#why does he look like a gopher

[ma1zeb1te]

<3

[luveline]

Oooooo carmy request: him being jealous of readers friendship w richie cos they re like buddys and he thinks she doesn't like him cos shes not like that w him

—you realise what Carmy wants from you. fem, 1.4k

Richie isn’t technically an upstanding citizen, but he’s a good guy. 

“I’m telling you, sweetheart, you just need to be more aggressive.” 

You’re sitting on a stool behind the counter filling the ketchup and mayonnaise bottles with the huge ones from the walk-in. Richie isn’t doing much of anything, which is fine by you; he’s good entertainment for a shitty job. 

“I don’t want to be more aggressive, I want people to be nicer.” 

“We don’t get what we want,” he mutters. 

You frown expressively. “Aw, baby, we don’t get what we want. You don’t get what you want, huh?” 

“What’s your problem?” he asks, though he laughs brightly. “You’re the fucking baby. You’re not doing that right.” 

You point at your extremely slow drip of ketchup. “No, you think? I know I’m doing it wrong, Richie. Doing it right is a lot of arm effort. Have you seen my arms?” 

“You’ve got muscle.” Richie lifts your arm up by the wrist. “Flex. Flex your arm.” 

“I’m flexing. You can’t see that?” 

“What are you guys doing?” Carmy asks. 

He comes up behind Richie and they’re almost twins. Not in appearance —Carmy’s lighter facially and broader physically— but in stance, their mussed up aprons and the rags on their shoulders a uniform. 

You flex. “Weight training.” 

Richie drops your arm. “I’m showing her how to fill the sauce bottles.” 

“And you didn’t know how to do that?” Carmy asks you. 

“I’m the one that taught Richie.” You absolutely didn’t teach Richie how to do it, that much is obvious. Richie laughs heartily, and Carmy frowns, and you realise that Richie thinks you’re both laughing at Carmy, which isn’t what was happening. Not totally. 

It’s hard to navigate The Beef without Mikey; Carmy is nothing like his brother, and Richie’s an asshole. 

Carmy nods at you. You’re worried his lip is gonna curl like it does when he’s mad and you’re gonna get told to do something you’re uninterested in, but it’s Richie who gets punished. “Can you finish Sydney’s prep?” 

“Why can’t she do it?” 

“Her stomach thing. It’s just onions.” 

Richie wants to argue, but can’t. He’s paid a wage to work. “Fine. But tell Syd I’m not her gopher.” 

Richie saunters away. 

“He’s not her gopher,” you tease when he’s out of earshot, to Carmy’s surprised delight. “God, Carm, don’t you know anything?” 

Your Richie impression isn’t your best. Carmy must enjoy it, still smiling to himself as his attention is turned to the register, where he begins wiping down the keys. 

“Is that really the way to do that?” he asks, gesturing to your sauce bottles. 

You’ve turned the cap upside down, feeding sauce into the bottle one drip at a time. It would be quicker to remove the cap entirely and pour straight from the big bottle, but that sometimes requires three hands, the big jugs are that heavy. 

“Despite what you might think, Carm, I’ve thought it through.” 

“You sure?” 

You could get defensive. When Carmy first took over the restaurant, you thought, What the fuck, Mikey. Leave your shithole restaurant to your world class brother and get your entire roster of staff fired in one fell swoop. But Carmy never fired you, hasn’t cut your hours, doesn’t treat you like an asshole. He is a jerk, that much is certain during busy dinner service, but he has yet to take it too far. (Ish.)

So you won’t defend your laziness, or expect him to like it. You get up from your stool and turn the cap right side up, tapping what’s yet to drip through the spout into the bottle. You set the cap aside, and you uncap the big ketchup to decant sauce until the bottle is full. 

Carmy glances at you from the corner of your eye. He looks at you, looks away again. 

You think he might like you. In the don’t have a choice, grown on him like moss way. He gets cagey when you and Richie are having fun, and he stares altogether too much, but he can be pretty when he’s smiling (or really yelling) and he has nice hands, and nice arms. He has a nice way of saying things. You don’t mind his attention.

There have been worse bosses to want to push you up against a wall. 

Not that you think Carmy could. He whines like a bitch at you for stupid shit, but Carmen Berzatto shoving you into a wall for a rough kiss? That’s never gonna happen. 

And yet… his frown tells a different story. 

“Why do you get so weird about me and Richie?” you ask. 

“I don’t get weird about you and Richie.” 

You open the mayonnaise bottle and set the cap aside. “He’s nicer than you think.” 

“Yeah?” He sounds vaguely depressed, which isn’t uncharacteristic. Seriousness colours his voice with a strange charm. “I’ll take your word for it.” 

“He is, he makes me laugh. He makes sure I eat, he shouts at guys when they’re mean to me.” 

“Who’s mean to you?” 

“Carmy.” You give up on the mayonnaise and wipe your hands down your apron, to his ire. You’d prefer not to smell like egg and oil during this conversation, but it’s better than smelling like burnt chicken, sort of. “Richie’s a nice guy, whether you agree or not.” 

“That’s great, I’m glad he’s so nice to you.” He sounds angry now, but he’s stuck as you are —walking away is losing. 

You really don’t get it. “Is he not supposed to be nice to me?” you ask. 

“He can do what he wants. You can do what you want.”

You laugh, and hope to diffuse the situation with a joke, “Okay, thanks for your permission, Chef.” 

“Fuck off.” 

He sounds less tense, but not fixed. And you might find it harder to keep up with him, constantly wanting to impress him, knowing you can’t, but you’re not out of touch. You aren’t a huge dick. 

Carmy beats you to it. “I was kidding, about the bottles. You can do it how you want.” 

“I wasn’t offended.” 

“But you don’t– with Richie, you– I don’t know what I’m doing wrong with you.” 

You look him up and down, lengths of his arms, tattoos and the cut over his elbow. His clean t-shirt, his neck, the strong line of his nose and his bright eyes. 

“You’re not doing anything wrong,” you say, smiling at him, knowing your expression says lots of weird stuff. 

Working here in the kitchen makes a busy atmosphere normal. Richie’s telling a story at the top of his lungs, Angel’s swearing about a dropped plate, knives scratch on boards and ovens hum. Being overwhelmed is something you’re good at, and big feelings don’t scare you. 

“You’re jealous of Richie?” you ask, playfully pitying. “Get it together.” 

“Fuck off,” he says again. 

“Seriously? Richie Jerimovich. He’s telling Tina a story right now about how the last date he went on ended with her asking if he’d ever been abducted by aliens.” 

“I’m not jealous of Richie.” 

“No, I don’t think you are,” you say, taking a step too close, and refusing to take the step back. 

Carmy doesn’t look mad anymore. 

You wonder if anybody’s ever held his hand. You used to think he must’ve had a ton of girlfriends, he got so famous everywhere he went, but… He looks like he’s never been this close to someone before. Like you’re making him nervous. 

“Me and Richie are friends,” you say quietly. “Is that what you want us to be?” 

His hand twitches at his side. 

“There, cousin, I cut the fucking onions. You happy?” Richie asks, and laughs as he steps back out to the front of house, unaware of the tension. “That’d be the day, right?” 

“Yes, Richie, I’m happy you did your job. Thank you.” 

“Was that hard for you, baby?” you ask Richie with a pout. “Here, let me kiss your poor hands.” 

Richie gives you the bird with both of them. 

You look to Carmy. Making fun of Richie together isn’t quite as good as holding hands, but you hope it’s a start. 

Carmy catches on, can’t hide his grin, “There’s tylenol in the office if you need it, cousin.”  

“Are your wrists feeling tender?” you prompt. “Or is that motion one you’re used to?” 

Carmy laughs and the sound takes on the shape of his smile, nearly giddy. 

“Fuck both of you.” 

[v-writes]

wip wednesday

Captured King snippet 2

part 1 part 3 ao3

Zatanna's wards had held Phantom unconscious for transport to the Watchtower, but would grow less reliable over time. The ghost shield the Justice League had been provided appeared to work during transport to the Watchtower, having had to be turned off and of again to pass through, but according to the GIW Phantom had a history of being able to get around them.

More reliable would be the custom restraints Zatanna had made, Phantom had stared at them in shock upon waking in the cell, before placing his shaking hands on the table he was cuffed to. Four custom sigils, two on each wrist, chained to a magically reinforced interrogation table.

Clark turned as Diana and Zatanna entered the observation room, each with a coffee in hand, "didn't bring a cup for Batman and I? I'm hurt."

"I know you are, I was there. And I hear the Medical Bay has its own private cafeteria and coffee pot."

Zatanna raises a perfect eyebrow, "do I look like a coffee gopher to you?"

"Ah, that's-"

Diana and Zatanna make eye contact, before laughing together, Diana leans pointedly on Clark as Zatanna asks "any updates?"

"Nothing solid," Clark sighs, "we thought we'd try talking to him individually to see if that changed how he responded, if he would be more open if he weren't outnumbered, but he just ignores us both, he'll look up to see who entered then go back to staring at his chains."

"That's not entirely true." Batman says.

"How could I forget, he flinched when I entered but not when Batman entered, anything else you want to add about his body language?"

"Hn."

Diana nods, "it makes sense, he has been in several fights with you, but not with Batman."

"Frankly I'm stunned the two of you thought could pull off unintimidating considering the past fights and your whole deal," she gestures to all of Batman, winking, "no offense Batsy."

"Hn."

"You think we should send in the one who put that bruise around his neck? Or the one who is responsible for his custom restraints?"

"Point taken. But I was actually thinking the Captain? You know, the one you used to get the drop on him? I saw the recordings, send him in as Billy and Phantom will talk."

"We aren't contacting Captain Marvel until school releases."

"Right. Middle of the night? No problem, what teenager has a sleep schedule anyway? But god forbid we interrupt Biology."

"It would be Language Arts at the moment actually."

"Why do you know that? Are you counting down until the school day ends?"

"Hn."

"Of course you are."

"You know," Wonder Woman starts carefully, "his cooperation with Captain Marvel isn't a guarantee, but there is another way."

Superman shrugs her arm off of his shoulder, "Wonder Woman-"

"Are we not in agreement about wanting information that does not come from the GIW themselves?" She gestures, lasso in hand, towards Phantom through the one way glass. "There information sits."

"Yes, but Diana-"

"It wouldn't be admissible in court."

Diana looks between Superman and Batman for a moment before sighing. "Politics."

"This isn't an alien invasion," Superman placates, "we need to be cognizant of how we handle this, not just that we handle this."

"I know, I know, as I said, 'politics'. That he can, or rather, has flattened a building with a yell and gone toe to toe with us makes him our business, but we aren't the USA's dogs"

The door to the observation room opens, Batman's eyes narrowing behind the cowl, "you're supposed to be in class."

"You thought I would listen to you and go to school after last night? How are you surprised, don't you have kids?" Captain Marvel does not even attempt to look ashamed.

"He really has no excuse, they don't listen to him either," Red Hood, sans signature red helmet enters, a domino in its place, and a manila folder in his hand.

Red Robin follows him, "he doesn't even have custody of me, but don't tell him that, he likes to pretend."

"This is a restricted access area, associated with a classified investigation."

"Nope." Red Hood steps to stand in front of Batman, taking the lead of the new trio to enter.

"Excuse me?"

"It's our investigation now old man."

"That's not your call to make-"

The computer terminal activates, lighting the room in green Oracle's symbol takes over the screen, static clicks over the Justice League communicators and computer speakers before Oracle's voice, computerized and clear comes over them.

"And he didn't make it, I did. And we've been busy."

Captain Marvel smiles, stubbornly bright, "I emailed her after you tried to bench me. You would not believe the stuff you can find on the GIW when you don't respect the government. Here's a flash drive from Oracle, I've had a lot of fun, and come to the conclusion that she's terrifying."

Red Robin snickers, "did you need the wisdom of Solomon to figure that out?"

"O, the Watchtower servers are on a closed network."

"I thought we were past you underestimating me? The drive is more for general JL use, I've already uploaded copies to our servers."

"I'm referring to the guests you gave Zeta access to."

"Oh that wasn't me."

"That was my idea," Captain marvel scratches the back of his head bashfully, not making eye contact with Batman, but not apologizing either.

"Without prior notice or Trinity approval?"

Diana takes a long sip of her coffee. "While I am neither 'the World's Greatest Detective', nor an investigative journalist, I have picked up how to best get around certain 'politics' issues. For what it's worth, Oracle was already on the case when I reached out to her."

"Speaking of ways around politics," Red hood steps towards the door to the interrogation room, Superman starts to move towards him, but stops when Wonder Woman puts a hand on his shoulder. "While you lot have been keeping your hands clean, we've been doing actual work-"

"In fact Oracle is still working."

"Yes, thank you O, you're amazing and their servers are weird, Red Robin can handle filling you lot in, I'm gonna go get Phantom to open up."

Red Hood slams the door open, Phantom's gaze snaps to him, eyes narrowing, "yo Danny!"

[blackreaderfics]

Princess Treatment | Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

↳ Pairing : TitansDC!Jason Todd x shy!Reader

↳ Rating :  E

↳ Summary : After losing a bet, Jason is at your beck and call for the rest of the year. Pt. 2 of Wildcard

↳ W.C : ~5k

↳ Tags + Warnings: references to the previous fic, banter, oral (female receiving), face-sitting, grinding, shyish!reader x tsundereish!jason, reader wears glasses, jason is still a kind of dickhead but less of the dick and more of the giving head, once again side characters are there (rachel, rose, gar, conner, and dickkory)  

“Y’know if you wanted DoorDash, there’s a little something called ‘the App Store’. Just thought you might like to know.” 

You glanced up from the book you were reading on your bed and, sure enough, there was a certain messy-haired boy glowering back at you, hand stuffed in one pocket with the other cradling a plastic bag full of your Bat Burger order.

He unceremoniously plopped the bag on the desk by your bed.

“And why would I do that, when I have you?” You said simply trying to emulate Rose’s confident way of speech.

You sat up, closing your book to examine the plastic bag. It had been a week since you, Rachel, and Rose had all agreed on the terms of your agreement. The boys—Jason, Conner, and Gar had all lost a bet over Game Night, and as one does, had to bear the consequences of being the girls’ gophers, or as Rose liked to call it “errand bitches”, for the rest of the year.

Thanks to Game Night, Jason was your gopher. That night had been the first night you’d spoken at length to Jason other than greetings or pleasantries. While Rachel and Rose had readily accepted their new positions of power, it was almost daunting for you to tell the King of Back-Sass himself what to do.

You started small at first, asking him for simple things like opening jars or reaching high places. It wasn’t until Conner and Gar had seen how sparingly you were ordering him around that they started to complain. 

“If they see Jason barely doing anything, then they’re not gonna listen to us Y/N. And then the whole integrity of the bet gets thrown off. What’s gonna be the point of making bets in the first place if we don’t follow through?” Rachel hissed at you between sparring trainings.

It was agreed that any time you were near Dick (or any other older Titan for that matter) that the agreement was off. If Dick had caught any whiff of the bet, he’d probably ban Game Night—or worse, lecture them on how divisions on the basis of gender would erode teamwork on the field and blah blah blah.

From then on, you agreed to give Jason more orders. Or at least, the illusion of keeping him busy so Rachel and Rose would get off your back. Making Jason your personal UberEats seemed to do the trick. And it actually worked for a few days until… it didn’t. 

You opened the bag and wrinkled your nose at the half-eaten Bat Burger and a handful of fries. You didn’t get mad, you rarely ever did, but this was certainly annoying. 

“Jason,” You said giving him a withering look.

“What? You should be glad I saved you some. Besides, princess,” He said sarcastically, "You can’t just be eating anything. I’m testing for poison.” He reached into the bag and snatched a single fry. He took a bite and chewed for a moment thoughtfully. “Yep, all clear. Anything else you need?”

Jason was clearly testing your patience, pushing your buttons and the limits of your authority. At this rate, the few days he actually listened to you seemed too good to be true.

“No, just—I don’t need anything.” You cursed yourself for stammering and felt yourself fluster seeing his smug face. “Can you please just leave?” You got up from the bed to shoo him away.

“You’re not really good at this are you?” He snorted, dodging your lunge at him to leave the room. 

“That’s not how this works.” You took a breath to compose yourself and adjusted your glasses from falling off your nose. “We have an agreement that you follow my orders. And I just ordered you to do something, so you can go now.”

“Yea, I understand that perfectly fine.” He crossed his arms and tilted his head as if in pity. “It’s just… you’re not good at it.” He laughed again. 

You rolled your eyes. “I don’t need to be good at it if that’s what was agreed.” He was implying you were meek, and maybe that was true, but that wasn’t even the whole point of the agreement. Leave it to Jason to be difficult about something as simple as this.

“I get that but, at least make it believable. You know, ‘cuz then maybe I’d actually be inclined to play along.”

You shot him a weirded out look under his scrutiny. “You’re unbelievable. I’ll leave.” You made a move for the door but Jason quickly stepped in the way. Annoying.

“I’m serious, I swear. Why do you think we all listen to Dick?”

“We listen to Dick. You’re the one that doesn’t.”

He grinned. “Ok, fair enough. But, why do you all listen to Dick?”

“I don’t know, maybe because he’s a good leader?” You threw up your hands in exasperation. “What’s your point, Jason? You’re starting to sound like him.”

“Ok first, I’m disgusted you’d even say that. And second, my point is Dick doesn’t say ‘can you please leave?’ He doesn’t ask. He either tells you or makes you.”

You stared blankly at him, but he seemed eager to make a point. “You want me to act like Dick? That way you’ll listen to me?”

“Well, no ‘cuz that wouldn’t really work, remember?” The corner of his mouth quirked up. He was all too happy to get on your nerves now. “What I’m saying is you need to Make. Me. Listen.” He leaned in a little bit, letting his voice lower as he emphasized the words.

How're you a virgin when you're takin' my cock this good, hm?

“Ugh.” You shuddered, his voice by your ear involuntarily taking you back to that night you both seemed to pretend never happened. You pushed him away, having grown tired of his smug face. When you stepped towards the door again, he rushed over and closed it shut. “Oh for God’s sake.”

You tried to step around him to no avail. 

“Move.” You glowered.

Jason's eyebrows raised slightly, almost impressed. “Acceptable.” He stepped aside to let you pass. 

As you walked through the hallway, you could hear Jason’s soft footsteps behind you.

You whipped around. “Stop following me.”

“I’m not ‘following you’, there’s only one hallway. If anything you’re in my way.” He shrugged. The look on his face bore no emotion but you swore you could see amusement twinkle in his eye.

Just ahead, Dick was walking in your direction sipping on a steaming mug of coffee. 

“Y/N, Jason! Glad to see you two getting along.”

Your frustration dissipated at the sight of the chipper man. On the field, he was as serious as can be, but off the field, he was as intimidating as a substitute teacher. 

You and Dick’s eyes both followed after Jason, who hadn’t bothered to stop and say hello. The elder brother only shook his head with a good-natured sigh and returned his attention back to you.

“I’ve noticed you warming up to everyone lately. With the other girls, I mean. You, Rose, and Rachel really seem to be a good team, especially during our practices. Even Jason is playing nice with the others. He can be a bit abrasive sometimes but these days, I can see he’s making progress with teamwork too.”

“Thanks uh- I guess it’s all thanks to you. Game Nights really helped us to get closer.” 

“Glad to hear it.” He patted you on the shoulder and turned the corner to the computer room.

When you walked into the living room, you heard everyone exhale in relief. 

“What?” You looked around quizzically. Game Night Crew had gathered again on the couches, this time—thankfully—fully clothed.

“We thought you were Grayson,” Rose called from the couch. “He almost caught us the first time.”

Caught? Doing what?

You weren’t entirely prepared for what you saw but Rose and Rachel were concentrating hard on painting Conner and Gar’s nails.

“Are you completely sure this is vegan?”

“Yes, now hold still.” Rose admonished Gar, applying another coat with professional precision.

Rachel looked up from her handiwork with Conner’s hand. She wordlessly tossed a look from you to Jason who was currently looking more interested in whatever was in the fridge than at the group in the living room. Her face clearly read, make him do something now. You sent her back a look that read, fine.

You cleared your throat. “Jason.” You tried to muster up as much authority as you could. Knowing what you knew now, you knew he wouldn’t budge at the slightest tremor of your voice.

“Hn.” Was his only response, but at least you knew you caught his attention. When he turned, you locked eyes on his. “Come here, ple—I mean. Come here.”

You watched him crack a smile. He closed the refrigerator door and ambled over. So far so good.

He didn’t seem to register anyone else in the room. He only tilted his head, waiting for the next direction.

“Sit down.”

He paused as if contemplating whether or not to answer to an instruction one gave a dog thinly veiled as an order. Even so, he sat. Well, that was easy enough, you thought to yourself. It was almost comical to see him be so obedient.

“Give me your hand.” You primed.

You could see his hesitation as you reached for the nearest nail polish bottle, but it was erased as soon as you met his gaze again. 

“That’s… not my color.”

“Of course.” You picked up a burgundy red. “How could I forget?”

He sneered at your teasing but still allowed your light hold under the palm of his hand.

“Why does he get a choice and we don’t?” Gar pouted, looking longingly at a green bottle of nail polish

“I kinda like the black.” Conner shrugged and gave his other unpolished hand to Rachel.

“You can never go wrong with black.” Rachel agreed.

Jason grimaced as he watched the polish coat his nail. It was wholly apparent that under any other circumstance, he would’ve never allowed you to do this, but you were thankful that he liked to keep whatever honor he had to words. Under the agreement and as long as you spoke to him with confidence, he would listen.

౨ৎ

The next week Dick had decided that based on the success of Game Night with team morale, an outing would be another great chance for the younger members of the team to get closer. That’s why you were now sitting at the beach and squinting the sun out of your eyes. 

You had volunteered to watch everyone’s stuff while they explored the bordering pier. Jason had practically disappeared the moment his flip-flops hit the sand.

It was nice to be out just to be out, not in the field on a mission. Titan’s tower felt like one giant bubble and it was easy to forget that there was life outside being a hero. 

You settled into people-watching as you waited for the rest of the group to return. There was a group of teens playing volleyball by the net, a family of three showing their toddler how to make a sandcastle, and couples—lots of couples. 

“You not gonna go to the pier?”

You were in the middle of gazing wistfully at a couple that was sharing their ice cream when you felt a shadow over you.

“I’m watching everyone’s stuff until they get back.” You squinted up at him. Even with your hat on, it was an incredibly bright summer day.

Jason plopped down on the beach towel next to you. He was wearing swim trunks and an unbuttoned linen shirt which didn’t do much to hide the lean cuts of muscle on his abdomen. Judging by his damp curls, he had just returned from a swim in the ocean.

“I can watch,” He jutted his chin in the direction of the pier. “You should go.”

“Maybe in a little bit.” You dug your feet into the sand, feeling the warmth tingle your toes. You didn’t feel like leaving your spot just yet.

He reached behind you for his towel and bent a bit over to muss his hair dry. You were close enough to feel the tiny droplets of water tickle your skin.

“Do you have to do that right next to me?” You said, not incredibly annoyed though—the water felt cool. It was enough to make you want to go for a swim to cool down too.

“Sorry,” he said a bit sheepishly, peeking up at you from beneath the towel. His hair, now much drier and fluffed, made him look somewhat like a puppy. Cute.

You gave him a small smile before returning your attention to the ebbing and receding of the ocean tide.

“Got a lot on your mind?” 

You quickly broke your stare from the water to see that Jason was still looking at up you, eyebrow cocked in curiosity. It was the look he gave you that always made you think he didn’t quite get you. A fascinated look that made you feel like you were another species under his gaze.

“I was just thinking it’s nice to take a break and be normal for a change.”

“Normal?”

“Like,” you gestured vaguely around the beach. “Everyone here. No missions, no bad guys. Normal.”

“Yea, hanging out?” he snorted, “We do that all the time.”

Jason had been a cape since before you’d even met Dick and the rest of the group. You were still getting used to your new way of life. He was either being willfully obtuse or he really just didn’t understand you at all. You and Jason were opposites after all. Your quiet and shy often clashed with his bold and boisterous.

“I don’t mean just hanging out, I mean other stuff too.”

The couple you had seen earlier caught your eye again. They were now sitting on a beach towel further ahead of where you were. They looked like they were in their own world, nudging each other playfully in laughter. If you hadn’t joined the Titans what would you be doing now?

He followed your line of sight, gazing silently at the couple for a moment before flickering his eyes away to the water.

“We could do other stuff.”  

You expected him to be smirking at you like he usually did when he teased or made a joke, but he wasn’t looking at you anymore. When you glanced at him you could see a faint flush on his cheeks. Probably from the heat.

You shook your head, realizing what you implied and trying now to take it back. “I didn’t mean with you, I mean with regular people.”

“What? Like it makes a difference?”

“Well, yea fundamentally. Gar can turn into animals, Rachel has a demon trapped inside her, Rose can’t die, Conner is Superboy. You’re...”

He frowned at your pause. “Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence.”

You let out a laugh, happy that you’d annoyed him for a change.

“Well, by your logic,” he began, pointedly ignoring your laughter, “then we’re the most normal Titans here.”

He had a point. You didn’t have any special powers either but Dick had taken you in just the same.

“If you want to be a regular person for a day, I guess, now’s as good a time as any.” He shrugged noncommittally as he rose from his spot on the sand. Jason took your wrist and gently pulled you on your feet. “C’mon, before they get here.”

You furrowed your brow, worried about your unguarded post but you were relieved that Game Night crew were already on their way back.

You heard them before you could fully spot them. Conner and Gar had been happily chatting away at the head of the group. Rachel and Rose were holding prizes from the boardwalk games. Dick and Kory, being the ones that drove you here, rounded out the back of the small crowd. Kory seemed to have found delight in the terrestrial delicacy, cotton candy.

After having guided you through the throngs of pedestrians to the main attractions, he released his hold on your wrist and gestured around theatrically as he spoke, "Now we’re just two regular people at the boardwalk. There’s the very normal Ferris Wheel, normal Whack-a-Mole, normal churros gotta love those—”

“I get it,” you laughed cutting him off before he could rattle on everything within visible range around you.

"Nah, I don't think you do, but you're lucky you have me to show you. Watch this."

You shot him a skeptical look and followed after to a target shot game booth. Arrays of red targets were displayed in rows while giant stuffed animals hung along the back wall.

"Which one you want?" He pulled out a few bills to hand the attendant and passed you a few of the colorful balls for you to play a round too.

You pointed at a giant brown teddy bear hanging by its ears.

Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

One by one the targets fell in succession. He held the last ball in his hand and after a moment of thought, lobbed it lightly askew and letting it fall short of any target.

He gave you a smug smile and collected the teddy bear before handing it off to you.

"You call that normal?" You said incredulously, but still accepting the bear in your arms.

"What? I missed that last one."

"Sure." Jason was nothing if not terrifyingly accurate.

You played a few more games, amassing a trove of arcade treasures for each other, both of you trying your best not to be too good at the games. As you ventured down the boardwalk, you couldn't help but find your eyes linger on the young couples that surrounded you.

"When you said 'other stuff' earlier, you meant like dating stuff, right?" He said innocently between bites of funnel cake. You had decided to rest and were currently sitting down in a shaded food court, stuffed animals in tow.

You contemplated denying it but saw no reason to keep it from him. This revelation being objectively less embarrassing than the time you revealed you were still a virgin during a round of “Never Have I Ever.”

Taking your silence as an answer, he continued. "Well, since we're still doing normal shit we could try that."

You tried not to gape at him. “T-then we’d just be faking it. It wouldn’t be real...”

“So? How would you know real from fake if you've never dated anyone before?"

“Where did you get that from? I never said I didn’t date anyone before.”

“W-well I just assumed since—"

“I’ve been on dates, Jason. I’ve just never had sex.” You retorted.

“Well, Technically. We kinda, y’know..."

You don't know how fucking pretty you look with my cock in your mouth, Y/N

You pursed your lips, mind flashing to his moans, him begging you to put your mouth on him, the sloppy makeout session with him after he'd punished his cock down your throat. That’s the whole reason you guys were even talking this much now. The bet. 

This is the first time you addressed that sexcapade since it happened and it's just been this weird tension ever since. It was the elephant-sized weirdness in the room, whenever you guys were around each other. You wondered faintly if Rachel and Rose were having the same issues after that night too.

"But if you don’t want to…"

"Fine."

"I-Oh,” He stammered as if he hadn’t thought that far ahead. “Ok...um what do you want me to do?" He rubbed the back of his neck, this time the tips of his ears tinged a faint pink.

“I don’t know." You felt yourself blush, "Act like you like me.”

He blinked back his surprise, bemused. “And what would that entail exactly?”

“You know what it entails.” You scoffed, exasperated.

“Not really no. I wouldn’t know something like that.” He recovered the annoying twinkle he usually carried in his eyes.

“I’d rather not do this if you’re going to make fun of me.”

“I’m joking. You mean act like your boyfriend and whatnot. I got it.”

In one swift motion, he leaned in closer and pressed a soft kiss to your lips. The powdered sugar was still sweet on his tongue but as quickly as it started, you could already feel him pulling away.

"W-why did you do that? At least warn me first.”

"'Cuz that’s not what boyfriends do.

“Are you the boyfriend expert now?”

“I happen to be,” He smirked. "You got a little something." He swiped his thumb at what was most likely some leftover sugar at the corner of your mouth and brought it to his lips to taste.

౨ৎ

The ride back home was not totally uncomfortable, but it was still awkward. Jason appeared to be unfazed, joking and laughing with the boys like nothing happened. You tried your best to match his nonchalance, but given the curious looks Rachel kept throwing the both of you, you'd failed.

Jason confused you. One moment it seemed like he liked you, and the next he would act like he barely knew you. You hated it. And to avoid the sting of another unrequited crush, you didn't ask anything of him for a few days, Game Night Bet be damned.

You had been reading a book on one of those rare free-schedule days when a light knock came at your door. When you opened it, Jason was on the other side holding a brown paper bag. You eyed the Bat Burger bag first, and then the boy holding it warily.

“I didn't order anything."

With all the missions and trouble in the city, everyone gradually stopped doing the bet thing anyway.

He shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck. “I owe you. For last time."

“Oh. um. Ok, I guess.” You took the bag from him and set it down at your desk. You figured that would be the end of the conversation but he remained at your doorway appearing to look like he wanted to say something else. You paused, waiting for him to speak and when he didn't, you moved to close the door again.

“W-wait! I… I’m giving you a warning this time.”

Warning?

Then it finally clicked.

“Is… that ok?”

There was a slight worry in his gaze as if he was unsure you'd say yes. You felt something in your stomach flip, words got caught in your throat and you could only give him a small nod.

Upon your approval he stepped in closer, eyes dropping languidly from yours down to your lips. He carefully slid your glasses off his face, folding them neatly on the desk. You felt his hands pull you in by the hip to press your body against him. This time when he kissed you, it wasn't the same as when you were at the beach. It was slower, deliberate. Like he had been building up to this very moment.

You closed the door behind you as the kisses became more wanton and his hands began to roam grasping at your waist and hips, kneading handfuls of your ass beneath your skirt. You loved how he felt pressed against you, sturdy and strong. It wasn't long before you stumbled backward onto the bed and found yourself under him.

"What? Am I too loud?" His brow furrowed in worry when he felt your kisses subside. "I’ll be quieter."

"No, it's not that," you laughed a bit. He did have a habit of making tiny moans through kisses. But you gave him an extra peck on the lips for reassurance. "It’s just...You’re doing this because you want to right?"

“Not even gonna lie, I wanted to do this since the day you showed up.” His smile was bashful, like he just admitted a secret.

The guy you've liked since you joined the Titans had been thinking about you the same way? You thought back to the times you interacted. Jason's attention to you always came in the form of teasing but the weirdness after Game Night and the beach only served to confuse you more.

“Well, you did a shit job of showing it.” You pouted, adjusting your position beneath him to slide your shirt off.

“That’s only ‘cuz I thought you hated me." He sat up a bit to take his own shirt off before returning to plant kisses across your body.

“Ok, hate is a strong word.”

“You’re not denying it.” You could feel him smiling against your skin.

“More like minor dislike. But that’s only because I thought you didn’t like me.”

“I’m sorry." He murmured kissing your jaw, then down your neck. "I think pretty girls make my brain stop working. But I can make it up to you." He slid a hand underneath your unclasped bra and thumbed over the nipple. You let out a small gasp of air. “D'you want me to?”

You nodded, meeting his eyes. 

“Use your words.”

“I want you to-oh fuck." Before you could even finish your sentence, his mouth had replaced his hand on your breast. He made sure to keep his eyes on you as he sucked and made warm licks at one breast, making sure to keep the other occupied with his hand.

In any other circumstance, he would never have missed the chance to tease you about your new choice of vocabulary, but he had a different kind of teasing in mind. He had removed his mouth from your breast and was now kissing up your inner thigh, rubbing his thumb in gentle circles over your panties.

“You’re so fucking wet."

He pulled down your panties and worked one finger and then two until his fingers were squelching in and out of your pussy. You'd masturbated before—maybe even masturbated to the fantasy of him fingering you too—but it was nothing like this. His hands were much bigger and roughened by years of combat on and off the field. It was better than you could’ve imagined yourself

“Can I taste it?” He asked, voice hoarse with need. Like if you’d denied him, you might as well have denied a desperately thirsty man water.

Before you could even reply, he replaced his fingers with his mouth. He laved at your entrance, relishing in your whimpering his name and your tangling your fingers through his hair. Jason might've loved a good blowjob, but he practically worshiped pussy. Every suck and kiss of your folds was accompanied by his pretty moans.

It was at this point where you felt yourself hurtling towards climax, but before you could get your much-needed release, you felt the warmth from his mouth leave you.

“Please...your mouth,” was all you could say upon regaining lucidity.

“What'd I say about saying please?” He rubbed a knuckle against your mound; You tried desperately to grind on it.

"J-jason," You whined, squirming under him in impatience. He seemed to enjoy watching you writhe to the same degree he loved to annoy you.

Make. Me. Listen.

Technically the bet was still in effect. As long as you spoke to him with confidence, he would listen, right? You sat up, pushing him onto his back to straddle him. His eyes widened, flashing equal parts in anticipation and welcomed confusion as he ran his hands along your thighs and you could feel his length underneath you. You would take care of that later, but for now, you had your own needs to fulfill.

Jason attempted to meet your lips again, but you only pushed him back to the bed again.

"I… want to cum," You declared simply, trying your best to be confident.

"Yea?" He grinned. "I can help you with that. You gonna sit on my face or do you need to ask for permission?"

"No, just—it’s embarrassing," You said almost breaking character. Almost.

He rolled his eyes. "If y'wanna cum, you're gonna need to come closer."

You crawled over him, tentatively hovering above his face scared to accidentally crush him. Once you got into position, he pressed you down resuming his kisses and licks, moaning as he lapped from underneath you.

"Oh fu—I'm gonna cum," you whimpered unconsciously fisting his hair as you ground against him, using his face shamelessly to ride out your orgasm.

When you sat back on his lap, you felt something under some wetness under you. Had he cum just from eating you out?

"Be honest.” Jason was now catching breath, face glistening with your juices, with a dumb smile playing on his pink and swollen lips.

The pure sight of him—messy and pussy drunk—was enough to make you want to sit on his face again.

“You really did wanna fuck me so bad at Game Night.”

"You’re so full of it." You shook your head, humored. Leave it to Jason to crack a joke post-coital. Not that he wasn't incorrect.

“I'm so flattered you hump your pillow at night and think of me. Since you were riding me like one."

"Are you forgetting that you’re the one that lost the bet? I still have a good two months on you."

"Is that supposed to scare me?" He whispered absently rubbing circles into your hip with his thumb.

"Yes, it should. I can make your life hell."

"Oh really?" His eyes flickered from your lips and back up to your face. That seemed like a risk he was willing to take. From your seat on his lap, you could feel him growing hard again beneath you.

"Yes, really. I was going easy on you."

"You do realize you can’t make me do anything I wouldn’t want to do myself.”

"What about the DoorDash?"

"Well, I ate some of it."

"And the nail polish?"

"I happen to like that color."

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes, it seemed he had an answer for everything and his smile was growing wider to match every smartass retort.

"Just get over here." You missed the feel of his lips on yours already.

Finding no answer for that, he could only let out a laugh, "Yes, ma’am."

©️ blackreaderfics // dividers by cafekitsune & poison-aesthetics

[scribs-dibs]

gilded

sunday x reader, established relationship i suppose, ooc sunday perhaps, refs to sunday's trauma and a lot of his unwelcomed thoughts, ummmm it's very short guys idk

wc ; ~700-ish words

this is my (late) submission from the stellaronhvnters sillay halloween event! i used the prompt foliage this time :-)

"doesn't he owe this to you?"

Sunday lived in a gilded cage, and he liked it there.

It was safe in there, sacred, with the bars perfectly, evenly spaced, just enough room for him to see out of, just enough to see what a proper child should not  do,  just enough to see what he should be better than, just enough for him to see what naughty, rowdy children look like.

So when the cool breeze reddens your nose, and your eyes peek at him from over your scarf, and you ask him:

"Sunday, wanna play in the leaves?"

Of course, his careful, calculated answer is:

"I'll pass, thank you."

He doesn't quite understand why your face falls the way it does, but it sends a shiver down his spine. That response was wrong.

But who can blame him, really? His shirt is crisp and clean, and the leaves have crinkled and curled on the ground for ages. They're dirty. Proper, well behaved children stay at Gopher Wood's side, back straight and posture proper, safe inside his gilded cage. He longs for it, sometimes. The safety. The sacredness. The cleanliness.

But this isn't all bad either, he muses. This is as close to safety as ever— your hand is placed securely in his own, your bared flesh against his gloved one, and every so often you make sure to give your joined arms a hardy swing. You've all but shut him out of his office for the day, the sky turning a mellow pink as the sun sinks beneath the clouds. "Autumn" you had called it; Penacony removed the harsh breezes and early darkness from this season, and its reality would be distasteful if not for your unabashed enjoyment of it.

Your favorite part of this time of year, you've told him, is how the leaves change color. Greens disappear into warm gradients, and he supposes he can see the appeal of that.

But that doesn't mean he has to roll in them.

You nudge his shoulder, and he realizes he's spaced off. Uncouth. Pay attention.

"Come on Sunday! Can't we live a little?"

Sunday allows a short, clipped chuckle to escape him. Your face is scrunched lightly, the way it always gets when you want to pout at him uselessly. You refrain from doing that, sure, but Sunday can tell it's only a few minute twitches away from forming such an expression.

"We? I never said you couldn't indulge," Sunday presses a finger against the knit in your brow, ironing out the crease formed there. Such an expression causes wrinkles. "You can go ahead. I'll be here."

You shake your head immediately.

"It's not the same," you sigh, and Sunday knows that tone. It's disappointment, hard and sharp and cold. Though it is faint, a different flavor when encased in your gentler, kinder, form, he can still detect it a mile away. "But it's okay, we can still go to the cafe as planned."

You don't seem disheartened. You've moved on, gracefully, with the ease he both envies and admires from you.

Everything was set out for him in his cage. He had a role to play, and fulfilled it properly. Played all his pieces properly, too, made sure everything set out for him stayed in its proper place. When that all shattered, he was lost. It was your guiding hands that found him and picked up what was left of him. You...loved what was left of him in fact.

Now that he plays the role of "boyfriend," doesn't he owe this to you? Would this simple act be enough to start balancing the scales for the sin of loving him?

"Sunday?" 

Pay attention. Uncouth. Shame on you.

"It's not that big of a deal, okay?" Your own finger rubs at the crease in his brow. Normally, his facade is perfect, practiced. Ease is supposed to be the neutral face for a leader. He let his guard down.

"Look," you point, and overhead the trees shimmer with their reds and oranges and yellows, shining with the little scraps of sunlight that remain, "This is enough, isn't it? We don't have to jump in the piles if you don't want to."

Your hand in his grows tighter, and the reprimands that Sunday has repeated to himself again and again suddenly feel distant.

"Walking with you is more than enough, Sunday."

Sunday had lived in a gilded cage. But he supposes life outside isn't so bad, now.

Sunday takes a deep breath, and walks with you amongst the leaves.

•------------------------•

ty for reading 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ rbs & comments are appreciated !!

[love-of-the-red-star]

That time I got reincarnated as an Aeon

(Series)

Chapter seven: In which March 7th joins the crew and asks why you have special privileges

Warnings: possibly ooc

You never expected to stumble upon the frozen chunk of ice that contained a familiar someone that you knew would become March 7th. She laid there, under the layers of unforgiving ice, naked and asleep.

For a brief moment, you wondered if you could just leave the ice to melt on its own, but shrugged the last minute and decided against it.

It was easy to just clip the ice out of existence and get the girl to safety, draping her in a comfortable quilt to protect her dignity and to keep her warm— you noticed she felt surprisingly soft for a girl frozen for god knows how long.

No one questioned you when you brought her in to the express and took her to your room, having known you long enough to trust you.

“She’s stabilizing.” Himeko told you as she finished examining her. “She’ll probably wake up in a few hours more or less.”

“That’s good.” You said as you observed the girl’s sleeping body, now dressed in some loose, soft colored nightgown that covered her entire figure.

“Where did you find her?” Himeko asked.

“Inside a block of ice.” You replied. “Eternal ice, specifically. Interesting, right?”

“Indeed it is…” She trailed off. “Any estimate of how long she’s been trapped in there?” She asked as she wasn’t there to observe the ice to know a timeline— it’s a miracle in itself that this girl was still alive after such a dangerous situation. She wasn’t a corpse, she didn’t bloat, didn’t bruise, and no signs of frostbite at all.

“Probably a long while. I haven’t seen eternal ice for a good few decades since I was born.” You answered, deliberately leaving out the detail that it was on the Aeon Fuli that you’ve seen traces of it last. It wasn’t your place to divulge that, and you too didn’t know the full story.

“Where’s Welt?” You inquired, changing the topic.

“He’s currently making some arrangements with Herta for our next stop.” Himeko replied. “Oh.. that reminds me,” she paused, as if uncertain. “I received a message from the IPC in regards to you— well, not quite. It’s your wanted poster.”

“Took them eight years to air out my dirty laundry outside two galaxies?” You frowned. “Lame.”

“Since when did you find out about this?” She looked at you with an incredulous look, remembering that your bounty was exactly a whopping 69 million credits. (Nice)

“I have no idea why they’re airing it this late here but I found out about it during my trip in a galaxy with a friend— I got famous there for killing IPC personnel using chairs.” You confessed with a casual shrug, you don’t miss the way she seemed taken aback, as if that was beneath you. Could she do anything about it?

No, not really. Because aside from you being basically this place’s patron deity since you vored the original one on accident, Himeko was just that kind of person. The kind who would just… get it.

“Also, it wasn’t unwarranted.” You sighed, throwing your hands up like that white, scuffled combination of a cat and a monkey to emphasize your exasperation. “They attacked me first. Walked around some old bar like they owned the place and tried to shoot me while I was trying to cheer on my friend.”

Himeko nodded. “I see.” She had enough common sense to figure out that people were basically asking for it— she’s however thankful that you’re at least not as destructive as she initially thought you would be.

She’s of course, wrong. But she doesn’t know that yet.

Emphasis on yet, because killing corporate employees with a chair wasn’t exactly the worst thing you did using a human projection. Does she have to know about what you did to Gopher Wood a few years ago while pretending you were just some bellboy in Penacony? No she doesn’t.

She didn’t need to know about the town you accidentally turned into Yharnam 2.0 around six years ago in some distant galaxy either. Granted, what transpired there wasn’t exactly your fault, but merely a result of people trying to foolishly communicate with your Aeon form without a transmission.

And thus, they were free of their ignorance. The exchange was that all of them went insane from gaining the “insight” needed to see you, observe you.

Himeko doesn’t need to know any of those things, or the sense of regret you felt by not being able to help them in the way they needed.

In the midst of your surprisingly quiet conversation, the unconscious girl woke up, and your face is the first thing she sees.

“Hello.” You smiled, gently taking her hand with your own. “Finally awake huh? You’ve been asleep awhile.” You said.

“H-hi.” Her response is weak, groggy. Himeko is quick to help her drink water for her parched throat, in which the girl accepts with little complaint. She almost coughs and you patted her back gently to ease her, telling her to slow down as she doesn’t let go of your hand along the way.

“Himeko, can you please get Pompom? She needs some soup.” It felt strange for you to be ordering her around with you easily forgetting you are technically the highest person in the train.

“I’ll get her something easy on the stomach, don’t worry.” Himeko merely smiled at you, complying with what you told her as you stayed with the girl.

“So, how’d you get in that ice?” You asked after a few moments, of course you already knew the answer, but you still let it out anyway.

“I… don’t know.” She told you. “Who are you?” Himeko said she’s stable— well, physically. You’re not sure how she is mentally.

“A stranger for now.” You smiled. “You should rest, you’re not exactly ready to get up just yet.” She nodded wordlessly at your words, and laid back down.

It doesn’t take her long to sleep.

“Welcome aboard, March 7th.”

——————

“Himeko, why does [Name] get to get out without contacting us for weeks but me and Dan Heng have to inform you of our whereabouts?”

Himeko paused with calibrating the navigation system as March put on the question.

“Well… despite how they look, they’re one of the senior members of the crew.” She began. “Don’t worry, they know their way back no matter where they are and where we will go.”

It’s a vague answer and March can tell, though, she doesn’t pry any further. You’ve been around in the express for longer than her or Dan Heng, so she chalked it up to you being the more experienced lot.

“Where are they right now though?” She pondered, and Himeko chuckled.

“Seems that someone is worried.” There is mirth in the navigator’s voice, March pouted in response.

“They’re all alone, of course I’m a little worried.” She said.

“I see. Not to worry, they’re fine, they’re just on another planet right now visiting a place.”

“Sigonia… IV?” Himeko pressed on the panel to show the state of the planet, and March almost blanched. “Wow, it’s…. dry… in there.”

“It’s a desert planet. [Name] was there before, they’re just finishing up in establishing a space anchor so we can head there whenever we’d like.” Himeko explained. “It was added recently to our navigation system around 12 or 13 years ago, and it’s inhabited mainly by two clans. You can ask Mr.Yang or Dan Heng if you’d like to know more about the planet. [Name]’s taken a liking to it.”

“Okay… what are other places that [Name] likes?” She’s curious now, despite having travelled with them for over four months, there wasn’t much that she knew about the mysterious astral express member at all.

“There is another place… they attended the university of Veritas Prime for a while before they quit because they got bored.” Himeko lightly laughed, recalling the memory of you going back to the train after spending a good portion of a year in the university, with you rather childishly stating you’re dropping out because you hated writing a thesis.

“Mr. Yang told me about that place once.. apparently it’s super prestigious.. and [Name] just quit because they got… bored?” Frankly, March was a little.. in disbelief.

While she couldn’t remember her past, she had enough common sense to know that academies like that simply aren’t places where you could just.. dip without a single regard.

But unfortunately, you were… well, you.

“That’s not.. really all there is to the story, even I’m not sure what actually happened, but it’s better for us not to question [Name]’s choices.” Himeko sighed, shaking her head.

“Okay…. Are there any other places that they like aside from a school and a desert planet?”

“I’m… not sure.” Now even Himeko was wondering what you actually liked aside from the things they already know. “I think they mentioned a tavern at one point. Though it’s not exactly one for a vacation spot.”

“What do you mean?” March tilted her head, curious.

“Let’s just say that it’s the kind where bounty hunters often linger around, at least that’s what they told me.” Himeko said without missing a beat, March shivered. “It’s alright, they said most of the people there are well acquainted with them.” She laughed lightly.

“That’s not exactly helping.” March sweatdropped.

“Oh! Looks like they’re done properly establishing the anchor.” Himeko chimed, Sigonia IV finally having a proper route for the express members to properly jump into.

March frowned, her questions haven’t yet been answered. What she got were vague, not pointing to anything personal about you.

Perhaps another day then. Or maybe when she’s braver, she’d ask you herself.

————————-

Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII, part VIII (HERE), Part IX…..

Interlude: one, two…..

Special chapter: link

That’s a wrap for the long awaited chapter 7– I know we didn’t have much of the reader acting here, but I also want to explore the POV of other people and how they perceive you because I think it’s important—

I promise you’ll see the reader in action in the chapter that follows this :))

[yumekoii]

౨ৎ "your lips, my lips, apocalypse" ౨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 ft. sunday + fem!reader ⋆｡˚꩜ wc. 490 ♬⋆.˚ currently playing. apocalypse by cigarettes after sex

a/n. i love sunday so much ૮꒰っ˕‹̥̥̥ ꒱ა also this might be ooc for sunday, but who cares ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡ and i do hc that gopher wood used to tell little sunday that boys shouldn't cry bc that shows weakness.

guilt, sadness, pain — were all sunday could feel right now. he couldn't help but stare off into space. his own mind betraying him. all he could think about was robin. his precious little sister that he loves so much. being eternally separated from her has been really hard for him. she was the only real family he had left...well he does have you, of course.

sunday was sitting on your shared bed, his head in his hands. he couldn't help but cry. you watch from the doorframe, your heart breaking watching the man you love cry. it makes you want to cry, but you know that if he sees you cry, he's going to blame himself for making you cry. so you wipe the tears that were about to fall and slowly walk towards sunday.

he doesn't look up at you as you stood before him. you can hear his soft cries. you frown. sunday didn't cry that much, gopher wood would always teach him that boys wouldn't supposed to cry. he would tell sunday that crying is a girls' trait. that's why sunday didn't cry as much, but now after the penacony incident, it seems like crying was all sunday could do.

you slowly take sunday's hands into yours. he finally looks up at you. his eyes were puffy and red. he wants to look away, ashamed is all he can feel. "you shouldn't be ashamed for crying, my love," you said as you slowly wipe the tears falling down his face. "whatever that man told you about crying was a lie."

sunday lets out a little gasp when he feels your soft lips on his face. his heart felt like it was on fire. he couldn't help but let a few more tears run down his face. but you quickly kissed them away. the feeling of your soft lips made him close his eyes. it felt nice and for the first time in a while, sunday felt relaxed.

you lips traveled from his cheeks to his forehead to his nose and finally to his lips. slowly, you pull away and that causes sunday to yearn for more of your kisses. you run your hands through his hair and give him one last kiss on his lips before cradling his head to your chest.

"i love you so much, sunday, please never forget that." you could feel your own tears forming in your eyes. sunday wraps his arms around your waist and buries his face deeper into your chest. "i...i love you too, my angel." he softly says as his tears dried up.

the two of you stay like this for several more minutes. to sunday, this felt so nice. he can hear your heartbeat, proof that you were with him right now. proof that he wasn't dreaming.

"you're free now, my love. free from him." you say to him before you can hear sunday's soft snores. finally free...

[fluentmoviequoter]

Why We Pretend We Can't

Part 2 of Pretending You Can't

Requested Here!

Pairing: Adam Karadec x fem!cop(analyst)!reader

Summary: Months after he realized how touch starved you are, Karadec continues helping you overcome your touch starvation and get used to touch.

Warnings: touchstarved r, emotional vulnerability, canon-divergent backstory for Karadec, minor injuries, fluff and comfort

Word Count: 3.0k+ words

High Potential Masterlist | Masterlist Directory | Request Rules/Info

“Lieutenant Melon asked to see you,” an officer tells you.

You look up from your desk in the Major Crimes bullpen and nod once. You’ve spoken to him a few times since you were transferred out of Robbery/Homicide, but an early-morning call can’t be anything good. Coming in early to complete reports has become a habit, but your routine is interrupted. You lock your computer screen before you stand, and when you brush your hands together, you realize that the muscles in your arms and hands have tensed.

Last night, you didn’t sleep well, thinking about your loneliness and relationships that aren’t where they should be. It’s a cycle you’re used to, but one you thought you left behind when you found a group of friends and realized that Adam Karadec’s hands feel like home. Yet, it’s been a long few months since his unexpected house call, and not every day can be good.

“Good morning,” you greet, knocking on Melon’s open door.

“Morning, traitor,” he replies. “I’ve got something I could use your help on.” You open your mouth to argue that you have a new job, but he cuts you off. “I promise it’ll only take a few hours. I need some intel and no one else seems to be able to find it.”

“What intel?” you inquire.

“String of robberies in the nicest neighborhoods of Los Angeles. The thieves seem to be targeting houses with expensive safes.”

“Marketed as impregnable?”

“Some, but not all. Most of these safes run upwards of $10,000, and they’re opening them like pocket doors. Current estimated losses from the insurance companies is around $2 million.”

“Homes have security systems?”

“They do. I’ve got a list of addresses, safe makes and models, security system information, and how much time the crew spent in each home.”

“How big is the crew? And how much time are they averaging?”

“Five people, from what we can tell, spending less than 9 minutes inside.”

You hum, somewhat impressed by the criminal crew's efficiency. “Email me the information and I’ll see what I can find.”

“You’re the best!”

“I’m not coming back,” you reply with a smile.

“It was worth a shot.”

Back at your desk, you organize Melon’s quickly-typed reports into a spreadsheet. Then, you pull up property records to look for any connection between the homeowners. You don't hear anyone enter the bullpen as you compare and analyze the information about the different security systems and safes.

A hand lands on your shoulder, and you jerk away from the unexpected touch. Morgan lifts her hand when you move and sends you a close-lipped smile.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” she offers.

“It’s fine,” you reply, smiling as you shake your head. “I just didn’t hear you come in, lost in the work. Sorry.”

“What work?” she inquires, setting her bag on Karadec’s desk. “I thought we closed the last case yesterday.”

“The last case for now,” Oz corrects as he walks to his desk.

“I’m assisting Melon with a string of safe robberies.”

“He does remember that you’re not his gopher, right?” Daphne inquires.

“Do you guys carpool?” you wonder aloud.

“No, we just get to work on time,” Karadec answers, looking between you and Morgan. “You should try it sometime.”

“If you’re not early, you’re late.”

“And you’ll sleep when you’re dead?” Karadec challenges. “Thin line between dedication, obsession, and avoidance.”

“Are we taking a break from murder and mayhem for philosophy?” Soto interjects.

“Something like that,” Daphne replies. “Have anything for us?”

“Not at the moment.”

“Then we can help with the safe cracking!” Morgan announces.

“I think I found the connection,” you say. “Every one of these safes was manufactured in California, and the homeowners purchased them from West Coast Safes. The safes are installed by a five-man team.”

“You think the installation team is robbing the safes,” Karadec clarifies.

“I do.”

He nods, and Daphne calls Morgan to her desk for her opinion. Karadec moves to stand beside you, and his gaze drops to your tense shoulders, your muscles tightened from holding your shoulders back and up as if you’re guarding yourself against something.

“What are they stealing?” he asks.

“Guns, jewelry, silver, the standard safe contents.”

“Are the safes specific to those contents?”

You hum, pulling up the specs once more. “All but one. The most recent robbery was a tactical safe, but the insurance claim lists precious metals as stolen.”

“They could be looking for something specific, then.”

“I’ll pass that along to Melon,” you offer. “Thank you.”

Karadec nods, watches you email your spreadsheet and findings, and then steps toward the door with you.

“I’ll be right back,” you remind him.

“Are you okay?” he asks softly.

You purse your lips, then nod. As you walk away, feeling Karadec’s eyes on you, you’re reminded of Morgan’s unexpected touch this morning. Karadec sees you past your professionalism and analytic abilities and sees the loneliness and touch deprivation you hide behind your smile. A few hugs from Karadec will help, but the emotions beneath longing for a caring touch won’t disappear if he stays close.

When you return from lunch – which you ate alone in your car because your friends are investigating an attempted assassination – there’s something in your chair. You pull it away from your desk and smile when you realize what it is. Last week, you investigated a stabbing in a neighborhood grocery store and saw a police officer Squishmallow. You couldn’t justify buying a stuffed animal for yourself, especially at a bloody scene. As you pull the soft koala into your arms, you smile. You suspect you know who may have noticed your infatuation with Detective Kirk. But there are no real clues as to which of your new friends gifted you the perfectly huggable detective. With him safe in your bag, you open a report and return to work, your heart feeling lighter with the knowledge that someone cares.

Running your finger along your opposite forearm, you attempt to soothe yourself and go to sleep. Your blankets are arranged comfortably, your new Squishmallow is cuddled against your side, and the mellifluous melody of white noise fills your room. Still, you can’t fall asleep because you feel as if you are drowning in your loneliness and sorrow. Your mind races with the idea that you’ll never be in a meaningful relationship, held just for the sake of it, or kissed breathless because someone can’t help but show you they love you.

Fighting the urge to reach for your phone, you close your eyes and try to imagine you’re somewhere else, living a different life. Your doorbell ringing interrupts that attempt to induce slumber. You ignore it, but the knocks that follow make you groan. Rather than looking at the doorbell camera, you remove yourself from your comfortable imitation of a nest, pull your robe on, and walk to the front door.

“Karadec,” you greet, crossing your arms over your chest. “Is everything okay?”

“I don’t think so,” he answers. “Tell me if I’m overstepping, but you pulled back. I know I told you that you decide how far this goes, but if you don’t get some help, this is going to get worse.”

“I know,” you murmur. You open the door wider, tip your head inside, and close the door behind Karadec.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks.

“I don’t want to pull away when someone I care about reaches toward me, but I can’t stop it,” you admit. “Morgan laid her hand on me this morning, and it hurt so much. I didn’t even think about it before I moved.”

“That’s not your fault.”

“Why are you being so nice to me about this?” you inquire.

“Because I’ve been there,” he offers. “My old partner and I were friends, we hung out, slapped each other on the back, and then he left. I was alone, and before I even realized that I hadn’t been hugged in months, I was recoiling from every little thing.”

“How’d you make it better?”

Karadec shrugs. “I don’t think I did. I’ve always had a problem with touch-“

“The hand sanitizer,” you interject.

“Yeah… so when I started dreading people touching me, I kind of accepted it. You can’t do that.”

“You did.”

“You aren’t me. This is hurting you. It’s not just the pain of unexpected touch; there’s anxiety, stress, loneliness, and based on the fact that you opened the door, I’m betting you’re having trouble sleeping.”

“You Googled touch starvation, didn’t you?” you ask, lifting your brows.

“No,” Karadec answers, incredulous. “I asked Morgan.”

You laugh, shaking your head as you step closer to Karadec.

“Do you want to talk to someone?” he asks.

“Not really.”

“Do you want to become a cat person and have them to cuddle?”

“Not really.”

“Do you want any help?”

“I… I don’t know. The only time I can remember enjoying being touched was with you.”

Karadec doesn’t reply, and you close your eyes, realizing how it sounded.

“Sorry,” you offer. “I just mean- I don’t have many people in my life, and that was new. But it was different.”

Karadec nods, but your eyes are still closed. He reaches toward you, stops an inch short, and lets his warmth linger. With his eyes on your face, he doesn’t notice you lean forward until your hand bumps into his.

“Why me?” you ask, blinking your eyes open but not moving your hand.

“Why not you?” Karadec challenges.

“That’s not an answer.”

You turn your hand, pressing your palm to Karadec’s larger one. He swipes his thumb across your knuckles, and you shiver at the feeling. Your shoulders drop at his touch, your tension loosening at the physical statement that you are not alone, that someone cares about you.

“Detective Kirk,” you say.

“Who?” Karadec asks, his brows lifting.

“The Squishmallow,” you explain. “Was that from you?”

“Cuddling something can help.”

“Thank you.”

“The less touch-starved you are, the easier it will be to encounter unfamiliar touch.”

“So, you’re saying that if I want to stop overreacting to being touched, I need to be touched more. That sounds like a solid plan,” you deadpan.

“I’m saying that this isn’t 0 to 60, you’re going to have to warm up to being touched. Hold someone’s hand sometime, shake a stranger’s hand, and then ask for a hug. Little things to adjust.”

“I can’t just do that, Karadec.”

He looks pointedly at your interlaced fingers, then back up at your face. Settled on the back of your couch, he’s shorter than you, and you look over his head as you smile.

“You know what I mean.”

“Then do it with me, but don’t let yourself spiral in this.”

“We’ll have to invest in bulk hand sanitizer,” you muse.

Karadec’s gaze wanders around your home, and when he sees your fridge - and the to-do list on it - he tilts his head in thought. “You’re task-driven, analytic, right?”

“I don’t like where this is going,” you murmur.

“Here’s your first task-“

“Are you my therapist now?”

“First task,” Karadec repeats sternly. “This week, find an opportunity to comfort someone with touch. A hand on their shoulder, tap the back of their hand during a shake, whatever it may be. It can be 2 seconds or 20 minutes, but you initiate it.”

“I… okay, I can do that.”

“Good.” Karadec lifts his free hand to your waist, and you step into his touch. “Does it hurt?”

“Not so much now,” you whisper.

Karadec smiles, then jokes, “First two visits are free of charge.”

“… doesn’t get me.”

Karadec hears Ava but hasn’t seen Morgan all morning. He walks toward the office where he thinks she is and stops when he hears another voice.

“Do you get her?”

Aware that he’s intruding, Karadec turns away, but he sees you through the blinds. Your hand rubs comforting circles on Ava’s back, and Karadec returns to the bullpen with a smile.

“Where is she?” Karadec demands as he enters the emergency room. “Now.”

“3rd door,” the nurse answers quickly, pointing down the hall.

“What was he thinking?” Karadec asks Daphne. “She’s an analyst.”

“She’s really good at more than analyzing, you know that,” Daphne reminds him. “It was an audible, and she could have said no.”

“He shouldn’t have asked!”

“Hey, you need to calm down before we go in there.”

Karadec slows, taking a deep breath as he heeds Daphne’s advice. The call that you were injured came as a surprise. You were going to look at a safe, accompanied by three police officers, yet you’re in the emergency room, and they’re unharmed back at the station.

“Hey,” Daphne greets, smiling at you. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” you answer. “They’re overreacting.”

“Melon said someone tried to put a drill bit through your head,” Karadec says, stepping inside the curtain. “They’re allowed to overreact.”

“He didn’t,” you reply. “I’m fine.”

Karadec looks at your face and then down your arms. You sport a few scrapes and a forming bruise or two, but otherwise, you look the same as you had at the station.

“Daph, give us a minute?” you request.

“Of course. Need anything?”

You shake your head, and she winks at you before she leaves. Morgan, Daphne, and Oz have known about your feelings for Karadec since you walked into the Major Crimes bullpen a few months ago to answer questions about a suspect you’d investigated before.

“Karadec, I’m okay,” you assure him.

“You shouldn’t have been put in a position to be injured,” he argues.

“Come here?” you ask, beckoning him closer.

He walks to the side of the hospital bed, and you push yourself to sit up before you drape your legs over the side. Karadec holds his hands toward you, ready to assist you.

“Can I please have a hug?” you request.

“Are you sure?” he checks.

You smile and nod, so Karadec leans forward, wrapping his arms lightly around your waist as you circle your arms over his shoulders.

“Thank you,” you say against his shoulder.

Karadec feels you relax, and he tightens his grip on you. You’re adjusting to touch – slowly, but it’s happening – and now you’re asking for it. He knew things were improving when he saw you comforting Ava earlier. Still, he didn’t expect you to initiate a hug this quickly.

“Only for you,” you say.

“Hmm?” he hums in question.

“You’re the only person I can touch without panicking,” you repeat. “For now, at least.”

Karadec pulls back to look at your face and brushes his finger over a scrape on your temple. “Then take whatever you want,” he offers.

A week after your unfortunate encounter with the safe crackers, you accompany Melon to arrest them and accidentally abandon your team in a time of need. Repentant, you get Karadec’s address from Soto and approach his apartment a few minutes before 11 p.m.

You hesitate before you knock on Karadec’s door. His late-night visits to check in on you seemed very out of character for him and still do, despite his explanation that he has been through what you’re struggling with and wants to help. You know he’s awake, but you won’t press him to talk or knock again, you decide. A minute passes, then two, and you shift on his doorstep as you prepare to leave.

“Hey,” Karadec says, pulling his door open.

“Hi,” you greet, wringing your fingers together. “I’m sorry for just showing up, but I heard about what happened with Oz. I should’ve been there.”

He shakes his head, dropping his eyes to your shoes. “None of us should have been there.”

“You got everyone home safe, though, Adam. That’s what matters.”

“I almost didn’t.”

“Daphne told me you saved his life. He’s still here, focus on that.”

Karadec shakes his head again, and you step into his door, raise your hands, and cup his face. “Don’t think about what could have happened. It’s a slippery slope.”

His hands find your waist, pulling you inside before he pushes the door closed behind you.

“What are you doing here?” he asks.

“You told me to comfort someone. I told you that I didn’t mind when you touched me.”

You move your right hand to his neck, tipping his face toward yours.

“Stay here with me,” you plead. “You’ve been helping me since we met. Let me return the favor.”

“It wasn’t a favor,” he argues, shaking his head in your hold. “You don’t have to repay it.”

“Then let me stay, just because.”

“Why?”

Your hand slides off his jaw, surprised by his question, but he catches your wrist and uses it to pull you closer.

“Why do we pretend we can’t do this? You feel it, I know you do. But we circle around each other, terrified that we’ll bring out the worst in each other.”

“Maybe the worst is all we can see in ourselves.”

Karadec presses his lips together, and you don’t hesitate this time. No more pretending, giving yourself excuses, or finding reasons it won’t work. That you won’t work together.

You press your chest to his, angle your chin toward his face, and kiss him. He freezes, flexing his hands at your sides before he holds you like he never wants to let go. Karadec is the one source of touch you can never be scared of, grow tired of, get enough of, and as you move together, you begin to see the good. You can’t regrow the trauma from before now, even if you left, because Karadec is one of a kind. You’re where you belong.

“Still think I’m your therapist?” he mumbles when you pull back for a breath.

“My place?” Morgan asks the following morning.

You hug Morgan rather than answering. She pats your back awkwardly, then returns the affection.

“Thank you,” you say against her shoulder.

“Not necessary,” she replies.

“Why don’t we all go out to dinner?” Oz suggests.

“I’m in,” you agree, pulling away from Morgan. “We’re a family, right?”

“Well, that answers that question,” Daphne muses.

“What question?” Karadec asks, pulling his eyes from you.

“The will they portion of what I told you to avoid.”

“It took my nearly dying to get you two there?” Oz deadpans.

“Don’t say it like that,” Karadec chides.

“What are we talking about?” Soto inquires.

“Family dinner,” Morgan answers, laying her hand on your shoulder.

[moonsaver]

I think the reason why yan Sunday appeals to me so much is because of how he reflects a sad desperation to be loved and for the world to be made right in some way. He’s learned not only from gopher wood but also from his own experiences how cruel the world can be, and although he loves his family I think he does so partially out of some sense of responsibility for what they’ve done for him, almost putting them on a godlike pedestal. He is the ultimate martyr that will make the world right, even if it means he is the sacrificial lamb.

So when he meets someone that’s kind to him for no reason it’s probably strange, receiving affection just because. This time he looks at them as if they are divine being, gracing such a sinner as himself with their love. But in return, this time he’ll succeed in protecting them like he wasn’t able to do for others in his life. he protects them from the world even if it means overruling their own choices.

Also I lowkey relate with him and feel like no matter what I can’t give back to the people I love the most lmao.

Sunday let’s form an unhealthy codependent relationship and live in the delusion of love formed out of desperation.

idk if any of this made sense I’m bad at conveying ideas but tldr: Sunday and unhealthy codependency mixed with a martyr complex appeals to me since I think it reflects some of the more unhealthy aspects of love that leads to obsessiveness and a lack of respect for one’s own autonomy.

Hey anon, i cant even add anything to this. This is pretty much perfect in encapsulating what relationships can be like with yan!sunday.

I love yan!sunday for the exact reasons you've said so. He's probably utterly foreign to the concept of actually receiving unconditional love and kindness, and when reader actually does give him just that, he can't help but want more.

But, since it's yan! Sunday, he most likely isn't able to replicate that specific, ecstasy feeling when he gets it from you vs from anyone else (i mean, particularly because of his status, its even harder to find). Reader becomes his sole source of this love where he's able to see them on equal ground – not someone who needs his help and neither someone he needs help from. You aren't in debt to him, you don't need to pay him back, you don't want favors, you're just.. so sweet and kind to him. You actually want to understand him, you understand his ideals of what a world can and should be, you listen to him, and you don't treat him as though he's supposed to be sacrificed – you treat him as someone who needs to live, as someone who doesn't, or rather shouldn't, martyr themselves, you don't take his sacrifice as something that should have come by default.

I would love to add more but rn i have a splitting headache and this is as much as i can add as of now. Anyways you perfectly capsulated him.

[mymarifae]

yesterday someone on strawpage asked me what made me go from a dr. ratio hater to a dr. ratio enjoyer and that response took me. four hours . to put together. so you know what i'm going to share my thoughts here too. here's why i like this ⬇️ jackass a lot now!!!!!!!!!!!

he's a tricky character! the first interactions we get with him are so off-putting and unpleasant that i feel like a lot of people are like "wow, this guy is a self-absorbed dick, i don't respect him at all. can he go away" - i know that was my reaction! and he IS a dick. but like. listen.

it's really, really, REALLY easy to misconstrue 90% of his words and actions. it doesn't help that he has the speech patterns of a haughty asshole. and it alsooooooo doesn't help that aventurine's stunt in penacony required orchestrating a "betrayal" between himself and ratio. i think some of the things ratio said during All That constitutes the bulk of most people's persisting dislike of him. So:

1. everything ratio did and said was exactly what aventurine asked him to. this was all pre-negotiated. i think aventurine's insecurities acting up and the way he started doubting whether ratio was truly just acting threw some people off as well, but there is plentyyyyyy of evidence that no, ratio does not hate him and was not waiting for the perfect opportunity to stab him in the back and rid himself of this "damned gambler" but i'll get more into that in a sec ok? i have another bullet point to make first. and it's important so read it carefully ok? promise?

2. any comments from ratio pertaining to aventurine's race were said to fuel the narrative SUNDAY was building in his head probably from the second he learned which ipc executive would be coming to penacony.

aventurine's plan hinged on sunday's prejudice. he needed sunday to think of him as a liar, a cheat, a silver-tongued honeypot - basically, every avgin stereotype floating around in the universe. he needed to invoke a sense of insult. how could someone so... despicable invade the family's sweet dream? he needed sunday to be so wound up over his presence in penacony that he couldn't resist the urge to put The Vile Avgin back in his place. idk THIS ("this" being the real world parallels of how the catholic church ethnically cleansed the rroma during the 16th and 17th centuries) is a whooooole issue in itself that i don't have the time to go into rn because we're supposed to be talking about dr. ratio. oops

anyway the important thing to understand is that ratio absolutely does not look down upon aventurine's heritage. he was acting, with aventurine's blessing, to feed into sunday's biases. and he wasn't even good at it 😭... like look at this exchange from 2.0:

one snarky comment from aventurine and his ass is immediately Apologizing. his ass that's supposed to be acting like he doesn't respect or like aventurine At All. in fact, aventurine's "even under the watchful eye of the harmony..." comment feels a liiiiittle pointed lol. it's a subtle warning to ratio! like, "hey, dumbass, did you forget we're being monitored at all times?? knock it off."

and like this isn't even the only time ratio breaks character and puts aventurine's plan in jeopardy. he learns nothing from this interaction because it's worse next time. lmao:

this stupid fuckignb note. is extremely significant in manyyyy ways so we have to talk about it. first of all, stopping to check on aventurine's condition and to say "tell me if you can't hold on any longer" RIGHT IN FRONT OF SUNDAY (basically, since the family was monitoring everything and a few minutes later we see one of gopher wood's birds hanging out in that general area)?? BRO

if he wanted to, this brief interaction would have been enough for sunday to call their bluff. and aventurine knew that; many of his lines here feel like attempts to redirect ratio into picking the act back up and to stop trying to help him.

next, the stupid fuckignb note's contents. yes yes the second half is very sweet and it's all anyone ever wants to talk about and i understand because it probably meant the world to aventurine especially in that moment but i need you to look at the first half

ratio gave aventurine the answer..? he. gave him the answer. you might be wondering why this matters at all and i'll just have to redirect you to his actions in 1.6, wherein he notably refused to give any answers and let asta, stelle, and like everyone else on the space station flounder, learn from their floundering, and - ultimately - Grow

ratio is a teacher through and through. if someone isn't one of those "geniuses" he wants nothing to do with, they're a potential student in his eyes. and everything that happened in mundane troubles was the space station's final exam, so to speak. his inaction wasn't out of cruelty or because he didn't care about the fate of all the people on the station - obviously he did, because he was the one using the phase flame to teleport the missing researchers to safety...

he posited himself as a safety net in case things went horribly terribly wrong, but he left most of it up to stelle and asta, because he believed in them. they had all the information they needed; they just needed to figure out how to utilize it. and if they failed, well... they had their safety net, and failure is a learning experience too. like, ratio wants people to learn. he wants them to have all the skills and knowledge they could possibly need to take charge of their lives.

the "geniuses" of the world, the head honchos, the impossibly rich 0.0001%? whatever you want to call them, there's always this Upper Level in society that can do things "ordinary" people can never dream of doing. their way of life is simply unattainable. ratio disagrees. he believes that anyone can do anything, if someone would only take the time to teach them. and he's chosen to be one of those teachers! instead of sitting on his ass and just theorizing about a better, fairer society, he's doing what he can to make a difference.

(not so self-centered after all, huh?)

so like. when you remember how much of a teacher ratio is, like this is a philosophy ingrained in his very bone marrow, it's a pretty big fucking deal that he just GAVE aventurine the answer he needed. it shows how concerned he was! and how guilty he felt about the part he had to play!!!! his words and actions were so far removed from his actual thoughts and feelings that he literally HAD to put the whole operation at risk to remind aventurine that he doesn't view him the same way sunday did, give him a safety net, AND let him know it's there. because at this point he felt that the plan was too risky and he cared too much

like honestly i think he hoped aventurine would read the note before putting on his "performance" and readjust accordingly. but then he didn't <3 and acheron had to remind him that it was still sitting in his pocket <3 if she hadn't said anything about it i don't think he would have opened it adgsmbfdndhfbkjjbg <3 oh i love a mess <3 anyway i think this serves as a suitable refute for the "dr. ratio was racist towards aventurine" sentiment that continues to fly around in some parts of the fandom, so? MOVING ON

i ended up talking about this already, but looking more closely at how ratio looks at the world was a biiiiiig part of why he grew on me So Much. it's all actually really noble and worth admiring. again, he just talks like a dick so it's easy to get confused LMFAO

he never received nous' recognition not just because he "cares too much" (as you'll see some people vaguely claim and then not elaborate), but because he fundamentally disagrees with the ideology that allows the genius society, the path of erudition, and even nous themself to exist.

there's like... a certain "threshold" of intelligence and knowledge that nous operates off of. the unknown, the near-or-actually-impossible to comprehend, things that the average person would never be able to grasp and would never care to try because it's simply beyond them - that's all nous cares about. but ratio doesn't believe this threshold exists. he doesn't believe in knowledge that cannot be taught. just to reiterate: he believes anyone can learn anything if someone teaches them, and they will care if they know someone will be there to teach them.

but if anyone can follow the footsteps of geniuses, then Genius is no longer a superior echelon of society. the end goal the erudition seeks is no longer "beyond the limits of mortal wisdom."

nous rejected ratio because he rejected them - long before he fully understood that he did so.

i think he only ever tried to seek their recognition because it was expected so highly of him. like, he was a prodigy child, absorbing new information and collecting phds at the speed of light. of course every adult around him was like, "oh yeah this kid's a future genius society member" and then they told him this. over and over. and he was like, Okay, so this is the path i'm supposed to embark on, and i must do it and i must succeed (or i'll let them down; i'll be a disappointment, a failure, a waste of resources and all the hopes and dreams everyone's pinned onto me.)

he spent a good few years trying and failing to conform to nous' surprisingly (ironically?) boxed-in mindset. but they ignored him, probably because they predicted that even IF they recognized him while he seemingly ascribed more closely to the erudition's beliefs, he would ultimately wander off and "waste" time trying to nurture the achievements of "mere" mortals instead. and then he had to sit there and be like ok i apparently fucking failed at the one thing i thought i was supposed to do with my life, What Now

and this results in the dr ratio we meet in game. still haughty, still has an attitude problem and a bad temper, still has a tendency to talk down to people (i think though at this point his condescending tone is more of a defense mechanism and a way of isolating himself from others before he is once again rejected from a "part" of society after trying, trying, and then Failing to conform to a box), but! considerably more humble and far more focused on others than himself. he cares, ok. he cares an awful fucking lot. he believes in the good of humanity. humanity's ability to do good, to grow... to find the answers to its problems, implement them, and save itself.

plus, "character that's very admirable and very kind and loving IN THEIR OWN WAY (<- this is important because ratio isn't any of these things in a traditional sense and that's another part of why i've come to like him; it's interesting) but is cursed to just sort of talk like a total jackass forever" is an extremely entertaining concept

one other thing that's less significant than realizing ^^^^^^^ALL OF THAT. GOD .but still played a big part in my warming up to him, is how fond he is of those stupid rubber ducks and the goofy poses his statues are in. and also how his very first introductory cutscene is him playing chess BADLY (😭😭😭😭) against himself. that speaks to a sense of whimsy and playfulness that he doesn't have much of an outlet for. which i find... cute. and an aspect of his character that's a ton of fun to play around with

IN CONCLUSION: i mean he's okay i guess

[sharksfrommars]

HIII IK U SAID MABEL AND DIPPER TELL STAN ABOUT FORD BEING CLASSED AS INSANE FOR THE LAST 30 YEARS BUT COULD U PLSSS DO A WRITE UP ON WHAT STAN DOES AND THE FULL CONVO BETWEEN HIM AND FORD ON THE SUBJECT🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

Dipper and Mabel told Stan by accident. Shermie made Dipper put his conspiracy board away, so stan had no real way of knowing that Ford was clinically insane (literally). He thought Ford’s meds were just for his heart or something.

the first time Stan thought there might be more to the story was when the kids took him to town. People looked at Stan funny, kept whispering about him. The kids took no notice, they just dragged him to the arcade, where they met up with a gopher (???) and a teenage girl.

”Wendy, Soos, this is our shockingly NOT dead Grunkle Stan!” Said Mabel. She pulled a party popper out of nowhere, covering them all in confetti.

“yo stan two.” Said wendy, “nice arm.”

“Other Mr Dr Pines! I have so many questions to ask you dude!” Said Soos, shaking Stan’s hand heavily, “is there a dimension where anime is real? Or one where dinosaurs talk? That would be so awesome, dude!”

Stan grinned, he loved a captive audience. He’d noticed a small child had tried to approach him when their mother pulled them away. Maybe people in 20-whatever just really care about stranger danger? Something still felt off to Stan.

They played some games in the arcade, until Stan broke one of the slot machines trying to get the money out. Then they all ran out before security could catch them. Stan did get out with a good amount of prize money though, so he treated them all to some waffles at greasy’s.

the waitress approached them, greeted the kids, wendi and Soos. Then she looked at Stan with her one good eye.

“oh, Stanford! It’s been a while since you’ve been in here!” She said, “I like your new shirt. And hair. And… arm… wait.”

“Susan!” Mabel exclaimed, “your eyes don’t deceive you! This isn’t Grunkle Ford, it’s his twin brother!”

Stan stuck out his hand and gave susan a wink. “Stanley Pines, at your service. Call me anytime, sweetheart!”

the entire diner went quiet and Susan dropped her plate. Everyone looked at Stan. then one person in the corner spoke up.

“didn’t you get eaten by your brother?”

“yeah! That’s what I thought too!”

“by some satanic cannibals, right!”

Susan squinted at Stan. “Wait. If your Stanley pines, then Stanford ate you!” She seemed pleased to have put it together. “I knew there was something off about him!” Someone said.

Stan was shocked. “Clearly, he didn’t. I’m still alive, ain’t I?”

an ugly little man with a notepad came up to Stan and poked him with his pen.

“you sure seem alive…” he said.

“did Stanford pines eat your arm?” Said a man with a woodpecker.

Stan looked at the kids. Dipper looked annoyed.

“How is it that everyone in town always believes the exact opposite of what’s directly in front of them?” He mumbled. Wendy gave him a playful shove.

“don’t sweat it, dip. This town is full of idiots. Must be something in the water.” She said. Dipper laughed.

“Why is everyone talking about Ford eating me?” Stan asked. Dipper and Mabel looked at eachother.

“Grunkle Ford and Grandpa shermie didn’t tell you?” Said dipper. Stan shook his head, and Dipper looked concerned. Mabel pulled dipper, Wendy and Soos aside so they could “huddle”. Then, they told Stan everything they knew.

Stan barged into Ford’s study. He was pinning moth specimens for display, and he lost his focus, dropping the moth. Ford groaned.

“Stanley, would it kill you to knock?”

stan didn’t say anything, just slapped a newspaper clipping on Ford’s desk. A very familiar clipping. The one of Ford’s arrest. Stan stood there, expectantly. Ford looked up at Stan, worry in his eyes.

“Stanley. Where did you get this?”

“does it matter? I just wanna know why you confessed in court to worshiping the devil and EATING ME!”

Ford flushed, and refused to meet Stan’s eyes.

“I… I needed an explanation of… well they didn’t have a body…” Ford tried to explain. He kept fumbling over his words.

“you could have just told them I wandered off somewhere? But no, you drove my car into a building, and yelled about how you killed me. Why would you do that?”

“Stan, it’s hard to explain…”

“look, buddy. I’ve been to dimensions you can’t even imagine. I can deal with ‘hard to explain’.”

Ford stuck his fingers in his pocket. He sighed.

“after you fell through the portal…. I had a mental break. The isolation of the woods in winter got to me.” Ford took a breath. “I wasn’t ok, back then.”

Stan didn’t look impressed.

“Shermie said he thought you killed me.”

“don’t blame him. I was acting erratically at the time.”

“is that why he put you in a mental hospital?” Stan spat. Ford went silent.

“why were you in there, Ford? We both know you’re not insane.”

anger flashed across Ford’s face. “Maybe I AM insane, Stan! It’s been 30 years! How would you know?”

Stan was taken aback. He took a breath and sat down.

“look, Ford. I’m not mad you were thrown in a mental hospital. I’ve been there, sometimes you just need help. I get that. I don’t get why you lies about it though?”

“…you wouldn’t understand.”

now Stan was angry.

“of course I don’t fucking understand! You won’t talk to me! Don’t think I haven’t noticed you avoiding me. We’ve barely spent more than 5 minutes alone together!”

“what relevance does that have to anything, Stanley?” Ford said though gritted teeth.

“you don’t tell me anything. You just pulled me home, but now you won’t even talk to me! Why did you even save me if you didn’t want me around?”

Ford stood up. “Well, if you like the multiverse so much, you can go back there!” Ford shouted, before storming off. Stan didn’t get it, he didn’t understand what was going on with Ford at all. It hurt his heart to think about it. But Stanley pines didn’t survive the multiverse by letting his heart hurt. He just had to be resourceful.

Stan knew Ford was still keeping secrets, that there was something keeping them apart. Stan just had to figure that that was.

[theoretically-writing-fics]

Hello I am currently in class and bored out of my mind so here's how I think every tts/vat7k character would draw. Also I included my OCs cause they infect my brain

Rapunzel: Really good with both watercolour and acrylics (is it acrylics that she used? Idk historical accuracy is dead in this series and I don't know paint despite being an artist). She also occasionally uses coloured pencil. She sometimes does lineart, sometimes doesn't, and can draw pretty much anything! Also likes to draw designs for clothes or jewellery she can make.

Eugene: Cannot draw for shit, as seen in season 2, ep 4 (in what world was that a gopher, that was a dinosaur bud). Rapunzel does teach him often, and he is slowly but surely getting better! Whenever he draws himself, he makes himself look exaggeratedly handsome (which he is, but that's besides the point).

Cassandra: Also can't draw. Never really saw a reason to learn, but Rapunzel also insisted on teaching her.

Lance: Reeeally can't draw. Like worse than Eugene and Cass. He has fun though, and that's all that counts.

Varian: Good with sketching, but can't turn it into a finished piece to save his life. Great at capturing specific details in a persons face. He mostly draws blueprints and diagrams, but I once saw a headcanon where he draws team radical in the margins of his journal and I love that. He would def draw his friends and Ruddiger but he'd label them like diagrams because why not?

Angry: Can't draw. Tried and then ripped the paper.

Catalina: I really don't know. I feel bad for not knowing because I love her but I seriously can't figure it out.

Hugo: Self-taught, much like Rapunzel and Varian. He never grew up with many art supplies, so he learned to draw with charcoal, and grey lead pencils literally the size of his hand. He can also sorta culpt, and Rapunzel taught him watercolour, which he did like. He draws realism, but even more realistic than Varian. He only draws people close to him, such as Varian, Olivia, Donella, and Livvy (OC). Took this from a headcanon I found, but I don't remember who wrote it, sadly. Also he draws clothes to make, but he's not all that good at sewing.

Nuru: Can draw star charts, spell circles, and often tried to recreate/redesign old tapestries. She's not the best artist, but again, she has fun!

Yong: Draws straight on the paper with sharpies and highlighter. Eats the pencils.

OC time!!

Livvy: Would absolutely draw in a chibi style. Thinks Hugo's art is incredible (which it is), and Hugo would try to teach her some things! (I'm projecting here because I'm the artist of my family and my sister often gets me to teach her, and Hugo is literally me and my sister was a big inspiration for Livvy).

Melody: New dream kid #1, so she knows how to paint. Talented at drawing perspective.

Ryder: New dream kid #2, but this time he's a massive interior design freak.

Sofija: Varigo kid #1, and they both taught her how to draw. Despite how adorable and innocent she seems, she draws the most fucked up and gory stuff with a whimsical little smile on her face.

Niko: Varigo kid #2, but he prefers to write poetry rathet than create visual art.

Okay this was a lot but I'm done now :D This isn't EVERY character but no way I'm writing for every character (maybe in the future)

[twistedminutia]

A Million and One Minutia: Child Protective Services

The teachers discuss Twisted Wonderland's protective services for children.

Read the rest of the chapters here and crossposted to AO3 here.

My position as Headmage Crowley’s gopher usually doesn’t bother me that much. I mean, having him basically shove me into the path of two overblots sucked, but it’s not like he knew that was going to happen. I think.

The actual stuff I do for him on a daily basis is usually less involved than ‘solve the mystery of who’s pushing students down stairs’ and ‘defeat the on-campus mafia.’ It’s more like ‘sort this paperwork into two piles: optional and extremely optional’ or ‘go talk to Sam about restocking the store with extra potion ingredients’ or ‘straighten up my office for me.’ Grim complains every time, and maybe he’s right to do it, but I’ve always been more of a teacher’s pet. If something’s egregious, I’ll put my foot down, but if cleaning up after the headmage is what I have to do to stay on campus, then there are worse fates.

It was, I will admit, a little easier last semester. Headmage Crowley needed to either send a messenger, magic or otherwise, to fetch me to his office, or he needed to track me down in person. Not like it was hard for him to do either, but it did cut down on just how often he could give me stuff to do. After winter break, though, he oh-so-generously decided that I could keep the phone he’d lent me. He presented it as the most benevolent thing he could think of. I also caught him showing off the latest smartphone to Professor Trein less than a week later, so I don’t know if it was ‘benevolent’ so much as ‘an excuse to get a shiny new toy.’

That was what I thought the first week, anyway. Now, I think he just realized that a phone means he can just text me whatever asinine problem he wants help with instead of having to track me down first. And yes, I can refuse to see it, ignore the phone for as long as I can, but that results in Headmage Crowley blowing up my phone, repeated texts escalating to calls, all of which start with him stating that I wasn’t answering his texts, he felt so worried he had to call, and while he has me here could I please come to his office and dust his weird collection of random shiny things again?

I did try to turn my phone off once. It worked for a couple of hours. Then Headmage Crowley stopped by Ramshackle. He didn’t make any kind of threat, or at least, not one that was as blatant as the stuff Azul gets up to.

He just told me the phone belonged to him and he was still paying for the plan.

I got the hint.

It’d be unfair to say he abuses it. I don’t get a text more than a couple times a week, and he’s backed off now that the VDC crew is staying at Ramshackle. But he still does use it. And when he uses it, I go.

This time, it’s a simple message: Come to my office at 3:45 today. Usually they’re like that- I don’t know if he has a distrust of technology or if he just likes giving orders in person, but regardless of what the task is and whether it’s necessary or not, Headmage Crowly summons me to his office to deliver the news.

By 3:40, I’m standing outside the door of Headmage Crowley’s office. Grim pads along next to me, expression irritated. “We already got so much work to do. Why’s the headmage think he can give us more, huh?”

“Shh,” I tell him. I knock on the door and there’s a faint ‘Enter!’ from the other side. “Don’t complain when he’s right there.”

“But Trein gave us so much history homework to do,” Grim complains as I open the door. “It’s not fair! I bet he just likes giving us more homework than we can- eep!”

There are four people in the room. One of them, standing behind his desk, is Headmage Crowley. The other ones are professors, one of whom clearly heard Grim saying his name.

I give Professor Trein a tentative wave. The faintest of smiles touches his mouth. He nods to me. Professor Crewel looks at me with the sort of vague interest you might give an unusual plant on the roadside- kind of an ‘oh, what’s that doing here?” expression. Coach Vargas shrugs a boulder-sized shoulder. “These’re the kids you called?” he asks. “I think you could have called someone with a little more muscle power…”

“Muscles hardly have anything to do with what we’re talking about,” Professor Trein says. He lets Lucius leap from his arms and trot over to me. “Gray is going to be working on managing the surveys, then?”

“Surveys?” I repeat, glancing at each of the teachers in turn.

“Every year, in the second semester, we distribute a student survey!” Headmage Crowley says. The flickering lights where his eyes should be somehow curve up at the bottom- like they’re crinkling with a smile. Some kind of magical effect of the mask he always wears? Or are the lights actually being produced by his eyes, and the smile lines are just cutting into them? “It’s an effort to engage our students in school improvement!”

And knowing the kinds of students who go to this school, I’m sure the survey is a resounding success. Grim folds his paws over his chest. “So, you just called us here to fill out some surveys?”

“Of course not!” Headmage Crowley says, still smiling. “You’re going to distribute the surveys to the students!”

Wow. My two favorite things! Talking to people and asking them to do something for me! Unfortunately, all of the teachers are looking at me, and blatantly refusing seems like an even worse idea. “Uh. Why don’t you just distribute them in class? Wouldn’t that make it easier? More students would probably get one that way,” I suggest.

“We’ve done it that way in the past,” Professor Crewel says. “But plenty of students aren’t honest when teachers give them forms.” His mouth thins into a sneer. “I had one particular plucky pup last year try to tell me that he would write a glowing review for me in the survey… if I boosted his grade an extra point in the exam final.”

I have a sneaking suspicion I know who that might be. “But how am I supposed to hand them out? Accost students in the hallway or the lunchroom?” God, what a way to make myself look worse- no one likes being asked to do a survey, and marching around handing them out on behalf of Headmage Crowley is going to make me look like the biggest kiss-ass priss in the universe. Also, my general social anxiety balks at the idea of initiating conversation with anyone.

“You’ll figure something out,” Headmage Crowley says, completely nonchalant. Professor Trein, Professor Crewel, and Professor Vargas all look at me. It’s hard to say there’s sympathy in their gazes, but there’s something that could maybe almost be if you squint.

“Am I allowed to recruit other people to help me?” I ask. Deuce and Ace will hate me for it, but they still owe me since bailing them out from Azul.

Headmage Crowley thinks for a few moments. “If you can get other students to help you, then I don’t see it being an issue.” He smiles. “Now, go out there and get as many answers as you can!”

“Right,” I say as he shoves a stack of papers at me. I split off a small portion of the stack for Grim, who grumbles as he clutches at it with his paws. “Uh, Headmage, can I talk to you after the meeting?”

His smile, previously relaxed, goes stiff on his face. Like he’s already guessed what I’m about to ask him and he’s trying to squirm his way out of answering. “Why, as your generous headmage, I would be more than happy to speak to you about any subject you’d wish!” he says. “But, alas, I do have to finish up this meeting, and it may take quite some time, and I would never wish a student to spend valuable learning time waiting around! Perhaps we could set up another meeting time, maybe in a couple of weeks?”

Which is long enough for him to wriggle out of it again. I set my teeth. “I can wait in the hall.”

“She could sit in here and do her homework,” Professor Trein says. “We’re not talking about grades or anything of the sort. There’s no harm if she listens in.”

“I agree.” Professor Crewel cuts his eyes toward me and Grim with a vicious glare. “Both those pups could to with a little extra training.”

“Or they could do some exercise!” Coach Vargas suggests. “Squats, push-ups, leg lifts-”

“Students,” Headmage Crowley says, “are not to be in the teacher conference meetings. And I am a very busy person, I have a lot going on after this meeting-”

“Right when we began the meeting, you stated you were looking forward to relaxing as soon as it was over,” Professor Trein says. Headmage Crowley blanches- I can see his eyes go wide, which is impressive because they’re still just yellow lights behind his mask. Lucius hops onto his desk and levels an accusing meow at Headmage Crowley, who just blinks back, stunned.

“You’ve been avoiding me for ages!” I say. “I tried to talk to you before break and you said you were doing research but you won’t even tell me what the research is!”

“You’re not a mage,” Headmage Crowley says, his yellow eye-lights giving a nervous flick over my shoulders to the other teachers. Professor Crewel smacks his riding crop (is that what that is? I’ll ask Riddle later) against his gloved palm. “Gray, you won’t understand it-”

“Then explain it to me! You’re supposed to be a teacher, aren’t you?” My argument is weak- it’s entirely possible he won’t be able to explain it to me because it’s magic way beyond what I’ve learned since coming here. But I just want to know he’s doing something, something that can be explained to me in concrete terms, even if I have to take notes and go to Riddle later for a more thorough breakdown. “Just explain to me what you’ve got to far, even if it’s not much!”

Headmage Crowley folded his arms over his chest. “I am not going to discuss this right now-”

“Then when are we going to discuss it?” I can feel the gazes of the other teachers, moving between Headmage Crowley and I like a tennis match. You’d think my awareness of that would slow me down, but I’m tired, because I haven’t been sleeping well for months, I’m hungry, because Grim will eat anything that’s not nailed down at lunch, and I’m frustrated because I’ve been here for months and I have no indication that Crowley is even attempting to learn anything about my home. “You’ve been shoving me off for ages now, I can’t ask you about it without something else coming up, and I haven’t heard any kind of updates since I’ve gotten here. Please. I just- I just want to know when I’m going to be able to go home!”

There’s a wake of silence after those words. Headmage Crowley’s gaze flicks up past me, to the other teachers in the room. “I,” he says, “can explain.”

I look back. Professor Crewel is gripping his riding crop with both hands. Coach Vargas has his arms folded, impressive muscles tensed. Professor Trein is just glaring, but he’s managed to hone it into a laser beam of concentrated disdain.

“Crowley,” he says in the same tightly calm voice he gets when someone in class really screwed up. “What does she mean by that?”

Headmage Crowley looks at me, as if expecting me to say, ‘ha ha, I was just kidding! I can go home whenever I want!’ I don’t say anything. I just stare back at him. Grim fluffs up, stepping closer to me and resting a paw on my leg.

“Gray,” Professor Crewel says, apparently deciding to ignore Headmage Crowley completely. “Are you being kept here against your will?”

“Um,” I say. “Not really.”

“Not really?” Coach Vargas repeated. He folds his arms tighter and all his muscles flex. I hear Headmage Crowley gulp. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Gray,” Professor Trein says, his voice lower and a little gentler. “We’ll help you. But we need to know what’s going on first.”

Lucius pads closer on Headmage Crowley’s desk and bunts his head against my hand. I pet him absently. Grim scrambles up a second later, sitting pointedly close until I take the hint and start patting him, too. “It’s a long story,” I offer. “And it doesn’t make much sense.”

“Do your best,” Professor Crewel demands. “Both of you.”

I take another glance back at Headmage Crowley. This time, he does speak. The words almost sound cheerful, even though they also sound like they’re being pulled out like teeth. “You’ll recall what I told you about the entrance ceremony? The chaos with the entrance of our resident direbeast?”

“Hey! You should be grateful I shook things up at that boring ceremony!” Grim huffs. I run my hand over his head and he settles back, grousing under his breath.

“I recall. You told us about it when you mentioned bringing two new custodians onto our staff as part-time workers,” Professor Trein says. “I also recall you later deciding to bring them in as ‘special circumstances’ students. While being rather vague on the actual special circumstances.”

Headmage Crowley clears his throat into a gloved fist. “A-hem. Well. Those special circumstances were that Gray was summoned by the Magic Mirror from another world.” He smiles, spreading his arms. “And in my magnanimity, I decided to allow her to stay here.”

The other professors don’t look impressed. Professor Crewel specifically looks pissed. “What do you mean, ‘another world?’”

“It’s called Earth,” I offer, and three stares of impressive intensity switch to me.

“How,” Professor Crewel says, each word gritted out between his teeth, “did you get here?”

“Oh.” I glance at Headmage Crowley, but he’s no help. “I’m not sure. I don’t remember exactly what happened- I just woke up here.”

Headmage Crowley coughs into his fist again. “Ah, it would appear that Gray was summoned in the same manner as the other students, through the Dark Mirror. But as for how the Mirror was able to reach across worlds to summon her from Earth?” He smiled, spreading his gold-taloned hands wide. “No one knows!”

“A child appears at your school from an unknown location, and you have no idea how it happened?” Professor Trein asks. His voice is thunderous. I’ve seen him pissed before- I sit next to three people with an incredible talent for falling asleep in class- but never quite like this. It’s a little scary.

Grim taps one of his paws against my leg and tilts his head to the slightly-ajar door. An escape route. And I know I can’t avoid them forever, but getting out of the way of the rapidly-brewing argument feels like a good idea. At least for now.

I nod at Grim and take a cautious step back. Then another. Then another. And then a very muscular hand clamps down on my shoulder.

Somehow, I forgot Coach Vargas was there.

“Goin’ somewhere?” he asks, and because Vargas has never heard of an inside voice, it draws the attention of the professors and the headmage.

“No,” I mutter. “Not really.” Coach Vargas shoves me back into the direct line of multiple gazes.

“And you haven’t tried to send her back home?” Professor Crewel says, and hey, it’s not like he has to talk about me like I’m not in the room, right?

“I did attempt it,” Headmage Crowley says. “I instructed the Dark Mirror to send her home, but it was unable to locate her world.”

“It could bring her here, but not send her home? That doesn’t make sense,” Professor Trein protests.

“I assure you, it’s just as baffling to me as it is to you. But those are the circumstances,” Headmage Crowley says.

“A child,” Professor Trein says, and his fingers draw long lines down Lucius’ back, “arrives at your school with no parent or guardian, no way to contact them, no way to return her home, no supports- and you enroll her in classes?”

“He wouldn’t let us enroll right away!” Grim complains. “We had to be janitors for the day!”

Coach Vargas is frowning, but Professor Crewel and Professor Trein’s combined gazes are approaching the full power of the sun. Professor Crewel’s pointer snaps across his gloved palm. I have the urge to grab Grim and hide under something, to shield from the inevitable explosion. “You. Made. Her. Work?”

“Ahem,” Headmage Crowley says meekly. “I rather thought you were aware of that…”

“No,” Professor Trein says. “Did you get in contact with the DMP?”

“The what?” I ask. If they’re talking about me, it feels fair that I have some knowledge of what they’re saying.

Professor Crewel’s gaze loses a shred of fire as he looks at me. “Department of Minor Protection.”

“Oh.” That’d be their equivalent of child protective services, I guess. I hadn’t really thought about it before, but it is a little weird Headmage Crowley didn’t report anything about me to them. Aren’t teachers mandated reporters? Maybe not here.

Headmage Crowley seems almost offended by the notion. “Of course I didn’t report her!”

Professor Crewel’s teeth grind. “You are the headmage of one of the most illustrious schools in all of Twisted Wonderland, and a child turns up from another world with no guardian and, I assume, no legal record, and you don’t report her to the department intended to deal with those cases?”

Headmage Crowley folds his arms over his chest. “No.”

“Why not?” Professor Trein asks.

“Because if I had reported her, do you know what would have happened?” Headmage Crowley returns. “She would have been removed from the school and, likely, shuffled into the foster care system. Given that Sage’s Island is a satellite nation of the Land of Dawning, it’s most likely she would have been sent off the island entirely. Away from Night Raven.”

“Perhaps that would have been for the best, all things considered,” Professor Trein says. I wonder if he’s thinking about the overblots.

“No,” Headmage Crowley states. “Whatever force pulled her into this world, it pulled her here. And, short of sending her for study at a magical research facility, there are fewer places in the world that are more thickly soaked in magic or better equipped to examine the magic that could send her home. If the dark mirror is involved, sending her away could be catastrophic for her chances to return.”

“You could explain that to the case workers,” Professor Trein suggests, though his voice is a bit more uncertain.

“I have been running this school for over a hundred years,” Headmage Crowley says. “I have had, in that time, many encounters with the Department of Minor Protection. With multiple government agencies, in fact. Do you think they would listen if I told them?”

There’s a moment of damning silence. Professor Trein lets out a low breath.

“Regardless,” Headmage Crowley continues, “Gray is seventeen. It is unlikely she would be placed into foster care. More likely, given that she is nearly the age of majority, she would be legally emancipated and be sent out into the world with little documentation, less knowledge, and no formal job qualifications.” He puffs up his chest, his voice growing more boisterous. “Which is why, in my magnanimity, I have allowed Gray to stay, tuition-free, at our illustrious school. She has a safe location to stay in and is gaining an education that may one day serve her in finding a career here.” I’m not sure what he’s talking about. It’s an education, yes, at a prestigious school to be sure, but it’s also a magic education. It’s like giving a person with no arms a thorough schooling in brain surgery. Yes, very impressive, but you can’t do the job you’ve been trained for.

“Of course,” Headmage Crowley continues, “hopefully the job will not be necessary, as I will endeavor to have Gray home as soon as possible.”

It’s still not comforting that he’s clearly made plans in case I’m here for a long time. But it also is sort of nice to know that he’s thought this through more than I thought he had. I still don’t trust him, to be clear- he’s still taking advantage of the fact I’m under his thumb to squeeze me for labor. But maybe he’s not as incompetent as I assumed.

Professors Trein and Crewel exchange looks. Coach Vargas furrows his thick brows. “We are supposed to report things like this,” Professor Trein says, but his conviction is much less than it was.

“The headmage has a point,” Professor Crewel shoots back. “Throwing her to the wolves of the government hardly seems like a better solution.”

“Given the circumstances,” Professor Trein argues, and I assume that’s his polite way of saying overblots, “one could argue that the wolves of government would be safer for her.”

“One could, if one enjoyed being wrong,” Professor Crewel snipes back. “Nothing has happened so far, and the pup can clearly handle herself. At least if she stays here, we can keep an eye on her.”

A vein has started to throb in Professor Trein’s head. Professor Crewel’s teeth are starting to grind. I heard from other students that they didn’t get on, but I’ve never seen them fight in person. Even Lucius is puffing himself up into a pom-pom. Grim’s trident tail lashes as his ears flatten back. “Now, now,” Headmage Crowley says in a too-feeble voice. “No need for-”

A taxicab whistle fills the office, so loud it makes my ears ring for a couple seconds after it stops. Everyone turns toward the whistle’s source. Coach Vargas waits until all attention is on him, then lifts his massive shoulders in a shrug. “Ask the kid.”

Professor Trein blinks. “Beg pardon?”

“Ask the kid.” Coach Vargas claps a hand on my shoulder and I nearly collapse under the pressure. “She’s seventeen, yeah? Almost an adult. She can decide for herself.”

The gazes all turn to me. I nearly wilt under the weight of them, the warmth of Grim pressed against my leg bolstering me just enough to stay upright. “Uh. Can I ask- what would happen to me if I did leave?”

Professor Trein speaks. “The standard procedure would involve you being taken into custody by the Department of Minor Protection under the Land of Dawning government. You would be assigned a case worker who would be your guardian until you were either shuffled into the foster system or legally emancipated. Typically, a seventeen-year-old would be legally emancipated, but given your lack of connections and experience in the world, they may decide to foster you regardless.”

The idea of being sent off to unceremoniously live with strangers is… unsettling. Not to mention that if the foster system here works anything like the foster system back home, they might not be very nice people. “I wouldn’t be able to stay at Night Raven College if I got sent into the system?”

“It’s possible,” Professor Trein says, “but unlikely. Your enrollment here is already a special case, but if the Land of Dawning was given guardianship, they would likely unenroll you, even if Crowley gave you permission to stay. If you had magic, that may not be the case, but they would likely see sending a magicless student to an arcane academy to be a waste of time.”

“Which is utterly ridiculous,” Headmage Crowley cut in, pouting like a stepped-on cat. “The education here is beneficial even to non-mages!”

“Be that as it may,” Professor Trein sighs. “You would likely be sent to a more traditional school for non-mages.” His tone is skeptical about whether that would be a bad thing. But I have one more reservation.

“Then what would happen to Grim?” I glance down at the bundle of fuzz who’s still near my leg. He blinks back up at me with his big, blue eyes.

Headmage Crowley lifts a hand to his chin. His golden talons gleam in the candlelight. “Hmm. The two of you are here on a dual enrollment basis. The beast and the beast-tamer. If one of you were to leave…”

“Gray’s my hech-human!” Grim huffs. “Ya can’t send her away!” He scrambles up onto Headmage Crowley’s desk, sending papers skidding beneath his paws and huffs out a small puff of blue flame. “I’m gonna be a great mage and Gray’s gonna be my hench-human!”

“I suppose Grim does have the magic capabilities to stay here on his own,” Headmage Crowley muses, like he doesn’t even hear Grim. “Though whether he has the discipline, well…”

“No one is being sent away,” Professor Crewel tells Grim. “Now get off the desk!” His crop snaps down right next to Grim, who leaps at me in terror. I scramble to catch him and end up holding him upside down.

If I leave, Grim’s going to be alone in Ramshackle. He’s a pain, of course- he’s impulsive, cranky, a bottomless pit, reckless and combative to a ridiculous level. But he’s also earnest, straightforward, loyal, and when I woke up screaming for the third time this week, he offered me a can of tuna, and curled up next to me in bed until I fell asleep again. I don’t want to leave him.

“I want to stay,” I say, setting Grim back on the ground. Right side up, this time. “I- I’m used to it, here. It might-” This part’s harder, because it feels more like a lie. “It might be easier for me to find ways to go home if I’m here. And if I can stay here for the three full years anyway, that might be better…”

Only three years. The fourth year is an internship. I don’t know if I can do any kind of internship.

“I suppose,” Professor Trein says after a moment. “At least for the time being.” He doesn’t look happy about it- neither does Professor Crewel for that matter. But Headmage Crowley does.

“There! Of course, such a promising student can glean the clear superiority of my magnificent plan!” he preens. I suddenly regret agreeing with him. “Now, I believe that settles all of that.” He sounds only too relieved for the discussion to be over.

Professor Trein sighs. “Gray. May I see your phone for a moment?”

I fish it out of my pocket and hand it over. Professor Trein fusses with it for a moment, then hands it back. “My number is in there now. I’ll be checking in with you periodically, and I expect you to reach out if you need anything. Anything at all.”

Professor Crewel huffs and holds out his hand. “Give it to me as well.” I hand my phone over a second time and he gives it back with a new contact. “The pup is in my class after all,” he adds with a sharp look to Professor Trein, who just shrugs it off.

“Now that’s all taken care of,” Headmage Crowley says, “we should be getting back to the meeting. Gray, if you could pick up those surveys…”

I move to put my phone away as I lean over to gather the surveys and a thought occurs to me. “Uh. Hey. Wouldn’t it be easier just to email the surveys to students? You could get them out to a lot more students that way, and it’d be faster.”

Headmage Crowley’s expression freezes on his face. “Ah.” When his smile returns, it’s just a bit too big to be convincing. “Ah, of course! Yes, I knew you were the right person for the job. Of course, in my magnanimity, I will allow you to use electronic mail to send the surveys out! Please have them set up and sent out by tonight.” He ushers Grim and me toward the office door. “I’ll be checking in with you tomorrow on the status!”

The door swings shut with a final, echoing bang. I stare at the ornate surface for a moment. Grim grumbles. “Figures he’d somehow dump more work on us while we’re tryin’ to make things easier for him.”

“Yup,” I agree. “Let’s go to the library. You can work on some homework while I get this survey stuff done.”

Grim whines and complains until I bribe him with some tuna fish, which means his only protests as we head to the library are malcontent grumblings. I hug the surveys to my chest. I didn’t actually ask Headmage Crowley about the thing I’d gone in there for in the first place. How he’s been doing on finding my way home. Context clues suggest the answer is ‘not well.’ And it’s nice that he’s been planning ahead for my time here, but if he has, how confident does that mean he is in finding me a way home? Does he really think I’m going to be here for years and years?

I don’t even know if Headm- if Crowley is working on the way home or not. He’s so evasive when I ask him- does he care at all? Is he trying to avoid disappointing me by pretending not to have done anything when in reality he’s just not finding anything? Because, honestly, I’d rather have bad news than no news. At least then, I’d know he’s trying.

Right now, though… If he can’t find anything, what do I do? I can’t go home. I don’t want to stay here. What do I do?

“Hey, hench-human! Watch where you’re going!” Grim snaps from a few feet to my left. I look over and realize I was half an inch from going face-first into a wall.

“Sorry, Grim. Lost in thought,” I say. Grim huffs, but there’s something mildly affectionate in it.

“Can’t take you anywhere,” he mutters. “Come on! Sooner you get done with that stuff, the sooner I get tuna!”

“You only get tuna when you’re done with your work too!” I call after him, but he’s already sprinting away on all fours. I laugh quietly and push myself into a jog after him.

Read the next chapter here.

[snappedsky]

ROTTMNT: Retired Leo AU

Big Mama wants Leonardo to fight in her Battle Nexus.

--

Battle Nexus Block

Leonardo lounges in the living room chair, idly watching a game show. Raph, Leo, Donnie, and Mikey are hanging out around him in the beanbag chairs, either playing on their phones or simply enjoying the quiet evening in the lair.

But as is common in their lives, the leisure is interrupted when Donnie gets an alert on his tech gauntlet.

He sits up as he reads it and frowns. “Someone’s coming.”

The boys all share a surprised look.

At the tunnel entrance, a small gopher yokai in a purple suit enters to find the turtles’ weapons in his face. He seems slightly shocked but mostly unperturbed and clears his throat.

“Big Mama has sent me to summon Leonardo.”

“Me?” the older turtle questions and gets off the chair.

“She would like to see you in her office at the Hidden City,” the yokai explains.

“She would, huh,” Leonardo scoffs, “go tell Big Mama that if she wants to see me, she can call me herself. I don’t get summoned; I do the summoning.” The boys lower their weapons as Leonardo goes back to the chair. But the gopher does not leave.

“Big Mama suspected you would say something like that,” he says as he reaches into his jacket pocket. “That’s why she wanted me to get collateral.”

“Collateral?” Leonardo questions, turning back.

At that moment, the yokai throws a portal drop onto the floor beneath the turtle boys’ feet. They all cry out with surprise as they fall through the portal. The gopher jumps in after them before the portal closes.

Leonardo stands in the now empty, quiet lair and slumps. “Ah...”

Meanwhile, up in the city, April, Cassandra, Casey, and Sunita walk down the darkening streets. Having spent the day perusing clothing sales, they’re finally heading home.

As the girls split off, Casey continues on his own to the lair’s street entrance, to join the turtles at home with whatever they’re up to.

He stares up at the sky as he walks down the quiet sidewalk, watching the sun’s light slowly fade in the distance. Then suddenly, he feels a chill shoot up his neck.

He immediately pivots, pressing his back against the wall of a nearby building, and looks around. He doesn’t see anyone, but he can feel someone watching him.

[gaykarstaagforever]

Kindred: The Embraced, Episode 7 (I think?; some stations played them out of order.)

This is the penultimate episode of this stupid show (in most markets). And to its credit, it's one of the better ones? It's still bad, but it doesn't shit all over the lore of the game it's adapting AS MUCH as most of these, so, we take what we can get. And it doesn't feel like it was written by an illiterate child, a rarity on this show.

That said, OMG, the mid-90s sexism, here. It's only more hilarious to me than offensive because I'm not a woman. But even I was getting pretty mad by the end.

Watch the episode before you read the rest of this. I'm not explaining the context of any of this, and I WILL BE DOING SPOILERS, because this show is free, and I am already acutely aware of how much of my own time I'm wasting talking about this terrible stupid show.

Goth did nothing wrong. He's a Nosferatu who hates the fact that his vampire clan has to hide in basements and sewers, doing gopher work for the Ventrue, when they could use Blood Magic to rule the clans, and also the world. I realize the show thinks this makes him the bad guy. But in a world where vampires are real and can use magic to become powerful monster-people...why not do that? It's goofy to expect they wouldn't. I realize the Masquerade fundamentally underpins the entire World of Darkness universe, and the reason for that is that exposing gothic monsters to a humankind that has guns and bombs will lead to endless war. But also, vampires are cool immortal zombie monsters who don't seem to suffer from being that too much, and I'm a sad emo fat man, so I'm kinda down for them taking over. Especially in the shitty universe of this bad show. Goth's argument that convinces most of the Nosferatu to join him is that Luna sucks ass as Prince of San Francisco. And he DOES - we've had entire episodes specifically about that. Like, even in this hack off-lore WoD universe, Julian Luna is a shitty Prince and everyone hates him and is constantly trying to kill / overthrow him. Daedalus loves the guy, for zero rational reason, so his counter-arguement to what Goth says is literally "everyone is right to hate our clan for being ugly and doing actual vampire stuff, just shut up and agree and join me in helping the Pretty People treat us like dogshit." Understandably, it goes over like a lead balloon, even with him being Primogen. I mean, yeah. Goth is absolutely right. Why are you submitting to this, when you don't have to? And it's not like powerful Nosferatu couldn't still maintain the Masquerade, even if they were in charge and letting vampires have fun. You can totally still do that. You can also say "fuck it" and take over the world, if you're using magic to become super powerful, which is the plan. So either way, Vote Goth 2025.

Goth's plan revolves around him kidnapping a baby, in broad daylight, to use for his vampire Blood Magic ritual. The mother of this baby is supposed to be a 17 yo single mother. And before you ask, yes, the show is NOT okay with her being that. Like, to a fucking inappropriate degree. Also she is played by an actress who was 23 at the time, and absolutely looks like it:

Does it matter how this 17 yo got pregnant? Does it matter why the father isn't with her? Does it matter that she chose not to get an abortion? No. No, it absolutely does not. But this show from 1996 SUPER thinks it does, and makes Caitlin interrogate her about all the details of this. And then inappropriately share her own related sexual trauma with this woman who just got her baby kidnapped by a monster-man, while Frank the Cop is also angrily accusing her of killing her baby and making up a story about monsters. Nice work, everyone.

Oh, Frank very quickly decides he believes her, when he remembers he's supposed to know what vampires are. He has to be reminded every episode. Because this show sucks.

They decided with this episode of their shitty vampire show to get into how young women having babies out of wedlock is a thing. They really should not have. This is already a show that only has three regular women characters, and all of them spend every second of screen time being sad about how they don't get enough dick. It is revealed, kind of out of nowhere, that the reason Caitlin hasn't had sex with Julian yet is because she got pregnant herself at 17 and gave the baby up, and so is now afraid of doing sex. Which, fine, is a thing someone can be and do. But not here. Not like this. This show uses her celibacy as a fetish, because she's hot and blonde and it's the 90s, so getting this woman naked when she doesn't want to be is all every bit of character development about her is aiming at. And they can't hold it in anymore with this episode, because they have her finally give in to Julian. SPECIFICALLY BECAUSE she just had an adventure involving a baby, and I guess that automatically makes women so sad and horny they have to ignore their trauma and do sex with men? Like I said, this show is awful. It really, really is.

It gets worse. Goth's assistant is a lady Nosferatu named Camilla. She's totally down with murdering that baby to do a Blood Ritual, until Caitlin confronts her about it. Then Camilla says that being a Nosferatu sucks because vampires can't make babies, and that before she was a vampire she had 8 kids and misses being a "fertile" mother, because Jesus Fucking Christ, men who wrote this show. At which point she suddenly decides she CAN'T kill this baby, Caitlin can rescue it, whatever, the Nosferatu can get powerful another way. ...Even though they can't, that's WHY YOU WERE DOING THE BABY THING IN THE FIRST PLACE, STUPID.

The new plan is to do the Blood Magic ritual with Julian instead of the baby. Which won't work, and Goth freaks out about it and attacks him. And Julian kills him with an axe, because Daedalus let Julian drink some of his blood, which gives Julian temporary Nosferatu Katate Fighting action? Look. It doesn't matter. The show doesn't care, and neither should you. The episode ends with Julian fucking Caitlin because she's horny about babies. We've got bigger problems here than the bad WoD lore.

Sasha and Cash are in this for 5 minutes, and suck, as usual. Cash is tasked by Julian to rescue the baby, fails as usual, but tells Julian that Goth has errected a big ritual stone circle to sacrifice the baby, out in the open in a public park. Julian tells him he did a good job. He isn't being sarcastic, and I have no idea how. Cash then confronts Sasha in The Haven, where she's hanging out with Brujah. He tells her that unless she agrees to date him again, he will be forced, as a Gangrel, to hate her racially for being a Brujah. Which is shit enough, but let's remember here that she only got turned into a Brujah vampire in the first place after Cash failed to protect her from getting abducted and SA'd by them, VERY SPECIFICALLY because they were out to humiliate Cash by SA'ing and turning his human girlfriend. So goddamn class-act all around, Cash, you godforsaken pants' load. But that scene in The Haven ends with Cash telling Sasha Goth will probably kill him, so she admits that she still loves him. Which...the fuck? And also, no, Goth isn't going to kill Cash, because Cash doesn't do shit, fails at everything, and Julian uses Caitlin to crash the ritual and kill Goth himself. Oh my god.

Lillie hates Caitlin because Julian is in love with Caitlin and not Lillie. So Lillie befriends Caitlin, drugs her with "you have to follow my orders now" serum (a thing they suddenly have), and tells her exactly where to find Camilla and the baby, in the hope that Camilla and Goth will murder this human woman. And it fails, as Lillie's plans always do. But this means Lillie knew where Goth and Camilla were, with the baby, this whole time, while Julian and Cash are desperate to locate and stop them. Goth got exiled by Julian for being a jackass, and Camilla is well-known to hate Julian and be on Goth's side. So, ONCE AGAIN, Lillie, who supposedly loves Julian so much she will kill to keep him, is in a constant state of siding with people who are actively trying to kill or overthrow him. Because the Nosferatu totally would have become Super Vampires who hate Julian if they had done the baby ritual, and they only didn't pull it off because Lillie sent Caitlin to Camilla, based on her plan that failed. And I think Julian knew she was going to do this the whole time...? Somehow? Maybe? And let it happen? Without knowing how it would go...?

Oh, and Camilla explains vampires to Caitlin, who doesn't even seem shocked, even though she isn't supposed to know what vampires are, even though she keeps making out with one. So I have no idea what is happening here. Or why it matters. Sure, yet another Masquerade violation. But if the Nosferatu are kidnapping babies from parks in broad daylight, and also setting up ritual stone circles in those same parks that are visible to everyone in broad daylight, I guess none of this matters. Ever.

Daedalus waxes philosophic about how the NEW Nosferatu are classy and well-behaved and pro-Masquerade, that they've given up being aggressive and doing Blood Magic rituals. And his implication is that this is because they were superstitious and uncivilized monster-people before the other clans got them to settle down and play nice. ...Except the Blood Ritual Goth wants to do will 100% work - that's why they're all afraid of it. And the Nosferatu totally do have cool badass vampire fighting powers that are better than anyone else's, which is why Daedalus lets Julian drink his blood to gain them temporarily. So...why did the Nosferatu ever submit in the first place? They legitimately are more powerful than the other clans. Their magic is real. Why would they have ever given that up? Why did Daedalus? They weren't confused monsters - they were cool, powerful vampires, who could easily kill everyone and hold power forever! It makes no sense that they would ever give that up. All this show had to do was suggest that MAYBE the baby Blood Ritual wouldn't work as advertised. That would clear this up. But they wanted the stakes to be high, so they didn't do that. And made Daedalus and the Nosferatu look like idiots.

And they are. Everyone is. Anyone and everyone connected to any part of this show in any way is a big stupid dumb idiot. This show sucks.

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

Hello!

🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️

And I do love me some misery haha

🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓

♥️

Hi! thank you!!!

27 for 🌤️:

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“You’re relinquishing grocery store control?” Eddie asks, surprised.

“We have to prioritize time, not perfection, here,” Buck says, dead serious. As if Eddie hadn’t been teasing. Buck does take his shopping trips seriously. Brands, prices, deals, etcetera. 

“Ah,” Eddie says. “You want a gopher.”

“No, Eddie. I need a gopher.”

Eddie chuckles. “Alright. I’ll follow your instructions to the letter.”

And he does. It ends up being sort of fun. Eddie treats Buck and his shopping list like an inventory check at work. Jokes and complains, but does everything right so Buck doesn’t stress. At one point, he’s fretting over the difference between two interchangeable ingredients a bit too much, and Eddie just… Well, he kisses him about it. To shut him up, and hopefully to distract him. 

Eddie probably wouldn’t do this in the present - his present - day. But here? Here, Eddie has presumably been out and comfortable with himself for years. Here Eddie is married to Buck, and part of that means getting to have silly little things like grocery store kisses. So he doesn’t have to feel self-conscious. He doesn’t have to feel weird about it. 

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39 for 🐓:

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Not exactly ideal. 

It’s not that Buck doesn’t want to talk to Eddie. He does. Like, if he had to choose one person in the world to spend his time talking to ad nauseam, it would be Eddie. Eddie, who never gets tired of Buck talking. Eddie, who understands Buck in a way most people don’t. Who knows what Buck needs to hear. Eddie, whose dry, witty humor has easily become Buck’s favorite thing to laugh to in the world. Of course he wants to talk to Eddie.

He just doesn’t doesn’t know how anymore. 

It’s sad to say that. Pathetic even. He doesn’t know how to talk to his best friend. His favorite person. It’s so stilted and awkward. Every time they talk, they’re just informing the other of what they’re missing. Catching up. Progress updates. How many times can Buck pretend not to be devastated? How many times can Eddie weakly reassure him that things are looking up with Chris? There’s always something off about his voice. Like he’s not being truthful. They see through each other, but they’re both telling white lies anyway. 

There aren’t plans to see each other. Not yet. No word on if Eddie plans to stay in El Paso or eventually return. Which, come on. No news isn’t always good news. He’s just avoiding telling Buck this is it. And, eventually, Eddie will let their friendship slip away. Buck knows that. Buck can feel it. He has never been anyone’s priority. Why should that change, just because Buck got comfortable with his spot in Eddie’s life? Deep down, didn’t he always suspect it wasn’t permanent?

The texts that arrive from Eddie make Buck’s stomach sort of hurt.

You’re in Hershey? And I learn from Bobby? Why didn’t you tell me? How’s it going??