inches in front of you. He reaches up, fingers tracing the line of your jaw. “Are you nervous?”

You swallow and try to keep your face expressionless, even though he can surely feel your heart pounding when his thumb grazes your pulse point. “I suppose I don’t really know what to expect,” you say.

He gives you a rather devilish grin and heat flares between your legs. “I rather think you’ll enjoy it,” he says, taking both of your hands in his as he leads you over to the couch in a little sitting area. “In fact, I intend to make sure of it.”

“Once again, your confidence is inspiring,” you say, though your bravado is mostly to hide your nerves.

He chuckles as he sits down, pulling you into his lap so that you straddle his hips, your skirts riding up to the middle of your thighs. “I am looking forward to quieting that wicked tongue.”

“I thought you were going to endeavor to make me scream,” you say.

He chuckles, his large, warm hands stroking up your legs, pausing at your knees. “So dreadfully impertinent.”

“You like it.”

He hums, his hands inching up your thighs. “Not nearly as much as I like the idea of you becoming pliant and yielding under my touch.”

“You certainly have a high opinion of your ability.”

You say this to bait him and you’re immediately gratified by the dark look in his eyes and his hands coming to rest at the juncture where your hips meet your thighs. Your stomach muscles tense in delicious anticipation.

“Do I?” he murmurs, his fingertips gently grazing the thin layer of fabric that covers your sex. “I can feel how slick you are already and I haven’t even touched you.”

Without realizing it, you’ve tilted your head so that your forehead rests against his and he takes advantage of the closeness, slanting his mouth over yours, sliding his tongue along your lower lip until you open your mouth to him. He is equal parts rough and tender, a combination that leaves your head spinning and intensifies the ache between your legs as his fingers press lightly against you. He nips at your lower lip, soothing the sting with a sensuous swipe of his tongue before luring you back into a slow and seductive rhythm that makes it difficult to think about anything other than the taste of his lips, the dull ache building between your thighs, and the hard length straining at his trousers.

He breaks the kiss to look at you, green eyes boring into yours. Your breath hitches as he pushes the fabric of your undergarments aside, his fingers hovering teasingly over your sex.

Your breath has become rapid and shallow. He looks at you, eyes lust glazed, but still cool and calm and completely in control.

“Tell me what you want, darling.” 

There’s a small part of you that still has the wherewithal to be a little annoyed. Of course this is just another game, another trick to play. The bastard has the gall to look amused at how flustered you are, how you’re practically trembling and panting in anticipation of his touch.

But you’re just lust-crazed enough to play along with his tricks and games and his hand is so deliciously close to where you need him. “Touch me,” you murmur.

You decide to ignore the teasing, triumphant glint in his eyes—for now, at least. One finger strokes the very edge of your sex—not where you need to be touched, not anywhere that brings you relief.

“Here?” he asks, his eyes wide with feigned innocence.

You have enough presence of mind to scowl at him. “You know what I want.”

His grin is devilish. “Perhaps I want to hear it from you.”

You sigh, but you decide it’s worth it. “I...I want you to make me come.”

His eyes take on a dark and hungry focus that makes you shiver and his fingers finally—finally—part the slick folds of your sex, circling the swollen nub of your clit. Your eyes close and you let out a breath, a soft moan falling from your lips.

“See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” he murmurs.

“Smugness doesn’t suit you,” you say.

He gives a low laugh. “We both know that’s a lie.” He slides one finger inside of you and you can’t help the whimper that falls from your lips. “So slick already,” he murmurs, his thumb sliding up to rub your clit. “Did you touch yourself after I left you last night?”

You had certainly considered it—he had you wound so tightly that it took you nearly an hour to fall asleep. But you also suspected that he would make you wait another night if you took matters into your own hands and you were fairly certain you would die if you had to wait any longer, so you refrained, as difficult as it was.

“No,” you say and the look on his face when he realizes that you’re not lying almost makes the sexual frustration worth it.

“No?” he says, pressing a kiss against the side of your neck. “Even after I left you so terribly unsatisfied?”

“You told me you would make it worth my wait,” you say, your hips rocking with his hand. “So I waited.”

The look he gives you is dark and hungry and a little wild. “Good girl,” he purrs and you tighten reflexively around his fingers. You’re almost embarrassed by the effect that his words have on you, but you can’t bring yourself to care overly much, not with the way his fingers are moving inside of you and how his thumb is rubbing those perfect little circles against your clit. Your eyes shut and your head tips back as you moan. A warm, pulsing heat is building in your belly, rising like a tide, waiting to sweep you under.

“Yes,” he breathes, “that’s lovely, darling, you’re so responsive.”

You keen at his words and his fingers curl inside of you, pressing firmly against a spot that makes you see stars.

“Look at me,” he says in that purr of a voice. You somehow summon the concentration to raise your head and lift your eyes to him. “I want to hear you, do you understand?” he says. “No holding back.”

The pleasure is becoming unbearable and you can feel yourself tensing around his fingers, poised on the edge, about to fall. You whimper, your fingernails digging into his shoulders, hips rocking. 

“That’s it, you’re almost there.” His breathing is slightly heavy and he’s looking at you like you’re something wonderful. The hunger in his eyes summons a bolt of longing in you that translates to a physical ache in your hips. The thought of him wanting you like that is a kind of intense thrill that you’ve never felt before—so intense, in fact, that it’s enough to give you that final nudge over the edge and you come with a soft cry.

“Lovely.” He reaches for you and pulls you into a lazy kiss as you ride out the wave of your high. You sigh against his mouth and he nips at your lower lip. “But you were holding back,” he says.

You’re about to ask him why he thinks that, but his hand is moving again and it’s distracting, to say the least. 

“I suppose I’ll just have to make you come again,” he says with a mock sigh, his voice coming out as a bit of a growl. “Do try to follow my instructions this time.”

Distantly, you note that this is the sort of thing that requires a smart and snappy reply, which would be forthcoming if his fingers weren’t doing such unspeakably good things between your legs. With anyone else, it would be too much too close to your previous orgasm, but Loki has an almost uncanny sense of how to touch you. He is coaxing something warm and wicked out of those aftershocks, something that is building low in your hips, making you tighten around his fingers. You’re panting, a needy whimper falling from your lips.

“Yes, darling,” he murmurs, his eyes sliding over you appreciatively. “I want to hear you scream for me. No holding back this time.”

The thing is, you’re not sure you can hold back, even if you wanted to. It’s become rapidly apparent that you’re going to come again and by the way your whole body seems to be anticipating it, you’re fairly certain it’s going to be more intense than the last time.

“Oh, you’re so close,” he purrs. “I can feel that.”

Your breath stutters in your throat as you feel your body tense tighter and tighter, hurtling toward a glorious release.

But then just before you tip back over the edge, he stops, his hand stilling, lips pulling into a smirk. You let out a frustrated whine, your hips moving fruitlessly as you try to capture what had been so easily in your grasp mere seconds ago.

“Something you want, love?” he asks lightly, not even bothering to hide the laugh from his voice.

There’s some distant part of you that’s a little disappointed by how quickly you resort to begging, but you can’t bring yourself to care right now, not while you feel so wildly unsatisfied. “Please don’t stop, please.”

“Are you going to follow my instructions this time?” he asks. “Are you going to scream for me?”

“Yes, yes, please, I promise, please don’t stop, please, please—”

His fingers curl inside of you and begin moving again and you moan loudly, partly from relief and partly because you’re so close and can’t help it and partly because you don’t want him to stop again.

“Yes, that’s it, let me hear you,” he breathes.

Everything seems to slow as the building pressure in your hips suddenly crests and expands. You cry out—almost embarrassingly loudly—as your muscles spasm and release into a rush of feeling that makes your insides fizz. It seems to go on for ages, the aftershocks rolling through you, coaxed on by Loki’s still thrusting fingers and the soothing rumble of his low voice in your ear.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, pressing a sweet kiss against your neck.

You lean on his shoulder, your legs trembling as you try to catch your breath. He runs a hand down the column of your spine, gently pressing you against his chest.

You allow yourself to rest for a moment as he strokes your back, your head pillowed against his chest. It’s nice, sitting here like this, though you know you can’t allow yourself to become too sentimental, grow too attached. This is lovely, but temporary. You’d do well to remember that.

After a moment, you sit back up, leaning in to kiss him. He’s soft and languid in his movements—every time you try to draw him deeper, he resists just slightly, giving you just enough to make you long for him even more.

“Do you want more?” he asks, his lips barely moving from yours.

You’re well past the point of pride now. Sated and sweaty as you feel, there’s a lingering ache between your legs, a need for something more than what his fingers could provide. “Yes. Please,” you sigh, fingers tangling in his hair.

He presses a chaste kiss against your lips. “Come back tomorrow after dark.”

You pull back from him, frowning. “You’re not serious,” you say.

“I’m quite serious,” he says lightly, not quite able to hide the amusement from his expression. “I would hate to overexert you.”

Your eyes narrow. “My constitution is quite hearty, I assure you.”

He chuckles and slides out from underneath you. “I believe a very clever woman once told me that a little chase makes the conquest all the sweeter,” he says, standing.

You are not sure if you are more furious with him or with yourself. Of course that line would come back to bite you. Of course. You are slightly too distracted by your own fury and absentmindedly take his hand when he offers it to you.

“Perhaps I won’t be inclined to participate in the conquest,” you say sourly as you stand. “Perhaps I won’t return tomorrow.”

He leans in and kisses you, his tongue expertly parting your lips and returning some of the ardor that he had denied you earlier and that’s all it takes for you to immediately undercut your own point. You press wantonly against him, your fingers threading through his hair.

He is smirking when he pulls back. “I rather think you will.”

You scowl, knowing that he’s right.

Next chapter

[whetstonefires]

Very fun thing actually about Jin Guangyao is he spent so much time and energy passing himself off as normal. The Normalest Guy, Look How Normal I Am. The Very Best And Most Skilled At Normal Things, Like Being Normal And Having Normal Opinions.

Which is great because on the one hand it reflects how he was kind of aware he absolutely was not. (And that by default this isolated him and this was Very Unsafe.) But on the other you see, with all the times he falls into the typical mind fallacy under stress and projects weird shit onto people, he also on some level believed everyone was doing this.

That being a Normal Person who had Normal Reactions to things, like being appalled by brutal violence, was an elaborate social lie everyone had to maintain to keep up the facade of civil society, and actually everyone was basically the same as him deep down. He was just better at it, and also the smartest.

Which is a very long way to say his character arc is heavily tied up with his evolving relationship with and skills at masking. I'm not gonna armchair diagnose him because that's beside the point, the point is that he is trying so fucking hard to be normal, but without a particularly well-developed definition of what's abnormal about him to begin with, resulting in some misfires.

And then you contrast him to some other characters and it gets more fun. One of his direct foils is Nie Mingjue, who literally does not know how to mask at all, not the slightest bit, but is fortunate enough to have been born the exact kind of weirdo his position in life demands, with special interests in 'saber training' and 'destroying evil.'

(He explicitly, per narration from wwx being inside his head, has no other interests and doesn't really understand the idea of having more than one activity you care about, do not tell me Nie Mingjue is walking around with a normal brain.)

So he is (jgy has a point about this, although he actually makes it about the luxury of having moral compunctions) free to totally embrace the conviction that everyone should basically be their authentic selves at all times, and just not do evil things about it.

On the other hand, and this really illuminates their relationship for me, Lan Xichen is absolutely trying to be normal. Like, he does try to excel, he wants to be best and he knows he's good, but as a person he is also trying to be as normal as circumstances allow.

He understands 'being normal about things' as a goal not in jgy's terms as an elaborate social fiction but as aspirational shaping of the self; if everyone is normal about everything then there won't be needless conflict. Living as normally as possible will optimize your mental health and your respect for others, and it's just a good baseline from which to be good.

Which is fine as far as it goes, but means harmless eccentricity (including gay) is to be tolerated and swept under the rug rather than really supported, and prejudices him to instinctively side with Jin Guangyao and anyone else who is pushing for Let's Be Normal About This, even when the people being weird are in the right.

(This is also to a non-zero degree a trauma response behavior; what Lan Xichen experienced as the largest existential threat to him growing up was something along the lines of being perceived as a selfish disruptor of norms, like his father.)

And then contrast that to Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji, who are both very concerned at least initially with how things and people and they themselves are supposed to be, and feel some responsibility for ensuring this supposed-to is reflected in reality.

But neither of them makes any particular attempt to be normal about it.

And then ofc Wei Wuxian, another jgy narrative foil, never attempts to pass himself off as normal. He will sell 'I'm better than everyone ever' and 'I'm scum of the earth' in the same breath before he will try for normal.

Except that he genuinely seems to think his most virtuous traits, his throw-himself-between-victim-and-weapon impulses, are basically normal. If not everyone (who isn't a total shithead) does it, it's because not everyone has his insane confidence they can pull it off.

Which in a good mood he would say is fair, because he is in fact awesome and really good at winning. (In a worse state of mind he would definitely hate on all the selfish cowards.)

Nie Huaisang is probably the most genuinely normal human being in the main cast, probably even more normal than Jiang Yanli, and he's very happy to play that up and present himself as actually even more normal and average than he is, in order to keep expectations down.

Up until his whole life gets fucked and this little pretense turns into the most elaborate and successful mask in the entire book.

[lordsammichsilas]

Unintended consequences

One of the unintended consequences of the Railroad's methods is that newly freed synths tend to be fairly impressionable when they start their new lives. This isn't because they're any less capable than any adult human of the same (perceived) age, but because they have limited lived experience in their newfound lives. As they live their lives and have experiences, this goes away. The problem is life in the wasteland is hard and they tend to latch onto people who don't always have their best interests at heart.

The Railroad wipes their memory and gives them a new identity, but afterwards they're on their own and kind of have to hope for the best. Because of the nature of the Railroad, they kind of have to work like this. They wipe a synth's memory and give them a nondescript background usually growing up as an anonymous orphan in a vague region with no real specifics. They tend to avoid giving too much detail because that makes it easier to follow up on these things and can consequently put that synth in danger without the synth even realizing it.

I came up with this theory while reading up on Danse's backstory and trying to figure out what parts of his memories are real and which aren't.

For the purpose of this thing I'm writing, I'm going to assume the Institute didn't give Danse those memories (I think that's an incorrect assumption on Danse's part). As far as the Institute is concerned, he's just a missing synth called M7-97. He wouldn't have a name nor would they bother to give him this backstory. It's far more likely that this came from the Railroad.

It would not surprise me to learn that Deacon actually knew Danse when he was rescued.

Check out this companion swap dialogue -

Danse: There's something you're keeping from me, Deacon. If I find out what it is and I don't like it, there will be hell to pay.

Deacon: Well good thing I have nothing to hide then.

What if Danse has an inkling of recognition of Deacon? Usually Deacon has a witty retort to the other companions when swapping people out. Instead he just plays it off. What if, on some very remote level, Danse recognizes Deacon juuuuuuuust enough to know that he's got some kind of secret that Danse just sort of unconsciously zeroes in on. Not enough to actually recognize it for what it is, but it's just enough to spook Deacon a teeny tiny bit.

That's Deacon's way of side stepping a VERY awkward conversation and shutting Danse down because “trust me bro, you REALLY don't want to fuck around and find this out.”

I also love the idea of Deacon knowing about Danse's identity the whole time and just not saying anything. Whether he likes or dislikes Danse is irrelevant, he's still going to keep that secret because he helps all synths. Even if they're being a dick.

But also Deacon would also be acutely aware of the consequences of the Railroad's methods on the synths and has probably seen a lot of them end up in all kinds of arrangements in their lives that aren't good for them. He knows the Railroad's methods aren't perfect because of this, but it's the best they can do with the level of secrecy they have to keep up. They wipe the synths' memories, give them a new identity, and hope for the best.

Anyway, back to Danse's backstory:

He's an orphan from the Capital Wasteland selling scrap. It's pretty nondescript and vague. Most (or at least a large number of) orphans in the Capital Wasteland end up in Little Lamplight.

It would have been really awkward if the Railroad gave Danse that memory and then you come across MacCready, who was the mayor in FO3, who'd never met Danse before. That could have easily outed Danse. So he was just in the Capital Wasteland selling scrap. Lots of other nondescript people did that.

I think his memories start at Rivet City. That's when you get a specific location and you get a specific person (Cutler). From then on getting recruited by the BoS, being mentored by Paladin Krieg who died at Adams Airforce Base, those are all specifics. If you played FO3, you get to see some of those things first hand. Also the Brotherhood keeps pretty good records of their soldiers (they even have their DNA on record). It would be extremely easy to prove whether or not Krieg and Cutler existed. Cutler was even on the Prydwen for some time.

Danse's description of meeting Cutler also makes sense. Danse had just been given a new identity and he sells scrap. Maybe the Railroad gave him some caps before he went to Rivet City. Danse also likes weapon mods and power armor. He seems to be a tinkerer. Maybe the Railroad gave him the scrap selling background because it seemed to fit. At least then he'd seem competent enough for that backstory to be believable.

He says that he and Cutler watched each other's backs in Rivet City and kept each other out of trouble. Integrating into human life as an adult from scratch comes with a learning curve. Perhaps Danse was fortunate enough to come across a human who was actually a decent person and helped him out instead of taking advantage of him and Danse returned the favor when he could.

Then the Brotherhood comes into town and they decide to join. Junk vending makes for a pretty meager existence, so they joined for pragmatic reasons (like most people who join the military).

Danse then gets assigned to Krieg who sees Danse is a bit different and pushes him harder than the other recruits. At that point, he still has relatively little life experience as Danse. Danse doesn't know why he's being pushed, so he tries harder to compensate for it. (Krieg is probably the closest thing to a father figure he's ever had). Because of this, he latches onto the ideals.

At that point he's all in. And maybe it isn't necessarily that bad under Lyons's Brotherhood. It wasn't perfect, but at least they were trying to help the people of the Capital Wasteland.

But then he sees Lyons's BoS start to fall apart.

And then Maxson comes to power and this is when it becomes problematic.

He had people in his life who looked out for him, but being in an organization when you have little frame of reference for anything else tends to skew your worldview. It basically has the same effect on Danse as someone who grew up in a cult. Most cults are relatively benign until they get a leader that can use those qualities in people against them.

Maxson's Brotherhood was far more dogmatic and fanatical (cultish) and more isolationist. When you're on the Prydwen in game, there's an announcement on the loudspeaker that fraternization with the locals is forbidden. Maxson does NOT like outsiders.

And that sort of cements it for Danse. He's been in the Brotherhood for almost his entire free life. He doesn't know much else outside of it and he doesn't really have much chance to experience life outside of the BoS. He's essentially trapped in a cult with a charismatic leader who had no problem ordering Danse's execution when his synth nature was found out, something Danse didn't even know himself. He even internalized the Brotherhood's teachings so hard that he agreed that he should die (even though he really wants to live).

What started out as what is normally best case scenario for a freed synth ended up being a nightmare scenario in the end. It's a horrific unintended consequence from the Railroad's methods of rescuing synths. And that's not to say anything bad about the Railroad. It's just the best they can do considering the circumstances and resources they have.

When looking at cults irl, considering victims of cults to be dumb or weakminded is a misnomer (and blames the victim which isn't cool). There are a lot of smart, capable people who fall in with cults. It's a thing that happens. Usually they're at a vulnerable point in their lives and a charismatic leader zeroes in on it and takes advantage of it. Being a newly freed synth with minimal life experience and no real connections would be a perfect victim for a cult.

I would imagine a lot of other synths have stories like this.

On a side note, I hope Danse appears in something else in the future. I think you could look at his character arc in FO4 as him realizing his life as an individual has value and then he can have an arc elsewhere where he's in the process of unlearning a lot of the more problematic parts of his worldview that come from the Brotherhood. Even if they didn't cut a lot of his content from the game, it would be unrealistic for him to be totally cool with all synths, super mutants, and ghouls even after learning he was a synth. That process doesn't happen overnight.

If anything, Danse learning that he's a synth should be the inciting incident for an even larger story. (At least it would if I had my way.)