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ereardon · 1 year

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Friends Don't || Chapter 3

Summary: Bob Floyd has been your best friend for almost a decade, ever since he quietly agreed to tutor you in college. The two of you have spent years chasing each other around the globe – Bob as a WSO, you as a travel blogger. You’ve always been the anywhere-but-here girl, and he’s been your rock. But when a surprise diagnosis threatens to crumble your picture-perfect life, you’re on the first flight back to San Diego, desperate to put down roots for the first time. Will Bob finally have it in him to admit that you could be the love of his life? What will he say when he finds out the secret you’ve been skillfully hiding from him? Or worse, what if he doesn’t find out until it’s too late?

Pairing: Robert “Bob” Floyd x OC [Reid]

Tropes: Friends to lovers

Warnings: Cursing, angst, alcohol

WC: 2.8K

Series masterlist here; previous chapter here; next chapter here

You met Denver when Bob got stationed at Lemoore. You had still been living in New Orleans, planning your move up to San Francisco, but it was taking a while because the magazine had you doing an Asia tour: Vietnam, Laos, Japan, Hong Kong, Singapore, Nepal.

On your way back from Tokyo, you stopped in San Francisco to do some apartment hunting, before renting a car and driving down to Lemoore to visit Bob.

He was still a newer member on the team; everyone but Denver had been there for years. They were a knit family, and he was the odd one out. But at least he had her.

“You’re going to love her,” Bob said. He was teeming with excitement. Seeing him happy made you happy. You knew that he hadn’t quite fit in at Newport, his station before Lemoore. You knew that he desperately wanted to be part of a team.

And he had found that with Denver.

The bar was crowded. And hot. You were wearing a tiny tank top and a pair of denim shorts, not much of a going out outfit but Bob had insisted the two of you go straight to the bar so you could meet his friends.

Bob weaved through the packed bar, his hand warm in yours, over toward one side of the curved wooden bar. You spotted the familiar khaki outfits that screamed military. Bob raised his free hand excitedly in a wave and you smiled up at him.

“Hey guys,” he said, and a few of the khaki uniforms turned. Their eyes shamelessly rolled over you, and your hand in Bob’s, jaws going slack.

“Floyd,” one of them, a classically attractive guy with a broad jawline, said. “Who’s the girl?”

“Reid,” you said, sticking out one hand, keeping your left firmly in Bob’s. You shook his hand.

“Harvard,” he said.

You squinted. Another guy, even more ridiculously handsome, sidled up behind him. “I’m Fritz.”

You nodded. The other two were Omaha and Yale. The callsigns went in one ear and out the other. You were notoriously bad with names.

And then you heard a small voice, like a delicate bird. “Stop drooling all over her, fuckheads. She’s way too hot for any of you.”

All eyes turned to the right. A tiny redhead was making her way over to the group, her hands full of beer bottles. She handed one to Omaha and then another to Bob. Finally, her piercing green eyes landed on you and she smiled, holding out the remaining beer bottle. “You must be Sunny.”

You grinned. “I am. You must be Denver.”

“Sure hope so, otherwise I’m wearing someone else’s uniform.”

You laughed and took the beer, sipping it carefully. You watched Bob’s face light up as he spoke to the pilot. The casual way she put her hand on his forearm. How easy and light they were together. The way his eyes tracked her across the room. How she always brought him back into the conversation where he might have fallen out of it.

For the rest of the night you snuck glances at the two of them. And for the first time you saw what Bob looked like when he was in love.

“Hey.” Fritz approached you from your right, leaning against the wall where you had your butt pressed, staring out across the bar at Bob and Denver.

“Hi,” you replied, taking a swig from the gin and tonic in your hand. You were tipsy, edging on drunk.

Fritz followed your gaze. “They’re good together, don’t you think?”

You nodded. “Yeah, they are. Never seen him like that before.”

“Like what?”

“So happy,” you replied. “Carefree.” The two of you watched as Bob laughed at something Denver said, her eyes sparkling as she faced him.

“He looked pretty damn happy when he told us you were coming,” Fritz said.

You shook your head. “Nothing like that.”

Fritz moved slightly closer and you looked up at him with a smile.

“Live nearby?” you asked.

He grinned. “In fact, I do.”

You took his hand, weaving through the crowd toward where Bob was standing near the bar next to Denver and Yale. “Bobby?” you said softly, raising a hand and pressing it to his upper arm.

He turned around with a smile. “Hey Sunny, where’d you go?”

You looked up at Fritz. “Just got another drink. I, uh, think we’re gonna head out. Can I call you tomorrow, get a ride back to your place?”

He frowned. “Are you sure?”

You felt Fritz’s hand slide into the back pocket of your jeans, fingers gripping the swell of your ass. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

Bob looked between you and Fritz with narrowed eyes. “Sunny? Gonna ask you one more time, darlin’, are you sure?”

You nodded then leaned up and kissed his cheek, letting your hand fall from his arm. “See you tomorrow, Bobby.”

You let Fritz’s hand migrate to your low back, guiding you out of the bar and into the humid California night. You weren’t sure why, but it took everything you had not to turn around and take one last look at Bob before you walked out the door.

Bob looked up at Denver with angry eyes.

“I shouldn’t have let her go. She’s been here twelve hours, she has no idea where she is. Fritz is a goddamn stranger to her.”

“Reid can do what she wants, Floyd,” Denver said, leaning her small arm against the bar. “She’s a grown woman. Besides, Fritz is a puppy dog. You don’t have anything to worry about.”

He shook his head. “I’m going after her.” He put his glass of seltzer down and started to walk toward the door when Denver grabbed him, yanking him back shockingly hard for such a small person.

“Floyd! Snap out of it man. She isn’t yours.”

“Yes, she is. She’s my responsibility, don’t you get that? I brought her here.”

Harvard shook his head. “Fuck, man, you’re down bad for her aren’t you?”

Bob squinted his eyes. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Harvard laughed. “See, I always thought you had a thing for Denver over here. But apparently you’re just the nerd in love with the hot girl next door. And she ditched you the first chance she got.”

Bob felt like his eyes were going to pop out of his head. He lunged forward, but Denver grabbed his arm. “Come on, let’s get some air, Floyd.”

He let her yank him out onto the back patio of the bar, anger already starting to pool in his stomach.

“Is it because of Fritz, or is it because she left with anyone but you?”

Bob shook his head, taking a deep breath. “Please, Denver, just drop it.”

“No. I won’t drop it. Tell me the truth. What is it about her that has you so wound up, ready to fucking combust?”

Bob sighed. “It’s just been me and Reid for a long time, OK? It’s a hard dynamic to change. That’s all, I promise.”

Her green eyes scanned his face. “You wouldn’t lie to me, would you Robert?” she asked softly, stepping closer.

Bob raised his eyes to hers. “No, Sarah. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

She nodded, lips pursed in a tight line. The two of them stood side by side, leaning against the railing of the patio, staring off into the distance in silence.

***

You hadn’t meant for it to happen, but somehow you ended up hosting a pizza night at the house as a way to repay the team for helping to unbox all your stuff that had finally arrived from Brooklyn, along with all of the new items you had purchased that had shown up on the doorstep, much to Bob’s dismay.

The two of you arrived home one night to no less than twenty boxes from Crate & Barrel on the front porch. Bob turned to you with wide eyes and you gave him a small shrug across the middle console of the car, hopping out to examine the boxes.

“Sunny,” he said, exasperated. “I said yes to redecorating. But what on Earth? Did you buy the whole store or what?”

“Hate to break it to you, honey,” you said, opening the door and scooting the nearest box inside. “But your house? Your stuff? It’s depressing.”

“I’m offended,” he said, following after you with a box in his arms.

“No you’re not,” you replied. “And if you are, you’ll get over it when you see how much cute shit I got for us.”

Bob groaned, digging in his pocket.

“What are you doing?”

“Calling in backup,” he said, hitting a button and lifting the phone to his ear. “Rooster? Yeah, can you and Hangman and Phoenix come over? Bring Coyote. Reid bought all this stuff and we’re never going to be able to unload it all ourselves.” He paused, nodding. “Yeah, we’ll buy you guys dinner.”

He clicked off the phone and you laughed, already headed to your room to change into athletic clothing. “Remember that you love me!” you called from down the hall.

“How could I ever forget?” Bob replied, shaking his head and grabbing a box cutter from the top drawer in the kitchen.

That was how you found yourself sitting on the floor in the middle of Bob’s kitchen unwrapping a set of Estelle colored wine glasses and handing them to Phoenix, who was carefully placing them in a cabinet.

In the living room, Rooster and Hangman were fighting over the instructions for the media center that you had ordered, while Bob was chatting with Coyote as he built a coffee table.

You handed a blue stemless wine glass to Phoenix who took it with a smile. “So, how are you liking San Diego?”

You shrugged. “It’s alright. I like the beach nearby.”

“Bob said you’ve lived all over the place.”

You nodded. “Yeah, I’ve bounced around a lot. I did New Orleans, Seattle, Austin, SF, London, Barcelona. Most recently I was in Greenpoint.”

Phoenix put one hand on her slim hip. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“Why here, then? Sounds like you’ve lived in the best cities in the US, maybe even the world. So why the hell would you want to move to San Diego?”

You looked out over into the living room. “It’s the only place where I can see him every day.”

Phoenix raised an eyebrow as you stood up from the floor, dusting off your knees with your hands. “Bradshaw is gonna ask you out. Even got a blessing from Floyd.”

You turned to her. “Bob said yes?”

She nodded. “Wasn’t too convincing, but he said Bradshaw was free to do whatever he liked. So just keep an eye out. He’s a good guy, Rooster. You could do worse.”

You ducked down, opening a new box to reveal a set of ivory plates. “I’m not really looking to date right now.”

“Anyone, or does that just apply to Rooster?”

“You two gossiping about me?” Bradley appeared in your field of vision, guzzling from a water bottle on the counter. He set it down and wiped his mouth, revealing a wide grin.

You looked at Phoenix with panic and she cleared her throat. “Was just telling Reid here that you’re a sore loser because Hangman beat you at darts last week.”

“Fuck, it was one time!” Rooster tossed his hands up and his genuine nature made you laugh. He dropped his hands and smiled. “Listen, Reid, if you’re not busy tomorrow, I’d love to take you to dinner.”

You hesitated. What you had told Phoenix wasn’t a lie. You moved to San Diego to spend time with Bob. It wasn’t about a new crop of potential suitors. But the way that Bradley was smiling down at you, and the broadness of his shoulders, and the air in the kitchen, all had you nodding. “Sure,” you said softly. “I’d love to.”

Bradley smiled so wide it threatened to split his face in half. “Great. I’ll pick you up here, say seven thirty?”

You nodded. The rest of the night was spent unpacking boxes, you and Phoenix largely sequestered to the kitchen. Hangman and Rooster finally stopped yelling at each other long enough to get the black wood and cane media console set up and you watched with a grin as all four men argued about how exactly the tv should be set up.

At the end of the night, you swept the empty pizza boxes into a trash bag and followed everyone out into the driveway to say goodbye, dumping the trash inside the can near the garage door.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” you said lightly to Bradley and he stepped closer, kissing your cheek softly.

“See you tomorrow Reid.”

He walked away and you heard Jake huff to himself, muttering under his breath, “What does fucking Bradshaw have that I don’t?”

You smirked to yourself, waving to Phoenix as she got in her truck, before heading back inside. In the kitchen, Bob was wiping down the counter, placing the last beer can in the recycling.

“Good work tonight,” you said, looking around with your hands crossed over your chest. You still had some boxes to unpack and you were lacking a dining room table, but the living room was practically brand new.

Bob shook his head. “You didn’t have to do this, Sunny.”

“Um, I kind of did if I didn’t want to live in a frat basement for a house.”

“It wasn’t that bad.” “Whatever you need to tell yourself.” You slipped past him, opening the fridge and pulling out a water bottle. “Alright, I’m gonna take a shower and head to bed. Goodnight.”

You started down the hall when Bob’s voice stopped you. “Are you really going out with Bradley tomorrow?”

You turned. Bob stood in the middle of the hallway, his hands in his pockets. There was an air around him that you couldn’t place. You nodded. “Yeah, I am. Phoenix said you told Bradley it was OK to ask me out.”

Bob grunted, turning around and heading for the kitchen, breaking down a cardboard box in frustrated silence.

You followed him back into the kitchen, one hand on your hip. “Bobby? Are you mad? Do you not want me to date your colleague, is that what this is about?”

“You always do this, Reid,” he said, shaking his head. There was something unnerving about Bob calling you by your first name. It was always Sunny, honey, darlin’, sweetheart. Never Reid.

“Do what?”

Bob looked up. “You leave a trail of men everywhere we go, Reid. I get it. You’re the anywhere-but-here girl. But you have to realize that you can’t do that this time. This is my life you’re walking into. You’re meeting my friends, living in my house. You told me you were settling down this time. But you’re still acting like the same Reid as before.”

“And who exactly is that?” you demanded, crossing your arms over your chest.

Bob let out a frustrated sigh. “I don’t want to do this right now.”

“You started this,” you practically shouted. “So fucking end it, Bobby. How am I acting?”

“You’re doing what you always do!” he yelled. “You’re acting like the Reid that fucks any guy that’s halfway decent to you. And then you run away before it can become anything more than a one night stand because you’re fucking terrified of having to stay and owning up to responsibility for the first time in your life. You just steamroll over everyone and everything, have your fun and then you’re gone. And you’ve always been like that. But this time you don’t get to just flit off to Mexico or Sweden or Croatia and send me a little gift basket and act like it never happened. This time you’re fucking with the people in my life, Reid, and it will have consequences. For once can you care about someone other than yourself and look at the situation and realize that what you do impacts me, too?”

The two of you stood, frozen, in the kitchen. The tension in the air was palpable. You could count on one hand the number of fights you and Bob had gotten into over the last nine years.

This was one of them.

Your eyes were locked on Bob’s blue ones. You watched as his face fell. As the realization of what he had just said washed over his familiar face.

“Sunny,” he murmured, stepping closer and you shook your head, backing away.

“No.” You whispered it, but there was venom laced in the word. “Don’t you dare try and take that back,” you added. “Because you can’t.”

“Honey, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said it.”

You whipped around, practically jogging down the hall toward the stairs at the front of the house.

“Reid!”

You climbed the stairs, two at a time, and slammed the door to your room, locking it behind you, sliding down against the back of the door onto the ground in a heap.

You hated fighting with Bob. But this time, what you hated the most was that he was right.

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anlian-aishang · 9 months

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SNK Men - Falling Out of Love with Them - Levi, Erwin, Eren, Armin, Jean, Reiner, Zeke

tags: snk x reader, sfw, angst, food mention, alcohol mention, smoking mention, break-ups, modern AU, gn!reader

Levi:

You could tell from the second you laid eyes on him: a man of few words, an introvert, full of thoughts but nothing to say. Silent heart held secrets. Crossed arms guarded them. You longed to unlock his cage, to set him free, and shoulder those burdens with him. That desire gave you the courage to approach him. Your kindness kept him there.

Far later, living together, closets and cabinets filled, routines intertwined, such milestones used to give you confidence in your relationship. Over time, though, they became looming doubts. Levi never talked about his day, about himself. When you asked him, he provided mere slivers. When you pressed on, he narrowed his gaze in a way that shut you up. He was the foil to your fairy tales: never professing his love, never a heartfelt love letter just cause. In fact, no confessions of love at all.

Sharing a bed with you, but not his past. Levi had met your friends, your family, but you couldn’t name either of his parents. Where did he grow up? What brought him to this city? Why does he love you? Does he love you?

Years gone by, you started to question whether you knew that much more than you did that first night. Tears in your eyes as you surveyed him from across the living room: hand on his cheek, attention solely on his reading. He looked just as mysterious as he did back then. All that time, those efforts, your affection: wasted.

A man of no regrets gained one in your departure: he should have told you everything. The only one he had ever lived with, the only one he had slept with, he thought it was obvious - how special you were to him. The pain of recounting his past was nothing compared to that of losing you. The vulnerability required to open up was much less than that of reconciling your break-up. In his eyes, he had been an open book. In his eyes, there was no reason to try that again.

Erwin:

Out of your league. Top of the food chain. Tall and blonde, smart and beautiful, he had the eyes of everyone on him. When you learned that his were on you, god, it was a feeling you wished you could bottle forever. If you could have, maybe that would have prevented you from falling out of love.

From the first day you met him throughout the course of your relationship, you never forgot how appreciated he was, even if you wanted to. It was what drew you to him, now what separated you from him. Every morning, he left for work far before you woke up. Every evening, he was home too late for dinner. Weekends were wonderful - lazy cuddles, fancy brunches, movies and museums - but they were all you had: a mere 72 hours of his week. Work was his life, his wife. You were just his part-time, his side hustle.

Over time, so constantly reminded of his importance, you felt comparatively, increasingly worthless. How many meals alone? The housework of two allotted to only one. Dinner parties where your date was the hidden corner or the cocktail bar rather than him. You realized: you were practically already single, and you would rather be comfortably single than repeatedly broken up with - every time he chose you last.

What you missed were the kisses on your forehead before he left those mornings, the overtimes he put in so that his weekends could be free for you, the refusal of all-expense-paid business trips to Paris, London, Hong Kong just because they did not fit in your schedule. He had the world at his disposal, but home was always his top destination. Some days, he was late to arrive there. He left earlier and more often than he would have liked. But it wasn’t the mansion that drew him back, it was always you.

Eren:

Eren’s spontaneity was perfect for that summer fling, the movie star of your coming of age. Last-minute drive-ins, sudden custard cravings, sneaking out of windows, and spur-of-the-moment road trips to nowhere, Eren was game for all of your heart’s desires, the most indulgent boyfriend, maple syrup on tap.

Seasons changed, though, yet his impulsiveness didn’t. Come your birthday, he had no surprises planned, just whatever you want. Anniversaries that he would play by ear. When leases ran up and it was time to decide whether to move in together, he was a shrug of the shoulders: what do you think? Anything about your future, he played listener and simply let you drone on. He did not change the subject, but his lack of enthusiasm essentially did, a deafening silence to your thoughts: indifferent to a life with you.

In frustration’s lens, his open mind became a careless one. Adventure was just childishness in disguise. Did he really love you or the idea of you? Were you a special someone or just someone to share experiences with? Unthoughtful, and you don’t deserve someone who doesn’t think of you.

You decided to give him a taste of his own medicine when you suddenly packed your bags and snuck out of his house for the last time. Before he could realize you were upset, you were already gone, denying him a chance to tell his truth. He did not care about the steps along the way, all he cared about was sharing your path. Leaving decisions in your hands, he let you be the captain while he played passenger to your life. Given your fear of growing up, he felt that he could be your partner in playfulness, keeping your spirits alive. All of him meant to prioritize your happiness, whatever that would take, wherever it would lead you - even if it was out the door.

Armin:

Ocean-blue eyes, sunshine in his hair. Warm smile, soft hands. His appearance caught your attention, his mentality was what hooked you. Armin thought ahead, far ahead, constantly several steps before yours. It allowed you to relax for once, trusting that everything was safe in his hands. Reserving tables, making plans, shopping lists, booking hotels, thorough itineraries, his handling of everything convinced you to worry about nothing.

In taking away your stressors, though, he had taken them all to himself. He would pile on, pile on, pile on until he was overwhelmed, taking it out through sporadic morning sprints and screaming in scalding showers. Apparently, his preferred decompression lie in caffeine-fueled midnight spells at his desk over a bed with you. When you tried to quell him, he would whimper, I’ll try to do better. I’ll do better. A simple sentence, but misunderstood. You thought he would improve at communicating with you, that he would work to share his workload. He meant the opposite: if he could manage his time better, if he could measure his responsibilities accurately, it would prevent his meltdowns so that he wouldn’t have to run to you.

You were patient week by week. Month by month, you began to wonder. A year later, and he still had not even thought to let you in. From there, anxiety’s voice amplified: he thinks you’re incapable, incompetent. You can’t be trusted with even the smallest things. He doesn’t trust you.

No matter how many times he read it over, your letter still confused him. Encyclopedias and editorials, no piece of literature had left him lost like you had. A good head on one’s shoulders was his first and foremost requirement of any partner, so why did you say you didn’t have one? You saw his mistakes and loved him past them, how could you claim he was a perfectionist? All of him was with you in mind, but if he couldn’t share his life with you, you weren’t his life partner.

Jean:

By his own confession, he was helplessly in love with you. Jean said it early, said it often, both in words and actions. Close cuddles every night, deliberate kisses every morning. Regular reminders of his feelings had lifted your self-esteem from lowest lows to highest highs. You were such royalty in his eyes, you actually started to believe it in your own. Jean willed your status into reality.

You became the decision maker, the head of the home. He became your biggest fan, your yes-man. From things as small as choosing dinner to topics as big as world views and your futures, he was completely agreeable. Your hobbies, your friends, your feelings became his. At first, you thought you had met your perfect match. Despite his praise, though, you knew that the world did not revolve around you, only his did. When you asked him what he really wanted, he looked lost. Starting hypotheticals with if I wasn’t around… left him dazed.

He was your perfect match because he was your mirror. In becoming yours, Jean Kirstein lost himself, you killed him. Playing his commandant, you destroyed him. Letting him free, you owed it to him.

Jean could not disagree, no matter how much he wanted to: he had become yours, you had changed all of him. What you got wrong, though, was that it was for the worse. The role of significant other was what made him come alive. Before you, he was nothing. With you, he was something. Your needs gave him purpose. Your smiles gave him rewards. You had led him down a candy trail in pursuit of your affection. He had always imagined it would lead to a lifetime with you, but instead, you cut him off in the middle of your forest: lost and confused, alone and hopeless, nowhere and nobody.

Reiner:

Radiant. Blonde hair reflected all light, making him stand out in any scene. His voice was deep, you dove and drowned in it. A head-turning, infectious laugh. Reiner’s body language was confident, his figure strong. His smile was inviting, his eye contact solid, attractive conventionally and especially to you. Broad shoulders would carry your troubles, soft lips would kiss your wounds. You clung to him like a life preserver, someone to share your struggles.

It was selfish of you, but he didn’t see it that way. In fact, he took it as the opposite. In catching your tears, he knew you would be there to wipe his. Listening to your vents, you had handed him a microphone to voice the things he needed off his chest. With you, Reiner was comfortable, even more than times he was alone. You let him cry while his inner voice yelled for him to stop. Tears penetrated your shirt, soaking all the way to your heart. Ashamed to admit it, but you used to enjoy them. A one-person audience to his other side. Proof that he could be himself with you. You took pride in that exclusivity.

Night after night, though, those emotions started to lose their rarity. Bags under your eyes, drifting off to sleep but woken up by a loud sob, Reiner was no longer romantic, but pathetic. That assured and capable man from before turned hollow in your presence. This isn’t what you signed up for. You’ve been tricked. You’re not his therapist. Instead of sympathy, apathy. Your former desire to hear all he had to say was overshadowed by your longing for him to be happy. The more he cried to you, the further you reached towards the conclusion: he was more often sad than happy in your presence.

You said it was best for him, but you were the best thing that ever happened to him. You said that you could still be friends, but his friends didn’t know what you did, no one did. You had taught him it was okay to feel, but finished the lesson: just not with me.

Zeke:

Sharp, critical, an opinion for everything, above it all. You found him flawless because he could find flaws in anything, so when you managed to make him fall for you, your ego swelled: you were perfect.

Reserving a passenger seat in his car, you felt you had booked a celebrity. Movie tickets, plane tickets, side by side, the exclusive partner for his excursions. Sharing his bed felt too good to be true. In it, the adoration he gave you was ripped straight from your dreams. For you, he only had praise. When he became your everything, your flaws disappeared to nothing. Two perfect people in love with each other, you thought your relationship would be the same.

It was for a while. Hearing his rambles, you savored his cynical perspectives and the low sound of his voice. His contempt for everything else, you translated it as proof of his love for you. When all else was awful, he found solace with you. Eventually, though, that lens grew cloudy in cigarette smoke. You could listen for hours, but the only thing that stopped his rants were the Marlboros. You never minded the smell of smoke, but when you thought of its connotations - confiding in cigarettes rather than you - you grew to hate it, to envy it.

You worked so hard to make your home a happy one, but rant by rant, it was filled with sadness. If he had so much to complain about, he must not have been happy. If he was not happy, you were not helping him, at least, not enough. Not enough, not enough, not enough - no matter how much he insisted.

// masterlist //

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galaxymagitech · 20 days

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Living Ghosts

Written for Dick Grayson Anniversary Week: Day 5 Prompt: Batfam Meets Agent 37

@dickgraysonweek

Summary: Cass is tracking down a metahuman trafficking ring in Hong Kong when she meets a man without a face...a man who moves like Dick Grayson but wrong, wrong, wrong.

Characters: Dick Grayson, Cassandra Cain

Warnings: Implied abuse

Cass crouches behind a large cooler, letting the shadows cloak her completely. She has grown adept at hiding. But she hates it, hates hiding when there are people being hurt every minute she spends waiting in the shadows.

Patience, Batman growls in her mind. She feels Cain’s hand grasping her shoulder and holding her back, fingers digging into flesh.

A far-away scream. Cass doesn’t even wince. She has heard many, many screams in her life—most of them her own. But that doesn’t stop her heart from tearing itself apart inside her ribcage.

Cass has been after this organ trafficking operation for two weeks. It’s a short time for a police operation, but a long time for Orphan. In the two weeks she’s been working on this, many people have died. All of them because Cass wasn’t fast enough.

Batman would tell her to focus on the Mission—no use punishing herself when there are still things to be done. Cain would tell her to stop being ridiculous.

Cass tells herself that she still has more lives to save, and that she is doing her best, and that she is enough. The voice in her head is her, but it sounds like Barbara. Cass likes that.

Right now, her priority is turning off the automated alarms so she can begin to pick off traffickers one by one. It’ll be fun. Cass doesn’t like hurting, but she does like moving, fighting.

Two guards patrol past. Good. When they’re far enough away, Cass slips out and steps silently through the shadows until she reaches the control room. It takes minutes to disable the alarms. Cass isn’t the best with this, having never seen a computer during her childhood, but she’s adequate. Barbara made sure of that.

With the alarms off, Cass sneaks towards the area where the future victims are being kept. She finds a mass of guards outside one particular room. There are a lot of them. But Cass is good, and she knows it. She can take them.

Like a bullet, she shoots out of the shadows and attacks.

The traffickers fall like dominos. Cass has this under control. She will defeat these traffickers, free the victims, lead them out, and then defeat the rest. Then, she’ll turn them into the police with the evidence she collected. It will go well, and the two weeks she spent on this won’t be a waste.

Only, she hears the sound of fighting from down the corridor, getting closer and closer. Just as Cass knocks her last opponent unconscious, a man backs into view, fighting hand-to-hand with five more guards. Cass watches warily as he knocks each one out. His blows are clean, efficient. He’s not aiming to kill, but he’s clearly well-trained. An unusual combination. He moves like he wants to add in acrobatics but thinks better of it at the last moment—his feet are light on the ground, but every so often he seems to press himself down, holding himself to the Earth. When he’s defeated the last of the traffickers, he walks forward and picks up a hand-held cooler from the ground.

Cass knows there’s an organ in there. Which means…this man is not here to free the victims. He’s here to serve his own purposes.

Cass bristles. “Put it down,” she says in Cantonese. She is not good at speaking Cantonese. English was difficult enough to learn, when she heard only small snippets of it growing up, but learning a second language with entirely new sounds, and forcing her lips to cooperate? It’s difficult. She has struggled with every phrase.

The man turns to face her and—

—there’s something wrong with his face. She can’t make out any features of it. When she tries, her brain just goes fuzzy. It’s like staring at a black hole, only she can tell that there are features, she just doesn’t know what they are.

His body stiffens. Shock. He’s surprised. Cass does tend to have that effect. Five foot five, female, and standing over ten unconscious men. She bets he wasn’t expecting anyone else here, especially not her.

And yet, his surprise seems less I didn’t expect to find someone here and more I didn’t expect to find you here.

Does he know her? He could be from the League of Assassins, but although some of his moves contain slight traces of that fighting style, it’s buried far under other training. Almost as if he was trained by someone attempting to replicate the League’s style. No, this man is not League-trained—or if he was, he was trained very, very briefly.

The man raises the cooler. Cass doesn’t know what he’s trying to communicate. Why doesn’t he speak? She takes in his gray costume, with light blue accents. The gun strapped to his belt. Why does this man carry a gun, if he doesn’t want to kill?

“I won’t interfere,” the man says eventually, in English. How did he know she can speak English? Her Cantonese is not accented with English, but rather the strange accent that infects all of Cass’s speech, a side-effect of her difficulty forming words. His voice is strange, like he’s trying to disguise it. Not disguised in the way of his incomprehensible face, but disguised as if he’s putting on a voice in a play.

Cass believes him. But he is carrying an organ in a cooler. He is not good. And Cass is willing to bet that he does other not good things, if he does this.

Cass chooses her words very carefully. “Died for that,” she says, in English this time, pointing at the cooler.

“I know,” he says, sounding regretful. The way he stands, the way he speaks—it feels familiar, but slightly off. Wrong. So wrong.

“I will stop you,” she decides, and leaps forward.

“We don’t have to fight,” the faceless man insists, dodging her blows. “I just need to take this to my employer.”

Cass doesn’t waste time talking. This fight is difficult, and if she pushes her opponent far enough, he may be willing to use that gun on his belt. She will give it her all. But she’s Cassandra Wayne. Black Bat. Batgirl. Orphan. She knows that she will win.

Cass tries to figure out the strangeness of the way the man fights. He clearly is used to having weapons—likely short-range, bludgeoning. One for each hand. Perhaps tonfa or batons or escrima. None of them are common for a mercenary, and the man mentioned an “employer.” He doesn’t seem any worse off with only his fists, though. Notably, he doesn’t fight like he’s used to having a gun in his hands.

Why is a man who isn’t used to a gun carrying one?

Cass dodges a headshot and throws a kick at his chest. He stumbles.

“We don’t have to fight,” the man insists. “If I didn’t know you were here, I would’ve taken them down anyway.” Cass stops, watching him warily. His body doesn’t scream liar, but everything about the man feels off. Familiar, but wrong. She doesn’t know why. And Cass is not inclined to trust anyone she can’t fully read. “I swear, I’m not part of this. We can work together to stop the rest of the traffickers.”

“And your employer?” Cass asks.

The man shrugs. “He won’t be happy, but he’ll have to deal with it.”

Cass points to the gun in the man’s belt. He winces. It seems he doesn’t like to be reminded of it.

Suddenly, the man flies into a blur of motion, shooting forwards and pushing Cass to the ground. Cass isn’t supposed to be surprised like that, but nothing in the man’s body language was indicating an attack. Only, an attack would mean that Cass should be in pain, right now, and she isn’t. Instead, she watches the man do a strange flip over her head and land in front of a trafficker who snuck up on her, hitting him swiftly in the jaw. The mercenary takes advantage of the trafficker’s stumble and sends an elbow flying into the enemy’s skull. The trafficker falls to the ground, unconscious.

In that moment, it clicks. The man’s movements are…wrong. But not so wrong that Cass can’t see.

He’s supposed to be dead. Tim told her that he was dead, over a long phone call where Cass barely spoke. Alfred confirmed it, when she checked in with him during a brief visit to Gotham. And Alfred wasn’t lying.

But Cass trusts herself, and her eyes don’t lie.

“Dick Grayson.”

---

The second Dick sees Cass, he realizes why Helena didn’t let him bring his escrima sticks on this mission, why she insisted that she would be the one entering the trafficker’s lair. Only, she ended up delayed, fighting against some other organization that wanted the organs, and sent Dick ahead. She promised him that someone else was taking the ring down and he didn’t need to waste any time on it. Just get the spleen, pay, and get out.

Dick is clearly failing at this. But in his defense, Dick hadn’t known that Spyral been outbid.

It felt better, fighting for the organ. Still wrong, still dirty, still disgusting, but better than just paying for it. Spyral is a vulture, and so, by extension, is Dick.

It’s a mission, Dick reminds himself. Infiltration and sabotage. He’s here to stop Spyral, and anything he does would have been done anyway. It feels like a pointless excuse, because it is one.

He doesn’t want to fight Cass. He knows he can’t beat her, and he’s not crazy enough to try. But what else is he supposed to do? She rightly recognizes him as a villain, and she’s never been one for letting villains go.

Dick tries to reason with her, and just as he thinks she’ll agree to work together—Helena is going to hate that, but what choice does he have?—he notices a trafficker sneaking up on them. He’s been controlling his movements, his voice, his every action, trying to avoid tipping Cass off to his identity, but in this moment, the trafficker’s raising a gun and it’s his life or hers. And Dick knows that he’ll protect his little sister, even if it destroys his mission.

He turns around to see Cass staring at him, eyes narrowed.

“Dick Grayson,” she says, and he knows that he has failed. There’s a scream from down the corridor. “They need help.” Dick nods. They move forward together.

Between the two of them, taking down the ring is easy. They slip out into the darkness of the night, and Dick tries to split, but Cass catches his arm. “We need to talk,” she says.

Dick sighs. He doesn’t even know if he can return to Spyral after this. He needs to check in with Bruce. Sure, he could make his own decision, but he doesn’t know if it’ll be the right one, and this is Bruce’s mission. Whatever Bruce orders, goes. Dick would love the excuse to leave, but it could very well make everything worse.

Dick lets Cass lead him back to what he hopes is a safehouse. It’s sparse and undecorated and very probably moldy, so Dick hopes that his sister is normally living in better conditions.

“Alright,” Dick says, sitting down on the couch next to Cass with a sigh. “What do you need to know.”

“Stop,” Cass orders. She scrutinizes him carefully and Dick just sits there, waiting for her judgement. And then she leaps forward and wraps her arms around him, pulling him close.

It’s amazing. In Spyral, well, it’s not that he didn’t ever have contact with people, but it was never just a hug. It was never this warm, this gentle, this careful. It never makes him feel like a person. Dick hugs Cass back, holding her close like a lifeline. When she pulls away, she’s smiling.

“Missed you,” she says, like Dick was away at college or something.

“I missed you too.” Dick swallows. He knows that what he did was wrong. He knows that he lied to his family and left them and let them believe he was dead. He’s not expecting a happy reunion at the end of this. But Cass, at least, doesn’t seem to be responding with violence at the moment. “I’m sorry, Cass.”

“Tim said…you died.”

“Bruce—” Wait, no. Dick didn’t rehearse this, he doesn’t know what to say, but he does know that he cannotblame Bruce for this. “I faked it. I didn’t die, not really. It was…an opportunity. To go undercover. We had to use it to our advantage.”

Cass bites her lip. “Lying.”

“I really didn’t die.” His heart just stopped, for a minute or so. It doesn’t count. It can’t count.

“Lying,” Cass repeats.

“My heart stopped,” Dick admits. “There was a bomb that would go off unless…unless I died. Lex Luthor stopped my heart and then revived me right afterwards. I just had a…close brush with death.”

“You died.”

“I didn’t.” Dick shakes his head vigorously. “I didn’t die.”

Cass frowns. “Why do you need to believe?”

She can probably see the desperation. “I…it can’t have been that bad. I have to be fine. And…” Cass is so against killing, she isn’t the person to discuss this with, but…she’s letting him in her safehouse. She deserves to know what a monster he is. “Years ago…I beat the Joker until his heart stopped beating.” Cass presses against Dick’s side. She should be pushing him away, not burrowing closer. “Bruce revived him. He said…he said it didn’t count. I didn’t break the rule.” Dick meets Cass’s eyes, but her gaze is off to the side. She can’t see his face, can he? The Hypnos implant is still hiding him. “If I died…if I died…” If Dick died, then he killed the Joker. If Dick died, then he broke Bruce’s one rule. And after Blockbuster…

…it’s no wonder that Bruce sent him to Spyral. “I trained you to live and I watched you die!” Bruce had screamed. If Dick died, then he’s a killer. A murderer. How could he have expected Bruce to respect his protests, to listen to his pleas about family, when Dick is the very evil that they fight?

“Stop,” Cass hisses. “Your mind is going around and around. You need to stop. You’re…hurt.”

“I deserve to be,” Dick says. It slips out. It stays there. He can’t take it back, but it’s not wrong, so he doesn’t see why he should.

“Do you regret what you did?” Cass asks.

Killing the Joker? Most of the time. Sometimes, Dick wishes that Bruce had let that monster stay dead. Wishes Jason had come back to a world where someone at least had avenged Robin. Wishes that he could have spared Jason the pain of discovering that the Joker still lives. But for the most part, Dick can see the disappointment in Bruce’s eyes and the fear in Tim’s and wishes that he could take it back and never find out what he was capable of.

But then again, he found out he was capable of stepping out of the way only a year later.

“I try to,” Dick says honestly.

Cass lifts a hand to Dick’s face. She’s feeling for his features like she’s blind. The implant can mess with the visual cortex, but not the somatic. Cass is seeing him, as best she can. “Brother,” she says.

Dick smiles softly. “I didn’t die,” he says. “I’m not trying to lie to you, Cass.”

Cass lifts her hand away. “Under…covered?”

“Undercover. Yes. Spyral is…they’re hunting metahumans. They want to discover your identities. Someone had to go.”

“Why?”

“To keep you all safe,” Dick says.

“Spyral is…bad,” Cass says.

That’s certainly an understatement. Dick sighs. “I hate it. But it has to be done. I wouldn’t have gone if…if there was any other option.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?”

Dick wanted to. He didn’t understand that part, didn’t understand why the family couldn’t know. It’s more realistic this way, sure, but they’re all excellent actors. And Dick knows that after Jason’s death, after Bruce’s “death,” after Damian’s death, yet another death would strike deep.

He wanted to tell the family. He didn’t want to hurt them.

But Bruce said.

Dick doesn’t have an answer for Cass. Any excuse he could try to give would be halfhearted at best, and she’d know it.

“They’re hurt,” Cass says. She points to her heart. “Here. Hurts. Hurt me.”

“I’m sorry,” Dick whispers, voice broken.

Cass pulls back. Dick doesn’t deserve to be near her anyway. “Why?” She asks again.

“Why am I sorry?”

“No. Why did you lie?”

“It was safer,” Dick tries. That’s not the answer, though, and Cass knows he’s lying.

“Lie,” she says, voice hard. “Why?”

“Bruce insisted,” Dick says. He half-expects Cass to call that out as a lie as well, because, yeah, Bruce had insisted, but Dick had agreed in the end. Instead, Cass pulls her feet up onto the couch and tilts back against him.

“Hurt,” Cass says.

Dick freezes. He doesn’t know what Cass is implying, and he doesn’t want to betray himself by answering a question that wasn’t asked. “I’m sorry for hurting you,” Dick says eventually. That’s the safest option.

Cass shakes her head and his heart sinks. “No. Hurt you.”

Dick swallows. “It doesn’t matter.” He forces himself off the couch. “I should go. The organ won’t keep for very long.”

Cass just watches him.

“You can’t tell anyone I’m alive, okay? Please, Cass. I need you to promise.”

“Fine,” Cass says. Dick can’t read bodies the way she can. He doesn’t know if she’s lying. But he does know that he has to go now before Helena gets suspicious. He gives Cass one last hug and tries to remember the feeling of her arms around him to carry him through the rest of the mission. “Love you, brother.”

“Love you too,” Dick says as he leaves.

---

Cass sits alone in her apartment, fists clenched and toes curled into the couch cushions. Dick moved wrong. He moved like a ghost.

And some part of her is overjoyed that her big brother is alive. It’s amazing. It’s a miracle.

But most of her—most of her is afraid.

She said she wouldn’t tell anyone that Dick was alive. She doesn’t know if she was telling the truth, yet. For now, Cass won’t tell anyone who doesn’t already know.

But Dick’s fear, his shame, his guilt is seared to the backs of her eyelids. He was hurt. He was hiding.

Cass has to have a talk with a Bat.

#fanfiction #dick grayson #cassandra cain #spyral #batman fanfiction #dc fanfiction #dick grayson fanfiction #dc comics #dc #dcu #batman #batfamily #batfam #agent 37 #cass cain

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diluclover300 · 1 month

Text

Just One Week (10)

Gojo Satoru x Female Reader

also on my ao3: diluclover300

CHAPTER INDEX:

I H8 U

My Kinda Fun

Balance

{S] Awake

Eggs and Rice

Wait, but I'm broke

Couple's Discount

Waffles + Cream

Karaoke Night

KFC

CHAPTER 10: KFC

...

If objects could speak, you'd interview the skyscrapers of New York and Hong Kong with only one question in mind - "How does it feel to be so tall?"

You can now confidentially answer that for yourself - "It feels great."

Your tongue already gave yourself away earlier, but you meant every word in that short sentence. Gojo Satoru has grown a lot more than you remember. It was no illusion, nor was it a trick deceiving your own two eyes. Those ripples of fabric, clinging onto each defined, humanly shaped bulge are muscle. You were resting against the very product of his blood, sweat, and tears, some of which you can easily recognize, and others who turn out to be complete strangers. Unfamiliarity overtakes you.

"You're really fuckin' tall." You re-tighten your arms around his neck, trying to strangle an answer out of him. Perhaps that was your oddly creative imagination.

"I-" He lifts his neck up, swallowing at the pressure. You're strong. "I've always been tall."

"I guess so." You roll your eyes, slumping against his rather sturdy back. He's the strongest of them all, you justify your action, agreeing with how you put a little extra weight on his shoulder. It'll be his little workout. "Yeah, I guess so."

You hate it, being puny and short to the all-mighty Gojo Satoru, but a threat to anyone below that haughty title. You're not a weak little thing, heck, if they forced you back into jujutsu society, you'd punt his ass real good. You'd be the strongest, at the very tip of that tall iceberg.

"I don't have any friends." You hum out, scanning your surroundings like a watchtower. "Not a single one."

This is the city, all right, engulfed in cold, turbulous winds from the bay area as the crickets sing for the nightlife. The countless buildings of restaurants, bars, and nameless shops come and go at their convenience, not bothering to say a little farewell before they depart ways. It's cruel.

"You don't?" Satoru locks his arms over and under your legs, pushing them further up his sides. You keep moving. "What about Nanami?"

Nanami Kento. The name takes you back, it used to fill you up with hope, and the very mention had you oozing with respect.

"This again?" You scowl, securing your chin onto his shoulder. It's warm there. "Well, y'know, I talked to him, but..."

You stop with another mindless, light hum, slowly resting your eyes against the light breeze when the lights of the city begin to blind you. You feel tall, so free that you might as well be escaping the cage that is gravity. You're flying and the wind glides along your humble wings, keeping you afloat.

"...but?" He presses the matter further, sluggish in his steps and breaths slower when you rest in the crook of his neck without warning. It's another problem he won't ever get to solving, not because he can't - he just doesn't find the need to.

"..b-u-t..." You sing each letter to yourself, yearning for another pre-written lyric to hover in the sky among the many stars as you grasp onto a sleek microphone. Your voice would be the very subject of conversation.

You liked that conversation a lot more than you anticipated, a lot more than you'd like to admit. Oh, how the instruments danced and twinkled along your timbre. How time slowed, how each minute mattered as much as the last.

You miss it already.

"... I didn't want him- er, no, me... yeah, me, to get the wrong idea." You smile, tired as your cheeks sting. You're still as drunk as ever. The static of your brain is fulfilling.

"Whaddya mean?" Satoru looks up to the stars, air blowing out from his lips. There's a slight white fog that dissipates.

You think the answer is pretty straightforward.

"...uh... because I liked him? Yeah, I did." You say, confirming your doubts with a small nod. "He was cool, so I didn't wanna-"

"It's not bad to be alone." The answer leaves him restless.

"I don't know 'bout that 'cause I hate it a little bit." You whisper, elbows pressing into his shoulders. They are as steady as bricks and as wide as the universe. "... but Nanami, he-"

"You said he was miserable."

Satoru bites his tongue, impulsive with both his words and thoughts. The reek of sake fogs his patience, his rationality. His tone grows tenser with each mention of Nanami Kento, curiosity killing the cat indeed.

You think about it, and the accusation is the truest, most honest thing he's said all day. You called him miserable, you're guilty as charged.

"Yeah, well, yeah... I did." You confirm, guilt swarming your wings. "I said that, didn't I?"

Nanami Kento. You respected him. The feeling wasn't as simple as envy, no, it was a bit more than that - you admired him, really. He was an honest man, simple, hard-working, true to his words. If you weren't the same age as him then you'd at least pray that he was your senior at some point in your life. He was someone to look up to. Even so, you never talked much.

Still, the feeling was present, it became undeniable that you found his presence calming like the soft embers of a campfire.

"I'm wrong, maybe." You dwell on it, fighting the urge to doze off on his shoulder. "He, uh, I dunno, the last time I reached out to him, he looked..."

You try to sketch it out on your mental canvas with quick, fading strokes. The weak embers that kept you shivering, trembling against the otherwise unnoticeable breeze. Those slightly hollowed out cheeks, his small wrinkles, and his eyes. The core was pitted.

"Yeah, he looked real miserable."

Once you sensed it, his unease, your admiration began to chip away, the flames coaxed themselves. Nanami Kento was no longer the calm, composed man you knew him as. He too had changed.

"I didn't- hah, he's really unbelievable, but..."

It was like looking into a mirror.

"...but?" Satoru doesn't know whether he resents the sake anymore, whether he's grown fond of the smell or sick of it. Your words, some are warm and others hurt more than the last.

"I was, no, I am the same, haha..." You sleepily chuckle. "I was like, hey, he's fuckin' handsome, but I really can't-"

"You really can't." He finishes, fingers drilling into your legs as he repositions you. His steps start to sway to the rhythm of his uneven breaths. "You can't."

"Well, yeah." You shrug, deciding that was it. "I never did."

The pictures, all the memories blur together. What drew out your brave conclusion, that pitiful comparison was not your admiration, nor his calm demeanor. You came to it after you ran into him on a busy Friday afternoon on the subway, job hunting in Tokyo.

Nanami Kento, who once held his head up high succumbed to the likes of sheep. That white fur shielded him, he blended in well without putting up a fight. He accepted it.

He was not who you recalled from years ago. The embers were put out, every single one of them replaced with fur as pale as the moonlight, a foreign tongue, and strange horns.

And that was all there was to it - Kento Nanami was miserable. Your admiration was in vain, you left Friday disillusioned, numb to the joys of the weekend.

After that dose of reality, you never ran into him again. Because seeing the man that you so hoped to serve as an anchor, for his flames to re-kindle and hold you tightly... they instead left you with your head hung low.

You never ran into him again and moved to Osaka quietly, not leaving a single trace behind. You knew it was unfair to cut your conversation short, to run away as soon as those two doors slid open, but you did it anyways. It was unfair that you felt betrayed, let down by your own delusions.

Nanami Kento was no longer a jujutsu sorcerer, and you grew afraid of your own reflection. That was all there was to it.

"How is it?" You stretch out your fingers, clutching onto his shoulders. It's secure. Satoru flinches in between his steps, snapping his head to you.

"How is what?"

"Osaka. Do you like it?"

His chest relaxes, the subject abruptly changed. The breeze feels light. The weight on his shoulders is even better, as light as a feather. As soft as one too.

"All of a sudden?"

You nod, chin rubbing against the fabric of his shirt as you do.

He hasn't given it much thought, not until now. He looks around him, then up at the moon, and down at the sidewalk. It's the city, all right, with lights flashing down each block, taxis rushing through the roads as they haul strangers in and out.

He thinks it's typical, not much different from what he sees back home, until his eyes land on you. The extra weight on his shoulder that reeks of alcohol, cozying up on his shoulder, it's arms wrapped around him.

He looks again at the city, how the nightlife decorates the aged sidewalks, how the lights glimmer against each other. The amount of smiles, the warm ambience surrounding all these strangers as they roam the roads, crossing each sidewalk with small laughs.

"I like it. Osaka is-"

"Nah. I don't." You object, grabbing his lips with your cold fingers as you fumble around with the skin, twisting and turning. "I fuckin' hate this place."

"Hey-"

"Let me finish, moron." You tunnel his lips in your fist, leaving them with a firm smack. "It's suffocating, there's so many people! It's like they release swarms of 'em in the morning and hide 'em in the night."

"Of course you hate it." He jerks his head away, grumbling to himself when you make it harder from him to walk. You swerve him to the left, then the right, and finally, to the very middle of the sidewalk - where he belongs.

"Do you like anything?"

"I liked Nanami-"

What an unsatisfactory answer.

His elbow smacks onto the crosswalk call button with a slight grunt. "Not anymore." That revelation stands irrelevant as long as he's here. It always will.

"That's true."

You examine the spit coating your fingers, harshly wiping it down on his back. They were soft, easy to squeeze and mold in your grasp.

"Then, I dunno." You inhale, pushing your fingertips into his shoulders, re-balancing yourself in his hold. "Sorry, I just hate-"

"I know." He crosses after looking down both sides of the road. The words are tattooed onto your tongue, the ink of it glazed with your saliva. "You hate everything."

The crickets fill in the silence, the sound of tackling leaves accompanying nature's beat. Was Osaka always this peaceful? Maybe that was the sake warping your perception, you were just seeing the population unwinding in both numbers and intensity. They all walked with leisure, holding hands and cracking up half-assed jokes.

"Hey, Satoru, you..." You laugh, licking your lips moist as you take in the scenery. "I like some things a little bit."

"Yeah?" He replies, teeth digging into the flesh of his cheek. Carrying you is not as easy as he makes it out to be, not when your lips continue to brush against his neck with each word you say, with each move he takes. Unintentionally, he tells himself. You're drunk. "Like what?"

The wet run of your tongue wakes your appetite, the fact that you drank on an empty stomach growing more apparent with the smell of food lingering in the air. You're craving something that you don't hate.

"I like fried chicken." You suggest, your body giving yourself away for the second time when your stomach rumbles.

"Okay." He takes a left at the mention, luck on his side when he's met with a familiar sign just a couple of feet away. You're allowed to like this. This is relevant as far as he's concerned.

"Satoru, I'm hungry." You whine, burying your face into the crook of his neck when your stomach compresses against itself. "Feed me-"

"I get it." His breath hitches, briefly squeezing his eyes shut. You're close. "I'm taking you to KFC."

You whine a little more before rubbing your brows against his shoulder, itchy as the wind messes with your hair.

"Stop moving."

"M'kay." You don't register his words, sliding your face down and up his back. Did a mosquito bite you on your face? You're unusually itchy, the sensation making you feel warm and tingly. You do it again.

"I told you to stop."

"Sorry."

The small jingle of the door catches your attention. You look up only for the sweet smell of meat to fill your nostrils, stomach contracting at the mouth-watering wafts of fast-food filled air.

Then you turn to Satoru, who gently lowers you onto a nearby seat. "Let go."

You comply, unraveling your arms from his neck as heaps of shopping bags occupy your sides. You're tired.

"Don't move, okay?" He takes hold of your shoulders, placing you upright against the seat when your limpness gets the best of you.

"Got it." You nod, eyes half-lidded as you pat yourself awake, skin heavy and sluggish. "I won't move an inch."

"Good. Wait for me, okay?"

"O-k-a-y." You start to slouch, eyelids dragging further down your vision. "I'm waiting."

"Okay." He nods, slipping his hands away to rub his own skin. His neck burns unexpectedly, skin flaring up the more he wonders about it's cause.

Maybe it's best for it to be an afterthought, a mere problem that he'll deal with later, without you in the picture.

You try not to move much, staying true to your word as you watch him order. It's hard to hear, especially over the blaring music, so you focus on his expression instead. He's smiling just as he did in front of the waitress at the waffle shop, a strange almost sunlight like aura beaming from the action. After a while of exchanging sticky, gooey looks and words, he pulls out that handy card of his, pitch black as it shines against the ceiling lights.

Satoru laughs again once he's given his receipt, giving the girl at the register a light wave when she hands him a tray of food. She giggles like a schoolgirl.

"Here." Wow. It's like his personality from earlier sheds off like the scales of a snake, replaced with such an easy-going ring that you're sure of it now.

"You're a flirt." You deduce, crossing your arms with a sneer as he places the bucket of fried chicken in front of you.

"Hm?" He doesn't catch that, scooting his chair towards you when you lazily pick a leg out of the batch. "Did you say something?"

You rip off a bite, chewing with small grumbles. You can't believe you're associated with some kind of modern-day playboy. It's embarrassing.

"It's tasty, isn't it?" He reaches over for the packet of ketchup, peeling off the wrapper before placing it next to you.

You grumble again, a small 'thanks' as you scoop out a glob onto your half-eaten piece of chicken. Fast food tastes much better when you're not the one paying for it. You bet it'd be more worth it with a couple of beers, but you're convinced Satoru won't entertain your fantasies.

"You're making a mess..." He shakes his head, pulling the food away from your face as he snatches a napkin from the tray. "Come here."

You don't mean to, but your eyes meet with the cashier at the register. You clear your throat, thickly swallowing. The creak of your chair follows.

"Okay."

You scoot closer, and he holds your chin tightly, clicking his tongue in disapproval as he wipes your lips clean. His fingers push through the thin, frail paper, poking at the skin.

You lied to yourself, haven't you? This was your dilemma, hidden in plain sight. Was it a lie? Was this truly deceit?

Perhaps you feigned ignorance.

"Satoru, why do you just do that with every girl you meet?" You scoot away, using the napkin on your own now. "It's weird."

"Huh? What does that-"

"The waffle shop, like, you, ugh..." You groan, the napkin falling onto the table as you try to put it into words, tapping at your temples. "...You just kept flirting with her and stuff, like you kept smiling like an idiot, and... uh, what else?"

You don't know how else to put it, chewing on another piece of meat to make up for your lack of clarity. You want another drink.

"So what?" He grabs another packet, peeling it open. "You jealous?"

"You wish I was." You say in-between bites, rolling your eyes at the very suggestion. There goes another leg, a victim to your roaring appetite. "Keeping dreamin', 'cause it's never happenin'."

Your eyes meet with the poor girl at the register again and she quickly hides behind the walls of the kitchen. You feel bad.

"Look, she's looking over here because you kept flirting with her." You take the ketchup from his hand, biting off another piece. "It's fuckin' annoying."

Satoru doesn't know whether to laugh or apologize. He doesn't know why he feels the need to do the latter either. Whoever he flirts with should never concern you.

"Oh, come on, just ignore her." He betrays himself, sticking a straw between your lips when you frown. You reluctantly sip. "I won't do it again. I'm sorry."

You gulp, the water washing down the heavy breading of the chicken. He presses the cup further into your hold, pulling off his glasses at the opportunity. They clatter onto the tabletop, and your eyes travel to the shades before his fingers.

Satoru rubs his eyes, sighing to himself. "You're killing me."

You quirk a brow, swallowing another sip of water before dishing out a chicken leg from the bucket. You were killing the Gojo Satoru? The high and mighty jujutsu sorcerer of the modern age? That was unheard of.

Yeah, right.

"You should go back, y'know?" Your voice is muffled as you eat. Some crumbs litter your lap. "They need you to kick ass and shit."

"Am I the only sorcerer in Japan?" He laughs, pinching the bridge of his nose. The red-mark etched into his skin stings, a reminder of why he abandoned the flashy disguise in the first place. "They'll be fine without me."

You exhale deeply, swallowing another piece down your throat. That was easy for him to say, but no one else would ever agree. Gojo Satoru keeps this country afloat, he is the balance between both good and evil. Without him, you'd be as good as dead. Everyone would.

"You're a damn lucky bastard, all strong and shit." You look into the empty bucket filled with bare chicken bones. "You could kill me-"

"You talk too much."

"Yeah, anyway, I don't get it." You lazily cradle the bucket in your lap, avoiding his bare gaze. "Why did you come here? It's been five years."

Satoru reminds himself that he shouldn't talk back, that there was no sense in arguing when you were anything but sober.

"You finally remembered I existed or something?"

"I already told you." He looks over to you and then the bucket, grease dampening the flimsy carboard.

"It's not like you missed me, Satoru." Your fingers poke at the rims of the bucket, dryly laughing to yourself as you do.

"I did." He argues, he betrays himself once more, unable to bare the possibility of a misunderstanding. "I missed you."

"There you go again." You tut, shaking your head when the sturdy paper dents against the pressure of your thumbs. "You're lying."

"When did I lie?"

Your eyes don't meet his, nails fumbling with the red label of the bucket. There are multiple instances today, some significant and some not so much. You're reminded of the past, memories tracing over the irrelevant, insignificant present as you speak.

"Your stupid jacket. The lady at the store said-"

"She told you it was mine?"

You rip a piece of the label off, picking at the mascot. The air conditioner blows onto your shoulders, and the almost-sheer fabric of your button up shudders.

"I'm cold." You groan, hands warming up your forearms.

Satoru itches his eyes once more, picking up the scraps of paper that fly onto his lap.

"Then wear my jacket." He offers, polishing the lens of his glasses with the fibers of his shirt. "I don't need it."

Your eyes meet with the small pull of the fabric, giving you a bit of leeway to the skin underneath. It peeks at you first, baiting your vision. Your shoulders slump, mind clearly out of touch when the thought escapes you for the second time tonight.

"You've grown." When did he get a six-pack? Satoru was always scrawny. "It's unfair."

He scrubs at his glasses, lightly shaking his head to himself when another smear appears.

"You say something?" The music must have covered you up, the crevices of muscles along his stomach taunting.

Who is the liar?

"I said, I dunno where the jacket is." You are unsure now.

"Look for it then." The shirt snaps back on, and now it becomes obvious how tight the cloth truly is. You notice more cracks, more ripples running down his torso.

The radio carries on conversation, a symphony of guitar strums, snare beats, and vocals allowing for comfortable silence.

"Do it for me."

Satoru does one last pick at his eyelashes, catching a loose hair before it falls to the ground.

His obedience is unspoken, yet determined the very moment you decide to order him around. He has no choice, you have already dictated his will. There is nothing he can achieve out of an argument except for wasted time, so he places those troublesome glasses back on, fishing through the several bags. It isn't long before he reels in a fine fish, also known as his jacket.

"Give me your arm."

"Why?" You scoot back in your seat. He holds up the jacket by the collar, shaking it as if his goal was to entice you.

"Please."

"Okay." You're intrigued.

His other hand reels out another fish from the sea when the legs of your chair screech against the tiles. Satoru thinks it's a great catch he's made when the distance between the both of you narrows. A definite rare find.

You stick one arm out after the other, the oily bucket of chicken bones now discarded on the table. The label of a torn up Colonel Sanders sways in the air before landing on the floor.

"Turn around."

You twist in your chair, firmly and quickly put into place with the hold of his fingers.

"This good?" He drapes the rest of the fabric over you until it sits on your shoulders evenly, adjusting the collar around your neck. His breath tickles your neck.

"Yeah." You turn back around, catching a whiff of cologne. The forest is near, somewhere over here. "Thanks."

The velvet lining seeps through your thin shirt and reaches for your skin. You're held in it's warm embrace, back easing against the seat.

"Tired." Your eyelids lower, the abnormally large jacket bunching around your arms. He's all grown-up now, just like you have, but way taller, way bigger than you initially thought. He really owns his title, wears it like a suit. You don't have one.

Satoru tries to speak. You beat him to it, arms crossed in your rest.

"Everythin' hurts." Your fingers loosen up around your elbows, knees straightening out underneath the table. "My body, my mind, fuck - even my soul hurts."

He thinks to reply, mind scrambling for a solution. Satoru should fix you. He should reach out and grab your worries, hold them tightly and choke them all in the heart of his fist. What he should do is take responsibility, even if he has failed the test of time.

"Even then, I'm still talkin' like an idiot." The sentences spill out, meaningless chatter only to garner an ounce of pity. "I'm drunk, right?"

"Yeah." His voice completely ceases, already drowned by the bass of the restaurant speakers.

When would the solution occur to him? No, the wonder of, the fear of uncertainty should not exist. You were a unique problem, not impossible. A problem that only catered to him, a problem that only concerned him. No one else could come close, no one could ever involve themselves with this special problem.

No one could ever lock fingers with the intricacies of your body, your mind, fuck - even your soul. Naturally, Satoru should know everything, all the details, all the nooks and crannies of you.

"Yeah, I am." That is just another hollow chuckle down the drain, one he is yet to grow used to. "Alcohol-"

Your smear your palm down the length of your face, eyelids pulled down.

"Alcohol makes me crave food, but I..." You tip your head back. "... Ah, I don't know, but I really hate eating."

Stop that. Don't say that. Please.

"Nothing tastes as good as it looks anymore, Satoru." You toss out another soulless laugh, eyes completely shutting at the confession. "I'm getting old."

Stop. Don't tell him that.

The person he so remembers shatters right before his very eyes, glass shards dancing beneath his feet. The person he treasured in his memories, oh, that girl he can't get rid of no matter how much her resent grows as the days shrink and pass by. She always ate well, she slept fulfilled with her heart happy, stomach full. She always did.

You don't. Who are you? What was she?

"Who was it?" Satoru feels like his throat opens forcibly, voice coming out faint and weak.

You shove a finger into your chest, over and over until the motion slows and finally stills.

"Who-"

"Me." It lands, puncturing your chest. You sigh. "It's all because of me."

His fingers clench in his lap. You aren't her. What you are is the culprit.

"Yeah, I think that's it. It's me." Your chest draws in a short breath, brows tackling one another. Your words are mixing up terribly, pouring out lukewarm. It's frustrating to hear your tongue give up.

"I'm the problem." You open your eyes, blinded by the yellow ceiling lights. You blink. "I realized that when-"

"You should stop."

"Ah, should I?" You groggily turn over, recovering your vision to make out his figure. Satoru gathers up the mess you made, all the scraps and napkins dumped into the bucket. That too is soon tossed into the trash.

"Why?"

Each bag beside you escapes to his arms, scurrying from the floor and sneaking into his wrists.

"You'll regret it tomorrow." You feel a tug at your chair, drawing you away from the table.

"Ah."

Do it all for tomorrow, but never do it for today. This was what you were told.

The world seems to revolve around the future despite existing through the present. The days, the weeks, the months, the years - they all stretch into the ambiguous blanket of "tomorrow".

Put it off for tomorrow, but never do it today. This is what you followed.

"... Then you'll hate me even more tomorrow, right?" He whispers over his shoulder, back as familiar as it is wide. Your eyes blur into a lengthy blink.

You do everything for tomorrow. Today is already a part of your past. Your present is lost time, to forever be shunned away by your selfish, never-ending future.

"I..." You feel your words sharpen, suddenly vehement. "I'll hate you."

As if pure instinct, your arms sling around the comfort of his shoulders, letting out a short huff of air when your wings allow you to float. You're flying.

"I know." His arms bind with your legs, the hold tighter than, stronger than any of his courage. Was it ever possible for him to muster any of it? "Me too-"

"I hate you more than yesterday, and..." You take in a deep breath, the jingle of the door signifying your departure. "...even less than tomorrow, yeah. I think that's..."

You lose track of your thoughts, eyes sluggish as the crickets chirp and the stars shine. Osaka is peaceful, the moon wraps around you and holds you tightly.

"Me too." He releases the postponed beat of his heart, his hands re-catching your thighs.

You groan at the sudden disturbance, nose pressed against his neck. The smell of fried chicken is soon replaced with the night, dewy and coastal air grazing the hairs of your neck.

"Don't do it, Satoru." Your words stroke his neck, face nodding off in the very crook. "Don't take me home."

He halts.

"Do you hate it there?"

The exhaust flees, it runs off as your sore muscles unclench. The day slowly ends, the hours are sewn together, and before you know it, your future is set in stone. Tomorrow would be here.

"Y...yeah." Your eyelashes bind together, his resumed steps lulling, nurturing. "I hate it."

That wasn't her, not a single hint of it was. That was all you, every single bit of it. Satoru can identify it now - his special, unique problem, exclusive to only him.

When the night settles and the stars occupy the stretching sky is when he begins to reflect on the question he shrugged off for weeks.

The strongest jujutsu sorcerer of the modern age, who has come to Osaka with the illusion of a vacation has deceived himself. His own mind, his own body, his own soul is a traitor.

Gojo Satoru has a goal. He came here with a purpose.

Though light in his movement, each step continues to drag on when your breath calms and unwinds against him. The shore is finally at rest, the waves stuck in a mediocre slosh, and there is a clear divide with the sand. At last, the seagulls too can hide away, they can too rest after soaring through unruly paces. There once was unrest in that shore, the sand dampened with each trashing, merciless, and unwarranted wave.

In that chaos, in that state of unrest was when he realized this goal of his. The reason as to why he holds you so close, so tightly despite the long and hard years in-between. The reason as to why he abandons his God-given, divine right of protecting the weak, the helpless for seven nights and seven days.

It was to send her off with a fine farewell, and for Gojo Satoru, the strong, to mend you, the weak. It was for him to solve you, to fix you until the shores could regulate themselves.

"I'm sorry." This whisper, broken yet rooted in his resolve is only a fraction of his sincerity. It is only the beginning of it all. "I think I'm going to be selfish from now on."

That night, the first out of the eventful seven, Satoru vowed.

He lifted the veil.

...

see you next chapter!!!

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dailydragon08 · 1 year

Text

A World Without Monsters Ch 2

Read chapter 1 here!

Pairing: Raleigh x Reader

Summary: During a post-kaiju war press tour, you and your copilot Raleigh finally grapple with the growing feelings you have for each other while also wrestling the world of reporters, politicians, and more who would manipulate the world's saviors for their own purposes.

Warnings: friends to lovers slow burn, mentions of depression and anxiety, PTSD, and trauma throughout multiple chapters.

A/N: Raleigh x Reader series about coming to terms with feelings during a post-movie events press tour, along with a series of flashbacks showing how you two met and become close while piloting Gipsy Danger. Sorry it took me so long to post this! Been dealing with some pretty serious health issues but am getting better! Hope you enjoy!

Read here on AO3.

December 2025

“A press tour?” you and Raleigh repeated at the same time—rather unenthusiastically.

“Well, don’t sound so excited,” Herc replied. Although the grim look on his face and crossed arms told you he was just about as thrilled as you were. The three of you sat in Pentecost’s old office, the thin strip of window that ran from floor to ceiling revealing the cold winter skies behind your new commanding officer. You still had trouble believing it was a kaiju-free world out there—a world without monsters at last. It was what everyone had wanted, worked towards for years…but, now that it was here, it was like everyone didn’t know what to do.

It had been two months since you’d closed the Breach and in that time, many of those at the Shatterdome had either returned to their families or moved on. About a quarter of the base still remained, you and Raleigh included.

“Do we really have to?” you asked. “I mean, how long is this press tour?”

“Six months,” Herc answered. “And the order came from the White House, so it would be foolish to refuse. They’ve decided to make the first stop Hong Kong to help ease you into it.”

“Okay…but what exactly does a press tour entail?” You looked to your copilot beside you, knowing from his memories that he and Yancy had done some press before he’d died, but nothing like what Herc was describing.

Herc shrugged. “Just…be interviewed, really. Go on talk shows, go to events, talk to different government officials, shake hands, get congratulations, talk to the little people. But since you two are the last two jaeger pilots left…people will probably be a bit crazier than they would’ve been years ago.”

Raleigh sighed and slumped back in his chair, running a hand down his face. You reached over and gave his arm a gentle squeeze. He covered his hand with yours and squeezed back, meeting your eyes. You almost winced at the dark circles that had seemed to take up permanent residence on his face, but yours probably weren’t much better. He gave you a small smile. “Well, at least we’ll be doing it together.”

You smiled back at him, turning back to Herc as he added, “And the official governments of whatever country we’re in will be paying for your accommodations. So you’ll have some of the nicest hotel rooms they can offer, plus no water restrictions.”

“Soooo,” you paused, your hand still in Raleigh’s, “we can take long, hot showers?”

Herc chuckled. “As long as hot as you want. You’ll be pretty pampered from what I’ve heard. You two have earned it.”

“Will you or anyone else be coming with us?”

“I’m coming for support, but they’re more interested in you since you’re young and were part of the mission to close the Breach.” His eyes fell to your shoes, and you could tell he was thinking of Chuck. As much of an ass as he was, he was still part of the team and you couldn’t deny you missed him.

“We’ll be getting a schedule and new orders soon,” Herc continued. “I’ll let you know as soon as we get more information. We’ll be heading out in two weeks.”

“Will we stay in the Shatterdome for the Hong Kong part of the tour?” Raleigh asked, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on the back of your hand. It was almost second nature for you both at this point to comfort each other however you could, mainly through touch. Not that you were complaining.

“No, they’ve got a hotel set up for you in the middle of the city. And…they want everyone to clear out of the Shatterdome soon.”

“What?” you asked, brows furrowing. “But they could revamp the jaeger program, maintain it in case it’s needed again. They can’t possibly think shutting it down again is a good idea after everything we all just sacrificed to keep it alive.” And the Shatterdome was your home now. Where would you go after the press tour?

“I don’t know what their plans are for it. No one has said anything about shutting down the jaeger program, but I’ll try to find out more. They might just want to repurpose the bunker and move the program to a new location, who knows.”

“Doubt it,” Raleigh mumbled. “They’re not known for their intelligence, evidently.”

Herc sighed. “Well, we’ve got our orders. Let’s just concentrate on getting through this without making too many waves.” He chewed on his lip for a moment, his eyes flickering to your and Raleigh’s linked hands. “Dismissed.”

You exchanged a glance with your copilot, sighing as you stood and made your way back to your room. You didn’t even realize you were still holding Raleigh’s hand until Newt’s “hey lovebirds” as he passed you in the hall.

August 2025

As the last of the flying sparks faded away, Raleigh’s smile took their place. It was fitting, since it felt like there were also sparks flying in your stomach whenever those blue eyes landed on you.

You lifted your visor to return his smile. “Hey! Looking for Gipsy?”

“Yep.” He’d changed from his torn sweater and worn-down jacket into military-issue cargo pants, boots, and a dark blue sweater that brought out his eyes. “And you mentioned you would be with Tendo? Is he here?”

“Ayyy, Becket boy!”

Raleigh’s face lit up enough to make rainy Hong Kong seem like paradise. They embraced before Tendo led Raleigh a few feet away to the railing overlooking Gipsy as she went through maintenance. You heard Raleigh mutter “so beautiful” reverently as he stared at her and couldn’t help but pretend he was talking about you. Stop it, you told yourself. You’re in the middle of a war for Christ’s sake.

You only half listened as Tendo rattled off all the improvements made to the jaeger before piping up at your name. “What?”

Tendo made his way over to his workstation with Raleigh trailing behind. He stopped next to you and smiled and you couldn’t help but smile back. He seemed to know how to pull happiness from you with just a look.

“I was telling Raleigh how you’re one of our best,” Tendo said. “And a damn good pilot, too.”

Raleigh perked up. “Hey, I forgot to ask. Are you one of the candidates for my copilot?”

You nodded, feeling excited and also slightly sick at the prospect of Raleigh inside your head. You’d definitely have to get a handle on your thoughts beforehand—if he chose you. “It definitely took some nagging, but I did manage to convince Pentecost to add me to the roster.”

He beamed. “I look forward to it.”

You smiled in return. “Me, too.”

“So, um…” he hesitated, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Tendo’s a bit busy, but what about you? Do you want to get some lunch?”

“Tendo!” you called over your shoulder. “Will you survive if I go get lunch?”

“Knock yourself out,” he replied from where he was bent over a piece of machinery. “But not literally. Your hands are smaller than mine, so I’ll need you to help me with this piece later.”

“Okay, I’ll see you in a bit, fat fingers.”

“Hey! They’re buff, not fat!”

You snorted, heading towards the workshop door with a laughing Raleigh in tow.

“So, you two seem like you get along well. Are you close?”

“I’d like to think so,” you answered as you slapped your visor and gloves down on the table near the door, muttering a shy thanks as Raleigh jumped ahead of you to hold the door. “Don’t tell him I said this, but he is pretty awesome. But he’d just let that go to his head.”

Raleigh smiled, looking around the bustling hallway on the way to the mess hall. You remembered how empty the Shatterdome was when you first arrived. You were one of the first people there with Pentecost and Herc, and the task of turning it into the bustling resistance base it was now seemed impossible. Now with Pentecost’s plan to seal the Breach, it felt like everything was finally coming together for the final attack in a way that made your stomach twist in anticipation. You could very well see the Breach up close soon—and may even die in an attempt to seal it. You resisted the urge to sigh, not wanting to worry Raleigh. Although his mind might have been wandering in the same direction.

You’d been lost in your thoughts and silent for some time during your walk, but he didn’t seem to mind. He threw another lopsided smile your way before jogging ahead of you several steps to hold the mess hall door open for you. You thanked him again, your stomach doing little somersaults at his manners. A good portion of the men on base either ignored you or were constantly trying to one up you, likely intimidated by your skillset. You’d gotten used to getting shoved around, whether it was an accident or some jealous peer trying to prove their superiority. Raleigh had none of that and in fact, seemed to even want to make sure you were taken care of, insisting you go ahead of him in line with your tray, offering to help you reach things, and even asking if you wanted help carrying your tray to one of the open tables. You’d heard stories about the nightmare he’d been through in losing his brother and it amazed you that he was still so sweet and protective, making you yearn for the spot next to him in Gipsy even more.

“So how are you adjusting to the Shatterdome?” you asked as you sat across from him. “Or is it pretty similar to the military bases you’ve been on?”

“Well,” he loaded his fork with an impressive amount of food from multiple sections of his tray. “It’s a lot busier, but that’s probably ’cause they’ve stuffed everyone into one base versus being scattered across several. But I was at the Wall before this and that was just as hectic, so I don’t mind.”

“Looks like there’s plenty of room at this table,” a familiar Australian accent said behind you.

You turned and returned Herc’s smile as he and Chuck headed towards you, trays in hand. “Max!” you cried.

The little bulldog’s tongue lolled out of his mouth happily as he broke into a run and jumped up on the bench next to you. You gave him a good scratch behind the ears as he leaned into you, laughing and pushing him away as he tried to lick at your tray.

Chuck slid into the bench next to you, giving you a nod in greeting as Herc settled next to Raleigh, introducing his copilot.

“He’s more my copilot,” Chuck replied, making you roll your eyes. “Right, Dad?”

Herc eyed him warily and you shook your head. Herc was always so sweet to his son who only ever gave him grief in return. While he’d never turned his ire on you, it didn’t mean you wanted to smack him any less.

The urge to smack became stronger and stronger as Chuck tried to intimidate Raleigh into a pissing competition. You’d seen plenty of pilots do it before—and many had even tried to start it with you—and some even ended with fists. Raleigh maintained his composure well, but you could see the fury building in his eyes, his body stiff and unforgiving. You made a mental note to never get on that side of him. You’d heard enough stories to know he could punt anyone into next week if he wanted to.

“Just make sure you keep up,” Chuck said as he stood and adjusted his baseball cap, “or I’ll drop you like a sack of kaiju shit. Come on, Max!”

Max looked at you and whined as you put another bite of food in your mouth. You sighed and threw a piece of chicken up in the air. Max barked happily before snapping it up in his jaws midair, his little butt wiggling in happiness.

“Max!” Chuck called again and Max went scampering after him.

“He’s a smart kid,” Herc said sadly. “I raised him on me own, but never quite knew whether to give him a hug or a kick in the ass.”

Raleigh paused, glancing at you before replying, “With respect, sir, I’m pretty sure which one he needs.”

Herc’s lips formed a thin line before he turned back to his food in silence. The air felt tense, but you couldn’t help noticing the giant salad Raleigh had created out of his veggies, mashed potatoes, bread, and chicken. You chuckled to yourself as you took a drink of your water.

Raleigh smiled, all his earlier menace disappearing the second he met your eyes. “What?”

“You’ve created a monstrosity on your plate.”

He laughed. “Hey, it’s all going to the same place. You should try it.”

“Tell that to my taste buds.”

“Aw, come on, it won’t hurt ya!” He reached over and dumped a forkful of your chicken into the mashed potatoes.

“Hey!” You shoved futilely at his hand while he took the other and spread some mashed potatoes on your bread like butter.

“There you go!”

“That looks disgusting,” you laughed.

Raleigh’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “Don’t knock it till you try it.”

You frowned in disgust, sticking out your tongue as he held your mashed potato-covered bread out to you.

“Don’t make me play airplane with your bread.”

Still frowning, but also trying not to laugh at how effortless your rapport felt, you slowly took the bread from him and took a bite. It wasn’t half bad, but you weren’t ready to let him know he won. “Plehhhh.”

“You liar, you like it!” he beamed triumphantly.

You scooped the chicken back out of your mashed potatoes and redeposited them in their section of the tray.

“Hey, that’s the best part!”

“Noooooo, you create as many monstrosities on your plate as you want, but leave mine alone.”

Herc chuckled. “How many kaiju guts have you helped the research team transport and this is what grosses you out?”

“Look at his plate, it’s practically its own kaiju!”

Raleigh laughed loud and bright, drawing the attention of several neighboring tables and you smiled, proud you’d been the one to draw that out of him. For a moment, the two of you just stared at each other with dopey grins on your faces and you couldn’t help but admire how his eyes lit up. When you’d first entered the elevator, before he’d noticed you, he carried the weight of someone who had seen too many horrors. Now, you felt like you were catching a glimpse of the man he’d been before—the carefree Raleigh that had his brother to guard his back and bring joy into his life. You only hoped that if you were chosen as his copilot, you could do the same.

December 2025

“Pretty sure Hermann’s about to run up the wall ’cause of Newt’s—hey, what’s wrong?” you asked as your bedroom door shut behind you with a clang.

Raleigh sat on the bed wearing an unfamiliar black jacket, holding an identical one in his hands. His brow was furrowed and he clutched the clothing like it might evaporate if he wasn’t careful.

“…Rals?”

Raleigh looked up at you in shock and it took you a moment to realize you’d called him by the nickname Yancy had always used for him. You hadn’t meant to; it had leapt from your mouth unbidden and the wounded animal look in your copilot’s eyes made you wish you could take it back.

“I’m sorry,” you muttered so quietly, you weren’t even sure he’d heard you.

His attention returned to the jacket in his hands. He turned it and you could see Gipsy’s symbol in a large white design on the back. You remembered seeing flashes of Raleigh and Yancy wearing jackets just like it before Alaska. “It’s okay,” he murmured. “I actually, um…” He stood, gently wrapping the jacket around your shoulders. “Here, put your arms through—oh, well, it sort of swallows you.”

“Don’t worry, I’m a good swimmer.” You smiled, hoping to ease some of his pain.

He chuckled, but his smile didn’t reach his eyes. “We can get it fitted. I thought they might be nice for the press tour—or just to have. You don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to.”

“I’ll wear it if you wear yours. We can match.”

He was quiet as his hands gently ran up and down your arms, sliding further down until his fingers were intertwined with yours. When he met your eyes again, you saw tears threatening to spill over.

You frowned. “Raleigh? Are you—”

“I, um,” he cleared his throat, shrugging off his jacket and throwing it on the bed, “need some air. I’ll be back.”

You watched for a moment as he rushed out of the room before something small and white on the inside of his jacket caught your eye. You picked it up to find his name stitched in white lettering on the inside corner. With a start, you checked your own jacket and your heart plummeted as you realized what had gotten him so emotional: there, on the inside of your own jacket, was the name “Yancy Becket.”

You immediately shucked your jacket off your shoulders, slinging it carefully over your arm before running out into the hallway. “Raleigh, wait!”

He turned halfway to the door at the end of the hall leading outside.

You held the jacket out to him. “I can’t take this.”

He gave you a watery smile, sniffling. “No, I want you to have it.”

“Rals, if anyone should have Yancy’s jacket, it’s you.”

He turned to face you fully and took the jacket from you. He stared at it for a moment before slinging it back around your shoulders, holding the lapels so you couldn’t remove it again. “It…” He licked his lips and closed his eyes for a moment before looking at you again. “It feels like this way…Yancy’s protecting you. You have no idea how much you’ve saved me, Y/N. It feels like you’re his way of cosmic apology and it just—it just feels right.”

Now it was your turn to get teary eyed. “Raleigh…”

He cupped your face in his hands, rubbing the rough pads of his thumbs over your cheeks before leaving a lingering kiss on your forehead. You pushed your arms through the jacket sleeves and wrapped them around his middle. He pulled you against him, resting his cheek against your hair as he took a shuddery breath.

A wolf whistle behind you made you jump and you turned to see Tendo walking past. You laughed, Raleigh’s arms still securely around your shoulders as you felt him shake with his own laughter. Despite Raleigh’s sweetness and the comments and whistles you got from your peers, you couldn’t help but still feel insecure. You weren’t sure what you and Raleigh were anymore, really—definitely more than friends, but did he really want to be with you like a boyfriend or even a lover? You two had just saved the world and were just about to do a grueling press tour; he had enough on his mind. The connection between pilots was always special, wasn’t it? Maybe that was all it was.

Raleigh pulled you from your thoughts as his hands fell back down to his sides. “I’m going on a walk…do you wanna join me?”

You smile and nod before following him to the door. Your heart skipped a beat as he jogged the last few steps just so he could hold the door for you, ever the gentleman. As you exited into the cold winter air, you could feel his warm hand slip into yours.

Taglist: @that-girl-named-alex @wayward-avenging

#raleigh becket x reader #raleigh becket #pacific rim #pacific rim fanfiction #charlie hunnam fanfiction #raleigh becket imagine #raleigh becket fanfiction #a world without monsters #my writing

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panicinthestudio · 8 months

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youtube

Hong Kong hit by widespread flooding and landslides as heavy rain paralyses city, September 8th, 2023

Hong Kong was hit by widespread flooding and landslides as heavy rain paralysed the city. The Observatory recorded the highest one-hour rainfall since records began in 1884. Vid: Patrick Lamoine/Libby Hogan/AFP.

youtube

Hong Kong hit with heaviest rainfall since records began 139 years ago, September 7, 2023

Hong Kong reported 158.1mm of rainfall in the space of an hour, the highest since records began in 1884. Local authorities said various districts had been flooded and emergency services were conducting rescue operations. Members of the public were instructed to stay in a safe place. The Guardian

Further reading:

HKFP: At least 2 dead after Hong Kong battered by record rainfall, severe flooding, September 8, 2023

Reuters: Hong Kong, Shenzhen deluged by heaviest rain on record, September 8, 2023

#Typhoon Saola #Typhoon Haikui #climate crisis #climate change #Hong Kong Observatory #Nam Cheong #Sheung Shui #Chai Wan #flooding #news #Hong Kong Free Press #Hong Kong #Shenzhen #Guangdong #China #Fujian #agence france presse #the guardian #Reuters

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y2klostandfound · 9 months

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How to win - Jet Set Radio Future on Game Players new magazine Vol.29 (Video game magazine)(Hong Kong)(06/03/2002)(Part 2)

Part 1

Formal meetings

After pressing the START button on the title screen, select NEW GAME to officially enter the game. The game starts with a simple training, mainly some basic movements, as long as you follow GUM's instructions, there should be no problem.After completing the basic course, you can find ROBOY, after talking to it, you can enter the GARAGE MENU, and the player can choose "PRACTICE", which can be practiced again, and in the future, some new techniques can also be learned in this function. Another player worth a try is, of course, the self-painting spray painting "GRAFFITI". When everything is completed, the player can proceed to the first location "Dogenzaka Hill".

Dogenzaka Hill

This is the first location in the whole game that the player needs to conquer, and the structure is very simple, basically there is only one main road. When the player enters, go down the diagonal road, on the way to the right side of the pedestrian, you will find the first GRAFFITI SOUL, so close, you should not let it go. Continue to slide down, turn left when you see the sign, you will go to the pedestrian street, jump on the fence in the center of the road, go down with the trend , you can get a certain amount of spray paint, and not far away, there will be the first large spray paint location, GRAFFITI POINT, However, everyone should pay attention, after arriving at the first GRAFFITI POINT, you cannot turn back and return to the pedestrian street. You must make a big bend and go around the location once before you can go back to that place. When the player completes all GRAFFITI POINTs, you can play as a new character.

Training before joining the member

You have to join to learn the skills

Jumping also has to learn…

"BEAT" will appear, and he will have a battle with the player, but before that he will challenge the player with actions. Every time he makes a series of moves, the player must remember it well, because the player will have to go back to the previous moves on his own. After the action duel, there is the victory of speed, but this link is very easy, as long as the player uses more GRIND actions, he can easily win. BEAT will join the team after the victory. In addition, before the speed comparison, the player should find that there will be GRAFFITI POINT on the ground after going up the stairs in the sewer. In fact, This is GRAFFITI STOP, the player only needs to spray the pattern on it to use it.

Three more times.

Gotta learn how to slide a fence.

Let's get some spray paint.

It's all here.

Go to GRAFFITI POINT

I found it, of course I want to spray paint it.

Then it's time to speed up.

Basic course completed

I'll look for it later.

CONE(CORN) introduces JET SET RADIO

It's free time.

This is the GARAGE MENU interface.

Ask the team members for information

Find the exit on the map

The first stop is Dogenzaka Hill

First listen to K's introduction to Dogenzaka Hill

Official game

see the first GRAFFITI SOUL

Of course I won't let it go

Fly away, it feels so good

Well, after recruiting the new team members, you have to deal with Rokkaku's minions, the Rokkaku police, with the goal of knocking down all the enemies, It seems tricky, but it's not difficult at all. Knock them to the ground first, then spray paint on them, and that's how they'll be eliminated. However, you must be fast enough when you run over them, because if the speed is not enough, you won't be able to knock down the enemy, but will be caught by them instead, and if you don’t get rid of them as soon as possible, the STAMINA GAUGE will continue to deduct. So this kind of combat also has a certain technique, although pay attention. the first is to determine the location of the enemy, the second is to collect a certain amount of spray paint as soon as possible, and the third is of course to keep the character at a certain speed and minimize the use of sudden stops and deceleration actions.

Don't speed up unnecessarily.

Don't miss this conversation.

first GRAFFITI POINT found

Continuous spraying

BEAT Appears

Of course I'm going to talk to you.

Come on! Do it with me.

break through the glass and emerge

Come again!

Let's catch up with him first.

Sewer

This is…

It turned out to be GRAFFITI STOP

This is the GRAFFITI STOP interface.

Say BEAT to join

But first, come to the speed

Understand the route first

Ready…

Ask About You …. Victory!

BEAT lost

Shibuya Terminal

After completing "Dogenzaka Hill", you can choose to go directly to the Shibuya Terminal or go back to GARAGE PARK first, If you choose to return to GARAGE PARK, you can organize your character and system, such as switching characters and learning new skills. After that, you can proceed to the Shibuya Terminal. Shibuya Terminal is much more complicated location than Dogenzaka Hill, with many driving routes, several sky bridges, some plataform that take a lot of effort to get to.

As soon as the player enters the Shibuya terminal, DJ PROFESSOR K tells the player that GG's rival organization "POISON JAM" is appearing in the city, POISON JAM is a group of avant-garde people, who always wear shark masks and have sharp claws on their hands, which makes them look fierce, but their gliding and spraying skills are not inferior to GG's, so GG has always regarded them as their old enemies. However, they are usually only active at night, but this time they appeared during the day, so there is obviously something strange, Seeing this, GG decided not to show weakness and cover their spray section.So all the GRAFFITI POINTs in this edition have POISON JAM logo, but even so, it takes a lot of effort to find them all. And many of the GRAFFITI SOUL in this edition are very secretive. So this version seems to take more time. Another point is very important, The vehicles in this version will crash into the player's character, and the STAMINA GAUGE will be deducted after the crash, so everyone must be careful.

As a result, he joined GG

Then the Rokkaku police arrived.

He just walked away ~~~

How many cars?

But there are very few people.

Go! Beat them all

It's a mess…

Not good, i was found

Fight back! ! don't go! !

Although there is STAMINA GAUGE, just one spray will kill you.

Done…

Tips for the next edition

After completing the main route, go back to Shibuya Terminal and look for Graffiti Soul.

Found it!

Got it!

Discover the mystery TAPE

Of course, I won't let it go.

After the player has completed all the Graffiti Points, POISON JAM will appear to challenge the player, this time there will be a speed test and only action duels, that is, he will do it once, and then the player will do it again. After winning, another new character will appear. His name is COMBO (コンボ), as always, if he wants to join GG, he must defeat him in action battle, but it seems that he intends to join, because his movements and routes are longer but also simple.

After COMBO joins the team, the Rokkaku police will dispatched again, and this time HASHED (HAYASHI)(ハヤシ) will officially appear. He is a character with a name, and of course, he is more powerful than ordinary Rokkaku police, and just because he has a gun, it's enough to worry the players. However, you don't have to worry too much because his vision is not very good, as long as you keep moving, you won't be easily shot. Although there are more enemies this time than last time, but with a little more patience, it is not difficult to solve the problem.(Continued in the next issue)

Shibuya Terminal

Going out!!

POISON JAM!?

It even appeared during the day!

Arrival at Shibuya Terminal

Complete the GRAFFITI POINT first

This GRAFFITI POINT is also called "Ghost Mode"

GRAFFITI SOUL found

Got it!

Got hit by a car! ! !

It's hard to see…

Another GRAFFITI SOUL to get.

Jumping on the platform of the building, there will be new discoveries

That's right….!

Getting Started!

A Mystery Attack…!

There's nothing around here that can attack.

GRAFFITI STOP is here!

Try more here

After completing all GRAFFITI POINT…

POISON JAM will challenge the players.

COMBO debuts! !

Accept the challenge or not?

Victory! !

POISON JAM retreats temporarily

COMBO joins!

there's another policeman

And there is HASHED(HAYASHI) (ハヤシ)

And there are a lot of police

It's a mess again.

Look! Really have a gun!

And the fence is still electrified, so you can't go near it.

Of course you will win in the end!

#jet set radio future #jsrf #xbox

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texas-writes · 6 months

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Remember Summer Days

Every year you were in college you studied abroad for the second half of the year. As a cultural studies major you had been sent to many interesting places, including Hong Kong, Iran, and Iceland. Your senior year was no different, but a pit settled in your stomach nonetheless when your professor had informed you that you were selected to go to Japan.

The days leading up to your departure felt like a fever dream. A haze of chaos and doubts. A convoluted hope clinging to the back of your mind. When you finally reach your host family's house (the nearby campus had no available dorms) you’re surprised to find that the woman hosting you is American. She politely introduces herself to you as Holly and then leads you to your room, showing you around your temporary home in the process.

You had ended up passing out of the futon in your room, finally being overtaken by the stress and jet lag. Holly wakes you up some time later, I forming you that dinner is ready and her son will be home from work too.

You’re shocked to see the spread of Japanese food before you. So she wasn’t kidding when she had said she knew what she was doing. You and Holly chat back and forth about nothing while you begin fixing your plates to give her son time to return, and sure enough he’s back before you’re done plating your udon.

“Mom! I’m home,” a familiar voice calls, but you can’t quite place it.

“Hi Jojo! We’re in the dining room. We waited on you.”

“Oh is the exchange student finally-“ as he opens the door, drawing your attention, allowing him to see your face for the first time in more than three years, he drops his bag and rushes towards you, his arms outstretched.

You rise and open your arms to him as well, taking him into your arms and squeezing him like you’ll never let go.

“Oh! You kids know each other,” Holly questions, a confused look furrowing her brows.

“Yeah, she was traveling with the old man and I when we were in Egypt.”

“Okay,” she replies cheerfully, returning her attention to her plate.

When you finally pull away from Jotaro you have to fight the urge to kiss him then and there, so you ignore each other. Eating dinner silently, the silence was suffocating. You wanted nothing more than to be in his arms again, but if things went right, you’d have half a year with him. The thought thrilled you.

After dinner you had gone to finish unpacking, falling into bed when you were done. A rumbling in your chest startles you and you look over to see Star Platinum crouching beside your stand, Dark Lady, scratching the top of her head as she rubbed her cheek on his knee. You hadn’t used your stand hardly at all since you had left Egypt. You had almost completely forgotten about her.

After just a few more minutes of Star’s petting you had drifted off to sleep, leaving Star Platinum dozing in the corner with Dark Lady already curled up in his lap, purring in her sleep.

The next week you’re too busy with school to see much of Jotaro, but Star Platinum came to you every night, wrapping his massive body around yours, holding you while you slept, while Dark Lady spent the night curled up beside Jotaro’s head.

Finally that Saturday you and him were both completely free. He had taken you out to lunch and the two of you had ended up laying on the floor in his room, staring up at the ceiling and catching up.

You were hesitant with each other, only sparing the most chaste of touches, fingers drifting together only to repel like magnets. Love for him still pulled at your chest, but you were basically strangers again.

This time you had made the first move, letting yourself into Jotaro’s room in the middle of the night and putting yourself in Dark Lady’s place. He was surprised to find you there the next morning, but it wasn’t an unpleasant one.

It was then that he kissed you for the first time since you had parted all those years ago. It was still familiar, the way his lips pressed against yours, your tongue running along his lower lip before pushing past his teeth to explore his mouth. He moaned softly at the new sensation and pulled away, rolling you to face him before kissing you again, gripping your thigh with his large hand and leading your leg to rest on his hip.

You move to rest on top of him, your legs straddling one of his massive thighs. He had grown since you had seen him last, he was larger than you before, but now he was a giant in every way possible. One of his hands comes up to tangle in your hair and pull you closer to him while the other guides your hips to roll against him.

The sensation sends jolts through your body, making Jotaro want nothing more than to join his body with yours, but he wants to savor it as well. He wants to take it slow, so he starts by pulling your shorts to the side so that there’s nothing dividing you from his leg. He uses the rolling of your hips and the rippling of his muscles to get you to the edge of an orgasm. When he feels your legs trembling on either side of his, he grabs you by the waist, rolling you onto your back and shoving his face between your legs.

His mouth was warm against your dripping cunt, the wet ministrations of his tongue soothing the ache that the friction of riding his leg had spread through your clit. First he focuses his attention on your entrance, his tongue feeling around and making you squirm, small whimpers falling from your lips whenever the tip of his nose bumped against your clit.

He then replaces his tongue with his fingers, gently pushing two inside you and curling them gently. His mouth then goes to your clit, lapping at it with fervor before wrapping his lips around you and sucking, making you bite down on the back of your hand to muffle your cries as your legs widen to give him more space.

This time, when your legs begin shaking, he ignores it, pushing you further and further until your trembling thighs are squeezing his head, your hands clawing at his shoulders, desperately trying to get away from the stimulation he was bringing you. He finally pulls away when you let out a choked sob and pull his hair so hard his eyes water. When he looks up at you his hair is a spiky mess and his chin is glistening with your juices.

“C’mere,” you urge, tugging his arm to encourage him to come towards you.

Jotaro obliges and you lock you lips with his, not caring how strongly they taste of your essence. You slide your hand in the waistband of his boxers to rest on his hip, encouraging him to remove them.

He does, and before you can guide him, he’s already on top of you, sliding in and letting his cock get used to the feeling of being inside you again. He revels in every second of it, the way you whisper his name, the way you move against him, the feeling of your tongue in his mouth. It’s too much for him to bear and before he can stop himself he’s pounding into you, kneading the flesh of your thighs as he uses them for leverage. He allows himself to relax, his primal grunts becoming weak moans as he ruts into you.

You whine as he pulls one of your legs against his chest, adjusting his angle slightly so that he’s rubbing against your clit with every thrust. As you reach your second orgasms, he pulls out, cumming across your stomach and falling into place beside you.

“I still love you Jojo,” you whisper, bumping your forehead against his.

“I still love you too,” he replies, pulling a quilt over the both of you. “Now let’s get some rest.”

When Holly comes in to tell Jotaro that dinner’s ready, she finds the two of you to be a tangle of limbs and the quilt, but chooses to ignore it for her own sake.

#smut #jjba #jojos bizarre adventure #angst #jotaro x reader #fanfic #stardust crusaders #Starcrossed Crusaders

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macleod · 2 years

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Tiananmen: Hong Kong students hide tiny "democracy goddesses" on campus

"This is a kind of a rebellion. The university 'stole' the statue from its students so we've decided to make our own versions on it and put it back," one of the protest organisers told Hong Kong Free Press, a local outlet.

Protesters have printed out tiny 3D replicas of the statue, and concealed them on campus for other students to find. Attached are notes urging the finder to "Bring her home, and do not forget the meaning behind it!"

"Manneoi was born to remember the Chinese martyrs so we picked the days before June 4," one of the organisers told the BBC, using the Cantonese name for the "Goddess of Democracy".

BBC — Instagram

#china #international news #mine #politics

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ari-zonia · 11 months

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Limbus Company "World of DnD Identities"

More thoughts of this weird AU me and my friends developed after a long discussion of shitposting (aka we were just shooting the shit for a while)

Reference this post for more

Main joke of this AU is all of these guys (Sans Ishmael) are immigrants to the US and live in New York

Yi Sang: Head researcher at a Med-Tech company. He's under 50 thousand NDAs so he's not allowed to talk about work at the table and doesn't feel like it anyway. Often overworked and spends what little time he has off writing poetry. Probably has a pet crow he nursed as a hatchling. Work pays enough he lives on his own, but you wouldn't believe it based on the lack of food at home.

Faust: Freelance worker or high-security tech manufacturer, or both. Shares an apartment with Ishmael and Outis. Whenever pressed about work she ignores the question and elects to remind everyone they're trying to play a board game. Should honestly be a DM but prefers playing characters that know everything so she can be condescendingly coy.

Don Quixote: Theater major who lives in an on-campus apartment with Sinclair. Her classes are super spaced out so she ends up with a lot of free time. Major con nerd and her room is packed with merch she's bought (especially commissions). Has a dedicated sewing room instead of a dining room. How she affords all this is a mystery. Attends a LOT of Broadway shows, and has introduced Rodion to them.

Ryōshū: Traditional art major who lives out of an abandoned warehouse she found and uses as a studio. Actually is constantly skipping classes but somehow hasn't been kicked out yet. Doesn't sell any of her art but that's because everyone's disgusted by it being made out of pig's blood 90% of the time. Where is she getting all this blood? Why pig's blood? She says its because she'd run out of her own. No one knows if she's serious, or needs help. Lots of anecdotes of how Japan is different from the US, especially with holidays or food. Has lots of photos of Halloween costumes she's made for herself. Again, mostly with fake or pig's blood. Something is seriously wrong with her.

Meursault: Works in an international company as a businessman. Lives alone in a small studio to cut company costs during his stay since he doesn't require much room to live in. There was an incident at work so he's not able to go into the office and is constantly in and out of court proceedings. He's not able to discuss what happened, or even if he was involved. Doesn't talk much about himself either. (Everyone swears they don't even know his first name). How he was convinced to come play tabletops is generally a mystery because he's never played before in his life. They think he's enjoying it, because at least he's paying attention.

Hong Lu: He sorta just showed up one day, hanging out with Sinclair. He has a million stories of home, but nothing about the government or anything like that. Lives alone on money from his family but otherwise doesn't work so he ends up just wanting something to do, so he hangs with these guys.

Heathcliff: English in the way that he's from Hong Kong. According to official paperwork, he's not here. Actual story is he was a stowaway on the last vessel Ishmael was on while they were docked in Liverpool. Says he's a government agent, but for who? Also wanted by Interpol and is a bit of a drifter. Legally does not exist because he doesn't have a last name (according to him, wife took it when she died. How much of that statement is true, no one knows). Rooms with Gregor because he can afford it, but only Gregor can sign the paperwork. Always has a new story that invokes more questions of who the hell he even is. Things like "I'm banned from entering Hokkaido", "You know how easy it is to sneak into Switzerland from Lichtenstein?", or the like. Also apparently not to be within a hundred miles of the president. The one friend with a Costco membership, and has bought a lot of weird shit.

Ishmael: Former marine that hated the military life but loves the sea. Often flips between sailing for journalism or marine biology. Not many other qualifications otherwise. Rooms with Faust out of necessity because she's so far away all the time it's hard to keep an apartment by herself. Quite disgruntled she's the reason Heathcliff showed up because she failed the inspection for stowaways, apparently. Only noticed after he drank half the Guinness they picked up. Has a lot of stories from her life on the water. Generally doesn't have a lot of money, so she appreciates how much food gets brought to game night.

Rodion: Absolutely elated with being here. Still working on her accent and figured she'd get better with conversing by playing tabletops. She was wrong, her vernacular is now full of memes. Spends most of her time working casino floors ("professionally"). Basically lives in her hotel room like a princess. Seems to know the most useless of information about her group (Sinclair's shoe size, Faust's bra cup, Hong Lu's inseam length, etc). If asked if she'd ever visit home she vehemently denies it, she's content with all the fun things available to her.

Sinclair: Says he's taking a year or two off school and works part-time. Doesn't seem to need to work, but it gives him something to do apparently. Considering going into school for finance or something ("like my dad was", he often says). Really quiet but appreciates the company. Sometimes gets nagged to translate Faust when she starts talking German with Gregor but he barely understands her sometimes, her accent is different.

Outis: Served her time in the military and is currently retired. Works several odd jobs to keep herself busy rather than make money, at least help Faust and Ish pay rent. Weird old lady of the group, about as mysterious as Meursault and Heathcliff. Most of the work she did is still classified so she's not at liberty to discuss it. Though, she still carries her mannerisms from her active duty.

Gregor: Also served in the military (same deployment as Outis but different unit so they didn't know each other), he was honorably discharged after a massive injury to his right arm. Currently works retail but spends more time on workman's comp than working (something always seems to be happening to his right arm between fractures and other injuries). Eternally grateful to Heathcliff's bank account giving him someplace to live. Usually last pick for food runs because of how often he buys too much deli meat (especially after the 15lbs of brisket incident at Passover).

Dante: New DM that met Vergilius by chance. Don't really know that's going on, has barely played DnD at all and still chose to DM this stupid group. Definitely tries to limit the group to only five active participants a week, but there was an incident where all twelve had open slots for a while. They regretted it highly. Convinced Vergilius to stack the loot table with revival items so the group didn't need to make new characters EVERY session or two. Though, that's come at the price of them losing self-preservation tactics.

Vergilius: Veteran DM that has a frankly insane amount of books (he's been collecting for years) and takes his role very seriously. He was the one to convince Dante to have a maximum of five players a week, until the incident, then he started throwing insane challenges at all of the players to punish them for throwing the game off track so many times. Soft spot only for Charon and allows her to come up with combat encounters (she once suggested three silver dragons)

Charon: Vergilius' daughter. She doesn't play, or even care about DnD. All she does is suggest more and more stupid encounters to kill everyone with because it's funny. All food runs must pay a Charon Tax (aka she gets her own snacks no matter what).

#limbus company #more dumb thoughts with ari and friends #i'm not tagging the whole damn group

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