#where he feels more he has a mission statement of sorts

[fluffywhump]

"Some of my early readers said they were physically ill. It's very hot, at least to me"

Okay looks like I have another horror book to add to my tbr

[rileyslibrary]

You’ve just moved in with Simon. Great.

There’s one slight problem, though: Due to the nature of his work, the guy interprets everything as an order. And executes accordingly.

———————————————————————

You sit on the kitchen’s table, enjoying breakfast together, when you notice the full trash bin.

“The trash needs to be taken out,” you casually mention, not giving it too much thought.

But, to your surprise, Simon shoots up from his chair like a coiled spring, leaving his half-eaten food behind. “Roger that,” he responds and jogs towards the trash bin, leaving you baffled.

“Simon?”

He stops and turns to look at you.

“Hm?”

“You don’t have to do it right now.”

“When do you want it done?” he asks, waiting for your next command.

“Wh-whenever you can,” you reply, uncertain how else to phrase it.

“I can do it now,” Simon declares and proceeds to the trash bin.

“Babe, we’re eating.” You say and point at the semi-eaten food on the kitchen table.

He looks at the food, then back at you. He shrugs.

“No,” you state, “Come sit down and finish your breakfast first.”

He nods as if Price just gave him the objectives for his next mission and jogs to the table to resume his breakfast.

He’s always like this. Last week, you found a cockroach running in the bathroom, and you screamed so loud that he almost kicked the door. When he asked you what you wanted him to do, your first instinct was a very loud and clear “KILL IT!” without thinking about your statement’s repercussions. He chased it around, murmuring stuff like “Target’s on the move” and other nonsense until he trapped the cockroach in a corner. He stepped on it once and twisted his foot. The cockroach was dead. Gone. Kaput. But he wanted to do it again, to “confirm the kill.” When you told him there was no need since the cockroach was already a pulp and left you all to a better place, he refused and ordered an “evac” of the bathroom to “do it properly.” And when you asked if “properly” meant an AK-47 and camo apparel, he thought about it long and hard before agreeing that further escalation would be unnecessary.

Be it his ingrained behaviour as a soldier to execute orders, deeply rooted within his system, or his fear not to let you down, he was finding it difficult to leave his work duties at the door. He always carried them inside—in the living room, the kitchen, and the bathroom. He acted like Ghost, not Simon. Everything was a matter of order to him, and there was no time for relaxation.

But it doesn’t have to be like this; you want him to know that. He doesn’t have to be so rigid at home. He can relax and take a step back from his institutionalised habits.

To prove your point, you decide to give him another instruction, this time more indirectly.

You glance at the sink; some pans are picking out from making breakfast this morning.

“Oh boy,” you moan, trying to pull off an act, “we have to clean the dishes at some point.”

He raises his head to look at the kitchen sink, then sides-eyes you.

“Any particular time you want that done?” He asks, ironically.

“I said ‘at some point’, Simon,” you snap, “there’s no urgency.”

“You also said we ‘have’ to do it,” he snaps back. “‘Have to’ has some sort of urgency in it, doesn’t it?”

You chuckle, impressed by his attention to detail. “You’re right, but it’s more of a general statement,” you reply. “We can do it whenever it’s convenient.”

Simon processes your words and nods.

You stare at him while he eats, and you feel a tug at your heart, urging you to address the underlying issue on your mind. You take a deep breath, searching for the right words to express your feelings without offending him. You reach out and touch his arm to grab his attention. He turns to face you.

“You’re so dedicated to what you do; it’s one of the things I love about you,” you begin, “but our home should be a place where we can both unwind and be ourselves without feeling like we’re constantly on a mission.”

He furrows his eyebrows. “What do you mean?” he asks.

You take a moment to collect your thoughts, wanting to explain them in a way that resonates with him.

“Well, when you jump to fulfil every request or task like it’s an order, it sometimes feels like we’re always on duty,” you explain gently. “I want us to create a more relaxed atmosphere here, where we can enjoy each other’s company and take things at a slower pace.”

He thinks about it for a while.

“Am I doing that?” He asks.

You slowly nod with a gentle smile.

“Affirmative,” he replies, “I’ll try to take it down a notch.”

“No ‘roger’, no ‘affirmative’, nothing like that is needed here,” you explain.

“Is ‘alright’ alright?” He asks.

“Yes,” you smile, “alright is alright.”

He finishes his breakfast and puts his dish in the sink.

“So,” he says, pointing one hand at the dirty dishes and the other at the bin. “Is there any particular order in which you want these two to be done?”

You smile. “No, babe; you take out the trash, and I’ll do the dishes.”

“Underst-alright, alright.” He corrects himself and walks to the garbage. He ties up the bag’s strings and picks up the bin. He spots you looking at him.

“Am I doing something wrong?” He hesitates.

“Why are you taking the entire bin with you?”

He keeps looking at you and places the bin on the floor.

“Just in case the bag’s ripped,” he explains, “I don’t want to spill garbage juice on the floor.”

“Oh.”

“Should I take the bag only?” He asks and begins to remove it from the bin.

“No… that’s pretty smart, actually.”

He raises his eyebrows and points a thumb at himself.

“Yes, Simon,” you nod and smile, “you’re pretty smart and considerate. I’ll carry out the same procedure while on trash bin duty.”

He puffs up his chest and picks up the bin with the bag in it.

“I’m dedicated, smart and considerate.” You hear him boast to himself as he walks towards the exit, ready to execute his mission.

———————————————————————

[darlingbabyboo]

"You're Something Else... "

♡ Synopsis: Megumi had been (sorta) prepared to live with this white weirdo who claimed to be the strongest... what he hadn't been prepared for was his daughter.

♡ Content: Reader is described as a girl and shorter than Megumi and Tsumiki and tiny because I'm tiny, black reader, good dad Gojo, Megumi is deeply repressed

♡ Notes: This is from the vote! Where people said they wanted Megumi x Gojo's Daughter instead of Giyuu x Urokodaki Daughter! Hope you enjoy 😘 Just say smth if I should make a part 2

♡ Inspiration: @ketsuyuki-hibana-typed! Their series Rengoku x Little Sister Figure is so good!

So Megumi was less than excited to live with Gojo (could not be me but this ain't about me so...)

He was only doing this so Tsumiki wouldn't have to suffer under the Zenin's

He was expected more or less of the same thing

Just him and Tsumiki living in a house, being forced to take care of themselves

Yippee

That's why he was so surprised to find you

"And you two, say hi to your other housemate!" The white haired weirdo cheerfully exclaimed

Megumi looked at you with wide eyes, you were hiding behind the tall man's legs and shaking like you were forced to be here

He wouldn't be surprised if you were

"C'mon honey bun, you gotta introduce yourself, you'll be sharing a home with these guys."

He removed you from his leg and squatted so that he was at his level

"Introduce yourself!"

You give a shy wave, curled in on yourself. You say your name through stutters and when you're done, you bury yourself into the weirdo's chest

Gojo smiles at them, stroking your back

"She's a little shy-"

A little, Megumi thinks

"-you two introduce yourself too! Don't be shy!"

"I'm Tsumiki!" His sister happily says besides him, like you're not shivering even if it's spring. "It's really nice to meet you!"

You remove yourself from Gojo a little to give her a small nod before burying yourself in Gojo's chest again

Megumi doesn't say his name, he observes (what he can when you're buried in Gojo's chest). You look nothing like him. He wonders if you've also been kidnapped taken in by Gojo

Does the freak have a habit of taking young children?

You look younger than him, though maybe it's because you're so small. You remind him of a mouse, especially with how much you were stuttering

He certainly hasn't seen someone like you before, maybe it's because of how sheltered he is, but you're different

Your skin is darker then what he's seen before, but the difference makes you even prettier. Your skin makes you glow in the sunlight, like some sort of angel

His stomach twists, even with how little he saw of your appearance, you're beautiful

"Aw are you already smitten with my little girl."

His face burns, "no!" He regrets staring so long when you bury yourself even deeper into the older man's arms, your embarrassment making his worse

Gojo waves off his words, "honey bun, this is Megu-chan, your first suitor!"

"Don't call me Megu-chan." He mutters, not bothering to clear up the other statement when the man is rambling something about your 'love story'. He looks up, sparing another glance at you.

You've removed yourself from Gojo a little, your brown eyes making contact with his blue ones.

Simultaneously, you both hide your faces

It's four people in the house but to be honest, it feels more like two

Usually, Gojo is out settling clan business or off on a mission, it's different than before though, Gojo's not neglectful, always making sure they have double of what they need and bathing them in nice comments

And he usually makes it home by dinner

It's honestly really nice (but never tell Gojo he said that)

The reason you don't count though is that you're really...

Quiet

He doesn't even know if that's the right description of you, you're almost like a ghost

The few times that he has laid his eyes on you, you disappear faster than he can blink

Usually, he would assume it's a him problem, but Tsumiki faces the same issues

"Do you think she hates us?" Tsumiki says one day, fiddling with her fingers.

Somehow, it makes him feel better that Tsumiki has the same struggles.

He shrugs, "I don't know, I thought she was mute, but she introduced herself fine the first time so..."

Tsumiki nods in agreement, she moves from playing with her fingers to playing with her hair, "I hope she doesn't hate us, she seems so nice."

"How would you know?" He mutters, "she doesn't even say anything to us."

Tsumiki frowns, opening her mouth to argues but then closes it in thought, "you have a point..." She reluctantly concedes.

Somehow, the win doesn't make him feel better, stomach twisting at the thought of you not liking them.

Of you not liking him

But one fateful day changes everything

"H-hello." You stutter out, looking at the two of them with wide eyes. Their eyes move from the TV screen to your surprising declaration.

Tsumiki eyes bulge out but she snaps her mouth shut out of fear of scaring you away. Megumi hopes that he doesn't share his sister's surprised look (which makes her look like a fish gasping for breath), forcing himself to remain calm.

He doesn't think he's heard your voice since Gojo introduced you all.

"D-dad won't be coming home today...a-and he said we could order food," You bite your lip, "d-do you guys want pizza?"

Tsumiki nods so quickly that he's scared her nose might start bleeding, "that sounds wonderful!"

When your eyes fall to him, he gives a simple nod. "That sounds really good."

You relax, and Megumi didn't notice how tense you were at the thought of a disagreement.

You poke your fingers through a hole in your shirt. "...C-can one of you order for us?"

Tsumiki shoots up, "I can!" She volunteers, already rushing to grab the landline.

You watch her with relief, and Megumi can already see the cogs in your head turning, you thinking about going back to your room.

He doesn't want you to go

"Do you wanna watch a movie with us?" He blurts out.

You jump at the words, surprise evident on your face. You point to yourself as if to ask Me?

He nods, looking away with embarrassment from how red his face is turning, "yeah, it would be nice to talk to you..."

When you don't respond, he looks to you and god he wishes he hadn't.

You're smiling, a smile that lights you up. Gone is the usual worry on your, eyes soft with joy and crinkled because of how wide your grin is

You're beautiful

"Okay..." You respond, softly, "I-i would like that."

He nods absentmindedly, aware that he's staring but he's under a spell, he doesn't know how to look away.

"Do you guys want garlic knots?" Tsumiki yells from the other room.

"Y-yes please!" You respond back, voice soft even when raised.

You turn back to Megumi and award him with another smile, "I-i need t-to call my dad really quick-- b-but I'll come back to watch the movie with you guys!"

He watches you go, butterflies in his stomach.

He buries his face in his hands.

Oh god

He has a crush

[uriekukistan]

i feel stupid (i’ve only seen the anime and idc about manga spoilers) but could u explain more about gojo’s dehumanization?

ksjgrhd not stupid dw!

honestly, in my opinion, every character in jjk shows the dehumanization in jujutsu society, but no one embodies this more than gojo.

because he was born with infinity and six eyes, he was raised as a weapon rather than a person. from the questions gege answered recently about him, it seems that he never had much of a childhood. he was taken away from his parents at a young age to begin his training, and was sent on a lot of missions before he even started at jujutsu tech.

by the time he starts at jujutsu tech, he's already accepted that his role is to be the strongest, and protect those who are weaker than him. he operates on a sort of autopilot, allowing himself to be a weapon for jujutsu society. this mindset is shown well in his past arc.

he doesn't apply meaning or reasoning to the things he does, he simply does as he's asked, sort of taking away his agency. in his youth, he complies with this, and doesn't seem to question it much until after geto goes rogue. but by then, it's already been established that if something goes awry, gojo will just take care of it, which is present throughout jjk. there's always the lingering idea that nothing bad can happen as long as gojo is there to stop it, which is why him being sealed is such an important part of kenjaku's plan in shibuya.

ik you said you don't mind manga spoilers, but for everyone else MANGA SPOILERS HERE!

throughout jjk, it's obvious that gojo is the pillar that jujutsu society rests on, and many characters see him that way. but i think the moment that made it appallingly obvious that gojo has been consistently dehumanized throughout the series is when yuuta copies kenjaku's technique and uses it to transfer himself into gojo's corpse in order to use his technique against sukuna. people were OUTRAGED at gege for this, as if this hasn't in essence been happening since gojo was born (it's a bit different now that there's desecration of a corpse involved, i get that, but in terms of dehumanization).

the most outright statement of gojo's treatment in jujutsu society comes from yuuta, and i think it explains it better than i can.

until this moment, no one has given a second thought to gojo being used as a weapon, and carrying the weight of being the strongest on his own.

it was interesting to watch people blame gege's distaste for gojo as a character for his dehumanization and , as if it hasn't been a central theme forever, as solidified by yuuji in 265, where he shakes his own mentality of being dehumanized, made into a cog in the jujutsu society machine.

it's especially ironic to me because the fandom complains about gojo's dehumanization, while simultaneously dehumanizing him. large portions of the fandom only view him as strong, other portions view him as a sex object, other portions view him as only a half of satosugu, etc.....anyway. i'm not sure if this was the greatest explanation, but hopefully it helped some.

[psychovigilantewrites]

Sunshine's Shadow

Pairing: Jason Todd/Reader, Dick Grayson/Reader Genre: Slow burn smut? Porn with plot? Like eventually??? Word Count: 7,600 Read on Ao3 Part 1 of 2. Summary: You had powers of darkness that made you feel unwanted your whole life. Jason Todd was the first person to convince you that your darkness was sunshine. After his death, you went to Dick for comfort and started a relationship with him. And then, Jason came back. A/N:

I'm practicing writing again to prepare myself for the last chapter of Red Who? I'm not too happy with how I wrote this, but I'm hoping to start improving again along the way as I write and learn all over again. Also, I am not familiar with Titans! I know Jason never really joined? I just winged it I'm so sorry. I also aged up Jason's death here. I think the timeline is a bit messy pls forgive me.

Jason knocked on your door.

“Come in,” he heard your soft, muffled voice.

You were sitting on your bed, scrolling through your phone. You had soft instrumental music playing in your room. The table lamp was switched on on your bedside table, but the room was still dark.

“We’re getting ready for a spooky movie tonight,” Jason said, closing the door behind him and approaching you. “Care to join us this time?”

Your eyes darted from your phone to his, and you pursed your lips in hesitation.

“No thank you, I’m fine here,” you said and brought your attention back to your phone.

Jason sighed loudly and sat on the edge of your bed.

“Why don’t you ever join us?” he asked, “We’re the Teen Titans. We’re a team. You should join us for more team stuff besides official missions.”

You simply stared at Jason. He sensed that you had more to say but was hesitating opening up. So he got up and sat next to you. “You can tell me.”

“The room is dark, isn’t it?” you asked.

The question surprised Jason. “I mean, I guess? So what?”

“That’s me, Jason. You know how my powers work. This- this curse. The shadow I emit makes everything dark and gloomy, even if it’s a sunny day outside. And no one likes someone who brings darkness in a room,” you avoided his eyes and started picking at a hangnail on your finger.

“That’s why you won’t hang out with us?” he couldn’t help but laugh. “I thought you hated us or something.”

“What?” you looked at him incredulously, “How could I? I was afraid that you all hate me for being so depressing.”

“Has anyone told you that before?” Jason asked. He didn’t know much about where you came from, but he knew that you went to a lot of different schools and orphanages. An outsider, not unlike himself.

“The kids were always scared of me,” you confessed quietly, “They refused to play with me. That was fine, but then soon after they would bully me. Make fun of me, push me down, kick me. Reminded me again and again that I was a freak.”

For some reason, Jason always had the urge to protect you, even though you were slightly older than he was. Now that urge was stronger and he wanted to hurt anyone who hurt you, to shield you from all that negativity.

“Well,” he began, “I don’t know about those assholes, but whenever I see you, I never saw darkness.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Really!” he insisted, “I see a girl who likes to read, and who likes music. I see you smile whenever Roy and Jackson bicker. And when Wally does that thing where he starts vibrating when he eats? And on the field? The way you protect everyone, the way we can all trust that you have our backs.”

Jason held your eyes. “I don’t see any darkness. In fact, I see sunshine! Because whenever you’re around, it makes us all feel warm and safe.”

He saw the way you were trying hard to not let the tears brimming your eyes fall. “You’re not lying.”

It wasn’t a question, it was a statement.

“Of course I’m not,” he confirmed. “Have I ever lied to you?”

“I guess not,” you sniffled, “I can tell when people lie. And you have never lied to me.”

“What do you mean you can tell when people lie?”

“I don’t know. It’s sort of always been a thing I could do,” you shrugged, “I don’t join in conversations, so I just observe people, and I can sort of tell what they’re thinking or when they’re lying.”

“Ah, I think I know a thing or two about that,” Jason smiled fondly.

“Thank you, Jason,” you expressed.

“No problem, Sunny,” he grinned, “I’ll call you that from now on. To remind you.”

Jason thought that he saw you blush in the dim light. “So what do you think? Wanna join us for spooky night? I mean, your shadow would even be helpful. It’ll create the spooky ambience we’re all looking for.”

“Is there popcorn?” you grinned.

***

You dumbass, you thought.

The rain had you soaked and shivering.

Jason Todd, you absolute asshole.

The smell of wet dirt was overpowering. Your team stood with you despite your shadow engulfing them in darkness. Roy had his hand on your shoulder.

The white petals stuck to the polished wooden casket as it was lowered into the ground. Your heart had already broke, and you had gone through the stages of breaking down, sobbing uncontrollably, not being able to sleep for a week after they told you the news. Right now, you felt nothing but emptiness.

The casket hit the ground with a dull thud, and you heard the wet footsteps of others leaving the grave. You looked up at the crowd. Dressed in black, you saw some familiar faces. Clark Kent and Diana Prince were with Bruce Wayne, standing in solidarity. A fiery red color caught your eyes, and you saw whom you knew as Starfire. Tall, confident, and radiating with a soft warm glow- everything that you wished you were. She was next to Dick Grayson, and your eyes made contact with blue ones, ones that reminded you of Jason.

Dick gave you a sad smile.

“I heard you’re not going to continue with the Titans anymore,” Dick broke the silence. The rain was still pouring, pounding on the glass window of the car. “Where do I drop you off?”

“East End, along Murphy Avenue,” you replied. You watched two droplets on the window fall down, racing against each other. “I have some boxes left in the Tower, but I don’t feel like seeing them today.”

“Are you going to be okay on your own? You’re not even 18 yet.”

“I’m turning 18 in three months,” you rolled your eyes. “And I already got a job.”

“Oh? That was quick. What job?”

“Private investigator,” you responded, “Lot’s of scandals in Gotham. It’s quite easy to get a job if you’re half decent.”

“Pay well?”

“Well enough.”

Silence again. Dick made a turn.

No word was said until he stopped in front of the apartment complex. Unknown to you, Dick made a mental note to check the apartment out.

“Thanks, Dick.” Something stopped you from leaving the car. Something warm. Ah, it was Dick’s hand on yours.

You looked over and stared into his bright blue eyes. “I’m here for you. Anytime of the day or night. Text me, call me, whatever. You’re not alone.”

It was his expression. The pain and grief and sincerity in his eyes. A hint of desperation, even. By now, your talent for reading people had developed, and you could tell more than just basic emotions. Dick didn’t want you to leave him alone.

Your pulse quickened.

“Would you… Like to come in?” you asked.

Dick was surprised. His eyes darted downwards in a look of… guilt? And then- “No, it’s alright. You said you wanted some alone time. Go settle down first, then maybe you can give me a house tour sometime.”

Then he gave you the grin. Dick Grayson’s charming, heart-stopping grin.

You left the car.

THREE MONTHS AFTER THE DEATH OF JASON TODD

You spent your birthday alone, ignoring the invitations from your ex team members. They all wished you happy birthday, and sent you voice notes of them singing. They said they wished you were there with them, and that they hoped you were well. You replied with a simple thank you.

The apartment you made yours was bare. The walls had no art, and the TV was unplugged. What was the point? Your darkness would have made the art on the walls difficult to see and it was not like you were planning to invite anyone over.

A couple of case files sat neatly on the dining room table, where you did your work. Your name had spread by word of mouth after your first client three months ago, and now you occasionally received texts from unknown numbers, asking for discretion and offering a few hundred dollars a day for a week of work.

Your phone buzzed. It wasn’t an unknown number this time.

Dick had sent you a text. Happy Birthday! Still waiting for that house tour.

You sent a quick thank you and ignored the rest of the message.

SIX MONTHS after the death of Jason Todd

You arrived late on purpose. “Sorry I’m late.”

You sat down in the booth seat opposite Dick and saw the way his eyes lit up when you announced your arrival.

“No worries,” he brushed it off. “Thanks for coming.”

“Yeah,” you grabbed the dirty menu from the table. Anything to fill up the awkwardness you were expecting. “What do you usually have here?”

“Waffles with ice cream.”

“For dinner?”

“Why not?”

Dick Grayson gave you his Dick Grayson Grin.

You told the aging waitress your order- “I’ll have what he’s having.”

“So how have you been doing? You seem quite busy now, since this dinner was postponed to two months later,” he teased.

“My work isn’t exactly nine to five, five days a week,” you replied curtly. You had avoided this dinner on purpose.

“No, no, I get it. Mine is the same,” he said. “It’s good that you have been getting lots of clients lately. You seem to be high in demand now.”

“Yeah, I am, actually,” you smiled softly to yourself, “I didn’t expect for business to move this fast. I’m mostly investigating cheating spouses and party daughters now, though. Hoping to move on to the more serious stuff.”

“Careful,” Dick warned you, frowning slightly, “Try not to get involved with the politics here. It’s messy, and dangerous.”

“I can take care of myself, Dick,” you assured him.

He paused. “Yeah, I noticed,” his expression quickly changed, “You’ve been controlling your shadow.”

Indeed, you have been working on pulling in your shadow while you were out in public, making it seem as normal as possible so you don’t engulf rooms with darkness, especially with your current state of mind.

Soon after Jason died, you found out that your shadow had grown larger and larger, directly linked to your moods. Then you noticed that it shrank when you were concentrating on your cases, leaving the room bright. So you meditated and practiced, day and night, to keep your shadow and your emotions in check. However, it was tiring to constantly shrink it for long periods of time.

“Practice makes perfect,” you replied bitterly.

“Jason used to talk about you all the time, you know?” he suddenly brought up.

This came as a surprise for you.

“Really?” you cocked your head to the side, “What about?”

“Lots of stuff,” Dick elaborated, “But mainly about how to make you feel more welcomed. How to get you to open up. What stuff to talk to you about. He considered you his best-friend.”

You had considered Jason the same. He was the first person you had truly bonded with, but you never knew that Jason had communicated with Dick about you. True enough, he always tried his best to make sure you never felt left out. You felt your throat tightened and gulped.

Your waffles arrived, and Dick immediately dug in.

“He said that he called you something,” he continued in between bites, “Sunny, right? Said it was short for Sunshine.”

You hadn’t heard that in six months.

Dick looked up at you and panic took over his face. “Shit- I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to- I’m sorry.”

You couldn’t stop the tears from falling down your eyes this time. You quickly wiped them away and stabbed the waffle with your fork.

“No- no, it’s fine,” you insisted, “I just hadn’t heard that name in a while. And I didn’t know he talked to you about me.”

Dick looked at you with concern. “Pretty sure he had a crush on you, with the way he was always talking about you.”

You were pretty sure, too. You could read people well after all.

“What made you choose this diner?” you asked, changing the subject. “We used to come here all the time.”

“Yeah, I haven’t stepped in here since that day,” he avoided saying Jason’s name now.

For the first time since you sat down, you actually studied him, beyond the basic emotions that you instinctively saw in everyone. The slight frown, the dark circles under his eyes, the short chewed up nails, the five o’ clock shadow that was rare for Dick Grayson.

He was grieving alone.

“Whenever Jason faced a problem when he was with us, out in the field, or anything, he would always ask himself- ‘What would Dick Grayson do?’” you told him.

His eyes softened, and you could see tears start to well up too.

“He really looked up to you,” you went on, wanting to give Dick the same comfort he gave you. “His older brother. Though, he kept it quiet. He didn’t want people to notice how much he cared. You know, the whole tough guy act.”

Dick chuckled at that. “But you noticed, of course.”

“Of course,” you smiled fondly at the memory. When asked if his injuries hurt, Jason would always reply with Only when I laugh.

But he accepted the cold compresses and paracetamol you gave him.

12 MONTHS AFTER THE DEATH OF JASON TODD

The camera shutter clicked. You checked the quality of the photo on your digital SLR. Even from across the street and in the darkness of the night, your camera caught the couple entering the motel, hand-in-hand, perfectly. This would be sufficient evidence for your client. The classic case of Cheating Spouse was going to earn you a couple thousand dollars. Frankly, you had considered rejecting the case. You only went for high-profile scandals now. But the client was desperate, and offered a large sum of money for something so easy and simple. It was difficult to refuse.

You contemplated on whether you should go the extra mile to catch them in the act. Or maybe you should just stake out in your car and catch them coming out of the motel. You took pride in how detailed your reports always were, and that was how you managed to build your clientele.

You took a sip of the bad, black coffee, already gone cold.

Peering through the zoom lens, you angled the camera up to the rooms facing the street. The movement you caught, however, was not the lights of a room switching on. Instead, out of the corner of your eye, you saw a shadow hanging about the fire-escape in the narrow alley next to the building. You zoomed in more, and saw a familiar blue and black spandex, white eyes, and a familiar grin.

“Fuck,” you swore to yourself. Of all the places to bump into him.

You had gotten close to him since that dinner. The both of you had been texting regularly, getting to know each other and sharing stories about Jason. It helped you with your grief, and you knew it helped him too. You found out that Dick Grayson was voluntarily very expressive with his emotions, unlike his late younger brother who always needed an extra nudge.

Despite all that, you had been trying your best to avoid Dick for the past few weeks and had been giving him the excuse that you were busy. The truth was, you were scared. You knew how close you were getting to him, and right now you were lonely. So lonely that you were afraid of doing something you would both regret.

Knock, knock, knock. The glass rapped three times.

You looked over at the passenger side and saw that grin. Sighing, you unlocked the door.

“What a nice surprise,” Dick greeted you as he shut the door. “Didn’t think I would see a beautiful lady when I left home tonight.”

You rolled your eyes at his usual flirting. “I’m on a job, Dick.”

“I can see that,” he shamelessly went through your case file that was sitting on the passenger seat before he entered. “I thought you don’t take these cases anymore?”

“The poor guy was desperate, and he offered a lot of money for a simple, menial task,” you explained. “I don’t get why he doesn’t ask someone cheaper. Literally anyone could do this.”

“But they can’t do it as well as you do,” Dick booped your nose with his gloved finger.

“What about you? What brings you to this side of town?”

“Tim needed help with some training. And patrol brings me everywhere, sweetheart,” he smirked.

You noticed that your body had subconsciously turned towards him. His eyes were not visible then, covered by the whites of his mask. He was slightly damp due to the drizzle outside.

You cleared your throat. “I’m going to stake out here until they come out. Note how long they were together.”

“That could be until the sun rises.”

“Yep.”

“Need company?”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “I thought you needed to patrol, and help Tim.”

“Ah, you’re right,” he sighed dramatically, “I’d much rather be in this steamy car with you, though.”

“Go and help your Robin, Dick,” you chuckled, unable to resist him. “Your mentee needs his mentor, Gotham needs its hero and you’re here cozying up with a PI.”

“How irresponsible of me,” he muttered. You hadn’t realized that both of you had moved closer.

You risked a quick glance to his slightly parted lips before tearing your eyes away. He was right, it had suddenly got steamy in the car.

“Text me when you’re back? It’s dangerous to be alone at this hour,” he said before stepping out and flying off in the most flamboyant, Dick Grayson way.

I can take care of myself.

You took deep breaths to calm down and slow your heartbeat.

Maybe you were scared that you were so lonely. But a part of you knew that starting something with Dick wouldn’t be too bad.

You were just scared of being judged by Dick’s dead, younger brother.

The next weekend, you found yourself on your balcony. It was 3 AM, and you were slightly tipsy from the cocktail you made yourself. You closed your eyes and listened to the sound of the wind, the cars, the occasional police siren. You made your decision.

Need you. you texted Dick, knowing he was out on patrol.

15 minutes. he replied.

Jason was dead. There was no one else who understood and accepted you almost as well as Dick did.

You waited out there in the cold for his arrival. When he did land straight on your balcony, his hair was a mess and he was panting slightly. You grabbed his face and kissed him roughly.

It didn’t matter anymore because Jason was dead.

SIX MONTHS AFTER THE ARRIVAL OF RED HOOD.

It was more difficult to control your shadow, but you tried your best. Moving in with Dick helped a bit more as compared to when you were alone, but you were constantly on edge.

He was alive, and what would he think of this? You and Dick? Would he see it as a betrayal?

Dick was having sleepless nights and was gone most of the time to help Bruce with Jason’s tantrum. Six months since Jason had appeared alive, and God knows how long before he crawled out of his grave, but he had not contacted you even once.

And you knew, you knew he was angry at you. That this whole villain arc had at least something to do with you. Even though it didn’t make sense, that you were never together, that you were nothing more than just best friends.

Somehow you felt that the rage and destruction was directed towards you.

For as long as you got together with Dick two years ago, and a whole year of playing cat and mouse with him ever since that kiss, you never had radio silence from him for this long. Two or three days was the maximum, and he would reassure you that everything was fine while you continued on with your PI business. A week long was unheard of.

Then, your phone buzzed.

I’m fine. He’s fine. Everyone’s fine.

You let out a breath that you hadn’t realized you were holding.

Is he back? you asked.

He’s gonna take some time off. Need to go. See you soon.

And so you didn’t sleep until Dick came back home the next morning.

“He’s so… broken,” Dick whispered above your head as he hugged you tightly.

You frowned. You didn’t like that word used to describe Jason. A person couldn’t be broken. People weren’t objects. You knew what Dick meant, that Jason was traumatized- but it didn’t mean that he was broken. Broken meant that you needed to be fixed before someone accepted you, that you needed to be functional or useful.

Broken meant that there was a state where people were whole, and you knew too well that there’s no such thing as a whole person. People just existed in different states, and each state was just as important as the other.

Jason told you all of that when you opened up to him about your past. One day many years ago, you fucked up during a mission. Your shadow had hurt someone a little too badly.

“I don’t even know how it works, Jay,” you had cried, “Sometimes it has a mind of its own and it just reacts outside of my control.”

“You saved me in the end,” Jason tried comforting you, putting his arm around your shoulder as you sat on the carpet of the empty living room.

“But I could have hurt you too,” you argued, “It could have attacked your shadow and killed you, the same way I killed my parents.”

You hadn’t told anyone about that. Only the Justice League knew.

“It was an accident,” Jason insisted.

“I’m just a broken person,” you choked. “No one should be near me.”

That was when he took his arm away and held your shoulders in both his hands, forcing you to face him, to stare into his piercing, fierce gaze.

“Don’t ever let me hear you say that about yourself ever again, got it?” he scolded you, “You are not broken. You’re like- like water. Or air. You exist in different states of matter, and each state you’re in is no less broken than the rest. You’re not broken, okay? You’re Sunny, you’re sunshine. You’re just sunshine…”

NINE MONTHS AFTER THE ARRIVAL OF RED HOOD

“Cheating spouse, undercover at Harvard, cheating spouse again…” you muttered to yourself as you browsed your cases in the living room, illuminated by a single warm light above your head. Dick would complain about the mess in the morning when he eats his cereal.

If he even comes back by tomorrow. you finished your own thought.

The blackmail material requests sounded interesting, but you always hesitated to accept the morally gray ones. You usually would go for missing or runaway children, the evidence of corruption, and the occasional journalist request for an inside scoop.

In fact, your eyes caught one such request. An anonymous journalist from the Gotham Gazelle. You received a text from a disposable two days ago, detailing a locker combination and an address. The contents of the locker were documents within a crisp and new light brown folder- a typical case file, along with a thousand dollars in cash and a promise of another two thousand after completion.

Journalists were not usually this cautious, but if they were investigating someone high profile, it was better to remain anonymous. Especially in Gotham.

You took a sip of your dark roast Arabica coffee, engrossed by what your anonymous client wanted you to get. It was already 11 PM.

Then, you heard the bell ring.

You frowned. Dick wouldn’t ring the bell to his own apartment.

Concentrating on pulling your shadow back, you walked barefoot to the door and looked through the peephole.

Your heartbeat quickened at who you saw standing on the other side of the door.

Calm down, calm down, calm down. Deep breaths.

The door clicked when you unlocked it, and creaked when you pulled it open.

You couldn’t remember when you had stopped counting the amount of days since you saw those piercing blue eyes that were so similar, yet so different from Dicks’. Now they were even more different from what you remembered. They were like battleworn armor standing in an enclosed case.

“There’s my sunshine,” Jason smiled weakly at you.

There was no chance of stopping your tears from falling down your face, so you didn’t even try. You let them flow freely as you speechlessly embraced him and felt his warm arms snake around you. The warmth of an embrace you thought you were never going to feel ever again.

He grew much taller than you. He was 16 when he died, and you were just turning 18. You had stopped growing a year or two before that, but boys kept on growing, didn’t they? He was the same height as you were the last time you saw him, but now he was at least a couple of feet taller. Did that mean he was back long before he started going as Red Hood? What did he do for two and a half years? Who-

“Don’t mean to be rude, but can I come in? I’m freezing my tits off out here,” he said. Even his voice was much, much deeper.

You chuckled and nodded, taking a step away to let him in.

You closed the door behind Jason and watched as he walked in slowly, looking around at Dick’s apartment. You noticed he paused at the dining table where you were working, and then strided to the sofa in the living room before taking a seat. You followed suit and sat next to him, not yet trusting your voice to make a sound.

“So,” he began, “You and Grayson, huh?”

Looking so intently, taking him all in, you almost missed the question.

“You’re bigger than him,” you blurted, before widening your eyes in horror at what you were implying.

Jason raised a scarred eyebrow.

“I mean- you- your build,” you quickly explained, “Your frame. Shoulders. Length. Big.”

“Length?” he smirked.

“Height!” you almost yelled.

Jason leaned closer to you and frowned. “Am I making you nervous?”

You couldn’t bear his piercing eyes, so you looked down at your hands.

“I thought maybe you never wanted to see me again,” you confessed, “I thought maybe you were angry at me, and hated me.”

“I was,” he simply stated.

You looked at him in question.

“Angry at you. For a bit,” he sighed and leaned back against the couch, “But I was angry at everyone. You were no exception. I was just mad everyone had forgotten me. Especially those I cared about.”

“I never forgot you, Jason,” you vowed, “How could I ever?”

“Then why did you-” he cut himself off, “Nevermind. I just wanted to say that I’m not mad anymore. I get it. I was dead, and everyone moved on.”

He crossed his arms and again, you noticed how large his arms were. His face was more mature, jawline more defined and square, eyes now more deep set with extra dark circles underneath them. As if your body had a mind of its own, you reached out to his face and caressed the scar across his cheek.

Jason jumped slightly in surprise at the sudden contact, but then closed his eyes and leaned into your touch.

“You have more scars now,” you pointed out, “What happened?”

You felt his breath down your wrist.

“Another story for another day,” he smiled and opened his eyes. You took your hand away, blushing at how intimate that must have seemed to an onlooker. “Where’s Boy Wonder?”

“No idea,” you shrugged. “You want something to drink? Tea? Coffee?”

“Aw, come on, Sunny!” he got up and walked to the kitchen, “It’s a Welcome Back, Jason party. Where are the fun drinks?”

He started opening your cabinets.

“Wow, make yourself at home, why don’t you?” you shook your head and went to join him.

“Mi casa es su casa,” he sang, “At least, that’s what Grayson told me when he gave me the address. Aha!”

He found the cabinet of liquors. “Wow, I’m quite impressed by his collection.”

“That’s my collection,” you corrected him, “Dick couldn’t tell the difference between tequila and rum even if his life depended on it. I have a variety. What do you feel like?”

“You’re the bartender,” he teased, “Surprise me.”

You nodded and proceeded to make him a drink. Jason sat down at the dining table and nosily looked through your files. That was one thing he and Dick had in common, at least.

You set down a whisky sour for him and yourself before clearing your paperwork to the side, giving him the side eye as you snatched a folder from his hands.

Taking a seat across from him, the both of you dinked glasses together and took a sip.

“Strong,” he commented, “That’s good.”

You accepted the compliment silently.

“So, you don’t know where Grayson’s at?” he inquired.

“Nope,” you replied, “I know he has missions sometimes. Helps out here and there. He’s gone for two or three days before he comes back home with a new bruise or cut. I don’t ask for details unless he starts to tell me about it.”

Your chest made an involuntary squeeze that you tried to hide. There were times when you had asked Dick, and he lied to you. You had arguments over where he was, and who he was with before.

Jason studied your poker face intently, and for a second, you felt as though he was interrogating you.

He took another sip.

“How’s business going?” he changed the subject, “I heard you never went back to the team.”

“I couldn’t,” you answered simply.

“Why not?”

“Everything reminded me of you. It hurt too much.”

A deafening silence. A look of guilt. A looming darkness that grew.

“Business is great, actually,” you went on. “And I enjoy the slower-paced nature of the work.”

“Ugh, even stake outs?” he made a face, not commenting on how your shadow became slightly bigger.

“Stake outs can be nice sometimes,” you argued, “Crank down the window, put the radio on, snack on some fries. Sometimes I read, as well. I’m used to spending long hours by myself.”

“Sounds like you haven’t changed much,” he smiled endearingly at you.

“Not even physically?” you pouted, “I’ve been going to the gym.”

He laughed at that. “Yes, I’ve noticed. You look much more… Mature?”

“Are you saying I look old, Todd?” you huffed.

“So fucking old. A hag.”

You stuck out your tongue at him and laughed together, as if nothing ever changed. As if he never died, as if you never grieved for him and longed for him.

“I’m kidding,” he conceded, “You look good. Really good. Dick’s a lucky guy.”

You frowned at the last comment. “It doesn’t bother you, does it? Me and Dick?”

Another pause. “As long as you’re happy, I’m happy.”

Jason knew you well, so he knew how to answer you. His statement wasn’t a lie.

You heard the jingle of keys in the distance.

“Speak of the fucking devil,” Jason whispered into his drink before taking a big gulp.

“Honey, I’m ho- oh. Jason, I didn’t expect to find you here,” Dick stood in the doorway, stunned.

“Welcome back, babe,” you walked over and greeted your boyfriend with a kiss. For the first time, Dick looked slightly uncomfortable with your display of affection.

“You guys have been hanging out without me!” Dick whined, his child-like persona immediately taking over.

That was how Dick was. You noticed it after a few times with him, how he would mask his emotions or awkwardness with his happy, warm personality. He was a people person, charming his way anywhere and everywhere regardless of any situation.

Yet, you could see through it all. The grief, the aching fatigue, and the countless battle scars.

“Was just leaving,” Jason announced curtly.

“Ngaw, don’t be like that,” Dick tried to persuade him, “Stay a little while. We can catch up.”

“There’s nothing to catch up on,” Jason insisted, “Bye.”

He glanced once at you, and then left without saying a word.

There was a stark difference between the way he was with you and the way he was with Dick. In the short future, you would come to realize that it wasn’t that he was different with everyone else. Jason treated everyone else with the cold, rough demeanor you witnessed- but never you. You were the only one who knew him as though that Jason never died.

You saw Dick’s shoulders slump in disappointment. “How long was he here for?”

“About an hour?” you answered nonchalantly, going back to your case files.

“He has never spoken to me for more than 15 minutes,” Dick informed you, “Even then he would give non-committal answers.”

“Really?” you asked, frowning to yourself. It took just a little while for the both of you to go back to how things used to be. “Maybe he’s more upset at you since you’re his brother.”

“Nah, don’t think that’s it,” Dick came up behind you and nuzzled his face in your neck. “You smell good. Missed you.”

“Missed you too,” you hummed, “How was… Your mission?”

“Tiring,” he complained, “You choose a case already?”

“Maybe,” you replied, “Who was there?”

You heard Dick gulp. “Donna. Kon. Wally.”

“And?”

“Kori.”

You felt your chest tighten again. “Okay. I’m tired too. I think I’ll go to bed now.”

“You just drank coffee,” he pointed out, “You’re going to sleep now?”

“Or just lie in bed,” you responded, “Seeing Jason was… emotional.”

“Yeah, I get it,” he ran a hand through his dark, wavy hair.

“You coming?”

“I have to patrol,” he looked at you guiltily.

“But you just got back,” you argued.

“They can cover more ground when I’m around,” he explained. “Sorry. I’ll spend time with you tomorrow, okay?”

You smiled at him and reached a hand to press on his chest. He was so committed, and that’s what you loved about him. He really, truly cared.

“Just stay safe,” you gave him a deep kiss, tasting the cola chapstick he stole from you months ago.

“I’ll see you in the morning, darling,” he breathed.

That night you lay awake in bed, staring at darkness. You let your shadow go at night, allowing it to take over the room. A buzz came from your phone all of a sudden. Another unknown number.

You tapped it open.

This is my number if you need me. J.

It had been a while since you smiled whenever you lay alone, unable to sleep.

And how did you get mine?

You didn’t actually care. You were just so happy to be texting your best friend again.

I’m just a genius, Sunny. You staying up late to work?

You contemplated your answer.

No. Just couldn’t sleep. What do you do now, anyway? Do you patrol with the rest?

Sometimes. I mostly do my own thing now.

What thing?

Another story for another time, sunshine.

I’m glad you’re back, Jay. Thank you for seeing me today. Can we hang out soon?

We can hang out whenever you want.

You were typing a reply, but was interrupted by another message from him.

I missed you lots.

I missed you too, Jason. We have to get caught up with all the slumber parties we missed.

Don’t think Grayson would be too happy with that though.

My best friend is back from the dead. He can suck it up.

I’ll see you soon then?

You contemplated again.

What are you doing tomorrow? I got an interesting case. Wanna tag along?

***

Jason’s heart broke when he found out that you were with Dick. It was a large reason why he was so angry, and why he became so destructive. But he tried to stay angry at you, tried to hate you, but he just couldn’t bring himself to. The years without you were lonely, and he tried to fill up the emptiness with rage.

It took him so long after Bruce brought him back to his senses to finally see you because he was practicing. He knew he couldn’t bear to look at you and Dick while you were together, so he practiced controlling his emotions so he wouldn’t snap and scare you away.

But when you opened the door and he saw your face for the first time in years, everything dissipated. He didn’t need to control any anger because all he felt was longing. It didn’t matter if you were in love with Dick, all that mattered was that you were there next to him.

“Okay, so,” you began as you pulled the car to a stop in a street at Diamond District. “Rupert Thorne.”

“The guy who is running for mayor?”

“Yeah,” you confirmed, browsing through the documents, “He allegedly backed Hill in the previous elections, but now he is running against Hill. My client wants me to find evidence of corruption and find out who his sponsors are.”

Jason saw the way your brows stitched together as you read through the file.

It was difficult to be in the same car as you. Even though he was in the passenger seat, he felt like it was a small closet, being suffocated by your demanding presence.

“Why doesn’t he sponsor himself? Isn’t he some sort of closeted crime lord too?” Jason asked.

“I guess that’s the mystery,” you hummed, “He must have been promised something, or he must have promised something- if he wins.”

You smelled like warm cinnamon and vanilla. All Jason wanted to do was to bury his face in your neck and breathe you in. The pull he felt towards you was almost physical. He needed to stop himself from touching you, from claiming you.

“So what’s the first step?” he tried to focus on the case.

“He works in that building there,” you looked outside across the street to the tall mirrored tower. “COO of Trident Shipping Company. He’s doing quite well in popularity lately… Articles say he is modest and humble, charming, thoughtful, charitable… The list goes on. Must have a great PR team.”

Jason smiled to himself. You were starting to think out loud, a habit of yours he noticed one night during a strategy meeting with the team. So many years ago.

“Anyway, we want to see where he goes, who he meets, what he does-”

“Oh no,” Jason groaned, “You scammed me into a stakeout!”

He really didn’t mind if it meant spending long hours with you in your cozy car.

“It’ll be fun!” you tried to convince him, “We can catch up in the meantime! Plus, I do also need to bug his phone. Might need your help with that. I also have some metka, so maybe we can pollinate some lead suspects once we narrow them down and-”

“Woah, woah, woah, hold up,” Jason started chuckling in disbelief, “First of all- one step at a time, please. Let’s make a structured flowchart first before you start rambling off fifty-seven steps ahead. Second of all- metka, are you fucking with me right now? How did you get your hands on Soviet Cold War tech?”

Metka or spy dust- chemically known as nitrophenyl pentadienal or NPPD- was an old and outdated, yet still effective, Russian method of marking or tagging suspected CIA agents during the Cold War by the KGB. It was a discreet powder that stuck to everything. They would tag the agents at the airport, and then anything the agent touched would have traces of the dust. Including Russian assets- spies or informants working for the CIA. They would be able to identify the traitors.

“I’m a PI,” you said smugly, “I’m resourceful.”

Yes, you were. Jason beamed proudly at you. But he said, “Yeah, yeah. Anyway, how about the bug?”

“I have this-” you rummaged through your messenger bag and took out a small silver card the size of a hotel matchbox. It had the Bat sigil.

“So I assume you have Batman’s NFC card because you’re resourceful?” Jason teased. He knew the gadget well. The near field communication device allowed hijacking into another electronic device with NFC just by near contact. It could allow for cloning the device, or installing spyware.

You stuck your tongue at him childishly.

“I wonder what Batman would think of you stealing his gadgets for personal use,” Jason jested.

“Okay, I borrowed it from DIck, and it’s not like I’m using it for personal reasons. This is a highly professional operation,” you huffed, “Anyway, if you could let me finish telling you my plan. It says that Thorne is into French girls and he usually comes out for a smoke break around this time.”

“And?”

“I will be bumping into him. The NFC needs about 30 seconds of contact. I’ll slip the card in the pocket where he keeps his phone. But in case I can’t stick around to take it out, you will have to come walking behind me to pickpocket it from him.”

“Sounds good. What if he’s using his phone?”

“I’ll bump it out of his hand and apologize profusely,” you grinned. “Okay I need to get ready.”

You unbuttoned your weathered leather jacket to reveal a white top with a low neckline, giving Jason a good view of your cleavage.

“Uhhh,” he started awkwardly.

You ignored him and looked in the mirror, smearing lipstick on your lips and smacking them. Then, you ruffled your hair to give it more volume before turning to face him with a “How do I look?”

The red you chose for your lipstick matched your skin tone perfectly. And he never noticed you had a tiny cute mole on the top of your left breast. The way your hair was effortlessly messy made Jason imagine that was how you would look like in the mornings, or when he takes a handful of it while kissing you rough-

“G-great,” he complimented weakly.

If he hadn’t already died, then you were going to be the death of him.

“Oh shit, there he is,” you opened the car. “Quick, hang around a few feet behind me.”

Jason saw you strut as you approached Thorne. He was tall and handsome, and looked good for a man his age. Jason could tell that his suit was expensive. His coat was probably cashmere. He could see why Thorne was so popular. He definitely looked the part. He was talking on his phone, and he was now curious as to what you had in mind.

From down the block and in the crowd, Jason saw you pretend to talk on your phone in perfect French, rushing somewhere unknown. He didn’t notice the cup you were carrying before.

“Ah, putain! I am zo zorr’y, Monsieur!” you bumped hard into Thorne, spilling liquid all over his coat and yourself.

Thorne looked surprised, and then pocketed his phone in his coat. “It’s quite alright.”

“No, no, pleez. Let me ‘elp you,” you made a fuss. You took out a handkerchief from your bag and simultaneously shrugged off your jacket. Jason smirked to himself. No hot-blooded male would be able to resist the sight of you in a wet white low neckline t-shirt.

“Let me pay for your dry cleaning,” you worried, “Oh, putain it speeled down here too.”

You got on your knees and started dabbing the hem of his coat.

“You really don’t have to do that,” Thorne smiled and held your shoulder in a gesture to help you up.

“I am really zo zorr’y,” you looked up at him.

A flash of lust sparked Thornes’ eyes, and Jason knew you were batting your eyelashes at him from that angle. It made him want to punch Thorne square in the jaw.

“It’s really alright, madam,” he insisted, “It was my fault for standing in the middle of a busy pedestrian walkway.”

“I should ‘ave watched where I was walking,” you bit your lip and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Well, let’s just both move on from this. Please don’t worry, I can get my assistants to get me another coat,” he rested his hand on your lower back as he walked you towards the street. “Here is my business card. Feel free to contact me if you need any help navigating the city. I would love to show you all the fine restaurants in Gotham.”

“Monsieur, you are too kind,” you pouted.

“I should thank you for bumping into me,” he winked, “It’s not everyday I get to see a beautiful lady.”

You pretended to blush.

“I have to go now,” he announced, “Please give me a call.”

And with that, he entered the building.

You walked towards Jason with the look of a kid who scored his first goal.

But then, facing him now, Jason swore under his breath. No wonder you managed to bewitch Thorne so easily.

Your shirt was practically see through, and everyone was turning their heads at you. He could see your black lacy bra, and how your tits bounced as you jogged towards him.

“Hells to the yes!” you celebrated, “That was more than thirty seconds. I got the card back and- what are you doing?”

Jason had grabbed your jacket and forcefully put it over your shoulders. “Let’s hurry back to the car.”

Yeah, you were going to be the death of him.

[akria23]

Something I wanted to talk about is the gun scene. I saw someone say there was 2 pairings that had someone say they can’t live without the other and I’d actually say you have to count this scene as another. Because essentially the bit that’s important is the what’s being said underneath the conversation - what’s being said without words.

As Nont rejects Proms request for him to stay telling him that he can’t continue to live that way he’s not Nant - he moves the gun higher along Prom temple. This is because the rejection isn’t just being vocalized, he’s also showing Prom that he cares little for him & he will leave him once this is over.

This is where dialogue drops because Proms response is to move Nont’s hand with the gun from his head to his heart. He grips it, leans in, presses hard. This is a statement - this was him saying he doesn’t want to live without Nont. This was a rejection of them separating. Prom doesn’t get to speak tho because it’s against the rules, it’s goes against their agreement. And also Prom and Nont’s version of communication has always been more unhinged than the rest of the pairs because they’re unhinged and because Nont’s so resistant. But even in this moment, despite his earlier words, Nont is once again affected by Prom.

He backs down from the challenge by bending his wrist lowering the gun and eventually his arm from Prom’s grip. He looks away uncomfortably I think in part because he’s not as comfortable with the thought of Prom’s demise as he pretends and because he doesn’t want Prom to have that power over him, doesn’t want to have any sort of emotional bond to him. Nant hangs between them like a ghost…

When Nont told him not to cross the line, that he wasn’t Nant, Prom didn’t push or battle it - he became his partner in crime.

When Nont told him that he didn’t need aftercare because he wasn’t Nant, Prom continued to give him aftercare and moved the conversation to their plan.

Even after this conversation where Nont tries to convince him that he will leave him behind after the mission is complete (because he can’t do this life, he’s not Nant) - Prom sends him a text that basically says after murder, come home to me and if you’ve succeeded I’ll award you and if you’ve failed I’ll console you.

No matter what you think Proms motives are he obviously believes in playing the long game. Whenever Nont tried to erect a wall between them Prom glides over it and continues their relationship. Nont is in denial.

He wants to believe he’s the predator in the relationship, that he’s using Prom and will be able to discard him the second he doesn’t need him anymore but he hasn’t been able to do that yet even on the small scale.

Something I will say is I don’t think Prom is actually as cool an collected as he appears when it comes to moments like these with Nont. I say that because more than once now we’ve been shown them ‘aggressively smoke’ during moments where they’re repressing a lot of their conversation / emotions when they’re together. And the amount of times Prom took a pull of his cigarette during the first but of the conversation to Nont taking a drag after sitting with obvious uncomfortable feelings (after he pulled the gun down from Prom’s chest).

[scoobydoodean]

Do you think Jared went behind Jensen's back and campaigned on his own for a Sam centric ending. I've wondered about this for years now. I think Jared understood he was leaving the show with little to show for it as Number One on the call sheet, and quietly made this shit of a final happen for himself thinking it was the best idea. Given how he's acted about the final and how he's said it's his favorite like some mission statement makes it seem sort of likely.

I’m really not the one to ask because I really don’t keep up with cast content that much anymore—not for several years now. My gut feeling is that I it’s not as deep as all of that and Jared probably didn’t have much say in the ending either at the end of the day, but wanted out because he needed a break. He knew his fans would love the ending and he didn’t care about anything outside of that including that Jensen was incredibly vocal about not liking it. By and large, Jared’s most rabid fans (who he’s exposed to the most on twitter and at cons) are wincest shippers who largely care very little about Dean. They prefer to recast Dean as a person who isn’t really a person at all and has no capacity to exist alone and doesn’t want or deserve anything more than to care for his little brother. They get off to the idea of Dean dying “for” Sam to the point that they and Jared mindlessly rewrote the ending of the show to be one where Dean dies for Sam when that categorically did not happen. They fail to see that the finale presented Sam as a failure who ultimately couldn’t hold onto the family he so desperately wanted to keep afloat and was punished for trying to do so and then pushed by tragedy into accepting an ill fitting white picket fence because anything else hurt too much. His most rabid fans have never actually cared about Dean and because they’ve never cared about Dean, they’ve never actually understood Sam’s care for Dean in any capacity outside of obsession and covetousness and are therefore unable to see any issues with the ending.

[rinbylin]

re: jianghu as a queer space in mlc

here to answer @redemption-revenge !! in reply to this post

(also tagging @markiafc @ananeiah <3)

there are many definitions of jianghu, but this is specifically based on the framing of jianghu as the space people retreat to, away from the mainstream sphere governed by the imperial court. in that is a sense of rejection and defiance against the patriarchal, heteronormative values and norms, which had been enforced through a fixation on upkeeping order in the society. as such i guess it's not too much of a stretch to interpret jianghu as a queer space in a way that's characterised by a spirit of nonconformity to the norms. consequently, it makes sense for stories set in jianghu be used to illustrate and navigate queer identities/experiences/feelings - which I came to believe mlc had made really good use of.

there's always kind of a dichotomy between 江湖 jianghu and 庙堂 miaotang (ie. imperial court). like in mlc, there are two separate, distinct law enforcement bodies from the respective spheres - and jianghu strives to keep imperial court from interfering in their affairs. like how li xiangyi firmly stands against getting imperial court involved in jianghu matters. like how fang duobing is actively running away from the grip of the royal court on his life choices. the rejection of the mainstream (very conveniently and broadly put, confucian) norms in mlc also manifests in many of its key relationships being non-familial (in the sense of blood/marriage-based kinship) and there being little emphasis on the main characters' biological familial ties. (anyway this is for a whole different meta on its own... edit: it's here)

it's then actually a sort of irony that the imperial court's institution of law and order is what sigu sect/baichuan court had been formed to be a de facto counterpart to. so when li xiangyi becomes li lianhua, it triggered the process of deconstructing the meaning of installing such an institution and the need to maintain order to a fundamentally nonconforming space such as jianghu. mama fang's seemingly throwaway line of criticising li xiangyi and his mission is in fact the thesis statement in this particular reading of mlc's story: jianghu makes its own rules. nobody should dare to do it in its place.

now deprived of all means to fight like he used to, li xiangyi's new life as li lianhua is essentially a refresh of how he views jianghu. the death of li xiangyi the leader of sigu sect and top of wulin, meant taking apart the idea that jianghu is a lawless arena where the fittest fight to the top for power and control over wulin. and li lianhua then putting together lotus tower, living a life focusing on a domestic lifestyle this time for real far from the reach of the governance both from the imperial court and sigu sect/baichuan court, is him living the jianghu that's defined as a space away from any form of conformity.

with that, there's also a sense of queerness to this particular way of living as li lianhua, if you consider the chinese conceptualisation of gender being more social than biological. if femininity and masculinity were respectively characterised by inner/domestic sphere and external/any space outside of that, dare I say...it actually makes li lianhua's moving house mindblowingly smart as a metaphor for gender fluidity. lonely wanderers are common in wuxia but housed lonely wanderers? he carved for himself a domestic (ie. feminine) space in the wilderness - among a jianghu space that's still dominated by masculine values of aggression and competition. and being freely mobile makes this feminine space more fluid and less tied down than the more rigid, inert domestic, feminine spaces in traditional mainstream society. when you combine it with how his character has been fem-coded - even as li xiangyi (eg. yin-coded powers/energy) (also a whole other meta on its own... edit: it's here now), it speaks to a part of him that has always found appeal in qualities conventionally associated with femininity of stability, gentleness and non-aggression. and a rejection of expectations to fight and destroy. he is defining who he is in his own terms, in the true spirit of jianghu.

[worriedvision]

A harbingers child (Part 2)

Part 1 here. Gender neutral reader, reader has a child with Dottore, you really need to read part 1 to understand this tbh...

There is gonna be a third part rounding this off, don't worry.

--

Neuvillette had taken in your son, feeling obligated to look after him and protect him from any Fatui tactics. He never grew attached to the child, unfortunately, and when the child looked exactly like Dottore, it only got worse.

Arguments were frequent, from your son calling Neuvillette 'dad' or 'father', to him voicing a desire to save you from your husband. The last argument, the day your son turned 15, led to your son crying - to which Neuvillette simply states that there is no use crying over things that couldn't be changed.

"But my parents husband is known to be evil!" Your child grumbles, walking towards the door. "They did so much for me, I have to save them."

"And how, pray tell, will you do this?" Neuvillette hums, your son turning to face him.

"I'm going to break into the house once I find the address, of course. I can argue this is a concerning case of domestic abuse, the fact they were taken in to be a 'babymaker'." Your son yells, gritting his teeth.

"That's the most correct you've been." Neuvillette states. "You are the product of such abuse. Not to mention, you picked up your father's physical traits..." Neuvillette growls, his hate seeping into the second part of the statement.

"Sir, I fail to see where I am wrong here. From reading the case notes, you tried harder than usual to dig up evidence that would take days to deliver and confirm to be truthful." Your son rolls his eyes, opening the door. "They deserve better than a man that doesn't love them." Your son finishes, making direct eye contact with Neuvillette before leaving without another word.

--

Your son, unbeknownst to Neuvillette, was on a mission. He meant what he said about rescuing you, and he had contacts. Lyney was worried about the whole judgement that comes from being linked to the Fatui. Upon hearing the fact your son is directly related to Dottore, however, he recalled a case he heard of years ago.

"I heard you're good with magic. I need to perform a disappearing act on my parent - that being to get them away from Dottore, and to a safe spot." Your son explains, Lyney listening. "Now, I have some information from the case I managed to dig up. This is the address, and there's evidence that Dottore is not divorced or widowed."

"So you want to kidnap your biological parents to rescue them?" Lyney asks.

"Name your price." Your son jumps in, fearing Lyney was going to say no.

"I'll get back to you on that. In the meantime...let's discuss this plan in more depth."

---

Your son and Lyney had a plan in place. A ship had been booked, after name dropping the case discretely and explaining this was a concern with your safety. Your son would walk through the front door, distracting you with the disguise that matched your husband when Lyney would sneak in through a window, knocking you out and taking you to safety. Yes, this wasn't entirely legal, however this would be a sure fire way to get you out, especially due to how identical your son looked to his dad.

Putting the mask on, your son starts the walk with Lyney.

--

You had been in your usual routine of checking every single room is precisely what your husband wanted. After learning the hard way your husband was going to mentally abuse you whenever something was imperfect, and he made these issues happen himself. Your husband wasn't due to be back in hours, and you don't expect any visitors.

Hearing the door clicking when you're in the main hallway, your heart sinks. You hadn't been anywhere near done, sorting the issues with a room Dottore had destroyed.

""I- I can explain." You whimper, your perceived husband slowly closing the door to prevent noise. Your husband only did this when he was about to really lay into you, using his methods to torture you before you apologise in a way he would accept.

"Please, I- I've finished cleaning the..." You trail off, increasingly more stressed at your husband's silence as he just stands there, staring at you.

You feel someone behind you, and you go to scream, only to feel a pair of arms around you as a soaked towel is placed over your mouth and nose. You feel a sense of reassurance from the figure behind you, your husband still standing there, and after a while you pass out.

--

Lyney had sat next to your sleeping form on the boat, your son mortified at the look of fear you had given him. You genuinely thought he was your husband, and you were terrified at what he was going to do. He thought Neuvillette was harsh when he made that comment about the similarities he had with Dottore, but he was right. He couldn't blame Neuvillette for not giving him a chance, he must have hoped for some similarity to you to be sprinkled in.

Upon returning to Fontaine, your son informs Lyney that he cannot make the court case, and Lyney was to do this for him. He hands Lyney the required script, along with directions as to how to do the paperwork.

Your son, feeling as if he was always going to be compared to his biological father, opts to start living in an abandoned cottage house in the wilderness.

[meeks-just-wants-to-scroll]

I have no idea why my brain came up with this but seeing your newest art made me just think of rdr1 John having to the fight the evil Micah+Bill+Javier polycule as a boss instead of just Bill or Javier ☠☠☠

I love that idea and I also thought about it while making F of a Feather art.

To amuse the idea, I imagine bill and Javier split off on their own when they usually would at the end of Chapter 6. They don’t want to stick around because neither really has it out for Arthur, not even Bill (who at this point is with Javier on “holy shit? Dutch is actually a bad person?? This can’t be?”).

Micah tho wants to get his last laugh at Arthur regardless of what ending it is.

Once Micah is done with his Arthur murder (with both eyes or one less eye), he ends up finding Javier and Bill who coincidentally had set up a small camp with the few things they had from the abandoned camp. Knowing sticking together is their best bet, they stay as a triad (that comes with all the good and bad dynamics amongst them).

Javier keeps up moral in the few ways he can. He would play guitar but that’s gone. He also is the main provider when it comes to food. Micah can have his preferences, but when it’s fish or starvation, Micah begrudgingly finds a silver lining to eating fish. Bill too can hunt, he isn’t as effective at it.

Javier is also a tad shell shocked after Dutch revealed his true nature… they all are a little stunned. They need a moment to think about this and stare at the horizon in silence.

Bill is the muscle of the group and doesn’t need to be very clever when he has Javier and Micah putting their brains together. Not that Bill is an idiot but he is good at following commands.

He is also the space heater for cold nights. Like previous mentioned, he can hunt. He goes for deer and just explodes them meaning pelts is a no go to make money. Bill can at least intimidate. He also makes for a good guard since he is pretty alert and doesn’t mind standing or sitting and minding his own business as long as he gets to be involved in other missions.

Micah is the pseudo leader (the others like to think they’re equally as much leaders as Micah). He has the cunning to be considered the diplomat of the three (tho that is a stretch), he’s the one who gets them the most money with stagecoach robberies and the sort.

His willingness to kill was discouraged at first, especially by Javier, who had a period of black and white judgement after the Dutch Situation where he was convinced them murdering anymore people made them just as two faced as Dutch. That statement crumbled little by little as the three of them became more willing to kill if it kept them alive.

I do think Micah is unable to go without expanding their group and forming his little gang as seen in the epilogue. I’m sure the structure is akin to canon, what with there being a higher rank of people close to Micah and then the goons who are just disposable man power.

Dutch isn’t there so… I suppose Micah wouldn’t be shot and killed. Javier and Bill certainly aren’t going to kill him. That would make for an unsatisfactory end to the in game epilogue but eh. Basically Micah and John have their gun fight because they must settle the score.

I feel like both reach a stalemate; Sadie has Micah at gunpoint, Bill had Sadie at gunpoint, and Javier had John at gunpoint. No one wants the other dead, really. Javier especially tells John how he would have sided with him if things were different.

They come to an agreement that results in John and Sadie being escorted off the mountain to Charles who is fairly confused why John and Sadie are being kindly helped off the mountain by the gang leaders they swore to kill.

It’s not a happy ending, or even a great ending, but it’s something. The triad’s gang is killed until it’s just the three of them and based off of Micah’s age, it’s evident he likely won’t be rebuilding a whole new gang any time soon.

For RDR1 I can’t decide if it would be much the same (the triad broke up and are individually plucked off by John) or if it would be like what you said of John being up against three antagonists in one group. Either way it would be pretty neat in my opinion.

Sigh, I love toxic old men Yaoi.

[skamenglishsubs]

Subtext and Culture, Young Royals, Season 2, Episode 4

This episode picks up immediately after the previous one, Felice has fled Wilhelm's room and he's panicking...

Subtext: Not sure if he writes that to reassure Felice, or himself. Or maybe both?

Subtext: Either way, Henry totally snitched. Maybe he just told Walter, who then snitched, but no matter, the secret is out, and now everyone knows.

Subtext: Since Sara has never dated or even pursued a guy before, she's completely clueless on how it's done, and doesn't really understand sexting emojis. I use Urban Dictionary to figure out what the dang kids these days are talking about, and 🍑 means booty! You're welcome. This is an educational Tumblr after all.

Subtext: This episode is littered with hints about Stella's sexuality, and it's kinda telling that she's a lot less bothered about others seeing her make out with Fredrika.

Culture: It totally is. Sweden has imported a couple of retail holidays from the US, Valentine's is one, but it wasn't really a thing until the 90's, and it's pretty watered down compared to that. There's a lost in translation here as well, because in Sweden the day is called Alla Hjärtans Dag - All Hearts' Day, but the Hillerska tradition is called Valentindagen, which literally means Valentine's Day, which is not the same thing as the retail holiday.

Subtext: Oh look, it's the Theme™ rearing its ugly head again! Instead of examining crappy traditions, the students are just perpetuating them mindlessly. That everyone was "a bit sexist" in the 1700's is no excuse to keep the bad parts of this tradition.

Subtext: To the other girls, Marie Antoinette is seen as a positive example of the time period because of the ostentatiousness and nobility, but Sara doesn't quite make the same association, and only remembers her for being decapitated during the French Revolution.

Subtext: She lied, like a liar.

Subtext: Walter's slightly desperate strategy also applies to Wilhelm. If Simon says no, Wilhelm has no plan B.

Subtext: Oh look, the Theme™. We're on a roll here!

Subtext: The chant that Walter starts goes "Alla är lika mycket värda" in Swedish, which is sort of how the Universal Declaration of Human Rights start in its Swedish version. This egalitarian phrase pops up in tons of places and mission statements where people and organizations want to emphasize human rights, and is very familiar to most Swedes. But then the chant continues about how only very few people are allowed into Forest Ridge, making a mockery of the implied equality. Because of course these rich assholes think they have more worth than everyone else.

Subtext: Earlier I reblogged a great post by @randomsmilingpotatoes about how this season shows us easier, simpler relationship alternatives for both Wilhelm and Simon. This scene is one example of that, because it shows that if Wilhelm had been straight and going after the other rich girls at school, all the Forest Ridge boys would have celebrated him, included him in their fellowship, and cheered him on in his "conquests". Everyone knows he had a thing with Simon, but because he's a boy, and not rich, they're not celebrating Wilhelm for that.

Subtext: As usual when Simon feels hurt by Wilhelm's actions, he reactively reaches out to Marcus.

Subtext: Marcus comes to the rescue and treats Simon to a lunch that is more appropriate to their social class, they're having pizza on the hood of his car. This is another example of how a relationship with Marcus would be simpler for Simon, here he doesn't have to mind his table manners unlike at the formal luncheons at Forest Ridge where he'll always be an outsider.

Blink-and-you-miss-it: Of course Marcus has a Wunderbaum air freshener hanging in the rear-view mirror, like the low-brow pleb he is. I, on the other hand, am a man of high class and refined tastes, so I have a Pusheen air freshener in my car instead. Om nom nom ice cream.

Subtext: Yes Marcus, that is exactly what Simon wants to do.

Blink-and-you-miss-it: I'm cackling with laughter at Sara's expression as she tries - and fails - to take some sexy selfies.

Blink-and-you-miss-it: Whoops, can't have a horse plushie in the sexy selfie, so she quickly throws it to the floor before continuing.

Culture: They're playing Spökboll, a Swedish version of Dodgeball, and a staple of many a gym class. Also, angry, jealous Simon has great aim!

Blink-and-you-miss-it: Simon's eyes are up here, Wilhelm. Stop ogling his body.

Subtext: In Simon's defence, it was Marcus who surprised him with that kiss, it wasn't exactly mutual. Wilhelm doesn't know how much Simon is actually struggling with moving on, but Simon isn't dispelling the notion either.

Subtext: Previously, the Queen emphasized how anyone dating Wilhelm has to deal with his position, and later in this episode both Felice and Nils will say the same thing. This is the point where Wilhelm realizes that maybe it'll never work out with Simon if this is non-negotiable on his part, because Wilhelm can't stop being a prince. And since Wilhelm walks out of the argument, Simon realizes at this point that he maybe went too far, Wilhelm might actually move on after this.

Blink-and-you-miss-it: Wilhelm makes a hilarious puppy face when asking Felice to forgive him. Her calling him out on his enormous selfishness was pretty satisfying though, and well earned!

Subtext: And again, yet another example of easier alternatives for Wilhelm. There's no shortage of people who would want to date him because he is a prince, unlike Simon who is doing the opposite, making that relationship much more difficult.

Culture: Traditionally, there are fourteen lines in a sonnet. Each line also needs to be in iambic pentameter, and the whole thing needs to conform to a rhyme scheme. The most well known composer of sonnets was William Shakespeare, who mostly used the ABAB CDCD EFEF GG rhyme scheme.

Blink-and-you-miss-it: Vincent never misses a chance to put down the other boys, and I can't help but laugh.

Subtext: This episode really piles on the relationship alternatives, and here comes Nils with his suggestion: Keep everything on the down-low. Be gay, but discreetly. Hook up with guys, quietly. Go to private, upper-class gay parties at some exclusive ski resort in Switzerland, and meet guys who in the same situation and that can keep quiet. You don't have to be out and proud, no-one needs to know.

Lost in translation: Nils uses "gay" here, which in Swedish has a less strict meaning than the English word gay, where it usually only refers to a homosexual man. In Swedish though it can mean "not straight", so who knows how Nils identifies.

Culture: Tim Cook, the CEO of Apple, isn't high profile enough for you, Nils? But he has a point, it's rare for people in that position to be out and open about it.

Culture: He's not wrong, it would be world news. I don't think there's any immediate family in the line of succession in any European monarchy that is openly queer. However, there's currently over 30 royal kids throughout Europe that are Gen Z or younger, the odds of every single one of them being straight is pretty much zero, so there's a chance that we'll actually see this in real life soon. Fingers crossed! 🤞🤞

Cinematography: Not content with dropping hints about Stella any longer, the show implicitly tells us that she wrote the poem to Fredrika by focusing on her face and her reaction.

Subtext: ...and follows it up with more hints in her dialogue.

Subtext: August has no qualms about standing naked in front of the window, with the curtains open. He doesn't need to hide his relationship with Sara, if someone were to spy on him, he'd be celebrated by the other guys instead.

Subtext: Even though August started the episode in a great mood after having the meeting with the Queen, here the trap of royal duty begins to close around him, and he realizes that it's not all positive. If he's going to be the spare, the royal court needs to control his future as well. Ten years sure sounds like a prison sentence.

Subtext: No, he lied, like a liar.

Subtext: As if the show hasn't already used Jan-Olof as a personification of systemic homophobia, here it's made explicit. The court needs for August to be straight, otherwise their backup plan might not work either.

Subtext: For Sara, this is possibly something she's heard her dad promise before, and that didn't turn out so well.

Subtext: Sara makes up an excuse for not going with August to the ball, but the real reason is because of loyalty, she promised the girls to go with them. She's also dating her best friend's ex behind her back, which is pretty disloyal as well.

Subtext: Felice is talking about Wilhelm, but now that Sara knows that August is Wilhelm's spare and a future royal, this suddenly applies to her too.

Subtext: Felice is loyal to her friends, which is why she turned Wilhelm down.

Blink-and-you-miss-it: Vincent being his usual hilarious horrible self.

Culture: In Sweden, the drinking age is 18, so only the third-year students are allowed to legally drink. But since this is an official party for the entire school, the staff can't serve alcohol to the kids, which is why a lot of them are pre-gaming in the dorms.

Subtext: For August, dressing up as a noble is something he enjoys. He's always wanted more status, and now that he's Wilhelm's spare he's got it.

Subtext: ...while Wilhelm hates it, he hates having to dress up and play the part, because it's that exact thing that is stopping him from having a relationship with Simon. But at this point he's pretty much resigned himself to his fate, so he puts on the makeup and the dress, playing the part of a real prince, crying while doing so.

Subtext: August is normally a pretty confident guy, but here we see him being insecure and anxious for the first time, because he's actually in love with Sara and is afraid of fucking up his carefully planned classy little pre-party champagne date with her.

Lost in translation: Sara writes "Vi kan inte ses mer", which means "We can't see each other any more", which is actually kind of a break-up message. But the English subtitles make it seem like she's just standing him up for this one party.

Subtext: Simon was planning to only do his performance and skip the rest of the party, because he knew Wilhelm would be there. But now that Marcus shows up, ready to go to the party for Simon's sake, he changes his mind.

Subtext: The fish do have names, it's just that Simon associates that with a very happy memory of Wilhelm, and he's clearly thinking of that here.

Culture: We need to have a small intermission here, talking about the theme for the masquerade ball, and how this relates to the show.

In the early 1700's in Sweden, despite early successes defending Sweden on the battlefield against Denmark-Norway, the young king Karl XII embarked on a disastrous campaign against Russia that ended in defeat and weakened the military. On his return to Sweden he started a new campaign against Norway, but died in battle there soon after in 1718, which pretty much led to the end of the era of the Swedish Empire that had started a hundred years earlier.

These defeats and loss of military power made the monarchy pretty unpopular among the people, so when queen Ulrika Eleonora took over the throne after her childless brother, she was forced to give up a lot of power to parliament, and no longer had the unchecked power to rule over the country. The early to mid 1700's was also the time when the Age of Enlightenment swept over Europe, and philosophers like Voltaire and Rousseau spread ideals of liberty and equality and brotherhood, which in France ultimately resulted in the bloody French Revolution at the end of the century.

But In Sweden, these ideas led to the Age of Liberty, an era marked by rationality and science and civil rights, and Sweden started progressing into a proper constitutional monarchy, ruled by law instead of the whims of the current king or queen. However, parliament became more and more unstable, and in 1772 the newly crowned king Gustav III seized power from parliament in a coup, rolled back many of the recent changes, and restored the absolute monarchy.

And that's the dude in the painting above, sitting on the left, together with his two brothers, Prince Fredrik Adolf, and Prince Karl. This time period is the theme of the ball, and all the kids are wearing similar clothes; French fashion from the late 1700's, powdered wigs, cravats, tricorne hats, pearls and all. Because of course an upper-class school like Hillerska would rather celebrate a period marked by a strong monarchy and absolute rule, rather than that egalitarian wishy-washy nonsense of the earlier era.

In further parallels to the show, Gustav III was probably gay, had gay lovers among the nobility, and might not have been the biological father of his children, due to difficulties *ahem* performing the necessary act with his spouse, Queen Sofia Magdalena.

The king was a huge supporter of culture and arts, and under his rule, Sweden got its first opera house, its first ballet company, and a proper drama theatre, all of which are still in operation today. The king even wrote several plays and a few operas himself, and spent a lot of time directing these plays as well. However, him spending more time on his hobbies than actually ruling the country, combined with certain political reforms he pushed through, made him deeply unpopular among the nobility. So unpopular in fact that several nobles got together in a conspiracy to assassinate him. The king was shot at a masquerade ball in 1792 and died of the complications two weeks later.

All the conspirators were caught, the man who pulled the trigger, Jacob Johan Anckarström, was executed for treason, and a number of co-conspirators were either jailed or exiled. One of the leading co-conspirators' name was, and I shit you not, Claes Fredrik Horn. What's August's last name in the show again?

This lesson about queer Swedish kings in history is now over, back to the show.

Blink-and-you-miss-it: An alternative to pre-gaming is to smuggle in alcohol to the party and spike your own drinks with it. Fredrika Stella hid a pocket flask in her dress.

Blink-and-you-miss-it: Stella is wearing a very anachronistic dollar-sign necklace. It does look fabulous, though!

Subtext: Is it better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all? Stella doesn't dare make that gamble, and is instead settling for the unfortunately very common queer trope of secretly pining for your straight best friend.

Subtext: Throughout the entire party, Simon makes it so obvious that he's not into Marcus, and is just using him to make Wilhelm jealous.

Subtext: Marcus is pretty oblivious though, and he can't wait to get the hell out of this place, he's not comfortable, he wanted a quiet date-night at home with Simon, but this was the only way he could get Simon to spend the night with him.

Subtext: Throughout this not-really-relationship, Marcus has insisted on setting the pace, and here he does it again. He has now decided that they should have sex, which is why he showed up to this thing in the first place, and is nagging Simon to sleep at his place, while completely ignoring all the signs that Simon is on a completely different page.

Subtext: Alexander is completely in the dark here, he thinks Wilhelm and Felice was a serious thing, and he thinks that August still has feelings for Felice.

Subtext: August is pissed about being stood up by Sara, so he reverts to his usual scheming self. Planning the downfall of the king at a masquerade ball? Didn't I just write about something like that a few sections ago?

Culture: The tall thing in the middle of the table is called a Krokan in Swedish, which is more of a decorative almond cookie thing than a cake. The pink marzipan cake is called an Operatårta, which is a pink variation of the even more classic green Swedish princess cake. If you live near an IKEA, you can usually find mini versions of these in their restaurant.

Subtext: It's kinda ironic that Marcus has more in common with Wilhelm than Simon, but what does Simon and Marcus have in common, really? They clearly have completely opposite tastes.

Cinematography: Out at the party the lighting is pink and warm and romantic, but in the kitchen there's a sickly fluorescent glow instead, and it's filled with modern things that completely clash with the theme of the party. Wilhelm tried putting on a show, but as soon as Simon is out of sight, he throws away his cake and escapes the fake dressed-up environment by going into the kitchen, where we see his real feelings.

Subtext: It was at this exact moment Simon realized that he had fucked up. His attempts at making Wilhelm jealous has completely backfired, and Wilhelm is now finally letting go, just like he has been preparing himself for the entire episode.

Cinematography: Unlike the first season which featured cute moments between the two of them in almost every episode, this season started with a fakeout dream scene, and has since then withheld moments like this on purpose to build suspense.

We've been seeing both Wilhelm and Simon have intimate scenes with other characters, but there's been no chemistry, nothing in those scenes that make us want to root for those relationships.

But now it's time for the emotional payoff, and the show holds nothing back, it employs every single trick in its book to make us really feel this moment: The action is slowed way down, and all outside sounds disappear. The only thing we're hearing is their heavy breathing, just like in similar scenes in the first season, and the soundtrack switches to the [dreamy electronic music] used in the initial dream scene. The chemistry is insane, you can cut the tension with a knife, and you're all supposed to remember that this is why we're watching this show! This is why we're invested in this couple!

And then they kiss.

Can you breathe again? Do you need to take a cold shower? Alright, let's wrap this episode up. Yeah, yeah, Marcus interrupts the moment, and he sees Wilhelm, putting two and two together, who cares? They kissed! They finally kissed!

Subtext: The idea that no-one picks up on the fact that this song is totally about a lost love is hilarious, because it's so obvious to me. I have to squint and look at it sideways to imagine how it could possibly be about the school, not the other way around!

Subtext: Wilhelm is looking at Marcus at this line, because Simon got lost by trying to get together with Marcus, but just now found his way back "home" to Wilhelm again.

Subtext: He did remove the profanity and he did put Hillerska in there like the music teacher told him, so that everyone understands it's totally about the school! And not about Wilhelm, nuh-uh!

Subtext: In the same way that Simon's song is about his feelings for Wilhelm, afterwards the soundtrack switches to Beautiful Boy, which is about what Wilhelm is feeling for Simon, because in this moment he could really feel that Simon does love him after all. The way Simon is ignoring Marcus and only has eyes for Wilhelm might be a big fat hint as well.

[sansxfuckyou]

take one step forward (two steps back)

summary: guarding the Master Emerald gave him purpose when had nothing but corpses surrounding him, no wonder it's so hard to drop the urgency

tags: character study, angst

authors note: a gift for the wonderful @ohposhers because i missed their birthday by A Very Large Margin and wanted to write them a fic regardless, hope everyone enjoys

How long has it been since he started doing this?

...

. . .

.  .  .

Yeah, too long.

Knuckles shrugs just enough to return feeling to his arms. He doesn't stand up though. It's his resting day, where he allows himself to sit instead of pace circles around the Master Emerald.

He should go find food.

Or water.

It's been a while since he last did so.

Maybe he should've given himself breaks more often then once a day.

But what if it happens again?

Eggman, Robotnik, whatever the people call him now, what if he returns? Comes back for a second shot at getting the Master Emerald?

What if he succeeds?

No!

Fuck, no, bad thoughts. It won't happen again, he's better than that now. Nothing will ever touch the Master Emerald again unless it's his own two paws or someone who he dearly trusts.

He stands up and paces circles around the Master Emerald. He just needs to get it out of his head, doubts, fears, worries, he's better now.

The telltale sound of wings flapping alert him and he finds Rouge dropping down. In her arms is Shadow, being carried similarly to a cat with one hand under each of his arms. She places down Shadow and drops down beside him with a small flourish as usual.

"Knuckles, why are you still here?" Shadow asked.

Knuckles scoffed, "I'm doing my job, why aren't you doing yours?"

"We were supposed to meet up at one of the cafe's today for a drink, sweetheart," Rouge said.

Knuckles faltered.

That was today?

He should get a calendar, or a more accurate tell of time. He doesn't even know how old he is in an exact number these days, just the rough estimation from Tails' DNA test. There is no exact date of birth, so he chose January first, an easy one to remember.

"What's wrong with you?" Shadow questioned as he stepped closer.

"It slipped my mind," Knuckles said. He was lying through his teeth and everyone knew it.

Shadow quirked a brow.

So did Rouge.

"I have to guard the Master Emerald-"

Rouge bit back at his statement, "No you don't. Nobody wants to steal it anymore."

"You do, for starters."

"And? Who else?"

Again, Knuckles goes silent.

"That's what we thought," Shadow said rather curtly.

"Sorry for forgetting, it won't happen again."

He knows that's a lie.

He knows his mind is still full of worries about the emerald. That he'll never truly be able to empty it and leave behind the need to protect the emerald. He knows he's a dog in that aspect.

"You better not, we were all looking forward to hanging out with you sweetie," Rouge said with a bit of a pout.

"Don't forget that you have a mission with Sonic tomorrow," Shadow said.

Rouge elbowed him, "Ease up, don't be so snappy."

"I'll do better next time."

-/-/-/-

Knuckles doesn't do better.

He swears he tries too, but everything just sort of, falls out of his brain. There was one little scare, a stray degraded beebot made its way onto the island. It had no real directive or drive to move to obtain the Master Emerald but it sets off every single alarm inside of Knuckles' head.

He just reverts.

All of his knowledge remains but it's shoved aside and replaced by an instinct to hunt and herd and protect. He does laps of the entire island, scouring for anything that could be out of place. He knows logically he doesn't need to, that it was just a leftover stray badnik.

But deep in the recesses of a mind molded to one purpose since he was naught but a child, he needs to do this. And he can't deny his instinct, he never could.

-/-/-/-

Shadow finds him passed out by a creek in the Mushroom Hill's. It just looks like he collapsed. Face down on the mossy grass and body splayed out like he's dead.

"Rouge! I found him!" Shadow called out.

In mere moments Rouge came crashing down from between mushrooms that threatened to bounce her back. She brushes herself down before standing at attention. With a brief glance at Knuckles' her cockiness evaporates. "I think we should be worried."

"Our mission-"

"He's passed out on the ground something happened to him!" Rouge snapped, pressing a gloved paw to Shadow's chest to nudge him back, "He's your partner, start acting like it. Cut him some slack."

Shadow huffed, "Fine."

Rouge crouches down and shakes Knuckles' awake.

He's groggy and slow to gain his senses again. His body is strained. Fuck he didn't actually get any water before passing out, did he? He scrambles to the creeks edge on auto-pilot and near fully submerges his snout.

With a heady gasp he resurfaces.

"Finally awake?" Shadow asked.

Knuckles snaps over to face him.

"What happened, red?" Rouge asked. There's a near pitying look on her face, one of worry.

"Badnik, Master Emerald," Knuckles said. He was still hacking on taking in too much water. "You know how it is."

"One Badnik?"

"They're like bugs, if you see one there's bound to be a hundred."

"Was there a hundred?" Shadow asked before taking a seat on the dirt. Rouge followed suit.

Knuckles shook his head, "I still had lap Angel Island to be sure."

Rouge felt worry build faster in her stomach, "How many times did you lap it?"

Knuckles shrugged. "Enough."

"Until you passed out, is how many times," Shadow corrected, "You need a vacation."

"That Badnik only further proves why I can't leave my post even once," Knuckles said. He didn't know why he was arguing in favor of this awful cycle. He had to. He had duty. He had purpose. This was his existence. He can't abandon, not now, not after it's been proven it has a point again.

For a stagnant moment both Rouge and Shadow are silence, then Rouge speaks.

"We'll stay with you then." She speaks with finality to her tone, "If you can't visit us off island then we'll visit you on island and protect the emerald with you."

"You just want to steal it like you always do," Knuckles spat.

Rouge scoffed, "Please, there are far bigger fish to fry than a thing like The Master Emerald."

"Even if you kick her out, I'm still staying here to guard it with you," Shadow tacked on.

"It's not your job."

"It will be."

"It will never be your duty the way it's my duty."

-/-/-/-

They still come to pester him daily on his laps.

He still tries to ward them off out of an instinct then real conviction towards them. He loves them too much to actually want to get rid of them. He still can't kill the thing in his head that says that anyone with sentience stepping foot on the island wants the worst.

That won't stop them from bothering him non-stop regardless.

"We brought you some grape jello," Rouge stated as she handed the cling-wrapped bowl to Knuckles.

"And a blanket for your hammock hut you have set up out in the woods," Shadow tacked on as he tossed a crocheted blanket at Knuckles. It consisted of muted hues of reds, blacks, pinks, blues- nearly the entire rainbow really. "Everyone wanted to pitch in and cast a few rows of their own color."

Knuckles wrapped himself up in the blanket, "That's sweet."

"Do you think we could help you guard the Emerald yet?" Rouge asked, "Robotnik is back out."

Knuckles paused before nodding, "Yeah, you guys can help if you really want to."

Rouge grinned, "I hope your hut has room for two more hammocks then, cause if it doesn't we're all dogpiling."

[bevswashere]

Koi No Yokan

Chapter 31: Moving On

It’s cold here, inside the abandoned clock tower. Wood creaking beneath my feet, no sound besides the tick of the seconds going by. It means nothing, though. Time doesn’t pass here, my body doesn’t age. Only cold, empty.

The white glass panes behind the clock arms slowly drip with something crimson. I look more closely, only for the tower to rattle in a thunderous chime. The hour hand has reached twelve, and from its tip hangs Haruki’s body.

December 20134 years later.

I wake up briskly after that, eyes snapping open, a sweat broken out across my brow. My heart is beating rather quickly. I have to sit up, take a few slow breaths.

Shigeri stirs, reaches out. “Who was it this time?”

I lay back down into his arms, feel him breathe warmly into my side. “Haruki.” Another student who died last year. We’re used to these nightmares, though. Dead students, family members, friends, all coming back to haunt us in our sleep. The narrative varies, sometimes curses that have left a lasting impression kill them, other times they die at my own hand. At times they are simply there, loitering in my mind, watching me. When there are no nightmares, there’s only deep, dark sleep. I find myself craving that more and more these days.

“It’s still early,” Shigeri says. “Try to sleep some more.”

I close my eyes as he tells me, but my mind is already alive. I cannot forget Haruki’s face, or any of the others. I stay in my place, awake, until our alarm sounds.

“What do you have for today?” he asks, pulling the top of his uniform over his head.

“Not much.” I pull my shoes onto my feet, remembering that last night, I’d found a ring in Shigeri’s nightstand while looking for something else. “Yaga wanted to meet in an hour for a mission briefing. After that I might take the kids into the field.”

“And after that?”

“After that, nothing.”

I feel his arms wrap around my middle, his chin landing above my shoulder. “You’ll be free for dinner then?”

My stomach turns. “I should be.”

He kisses my cheek. “Good, we’ll have a date night.”

I can already picture it, Shigeri giving some sort of heartfelt speech, before getting on one knee in the middle of a restaurant. Everyone will start clapping, and I’ll want to sink into the floor where no one could find me.

“What’s with that sick look on your face?”

I straighten up in my seat. “Nothing, nothing.”

“As I was saying,” Yaga continues clicking through the mission file on his computer, “Expect to be overseas for some time, maybe two to three weeks. You guys will need to take your time flushing out the curse users.”

“‘You guys’?”

Yaga sighs. “The higher ups are still weary about your movements. They won’t say it outright, but they’ll want you monitored, especially considering the distance.”

“I’ve behaved myself for four years.”

“You discovered a sixth Sukuna finger last month,” Yaga counters. “You’re nearing half of the whole, that makes them uneasy. Tsuda-san has volunteered to accompany you.”

“Kei?!” I can’t contain my disbelief. “She hates me. Why would she volunteer to join me overseas?”

“Perhaps on the off chance that you make a wrong move, she could justify killing you.”

I scoff, arms folded above my chest. “As if.” I let my head fall back against the back of my chair, sighing largely up at the ceiling. “They should just sentence me already.”

“And give you an excuse to act out?”

“If I wanted to act out I would have done it by now. The only reason I’m laying low is—”

“They’ll entrust Satoru with your execution.”

Yaga’s words pose a statement, not a question. “Right. After all, killing Suguru is still technically his job.”

“Work carefully on this mission,” Yaga tells me. “Locate the curse users, carry out their sentences, quietly. Drawing any attention to yourself won’t be good for either of us.”

“So you keep saying.”

∞

“Right, inside here is a third grade—no, second grade? Third?” My thumb points to the doors behind me. I lean in a little closer. “Sounds like a second grade.”

“You can hear it?” Sachi, my most enthusiastic first year, raises his hand as he speaks.

“Everything has a frequency, even cursed energy, if you listen hard enough.”

Runa, the only girl this year, meets this fact with the same apathy she meets everything else with. “Why don’t they teach us that in the first place?”

“Well, there’s only two people I can think of who can do this.” They’re looking at one of them. “Besides, it isn’t just uncommon, it’s pretty annoying when you’re not trying to find a curse. Ah, that reminds me,” I reach into my pockets and pull out three blue whistles fixed to some string, “Exorcise it, but if you can’t—and only if you think you’re going to die—blow this.”

I toss one to each of them. Iwao observes it, unimpressed, “A whistle?”

“You guys will do better if I’m not watching, so blow that and I’ll come help if you need me to.”

“And if we die before we get the chance?” Runa asks.

My tone turns serious. “You’ll know right away if you’re outmatched. Unless you’re feeling particularly good today, don’t try to be a hero. Blow the whistle.”

They put on their faces of determination and enter the gymnasium without me. Silently, I wait, leaning against one of the walls, holding my breath as I do every time they leave my sight. Each of them are gifted, I don’t doubt that, but they’re young, eager to prove themself. I would know, considering I’m not that far off from their position.

Arakawa Iwao, the tall one, with the clean cut hair, and thickly framed glasses might be the most type A person I’ve ever met, second only to Kento-kun. His actions rely solely on logic, probabilities. Likewise his technique requires him to form physical barriers of exact measurements, once established these barriers can amplify the techniques of those inside. It’s not the most useful technique in terms of a one on one battle, which is why I immediately thought to keep him close to Yagami Runa, the daughter of a curse user Mei-san killed about six years ago. Since then, both the Tokyo and Kyoto schools have been keeping a close eye on her. Runa, and her father, possessed the ability to convert cursed energy into raw dark matter. It’s a unique skill, potent when encountered, but like any technique that creates physical matter, the energy expenditure outweighs the end results. Keeping Iwao close is the key to overcoming those limitations, letting her push the boundaries on her technique.

Fukase Sachi, with his helplessly innocent demeanor and mussed golden hair, is a shikigami user. What he lacks in strength, he makes up for in good attitude. With a bit of guidance, he’s been able to expand his shikigami collection to a cursed gazelle, eagle, and badger. My main focus, though, has been solidifying his hand to hand skills, making sure he doesn’t fall behind when the other two have each other to depend on.

Thirty minutes later, no whistles are blown, and they return bruised and battered. Iwao’s left arm is bleeding heavily, and Sachi is limping.

“All done?” My hand hovers over Iwao’s wound, turning ever so slightly as the bleeding stops.

“Oh, Reverse Cursed Technique?” Sachi says in wonderment.

“Barely.”

“Is there anything you can’t do?” Runa says, voice low, monotone. I can’t tell if it’s impress or resentment.

“Tons of stuff. For example, healing Iwao here.” We break into the open air again, my hand still carefully above Iwao-kun’s arm. Runa is helping Sachi walk. “Don’t worry, though. I’ll teach you guys everything I know before the school year is up. I promise it.”

∞

“How did they do today?” Shigeri’s load has been easy recently, seeing as he only has one student. Haruki’s classmate.

“Passed with flying colors.”

He shifts in his seat, and I hold my breath. “Are you sure? You seem jumpy.”

“Just a little tired,” I say, eating my dinner slowly, acutely aware of each bite taken. The slightest movement from Shigeri, the faintest twitch of his arm, puts me on alert. I would gain warning from the Forward Sight, but what good would it do? What would I say if he really does take the ring out?

But the dinner concludes, we split the bill, and I feel myself release this massive breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. The ring can be a situation for another night.

Arm in arm, we walk through the city, the sun slowly sinking beneath the skyline. “Were you ever going to bring up how you’ll be leaving tomorrow?”

“To be honest, I forgot.” Things slip my mind easily these days, fade into the background of problems that aren’t my own. “Kei is coming with me.”

“Really?” he says in pleasant surprise, “I haven’t seen her in forever.”

Lucky you, I think to myself. “I’ll be gone for a while, if you could watch over everyone for me.”

“Anything you need.” He stops suddenly, and lets go of my arm, dipping his hands down into his jacket pockets. I feel my heart beat into the soles of my feet. “Kaede, there’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”

But the ringer of my phone is on, and begins chiming at a wonderfully loud volume. I don’t ask Shigeri if I can take the call, and answer immediately.

“Kaedeee.” His whining never changes. “Come over. It’s important.”

“Are you dying?”

He scoffs largely. “As if.”

“Then, what could be so important?”

“Come over and you’ll see.”

I look at Shigeri, see him slowly remove his hands from his pockets. Why am I like this?” I ask myself. Why must I ruin a perfectly good thing? Shigeri is kind and affectionate. I feel safe with him, loved. The sensible thing would be to take the ring from his pocket and get on a knee myself, profess how unworthy I am of his goodness, yet I’m deliberately stalling the inevitable. “Okay, I’ll be there.”

“Gojo?” Shigeri says.

“Yes.”

He makes the same expression every time he hears his name, a halfhearted smile paired with a slow nod. But not once has he ever denied me of speaking with Satoru, or seeing him. Not a single complaint or question of what we do when alone. Trust of an incredibly dangerous degree. “Go ahead. I’ll see you once you’re back.”

It’s because of that blatant trust that I bring up, “Didn’t you have something you wanted to say?”

“It can wait.”

∞

Satoru’s apartment was on the umpteenth floor of a newly built complex. The air still smelled of paint and inside the lobby was a doorman who insisted on operating the elevator for you. I imagine he held his own twisted notions about Satoru and I, seeing as he’d lead me up to floor sixteen about twice a month, and watch me leave within the same night.

He opens the door before I can knock, “What took you so long?”

“Not all of us can teleport across the city.” He pulls me into the place, everything a cold gray color, the walls uncomfortably bare. You would hardly think anyone lived here. “What is it? What was so important?”

He hums in confusion, meaning he’d already forgotten the claims he’d made on the phone. “Oh, well, it’s been too long since I’ve seen you.” I’m ushered towards the couch, sat down on the firm and leather surface. “Tell me about things.”

It’s always the same. Calling when he pleases, engaging me in random tasks, listening to the nonsense of my daily life, and then he’s sated and I leave. Nothing I talk about is new either, curses, training, the higher ups getting on my nerves, and most of all my students. I brag of their achievements, no matter how they pale in comparison to his own. Satoru listens attentively, mentioning ideas for how I could better train everyone, his own upset comments on the higher ups. I remember when I confessed that Haruki died, he hugged me. It was the only time we’d had contact like that in years. “All of them will be great,” I say.

“You say that every year.”

“And I mean it every time.”

Satoru laughs at me, then softens. “You seem so happy when you talk about them.”

“They do make me happy.” I tell him in earnest, “I would give my life for them to not go through the things we did.”

“Those things made us strong.”

“That doesn’t make it okay,” I say. “Lots of people can teach them to be strong, but I want them to see that this morally gray way of running things can be changed.”

“Changed into what?”

“I don’t know yet. But I realized it some time after seeing you with Megumi. It’s not about us anymore. You and I could kill everyone and take over the world, but the world won’t follow us. At least if we teach them, they’ll know the difference between right and wrong well enough that it’ll never come to that.”

Satoru yawns dramatically, stretching his arms out at his sides. “Sounds like a lot of work teaching a ton of brats.”

“Well, I guess it’s not for everyone.” But I know him, and I know that what he’ll never admit is that he loves people, brats and all. He probably loves them far more than me, feels it’s some kind of privilege to be surrounded by them, but he’s cut himself off from the world. Even from me. We’re all shadows to him now, chasing from behind, fading in the darkness. “Have you been seeing anyone else?”

Casually he says, “I haven’t been with anyone else since we broke up.”

“I meant friends.”

“Oh,” he looks at me with unease. “Only you, I guess. Shoko’s busy with school, and Nanami is gone.”

“I don’t want you to be alone too much.”

Satoru’s gaze pierces into me, even from behind the glasses. I notice then that he’s replaced his old ones, exchanged them for a slimmer, rectangular frame. “I don’t feel lonely.”

I felt content knowing that I still held some vestige of necessity for Satoru, that I could relieve him of the hard life he’s meant to lead. Then I realized it’s wrong to feel that way, to want to be necessary for him. As if he can hear my silent wanting, he leans in rapidly. We kiss for the first time in I’m not sure how long, and I immediately pull away. “I should go.”

“I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“I’m not upset.” I think to reach out, but refrain knowing the flame his touch would incite. “I have to catch a flight tomorrow morning. I want to say bye to my students before I go.”

When I stand up he quickly follows. “I don’t want you to stop seeing me because of this.”

“I’ll see you whenever you want, Satoru, don’t worry.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

∞

Guilt is the sole thing I feel as I return to campus. The sting of Satoru’s lips on mine lingers and incites a kind of irreparable passion I fight hard to ignore. Love like that, like the one we had, doesn’t ever disappear. It only quiets when you’re distracted, and roars at the simplest touch, a kiss. I’ll never experience a love like that again in my life, and maybe I’m not supposed to. Maybe I’m supposed to choose a comfortable love, one that doesn’t break apart everything I build up. I countered my guilt with sudden determination, When Shigeri takes out the ring, I’ll say yes.

Her shadowy figure enters my peripheral, “Can’t sleep?”

Runa’s already in a deep purple nightgown, her skin like a ghost’s in the moonlight. “I don’t usually sleep very much.”

She aligns herself with my stride. I notice she’s barefoot. “Why not?”

“Too many nightmares.”

“About curses?”

“About myself,” she says darkly.

“I understand.”

“What could you possibly understand about it?”

We come to a stop. She’s only half my size, frail in this light, eyes large. A sadness I hadn’t felt previously arises when I realize how devastatingly young she looks. “I’ve been in your position before.”

“Knowing you’re supposed to be stronger and still failing all the time?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t believe that for a second.” Her gaze drifts to the ground. She’s angry. “You’re excessively strong. Both you and Gojo Satoru.”

Runa mentioning his name frightens me, like she knows the bad things I’ve done, the hurtful things I’m thinking. She’s waving it all in front of me. “I’ve failed a lot of people,” I tell her, “Gojo Satoru most of all.”

“You failed Gojo Satoru?”

“We were supposed to be the strongest together.” I don’t give Runa time to dissect the statement. In fact, I selfishly turn away and head towards the staff building. “You should know happens to the boys isn't your fault. Goodnight, Runa.”

I can’t linger on strength or Gojo Satoru any longer. It’ll ruin me, more than I’ve already been ruined. Shigeri is waiting for me in our room, I tell him I know about the ring, I tell him to let me wear it. 

**if you didn't notice the little easter egg, her students i.e. the three in the picture are the kids Nanami saved in JJK 0 :))

[elslittlestories]

About Crosshair's absence

I read someone claiming TBB writers made a bad job at showing the impact of Crosshair's absence in the squad despite the fact that he was supposedly a vital member of the team.(see post here !)

I desagree with that statement. See my ramble under the cut.

First, is Crosshair so vital for the team in a non-war situation?

He's a sniper-an exceptionally skilled one-so he was super valuable on the battle field to provide cover for his brothers. I mean if 3 (then 4 with Echo) guys barged into a battalion of droid without this kind of support, they'd probably last 10 minutes before being shot in the back.

So he was essential to the team for this kind of missions. I'm not saying that's all he can do, but this was clearly something he was the only one able to provide.

But is that skill so vital when you go on the type of missions Cid send our boys to? I don't think so. It'll help, sure, but they can manage without it.

So skill-wise, and in terms of completing the missions, Crosshair's absence is manageable for the squad, in my opinion. Which isn't to say some of their fuck-ups couldn't have been avoided if Crosshair was there...

Then there's the supposedly lack of depiction of mourning and this is where the neurodivergence headcanon kicks in.

Well first, we are talking about soldiers that have been trained their whole life to deal with death. They are trained to keep going whatever happens. They are trained to not allow their feelings to stop them from completing a mission.

Do they miss him? He'll yes! Do they show it? Nope. Is it healthy? Of course not, but do they even know how to deal with this?

I mean, in a way death would be easier to cope with. Their brother chose to go his separate way and TRIED TO KILL THEM.

Can you imagine the mixed feelings? They were taught to diffuse bombs, not that kind of stuff!

I think Wrecker is so confused about it his brain puts it all in a box to protect him. He misses his brother, he'll cry is out against Lula some nights, but he's not thinking about why Crosshair is acting like that or if he'll ever come back. His brain is like "we'll deal with that later". Later happens on Pabu. One day as he's helping a fisherman, Wrecker finds out the man lost his brother at sea. They spend hours talking about it, and it helps.

With Tech, I think it's always been out of sight out of mind. He can't help it, it's how his brain works. So most of the times, he doesn't realizes Crosshair isn't here. Until something random sparks a memory of his brother and it hits him hard. He'll stay up late, crippled with the sudden urge to talk to his brother but not being able to. He knows there's no reasoning with Cross, so he doesn't waste energy looking for a way to bring him back. All he can do is hope that his brother will change his mind and realizes he chose the wrong side. When it happens, when Tech receives that message sent from Tantiss, he doesn't hesitate one second. There's no hard feelings, no resentment. Time has come to bring Crosshair back and he'll do anything to do so. Any-fucking-thing! I think he knew all along the odds were against them. I think he knew for sure they were screwed when they encountered Saw Guerrera. (I'm gonna go cry a minute...)

Echo is maybe the one who's having the hardest time forgiving Crosshair. You don't turn against your brothers. It's his number one rule. Plus, he's got so many losses to cope with already, he can't add another one. It's easier for him to blame Cross for his bad decisions. It's a sort of denial, obviously. One of many reasons that pushes him away from the batch and back with Rex. Thanks to that, he encounters more clones who had their inhibitor chips activated and begins to understand that it really wasn't Cross' fault, at least not entirely. It doesn't take much convincing to get him on board to rescue Crosshair. He's not gonna leave a brother behind.

And lastly, Hunter... Hunter who's so angry and hurt and GUILTY that he pours his heart and soul into Omega. She becomes an hyperfixation. Because let's be honest, his decision to keep her with the squad was a little bit selfish. Of course she wanted to stay, but she's a kid who's offered adventure after spending her whole life in a lab! The sensible thing to do was to leave her with Tuc and Sue until the squad settled in a more adequate situation to raise a child. Keeping her with him and taking her to mission was Hunter's unconscious way to fill the void left by Crosshair. He wants her to take Cross' place so bad that he even forgets she's not here when he grounds her for that mission to retrieve a Separatist governor. He makes some bad decisions too because he can't think straight when she's involved. It takes Pabu and seeing her with Lyana for him to remember she really is just a kid and he's not giving her what she needs. Then the unthinkable happens. But that's for another post.

Aaaaand again this is way too fucking long. I'm sorry. Thank you if you read it this far. I'd live to hear your thoughts on this.

[scary-lasagna]

Slender getting Jealous over other operators(Like the brothers) because his proxies are showing them some sort of affection?

Slender

It's actually quite often that Slender gets aggravated with Offender, not because he's jealous of course, but because he's entirely reckless with the proxies.

Offender loves to play 'fun uncle' to the proxies, and lets them do whatever they want as long as they get their work done and don't kill each other. This has lead to people getting their bones broken, burnt, things have caught on fire, etc.

It's safe to say he hasn't returned home one time while Offender babysat the proxies and was genuinely happy. Something drastic happened, or he was waiting until he discovered a drastic event. And the one time they didn't actually do anything wrong, he was too suspicious to enjoy the peace.

But nonetheless, Offender is the co-owner of the proxies. Operators don't usually need one, but it's always a good idea if something happens to the owner or if the owner goes on frequent business trips (such as Slender).

But being the 'cool fun uncle' of the proxies, means they'll usually lean toward Offender more for both fun and advice, feeling much more open with him from bonding experiences of getting out of trouble.

If anyone went to Slender, they know they would receive a whole lecture about 'doing the right thing' and to 'not be a knucklehead' about things. While Offender just tells them to do whatever the hell they want and worry about the consequences later.

This pisses Slender off because it's usually said to Toby, who is now attempting to climb the curtains to clean them, and will eventually fall seven feet when they can't bear his weight.

They also go to Offender, knowing he will most likely say yes to whatever they ask.

It got tot he point where Slender had to revoke some of his privileges since he started granting proxies asking for a day off (it became once a week to every other day of someone missing work and screwing up missions).

"I think you're jealous because I'm the fun one."

A beat.

"Jealous?"

"Yes." Offender crossed his arms in the leather seat across from Slender's desk.

"You think I'm jealous that you are ruining my income that supports your addiction to cheetos?"

"Yes."

"You're sadly mistaken, brother."

"...Yes." Offender admits in defeat.

Slender was happy be bought the factual statement instead of pressing on like he usually does. Because why would someone, a stickler like Slender, be jealous of letting the proxies break the rules?

Well, sometimes Slender wishes he could be the fun dad, but work comes first.

[kaigarax]

Spring

Doma x Reader

Quote: "Fall in love because of a single moment."

When Doma had been assigned to watch over you he wasn’t quite sure what he should expect. Sure, he’d known that you were a demon and very important to the mission but just exactly what he couldn’t even begin to fathom. He had, of course, had his own assumptions like you being a lower class demon (hence you needing protection) and you having a special sort of blood or mutation but none of them seemed to come close to what ultimately was you until you were finally there standing before him.

“Doma.” You give a pleasant and practiced smile. Your hair is pulled back traditionally and your clothes are pristine and without blemishes. Of course, Doma thinks, someone like you would have nothing but the best.

He, upon instructions, was to wait for you on the outskirts of a very busy town. It’s one of the more modern looking ones with a large amount of demons running amok and even more humans to feed them.

Over population at its best.

He, who had arrived at the described location at the exact time he was told to, feels ebbs of annoyance nipping away at his practiced smile. Why should you get the privilege of being late when he was perfectly (as always) on time? He ponders scolding you though he knows that it’ll only be a waste of time; that nothing important will be accomplished; and he’ll likely be scolded for his immature behaviour. As if he would ever be called immature.

You lean in towards him, as if waiting for him to say something in response to you.

He feels a shiver run up and down his spine at your scent. It isn’t exactly mouth watering but strangely alluring.

Upon first glance, it almost looks as though there’s a slight flush to your cheeks but Doma quickly writes it off as a trick of the light. Afterall he can’t hear the beat of your heart so how could you have blood pumping through your veins?

“Doma-sama.” He corrects.

You chuckle, “not to me.”

His body stiffens and his fist clench at that. He thinks of how easily it would be to just end you here and now. How he’d have you begging for your life within seconds. But, that would be an overreaction - and something as pathetic and weak as you certainly didn’t warrant such an emotional reaction from him. You’re just so brash and over confident. So… human like.

Doma thinks that you are, perhaps, even more human than humans themselves.

Of course, upon closer inspection, Doma can see the slight differences that would set you aside. It’s a smile that’s just a smidget too perfect, slow movements which seem more calculated and relaxed than the normal fidgety humans; and lastly there’s your eyes. They’re nothing to write home about; don’t hold rainbows or are a shade so vibrant or brilliant that they demand attention. In fact they’re actually quite ordinary if not for the words etched onto where your pupils would be.

Wisteria.

Spider Lily.

He’d almost find himself fascinated if not for the annoyingly calm expression on your face. It mirrors his own and for some reason that annoys him. The annoyance is only ever so slightly but annoying nonetheless.

Did you scream when the words had been etched on?

Did you cry?

Did you stand there as emotionless as you seem now?

You must’ve cried. Any normal human would have and you certainly don’t seem much different from the humans he’s known. And boy has he known many different humans. Humans have progressed quite far as a society, in his humble opinion. Always coming up with different and fascinating ways of closing the gap between their humanity and the superior race that he is. Of course, most humans don’t even know of demons in the first place and the gap is much larger than anyone human could ever fathom.

Doma wonders if you know of that distance.

If you see how far a demon is from a human. How far away he is from you. You definitely don’t seem to know the latter of those two statements.

Just another stupid little girl.

Well, Doma has to scold himself, that obviously can’t be true. Why else would he, Upper Moon Six, be assigned to you in the first place if not for the fact that there was something special about you. Something that made you different from everyone else.

Doma feels a laugh bubble in his chest at the thought of that, “stupid girl.”

You laugh along with him. It’s not a very pretty laugh and comes out in short uneven spurts and it only furthers his own assessment. Your laugh reminds him of when the girls from the cult would giggle about his looks when they think he can’t hear. Something reminiscent of childhood and naivety. Not that Doma really knows much of either. He, afterall, was never quite a normal child and he was never naive to the world around him.

His own laughter dies down much faster than yours, “what?”

“It’s been a long time since I’ve been a girl.”

He raises a brow, ever so slightly.

“And it is quite a shame. I quite miss the days of my youth.”

“So then just stupid?” Doma suggested.

Your eyes, for the briefest of moments, shine with brilliance. The moment is so quick and startling that Doma wouldn’t have believed it to have happened if not for the fact that he was present there himself.

But just as quick as the flash of brilliance is there it’s gone.

And you’re just there.

Smiling pleasantly.

Looking ever so human.

And ever so boring.

But it’s such a shame. Doma thinks that if you had managed to keep that spark to yourself for just a moment longer he would have missed it and you wouldn’t be confined to such a fate. That this brief few years the two of you would spend would have simply just passed. But of course, there was something special about you. Why else would you need protection?

Why else would he be here?

Why else would you?

“I suppose that’s all a matter of perspective.”

“Yes,” Doma smiles, a real smile, “I suppose it is.”

There isn’t much that has ever interested Doma. Not much he has ever felt for long periods of time and not much that seemed to stir those feelings in him in the first place. His own comfort, wants and needs seem to come before everything and everyone else. Apart from, of course, him. But even he never commanded much from the man.

Perhaps Doma’s lack of emotions and empathy stems from his own unusual upbringing. From the moment of his birth he was placed on a pedestal. In a position above others where he was meant to be worshiped. Meant to be admired and awed at.

You, perhaps, aren’t on the same level but could be the next closest thing.

And because there isn’t much that the man seems to find interest in then he only finds you all the more fascinating. All the more exciting. And it’s almost as strange as it is thrilling. You, this strange girl. This strange series of events. But, Doma thinks, brilliance is not common in a world such as this. In a world where everything is just so… ordinary.

Who’d have thought just a single moment would be enough to entrance him so.

Doma, in every sense of the word, has never been a nice person. Never been the kind of person that did something that didn’t benefit him in some sorta way. Some, a very strange and foolish some, would consider it a privilege to have caught Doma’s attention. But others, intelligent and wise others, would know it to be anything but.

He’d break you.

Piece by piece.

Part by part.

Ever so slowly. Ever so surely.

Just to catch even the slightest of glimpses at that brilliance once again. It is, perhaps, one of the only things worthy of standing at his side. One of the only things capable of being to keep up with him. He is, afterall, the equivalent of a God.

“Head in the clouds?” You ask.

Doma flashes you a practiced smile in response.

You raise a brow as if waiting for Doma to further elaborate on his response but he doesn't comply. Won’t comply. He can’t, afterall, let you get everything you want. Perhaps holding things from you would be the key to further unlocking that brilliance he so craves. Bring him closer to that moment of reprieve he so desperately craves; that he so desperately seeks. Oh how exciting! His heart, if he had one, would most certainly be racing in his chest. The closest thing he’s ever felt to joy.

A young girl, running to the outskirts of town, bumps head first into Doma. She’s a pathetic looking thing. Her clothes look old and worn and her colouring is common. There’s nothing remarkable about her except perhaps for her youth. Youth, afterall, is something that can only be lost.

Doma’s eyes narrow in on the girl, and he watches her with a curious tilt of his head.

Her eyes widen with fear as she attempts to push herself away from the man.

Doma, who spends quite a large amount of his time with humans, is suddenly confused. Humans aren’t scared of him unless he’s done something they deem frightening. Unless he’s done something they deem as bad. And right now he’s certain he hasn’t placed a single foot out of line. Though, in defense of the pathetic thing, his eyes are quickly narrowing and he feels his hunger begin to gnaw away at his chest.

Oh, he’d certainly give her something to cry over.

He’s quick.

But you’re quicker.

“Are you okay, little Miss?” You ask, pulling the girl away from Doma and into a grasp of your own.

Her eyes seem to soften and she gives you a soft smile, “yes ma’am.”

“Well, you best head off to accomplish whatever task you’ve set out to do before you’re scolded for loitering around.” You turn her back towards the village, “best to watch where you’re running, Little Miss. You never know what kinda people you might run into at a time like this.”

There’s confusion on her little face but she shrugs it off as she runs back into town.

Doma curiosity for you grows as he watches you with such an expression. You let the little thing go. Of course you let it go. He almost scolds himself for even being slightly surprised at your actions. He’s never known demons to be so… empathetic. But perhaps it has to do something with what makes you so special to him. What makes you so important that even he needs to spend his time babysitting you. Sure, you’re a demon but everything about you is just so different from what he thinks should be. So far from what he had initially assumed in the first place. So… human.

And the irony is almost as amusing as it is annoying. But only almost.

“Do it again.” Doma commands.

You smile, “do what? Help a human child? I hope you know that would require me actively going back into the town to find someone and observe them long enough to see if they even need help in the first place.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“Then what is it that you’d like me to do again?”

“You know what it is.”

“No, I’m fairly certain I don’t.”

“You-” Doma cuts himself off. He’s, once again, letting that tugging in his chest determine his actions and words instead of his brain and intellect. Well, people have always said that you become similar to those you hang around too often. And perhaps he’s been spending too much time with the brainless and thoughtless woman in his cult.

Cherry blossoms flutter down from the trees above.

“It’s Spring.” You say.

Doma raises a brow.

Your eyes shine, “I’ve never been a big fan of the Spring.”

“Ha,” Doma laughs, “me neither.”

Fall in love because of a single moment.