vaggie, miss "im not used to fighting with long hair" who's out of practice actually battling someone or really stabbing ppl...
...still had the arm and hand strength, the REFLEXES, to do a bare handed blade catch on a SWORD, who's user had been doing an aerial dive with it aimed at vaggie's FACE
then sling around and THROW her opponent with it
i know she wants a peaceful-ish life with charlie, but i really wouldn't mind seeing her getting into just a FEW more fights >:D
also also side note:
carmilla was able to eff her up earlier so easily bc vaggie fought like an exorcist, no thought to getting hurt or personal defense, the headspace of 'i can't get killed! wheee! DIE DIE DIE' that got that other exorcist killed
and the main advice vaggie got from carmilla was take advantage of that sure, but first and more importantly, defend yourself better
which kinda plays into the whole "be out for love thing" too
aka the fight isn't important, it's what you're fighting to still have Afterwards that matters- the people you love, having a life with them
(the hotel, the hazbins, charlie)
carmilla doesn't send vaggie off with a 'you're ready to go kill angels'. she's only satisfied and ends their little lesson / sparring match when she can say "you might just survive this"
feels like she wasn't teaching vaggie to take out angels. she was reminding her and showing her how NOT to get KILLED
so it's just so nice seeing vaggie blocking, dodging, and grappling lute later. how good she is at focusing on avoiding or neutralizing those attacks aimed at her. how Seriously she takes them
binding lute's both lute's arms and wedging them into her own body so lute's sword CAN'T be angled towards her
the way this shot emphasis's the THREAT of the sword hanging over vaggie
and how her flash-fast recovery and block shows she's READY for it
dodging, not attacking
she's not in this for blood or vengeance, this lady is trying to stay the fuck alive. she's got things and people to live for
things like the idea of mercy. that thing both her and charlie show their enemies, people who came down to hell for murder and spent this fight trying to kill them and got damn close to doing it.
and sure there's a pretty big tone difference between charlie's "Whoa whoa dad. He's had enough" and vaggie's "No, live. Live knowing that you only do because I let you" but both end at the same place, with someone who hates them still getting a second chance
(UNLESS ITS NIFFTY WITH THE ANGELIC BLAAADE)
and vaggie wants that second chance too. she wants a life with charlie, and fights hard so she can stick around for it
epic fail, lute... have you considered getting a hobby...?
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Mihawk is such a capricious dude, oh my god. The only dude you know who is always itching for a fight but only ever a specific kind of fight so he goes out of his way to take the path of least resistance for everything else.
Like he would rather leave than fight Don krieg, Sail away than decimate the marines, live in peace instead of challenging the other emperors for the one piece. And when they do he’d rather follow buggy’s idea of just being smarter about how they go about it instead of brute forcing it like the rest. He is constantly leaving fights but then a swordsman of mild repute and an interesting technique engages him in a battle and suddenly you have his whole attention. Like with vista it was obvious that he could have just cleared him like he did everyone else but he’d never seen the flower sword techinque and by god was he going to miss this chance. And so he engages him in what is essentially a spare.
Because Mans isn’t looking for a fight, instead, like a middle aged director of a short indie film, he’s chasing a feeling.
He wants to feel like his 19 year old self did when he was strong but there were people stronger. When there were still obstacles to overcome limits to exceed. When the world was large and exciting and he wasn’t just waiting for it to catch up with him. When he could look at Shanks as the person he is instead of the person he could have been.
He wants to look at Shanks and not see visions of a grinning red haired boy with 2 arms and a strawhat laughing in the dirt and asking for “just one more round Hawky I swear I’ll beat you this time”
But there is nowhere Mihawk can run that that boy won’t haunt him.
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a draft from a few days ago. thinking about dad!jason thanks to sunnie and just. how stressed that poor man about your safety and comfort. you so much as breathe wrong he's alert.
anyway i'm thinking about how one night, after a long week of running around trying to get everything sorted – the crib you guys had wanted wasn't available and you'd said it was okay but he'd seen the downturn of your mouth so he's been trying to get the materials together to make the exact same one, and even though he's cut back slightly on patrol and he knows steph is capable, he can't help but worry about the kids he's been trying to keep an eye on, and his body seems to give out as soon as he hits the mattress that night so when he wakes up and doesn't hear your breathing next to him or feel the weight of your body – he panics.
he stumbles out of bed half asleep and nearly crashes into the doorframe, fear threatening to grip him in a chokehold. he's already imagining the worst possibilities but then –
oh.
you peer over your shoulder curiously at him, barefoot and still in your soft sleep shorts, the material of your shirt rising over your growing belly.
safe.
he blinks, rapidly, swallowing to ease the dryness of his throat. burning eyes fall to the open flame on the stove in front of you, the metal skewer you're holding with a marshmallow on the end, edges golden. there's traces of sugar on your bottom lip, and he heaves out a haggard breath, adrenaline still buzzing in his veins with nowhere to go.
"you okay?" you ask carefully and he lowers himself into a crouch, dropping his head into his hands.
"sweetheart, you can't do that," he groans, the complaint muffled. he hears the soft patter of your feet against the floor and your hand splays over his back, a grunt falling from your lips as you join him, carefully kneeling by his side. "i think i just lost ten years off my life."
"i just wanted a snack," you say quietly, and he can hear the pout in your voice. he looks up and you're frowning at him. he reaches out to take your hand in his.
"you could've woken me. i woke up and i didn't see you and–" he cuts the sentence there.
it's true that he's made strides since the both of you got together. he's come far from the man who feared sleeping in the same bed with you, worried about accidentally reacting in a half-awake state and hurting you – but the baby has brought back some of that fear.
you've seen it in the way he tenses in a crowd, a hand always at your back, eyes scanning the perimeter tenfold to when it used to only be the both of you. he refuses to let you carry anything over a certain weight, and you're almost 70% certain that he's employed the rest of his family in keeping an eye on you when he can't (you'd have to let tim know his disguises needed some work).
you soften then, shuffling closer to press your mouth against his. he can taste the caramelised sugar on your tongue, a fleeting brush that lingers in his mouth when you pull away.
"i'm here," you assure him. "we're okay."
he tips his head forward to press it against your shoulder, letting out a quiet groan. his heart still feels like there's a grip on it, and he has no interest in moving from this spot until it settles once more. you're content to let him, he finds, a hand brushing over the nape of his neck soothingly.
he's in the middle of counting his breaths when something prods at his lips.
"wha-" marshmallow fluff is stuffed into his mouth, and he makes a garbled sound as it gives under his teeth, sticky, overly sweet.
"stop trying to feed me that shit!" he protests, when he's swallowed and you stifle a laugh, pinching his nose playfully.
"i have a message from our baby," you say, struggling to keep a straight face. "they told me they don't like it when their dad is upset, so you have to eat it, it'll make you feel better."
"our baby told you that," he echoes flatly, unimpressed. you nod, raising your eyebrows pointedly in a look so smug it makes his teeth ache.
"you wouldn't want to upset the baby, would you?"
on the floor of your kitchen, you have a staring contest. jason is the first to blink, and your resultant smile makes up for the artificial sweetness that he swallows with a grumble, leaning forward to bite the rest of the marshmallow off your fingertips, nipping at your fingers for good measure.
“no,” he sighs, and knows it’s the first of many demands he’ll be unable to deny. “no, i guess not.”
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