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djarrex · 4 years ago

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Countermeasures || 3

Anomaly

Fives x ofc!reader

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Rating: 18+ only

Word Count: 5.7k

chapter summary: Agreeing to help Fives proves to be both good and bad.

warnings: canon character death, a sprinkle of fluff (Fives can be soft but we all know he’s quite the opposite in the right contexts 😉), a dash of sexual tension, a dollop of groping, tons of inappropriate thoughts - lordy lord get some cold water splashed on them

note: I broke away from including Fives’ POV in this chapter. It may come back in the future, idk yet. This is the first real series I’ve written and I’m extremely grateful for the pals I’ve met on here who reblog and like my work <3 Tbh I’m having a ton of fun writing this because not only does it give me an excuse to watch the conspiracy arc a bunch of times for the details but I also get to write about Renna and Fives and I love them both and I just want them to fuck already.

***

This was crazy. How did you of all people end up in a situation such as this.

By “this”, you were referring to the strong embrace you were trapped in - the ARC trooper you’re shamefully crushing on being the captor.

No, you definitely were not complaining.

After agreeing to help him, Fives you pulled into his body, his strong arms finding their way around your back holding you steady. Large palms nearly covered the expanse of your back, the heat from his skin burning holes right through your outer layers and into your flesh. Your face was practically smushed into his broad chest, your arms dangling awkwardly at your sides. The weight of Fives’ chin was pressing into your scalp. So many thoughts were swimming in your head as Fives held you as tight as he could without hurting you.

He was... hugging you. To be completely honest, you thought the two of you would fuck - or at least do something along those lines - before he hugged you. It was the energy he possessed that led you to that conclusion, but you were proven wrong.

You didn’t fight it - you knew how much it meant to him. These clones - these soldiers - were covered in plastoid from head to toe all day every day throughout their unfortunately short lives, and you figured they must be at least somewhat touch-starved. The way Fives held you was different than you thought he was capable of. You weren’t naïve; you knew the clones took off their armor at certain points, and hey, you knew that they even would have sex in their short spurts of time off. You read reports on clones who had contracted STD’s from their adventurous endeavors and were sent here to be treated. Even though they were created in a lab for the sole purpose of fighting in this ridiculous war, they were still men.

You wanted to keep up some at least some semblance of professionalism - to not touch Fives back, because quite honestly your body wanted more - but your heart started aching, and your body acted against your brain as your arms returned the embrace.

Fives was thick. The clones as a whole aren’t huge men; they aren’t fed nearly enough - that much you knew - and are relatively slim with a very low percentage of body fat compared to all the muscle they were designed to have. They’re not that much taller than you, either. However, you’ve never held a clone before. Fives’ back was like a bag of ropes; hard, thick, and you felt every single muscle so beautifully poking out of his skin even through the tunic. You allowed your hands to splay out over his back - to really feel him. You were completely lost in this moment, but you heard it - barely noticeable, but you heard it - Fives inhaled quietly through his nose, taking in your hair’s scent. You knew deep down that he didn’t mean for you to notice him smelling your hair, so you didn’t mention it. Butterflies flapped around in your stomach - then the butterflies quickly floated away and that feeling was exchanged with pure lust; the fire in your belly burning hot with desire.

You don’t know how long you held each other, but you needed to break away from him and get back to the matters at hand. You agreed to help him, and that’s what you’ll do. Maybe he’ll be so thankful for your help he’ll “hug” you again later.

“You do you have a plan, right, mister ARC trooper?” Breaking away from his embrace, you tried to shake your mind clear of any thoughts that didn’t include Tup.

“Of course I have a plan!” Fives’ tone suggested he was attempting to play off what had just happened, and it was cute. He walked over to the darkened window and kept his back turned to you. Perhaps he was trying to clear his thoughts as well. You wouldn’t know, but Fives was barely breathing in through his nose so that your scent lingered in his nostrils for as long as possible.

“Care to share?” You called to him, and Fives paused for a few moments before responding.

“Are you able to access all the equipment without the supervision of the long-necks?” He finally turned around, his brows raised. You blinked at him, just a little dumbfounded and slightly offended.

“Yes, Fives. Maker, I know how to work the kriffing equipment. I don’t need a babysitter.” You rolled your eyes then squinted them at him, crossing your arms to your chest with a huff.

“That’s not what I meant,” Fives chuckled as he approached you once again and placed a hand on your shoulder. “I meant, are you going to get in trouble if you’re working alone in there?” His gaze bore into you, making you feel slightly uneasy. Yeah, you knew how to work everything, of course. But this was all new territory for you; working - unauthorized – on a patient who wasn’t yours, performing an atomic brain scan unsupervised, breaking protocol…

“I- I’m not actually sure. I’ve never been explicitly told to not touch anything without them being there? I think it will be okay. It’s just that- that Dr. Nala Se said no to the scan. I don’t think she’ll like that I went behind her back and did it anyway. Although�� I want to try everything in my power to save your friend.”

“Right. Then let’s get to it.”

“I’m sorry - let’s? You’re coming too? That doesn’t seem like a good-”

“It’ll be fine,” Fives quickly interjected. His confident tone faded with the next part: “Please. I want to be there - be there for Tup.” There they were again, those puppy dog eyes that get you every time. You doubt Fives even knows he’s doing it, but he had to catch on by now because you basically have never said no to him in the few short days you’ve known him. Your attraction to him made you break over and over again; this time was no different.

“Okay, fine. But you need to stay hidden.”

“I’m ‘Mr. ARC Trooper’, remember? I’ve been trained in the arts of being sneaky.” Wiggling his fingers and brows at you with a cheeky grin, you laughed and punched him in the shoulder. His grin only grew.

“Yeah whatever. Just follow me.”

You were the first to exit Fives’ room, peeking your head just outside the door to get a feel of the surrounding area. No guards in sight at the moment, so now was the perfect time to go.

“Quickly,” you stepped outside the room, motioning with your hand for Fives to follow. It didn’t take long to get next door, of course.

You pressed the controls on the panel and the door whisked opened; you shooed Fives in first. As soon as he entered, two guards came around the corner. You obviously didn’t want to look like you were doing something you weren’t supposed to, so you put on your best smile and nodded to the oncoming troopers. They nodded back and turned at the next corridor that led away from Tup’s room.

You stood there for a moment, just outside the room - thinking. You were obviously crazy, no doubt about that. You were breaking protocol, and basically risking your internship and everything you had worked for up to this point for Fives (and Tup). It was the right thing to do, right? Your insane crush on the ARC trooper aside, you were going through with all of this because it was the right thing to do. It definitely wasn’t right that the Kaminoans wanted to kill Tup off without entertaining more options and trying other procedures. It all seemed very… weird. As doctors, wouldn’t they want to try every possible way to find a solution without skipping over it all and just killing him? Although, why waste more time and resources when the “obvious” solution was to terminate him and find the answers through an autopsy? Maybe you should give it more time – Shaak Ti could be back soon with the Jedi Council’s backing. Maybe it wasn’t too late to back out – to turn around and coax Fives back into his room before you were both caught.

The moment was over when Fives’ hand reached out to grab your wrist, unceremoniously pulling you into the room. You nearly tripped as he yanked you inside, a murmured “hey!” subconsciously rolled off your tongue at the rough pull.

“Sorry, Renna.” He shut the door behind you, giving you an apologetic smile. “Did- did I hurt you? Sometimes I forget my own strength... I’m not used to manhandling pretty and delicate things.” Okay, let’s push that comment aside and table it for later on when you’re alone in your quarters.

Fives reached out to examine your wrist but you flapped your hands at him, “Really, I’m okay. Seriously.” You weren’t lying - it didn’t hurt. If you told him the absolute truth, you would tell him how you wished he’d manhandle you in other ways.

“Alright. Let’s get to work.”

Knowing how quickly you had to work for this entire plan to play out smoothly, you immediately made your way over to the controls and started tapping away. You turned your head to check on Fives – to see how he was planning on participating – and he was just frozen in place standing over Tup’s cot. Tup was still unconscious; his chest rising and falling rapidly in his comatose, shut eyelids flickering back and forth.

“Fives, push him over there.” You pointed at the scanner on the other side of the room with your back still turned as you tapped away at the screens, prepping the equipment. With one last tap of the screen, the scanner descended from the ceiling and Fives pushed Tup’s cot into it.

Tup’s chest rose and fell at an alarming rate, compelling you to consider - again - about turning back and aborting this plan altogether.

Fives came around the other side of the scanner where you watched the infrared picture of Tup’s brain from display screen, snapping you out of the thought.

“The scan’s almost complete.”

Fives moved in front of you and leaned closer to the screen, you shuffled to the side to give him to space. Your eyes unglued from the screen for just a moment to watch Fives; he was desperate. The look in his eyes told you that much, and his stance wasn’t as strong and sure as it always seemed to default to.

Your focus made way back to the screen. “Everything… appears to be normal.” Just as you said that the screen starting beeping; a red dot was blinking, pinpointing an anomaly in Tup’s brain.

“W- wait a second.” You softly pushed Fives out of the way and read the results displayed on the screen.

“What? What is it, Ren?” Your heart skipped a beat at the sound of his little nickname for you, but there were more important things currently at hand. You can freak out about the way he says your name like that later.

“It looks like Tup has developed a tumor.” Your fingers started tapping away yet again. You’ve never seen a tumor in clones before. To be fair, you had never worked with clones like this before, but you’ve seen more than enough of their files to know that a tumor wasn’t exactly something that could just appear in a clone.

“A tumor? Is that even possible?”

“I’ve never seen anything like this in clones. Not in any of the files.” You ceased tapping, turning around to face Fives. His hand raked through his hair, a pure look of confusion and worry on his face.

“Then… what is it?”

“I honestly don’t know. I’ll need to do a biopsy to be sure.” With a nod, you offered a reassuring smile. “It’ll be okay, Fives. We’ll get this straightened out, and you and Tup will be off this stormy planet and back to your brothers in no time.” You weren’t sure you even believed your words.

“You’re gonna take it out of him?” Before you could answer, Fives whacked the tools all over the ground with one graceless hand movement. Your eyes widened as he bent down to grab at the mess. “Do you, uh, think anyone heard that?”

You raised your brow at him, and with a sarcastic tone, “The probability is high, yes.” You sighed. “You need to hide.”

Smacking his hands away as he continued to pick up the mess, you hissed, “Fives, hide.”

“I think it came from this room.” You both shot up; you ran over and pushed Tup out of the tube and started to power it down at the controls as Fives took cover under Tup’s floating cot. Interesting that an ARC Trooper chose that as a hiding place.

The door whisked opened. Nala Se stood at the entrance, looking around. Her bug-eyes landed right on you, then glanced over to Tup.

“Hello, Doctor.” Your tone was astonishingly calm despite the absolute terror currently running through your system.

“What do you think you’re doing?” She entered through the threshold and made her way over to Tup, assessing his condition with a scowl.

“I was only trying to save the patient,” You informed her, keeping your tone calm and professional. You were ignored, however. Apparently, Fives was not so great at cleaning up his messes, because one leftover syringe sat on the ground right below the Kaminoan’s heels. She reached down to grab it, and your heart started racing. You blurted out, “Doctor, I found something unusual in the scan. It appears to be a tumor… I think you should take a look-”

“You performed a second scan without my authorization?” Nala Se stood upright; the forgotten syringe grasped in her three slender fingers. How did she not see Fives down there? Uh oh… where did he go?

Your heart rate slowed. “Apologies, Doctor. I was only trying to-”

“Perhaps I made the mistake in assuming you’d be ready to work with the clones.” Nala Se turned around to shut off the remaining equipment; machines began powering off as they whirled back in place and Tup’s cot moved back to where it was before you started. One of the larger machines floated away, leaving Fives completely exposed. Ah, so that’s where he went. Your eyes widened as you looked between Fives’ shocked expression and Nala Se, who was still turned around and tapping at the controls. As much as you dreaded pressing further on, you needed to buy Fives enough time to make an escape back to his own room.

“But- but the tumor, Doctor. It seems to be blocking neuro-impulses from communicating with the brain. I think we should scan the rest of the clones to see if this is a problem with their base genetic model or a mutation with the current models.” The machines were all now back in place; you scanned the room with your eyes, hoping to not catch a glimpse of Fives.

“There is no tumor. Your scan is incorrect.” Nala Se departed the control panel, ambling over to the other side of the room. You really hope Fives had fled by now. Might as well keep on pressing, though. It did interest you that the Kaminoan doctor was so avidly trying to disregard what you were saying about a tumor. That was a thread you figured you should follow.

“But-”

“This clone clearly has a virus that remains undetected, but I will find the cause once he’s terminated.” You followed Nala Se until she reached Tup’s cot, her back turned to the exit. “Now leave. I’ll figure out what to do with you later.”

“Yes, Doctor.” You turned on your heels and walked out the already open door. You turned your head to watch Nala Se; she was still standing over Tup, but you were unsure of what she was doing. Something really didn’t seem right with this. You nearly crashed into Fives in the hall as you departed Tup’s room.

“I can’t believe they’re going to kill Tup!” Fives shouted in disbelief after you both had made your way back into his room and shut the door. Fives shoved the empty cot to the other side of the room, clearly frustrated.

“I know. I’m sorry, Fives.” All you could offer was a sincere apology. It didn’t seem like a great idea at present to bring up how you thought the entire ordeal with Nala Se seemed fishy.

“We were not created to be disposed of this way!” He slammed his fists on the cot, an action that seemed to be fueled by rage, but his eyes told a different story.

“Just- just think of it this way… Tup is sacrificing himself so that other clones like him can survive. Isn’t that something you said he’d want?” You went to reach for him - to offer a gentle reassuring touch - but he backed away.

“There aren’t others like him!” His raised voice prompted you to take a few steps back. You weren’t scared of him, but you understood they he may need some space right now. Maybe it would be best if you retreated to your quarters and called it a day. After all, Nala Se basically sealed your fate by undoubtedly reassigning you to the archives. It probably wasn’t appropriate that you been seen in Fives’ room anymore. Your own selfishness kept you there, though.

“I’m sorry, Ren. I don’t mean to take this out on you, I just-” You allowed yourself to take a few steps towards him. “Tup doesn’t have to die - you found a tumor. I’m sure that’s the cause of all this. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

“But… how can we proceed? Dr. Nala Se basically reassigned me to the archives. I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to be here with you anymore. I could get dismissed, sure, but I have no idea what would happen to you.”

“Do the biopsy. I’m sure what you find will prove Tup doesn’t have to die. Your findings would bump you up in the ‘ranks’ I’m sure, and they would have no reason to send you back to filing paperwork.” A beat. “As for me… I’ll be fine.” You both knew that was a lie. You’ve seen what the Kaminoans have done to “defective” clones. It’s all in the files. It’s inhumane. There was no way you’d let that happen to Fives.

“I’m not so sure…. Dr. Nala Se doesn’t believe-”

“We’re not going to Nala Se with whatever you find. We’ll go to General Shaak Ti. She helped me once as a cadet and I know she values the life of a clone.” Now that, that was the truth.

“Fives… I’d be disobeying direct orders.” At this point, you didn’t care what happened to you if you were to go through with this. Fives was who you were concerned with. Not because of a hopeless crush, but because of his status of patient and you sincerely cared about him.

“Yep, and for the second time today,” He jested. Not funny. You scoffed. “Ren…” There they are, yet again - the puppy dog eyes. Those, paired with how he said your name. You’d break for sure. “Will you help me? Please.”

***

“Hurry!” Fives was hunched over the control panel with you, basically micromanaging you even though he had no idea what it was you were doing.

“Fives, you’re going to have to not rush me. I’m not a droid. Give me a kriffing minute.” Your fingers tapped frantically at the screen, hitting button after button until -

“Intruder alert. Intruder alert. All nonessential personnel report to a safe room for lockdown.”

You stood up straight and grinned over at Fives, who looked a little shocked.

“What did you do?” The alert played over again on the intercom.

“I made it so that the security scanners picked up an intruder in section C-6. We need to hurry, though. I doubt it’ll take them long before they realize it’s a false alarm.”

“They taught you how to hack a security mainframe at the fancy medical academy you attended on Coruscant?”

You rolled your eyes at him, hands on your hips. “Is that really important right now?” Fives chuckled and shook his head. Grabbing his wrist, you stretched your head to look outside the door. “They have guards stationed just outside. How are we going to get over there?” You turned towards Fives, who was pulling away from you and looking up at the ceiling. You followed his gaze, and you knew exactly what he was thinking. “The vents?” You sounded a little shocked, but it really was the only safe way out of there. He tilted his head down to look at you, a smile on his face. You snorted.

“Here, I’ll climb up first and then pull you up.” Your looked over at the door again, making sure you weren’t about to get absolutely busted, and grabbed his dangling hands.

You shook your head with a smirk. “You know, I’m starting to wish I had stayed in the archives,” you jested, as Fives hoisted you up and into the vent with him.

You never realized just how creepy it was up in these vents. To be fair, there wasn’t one moment that you would’ve pictured yourself crawling through them, but here you were. It was dark, every movement you made echoed, and it was freezing cold. You – for some reason – were leading the way, crawling through the cold durasteel tunnel. Fives was silent; he wasn’t making any comments, not cracking any jokes, not even expressing his concern for Tup. It dawned on you: he was totally checking out your ass. You had shed your long lab coat before he pulled you up, knowing that it would be harder to crawl with it tugging under your knees. Fives hadn’t yet seen you without it on… and you knew how good your ass looked in the leggings you wore. With a slight chuckle to yourself, you stopped crawling for a moment and looked over your shoulder to glance at him to the best of your ability.

“Fives, are you staring at my ass?” You tried to not let your giddiness get in the way of your accusatory whispering, but you found yourself muffling laughter. He didn’t reply right away – probably trying to think up a comeback or a way to wiggle himself out of the subject.

“Fuck yeah I am,” he murmured back, sounding as cocky as ever. You bit your lip and shook your head, resuming the crawl towards the oncoming exit vent. “I don’t exactly have anything else to look at from back here, you know. I got quite a nice view, so, no complaints.” Your face heated up at his smug comment, resisting the urge to shake your ass for him – to really give him a good view. Now was not the time.

You crawled past the vent so Fives could hop down first; he plopped onto the floor, graceful and stealthy as ever, before standing directly under the vent with his arms held out.

“Common, I’ll catch you.” It really wasn’t a long way down; you’d land just fine, though probably not as gracefully as he did.

“Uh, okay…” You lowered your legs out from the ceiling, keeping your grip on the cool metal for a moment while you steadied yourself. “Fives, I think I got it. I can just hop down like th-” Your grip from the ceiling slipped, sending you down and nearly hitting the floor in the worst way possible, when strong arms found their way under your ass and back.

Fives just saved you from breaking a bone or two, and all you could do was blink up at him as his hand slightly squeezed the plushy part of your ass, the other hand gripped tightly on your waist. Maybe he thought you wouldn’t notice the way he was savoring holding you like that, but you did. And you liked it.

“Nice to look at and feels nice, too.” Fives grinned at you before setting you down on your feet. He definitely shouldn’t be talking about how your ass looks and feels right now with his friend lying nearly dead on the cot barely an arm’s length away - but, is he was open to making comments such as those during these unsure times, you’d reciprocate. A boost of confidence surged through you.

“Glad you like it, trooper. Maybe some time you can see and feel it without these in the way,” you pulled at your leggings, looking him straight in the eyes with a smirk. Seeing Fives’ expression was well worth making the comment.

“Don’t say things you can’t follow up on, Renna.” His shocked expression quickly flipped to dark, catching you completely off guard and making you gulp. Your entire body felt as if it was on fire as tiny fireworks danced in your gut. There was absolutely no way you’d be able to follow up on your innuendo-filled comment unless you found each other in another life under different circumstances. You needed to shake it out of your system.

Firing up the laser drill, you looked over at Fives and studied his worried expression. He looked so soft, so concerned – it tugged at your heart harder than you cared to admit. His focus remained on Tup until the sound of the drill made him look up.

Your hands were slightly shaking. You felt it, but it didn’t appear to be noticeable. You had never performed a biopsy on a real, living, breathing lifeform before. Everything you had done during your schooling was on the deceased or on medical dummies. You were nervous, but this wasn’t about you. You finally had the chance to save a life. You needed to pull it together.

“Renna, are you okay?” Fives’ voice nearly came out as a whisper. You looked up at his eyes; he was studying you, deeply.

You took a deep breath and nodded with a slow exhale. You turned your attention back to the drill, grabbing Tup’s head and positioning it to where you needed.

“You might want to look away at this part.”

***

You did it. A successful biopsy. Feeling a bead of sweat threatening to fall from your hairline, you wiped it away with your arm and looked up at Fives who still had his eyes squeezed shut.

“Is it done?” The absent sound of the drill encouraged him to open his eyes. You held up the tumor, encased in a transparent casing. You handed it to Fives; he studied it closely, bringing it up to his face with a sigh. The moment was over when the door whisked open.

“What have you done?” Dr. Nala Se came into the room; Fives didn’t appear frightened, but you sure as fuck were.

“We saved my friend’s life.” Fives whipped around to face the “long-neck” - as he calls them - holding up the tumor in an accusing manner towards her, “This tumor is the cause of his illness.” She reached out and tried to grab the encased organic matter, but Fives maintained a hard grip as they fought for it.

“Give me that!” Nala Se looked angrier than you had ever seen her. You ran up to them, trying to stop something before it started.

“You can’t be trusted.” Fives reached down to Tup’s cot with his free hand, grabbing a mysterious syringe, and held it up in a threatening manner. You reached your hands up to stop him, but Shaak Ti’s sudden arrival did the job for you.

“Stand down, trooper.” She stood at the doorway with her hand outstretched. Jedi didn’t need to hold a weapon; you knew what they could do with just one outstretched hand in the blink of an eye. You’ve never seen it in action, but you’ve heard stories.

Fives dropped the hand holding the syringe but kept hold of the tumor with his other. “I have evidence. It’s right here!” He sounded desperate. This looked way too bad. You were caught right in the middle of it all, too.

“I’m free…” A weak voice croaked from the cot, making all the heads in the room turn in the same direction. Tup. Fives let go of the tumor and whipped his body around to face his friend, crouching down next to Tup and leaned in close.

“Tup?”

“The mission… free.”

“What is he saying?” Shaak Ti entered through the threshold, a few guards flowing in from behind her with their blasters aimed at Fives.

“Brother, what mission?” It was apparent that Fives was trying to understand what was coming from Tup’s mouth, and could not care less that his own kind were holding weapons to him. It had been the first time anyone had heard Tup speak words that didn’t sound like “kill” and “Jedi” since his arrival.

“You… you know the one. The- the mission, the one in our dreams…” Fives’ wide eyes scanned over his friend, searching for a clue, for anything. “…that never ends.”

You were frozen in your spot, taking in Tup’s bewildering words. You watched Fives’ expression as he frantically tried to decipher what Tup was murmuring. You glanced up from them, seeing the guards' buckets turn to look back and forth at each other. The mission - the one from their dreams?

“Oh, brother…” Tup’s hand lifted to the best of its ability; Fives grabbed it with his own and squeezed. This moment was so raw, so emotional, so real. You never would have thought…

“This is the end. Forget the mission.” Tup was fading away. You could hear it in his voice, and you knew that Fives knew what was coming. It looked as though Fives was holding back tears – trying to keep his composure. “Oh, the nightmare. I’m… free.” With that, Tup was gone.

You scanned the room. Shaak Ti bowed her head, hand over her heart. The other clones lowered their weapons down to their sides, heads bowing. Nala Se, however, remined the same. Her expression never changed. Heartless Kaminoans.

Fives was shaking his friend’s body, begging him to come back. “I thought I saved him…” You didn’t know what to do now. Tup was gone, and it was your fault. He was alive until you removed the tumor. Fives was in pain – mourning for his brother because of you. You took a few steps back, and leaned against the counter, your fingers combing through your scalp. Not only did you disobey direct orders twice today, but you also killed the very first lifeform you did a biopsy on, and to top that off, the patient you killed was important - a brother - to someone you deeply cared about.

***

Fives was placed under arrest just shorty after. Tup’s body wasn’t even cold yet.

You stood there in silence; Fives locked eyes with yours as he was almost forcefully escorted out of the room by the surrounding guards. It was clear that both of you were trying to communicate with the other using only your eyes, but no distinct message was coming across. You wanted to tell him you were so sorry for everything, and that you’d miss him, that you’d never forget him and Tup, and that meeting him changed your view of the clones entirely. But, there were no final goodbyes, no condolences given. Fives would be taken away, and you would be dismissed. You’ll miss Fives with all your heart, but you won’t miss Kamino.

General Shaak Ti followed behind the guards, leaving you in the macabre room with Dr. Nala Se and Tup’s lifeless body. It was silent for a moment before Nala Se looked over to you, shaking her head in disbelief. You were in big trouble.

“Miss Renna,” the long-neck approached slowly, closing the gap between where you were hunched forward over the counter resting on your elbows and where she was covering Tup’s body with a sheet. “I can not condone this type of behavior from an intern. I have no choice but to reassign you to your previous duties in the archives indefinitely.” You were not at all surprised. You nodded slowly, still not looking up at her. You felt numb. Only three days into real field experience, and you fucked up royally. You didn’t need to help Fives, resulting you in ending up in whatever this is. It was interesting that you weren’t dismissed like you’d assume you would be – just reassigned. The thing with Dr. Nala Se acting weird when Tup’s tumor came into play still was on the front of your mind; perhaps you would be able to look into these matters during your long, boring hours in the archives.

Finally looking up at Nala Se, “What… what is going to happen to my patient?” The words nearly came out choked as you tried to hide your worry for Fives. You needed to keep up the front – the professionality of it – so no suspicion would arise. She was scrolling through a datapad, clutching the tumor in her three fingers. The tumor. You tried to study it from afar - what it looked like, the coloring, how the cells neighbored inside it. It looked... dead. Depleted. You snapped your eyes away and over at the dead trooper, whose body was now completely covered by a thin sheet, when Nala Se spoke again.

“Do not worry about ARC-5555. It will be taken care of, so we can put this matter behind us. Just be thankful I didn’t dismiss you, Miss Renna. You are too valuable to replace with some other eager intern.”

Valuable? ‘It’? Taken care of?

“I am thankful, Doctor. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me.” You were motioned to exit the room; as you walked by Nala Se, you caught one last glance at the tumor, attempting to burn the image of it in your brain and commit it to memory. There was something about the tumor – something that prompted strange behavior from the Kaminoans – and you needed to figure out what that something was.

***

tags: @bvcketfvcker @deewithani @chromia7567 @cyaniderainfall

#djarrex writes #countermeasures series #arc trooper fives x reader #arc trooper fives x oc #arc trooper fives x you #arc trooper fives smut #fives x you #fives x reader #fives x oc #fives smut #the clone wars fic #the clone wars smut #the clone wars #conspiracy arc #the clone wars conspiracy arc

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13tinysocks · 4 years ago

Note

I wanna see some anti fanfic rec plspls

You asked for it. May I present, a creepypasta x reader anti-reading list.

Quick Disclaimer: No author names will be dropped nor fic links or sites they’re on. I dislike these works but I don’t want anybody to be harassed. Don’t go after people, holy shit. These works are only here because of some heavily disturbing content. One of them just makes me super mad because of a few circumstances. These are purely my opinions. I am not writing Jesus nor do I write the cleanest stories out there. Dark topics should be explored in fiction. However, some things just shouldn’t fucking be romanticized. Fanfic is practice, I’m not taking points off for wonky writing.

You’re allowed to like whatever the fuck you want. I’m not shaming you or the authors. I’m talking about media I dislike, which I am completely allowed to do. If your friend or favorite author’s work is in here, maybe don’t send this to them. I get it’s tempting but still, it could be upsetting. Again, don’t fucking harass anybody.

This list is in order of - Pisses me off to FBI open up to whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck.

Content warning for: Rape, miscarriages, abortion, necrophilia, sexism, child grooming, multiple types of abuse, ablism, and meanie head criticism of popular fics. Seriously, this gets exceptionally bad at the final one.

First up in our lineup a pretty popular. It’s the least upsetting and problematic. It’s a various creepypasta x reader mansion fic. This is more of an honorable mention because it’s frustrating to read over being super bad.

Recruited.

Summary: (Y/n) killed an attempted rapist and covered it up years ago. She is recruited into the cpp’s to be considered as a proxy along with two others. Follow her through a journey of no character development into becoming a proxy.

What’s wrong with it?

-Brian literally is a misogynist. He literally hates women.

-(Y/n) is an asshole. Not in an entertaining bad bitch way. No, in an unaware bland way. Points off for being a business major, girl you have no soul and it shows.

-She is treated like the voice of reason who is always morally correct. Thing is, if anyone is neurodivergent or mentally ill and ya’know shows symptoms of it, they’re cRaZy, evil, and an annoyance.

-Yes, people creeping on or getting clingy can be shitty/annoying but sometimes the way (Y/n) acts is completely unjust. It left a bad taste in my mouth because the character felt okay to be shitty to people who weren’t like her.

-The endings are disheartening and make no fucking sense. Cody, who is clingy at worst, gets rejected Jack, who TRIES TO BREAK (Y/N)’S FUCKING LEG, gets with her. Can I get a HELLO??????

-(Y/n) also doesn’t get with Jeff who suddenly turned into her brother character after hundreds of pages of romantic tension. Again, Recruited is not inherently bad but it may be really disappointing to people who are here for 1-2 specific characters.

-Queer bait-y author’s notes and inconstant love interests. Author’s notes would read like “Teehee, maybe I’ll make (Y/n) have Jane and/or Natalie endings……” But that never happens after it’s teased multiple times. I get not wanting to add more to your plate but don’t suggest it if you don’t want to do it or only want to please heterosexual readers.

-They put Tim outside like a dog for being a bad boy.

-Author’s notes and percentages fill in details for the reader that aren’t in the fic. I’m not going to read all of that. Put important information in the fic.

-Lot’s of excessive jealousy. Painfully heteronormative.

What about the good?

Readable. Dramatic like Big Brother. Can be an entertaining read if it’s your thing.

Conclusion

Left a bad taste in my mouth. I feel like the author literally hated half the cast and was annoyed while writing them. When you don’t enjoy writing something it shows. Also, her other work (pandemic! Reader X X-Virus) is super tone-deaf and I don’t recommend that either. Don’t recommend joining this fic’s Discord server either. Won’t get into details but in my and my friend's experience: it’s not a good environment with a lot of playing favorites.

Next up on our list is a grossly popular Eyeless Jack X Reader fic.

My Imaginary Monster

Summary: Immoral monster, Eyeless Jack, sneaking into a 5-year-old girl's room. He gets attached, sticks around through her childhood. Thing is, he gets real creepy. Starts to catch feelings for a 16-year-old he’s watched grow up. He kisses a minor who reciprocates his feelings which is textbook child grooming. Nasty fucker runs away, there’s some drama from that. (Y/n) grows up, comes back to town, and Jack’s a’creepin’.

What’s wrong with it?

-Jack is a literal child groomer.

-Do I need to say more??? Immortal adult kisses a 16 y/o. Gross.

-People in the comments are going gaga for grooming. Are you kidding me, he’s a pedophile.

-The OC’s take up more than half of the ~200 page run time. I couldn’t get attached to any of them even after the supposed significance. Which is fine but they took up so much of the fic that it got boring and annoying incredibly quickly.

What’s good about it?

I enjoyed Ben. He did the right thing and I can respect that. Trans and poluyamourus reprrensentation.

Conclusion:

No child grooming in my fucking lobby. I think the author was trying to paint it in a bad light. But the thing is, you can write a creepy stalker fic without making them a groomer. A lot of people are trying to escape their troubles through fanfic, including those who’ve dealt with sexual abuse. Don’t bring that into x reader spaces. Don’t put readers through that again.

Last and absolutely least we got a Tim X Reader.

BIG TW. FUCKING HUGE TW. MOST OF THE TW’S FROM EARLIER ARE FROM THIS ONE FIC.

Pure Forgiveness.

Summary: (Y/n) is abused by her mom. Her dad killed himself and she’s all (Y/n)’s got in this world. Until Tim comes along and “saves” her. He takes her to the mansion and keeps her as a pet to torture.

I’m going to get into all the nitty-gritty to satisfy your morbid curiosities so you don’t read it.

What’s wrong with it?

-Chapter 1 opens with (Y/n)’s miserable life. Her mom hates her so much she has a fucking torture table for (Y/n).

-There’s an attempted rape in chapter 2.

- She’s taken to the mansion by Tim in chapter 3 because he’s “off his medication” and “acting nicer than normal”. Hi, mentally ill person here, that’s not how it fucking works you ding dong.

-Mental illness is made out to we wholly evil.

-Also tic’s are made out to be scary. As a person with tics, don’t write tics as scary or super weird. Thanks.

-(Y/n) not being able to escape, fight back rapists, and other horrible shit is labeled as weak.

-At one point (Y/n) is dragged through the mansion, beer bottles and used condoms are thrown at her. Girl has to shower off cum.

-(Y/n) is tortured in various ways. Mostly beaten, berated, burned, cut, starved, etc.

-She is drugged and repeatedly raped by Brian and Toby. These rapes are recorded and shown to (Y/n).

-Brian has black hair. Why?

-Toby and Brian give (Y/n) a forced abortion.

-(Y/n) gets raped almost every fucking chapter.

-At one point Jack orally rapes (Y/n) to abort a baby.

-Toby and Brian are necrophiles. They skull fuck a corpse at some point. It is graphically described how they like to have sex with dead bodies.

-Slenderman forcefully impregnates (Y/n) to “keep the (Tim’s) baby safe” whatever the fuck that means.

Why does this happen?

Because Tim wants a kid because his dad raped his mom and his mom was a prostitute. He’s soooo sad guys :(((

Feeling hungry? Here’s some things that are eaten by various characters.

-Hair

-Cum (forced)

-Toby

-Piss

-A miscarried baby

What’s good about it?

Nothing. Fucking nothing. Don’t read it.

Conclusion

If you like this fic you need therapy, I’m not joking. It’s like a car crash and Rob Zombie movie horribly mish-mashed together. It sucks. The comments praise literal abuse and berate (Y/n) for being afraid. Fuck this fic and everything it stands for. It’s shock horror and torture for the sake of it. It makes no fucking sense and it’s harmful. People think this is okay. It’s not.

Thank you to my pals in the server for helping out and finishing some of these where I could not. Especially you Connie, everyone say thank you Connie she got through Pure Forgiveness. Absolute trooper legend. Again, don’t go out of your way to harass these people. I made this list so you can avoid these works because they have the potential to be upsetting. I’m not the police, I can’t force anyone to stop nor do I want to. Author’s are allowed to explore dark topics but some should be done respectfully or not at-fucking-all. I hope these people grow as writers and understand treating some things a certain way isn’t cool. You can enjoy dark fics, I do too, fuck I write them too, but Jesus God, some things are a no from me chief.

#creepypasta x reader #rea talks #anon #reply #tw rape #tw abuse #read what you want #im not demanding the cancelationof these people thats dumb i just hope they grow and change #i read and write dark fic but you have to be aware of some shit dude lol #also jealousy and yandere fics r typically bad #like not every fic i reccomend or write is going to be problem free but theyre tolerable and interresting i think #im deadass when i say dont read the last one it is awful.

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odos-bucket · 3 years ago

Text

So to continue my thoughts on Clark and Bruce adopting Jason together (begun here)

They go back to crime alley the next day. Bruce brings a copy of The Scarlet Pimpernel for Jason, who seems vaguely surprised to see them again. He isn’t as wary as he had been when they’d met in the middle of the night, and even sits beside Clark when they get onto the bus (though both end up giving their places up to other passengers before they can reach their destination).

At this point Clark and Bruce are focused on the idea of getting Jason enrolled in school, so the intention with this get together is to familiarize him with some potential institutions. Bruce was up all the previous night researching Gotham boarding schools, and reaching out to faculty members.

Despite all the preparation, the whole thing goes terribly.

Jason seems fine on the bus, but is tense and anxious during the actual school visits. He’s engaged by the classes and lectures he sits in on, but overall feels out of place, and is distrustful of pretty much everyone he ends up interacting with. He’s feeling conflicted, because he loves school, and he knows he’ll be pissed at himself forever if he really has this opportunity and ends up letting it slip by. But on the other hand he’s justifiably paranoid about perceived kindness from strangers (and yeah maybe it’s a little easier to trust Superman than it would be just anybody, but he still doesn’t really know the guy). And even if there isn’t some hidden catch to the offer, he’s not sure he can get on board with living somewhere where there’s a curfew, where his activities would be monitored. The idea of ceding any amount of control in his life at this point makes his skin crawl. He figures he owes it to himself to at least see if this is something that could work out, but goddamn if everything about it isn’t overwhelming and kind of horrifying.

And that’s all before other people start making themselves problems. Everywhere they end up going there’s bullshit to deal with from students, teachers, and administration.

Because of course the people running facilities designed to cater to Gotham socialites don’t treat Jason right. Even with freakin’ Batman and Superman with him he gets suspicious glares and withering looks.

None of that is any less than he expected. What really gets Jason is how put off everyone seems to be by his questions. He comes into every office with a list of things he’s curious about (Batman isn’t the only one who stayed up the previous night to prepare). He wants to know what percentage of the student bodies are there on scholarship, how the meal plans work, what the curfews are, how tightly regulated students’ time is outside of classes, what his life would be like if he put it into their hands.

The administrators don’t like the ‘interrogation’. Which is absolutely insane, because really they should expect any prospective student to have questions. And they should be prepared to answer them. That should be a part of their job, right??

But there’s this attitude of, “We don’t need to explain ourselves to the likes of you,” of, “Just be grateful you have a place here at all.” And that’s what puts Jason over the edge, has him realizing that this isn’t something he’s going to be able to deal with.

It’s after he gets more or less the same reception at the third place they’ve visited, that he finally just has to leave. He can’t take it, he can’t stand it, he has to get out of the office before he bites somebody’s head off.

He gets outside as quickly as he can, and feels some relief breathing in the fresh air (fresh by Gotham standards at least). He feels so stupid for believing he could have this. Really he should have known better. And he hates feeling stupid more than anything.

Superman trails out after him. And Jason can’t figure out what he’s still doing here. And he’s embarrassed to be upset in front of him. And he’s angry that he feels embarrassed when he doesn’t have any good reason to be. And-

“Jason.”

His name ends up cutting through the disorientation he hadn’t quite realized he was experiencing.

Superman is in front of him, just far enough away that he can’t reach out and touch him. Jason stares at him.

“This is shit,” he says, trying to keep his voice casual.

“What happened?”

They had offered to go in with him to meet the dean of the first school. Jason had turned them down, and they hadn’t offered any of the subsequent times. He hadn’t exactly been keeping them apprized of what was going on either, even though questioning him wasn’t something they had given up on after it had failed to yield anything the first time.

“The same thing that always happens,” Jason says. “No one really want someone like me at their fancy school.”

Superman’s eyes narrow.

“What happened?” He asks again. “What did he say?”

“Doesn’t matter… Look, this has been fun and all, but I kinda just want to go home. So if you don’t mind-“

Batman appears with them as quickly as he’s able to disappear. Neither see where he comes from. He’s just suddenly walking toward them, meeting them, and continuing on without slowing down.

“We’re leaving,” he grunts.

Jason hesitates briefly, confused. But then his thoughts catch up to him enough to realize that leaving is exactly what he wants to be doing, and he hurries after Batman.

The heroes are deeply engrossed in their own conversation as they make their way off the grounds. It’s soft, and urgent, and Jason assumes it has something to do with the fate of the world, which he’s vaguely interested in. But he doesn’t think they’d appreciate him asking questions about things that don’t directly concern him. So he says nothing.

As they get closer to the street he realizes he’s not sure what happens next. He’s feeling tired, and frustrated, and he both really wants to be alone, and doesn’t want them to leave him. Mostly- at least so he tells himself- he wants to make sure that they don’t leave him without bus fare. He’s pretty sure they’ll give it to him if he asks, but he’s also hoping that he doesn’t need to ask.

Once they’re off the property, Batman turns around to face him.

“Jason, I’m so sorry. I don’t know exactly what Dean Sterlins said to you, but if it was anything like what he was saying while I was in there, it was way way out of line.” He starts off sounding tired, and ends up sounding angry.

Angry grownups are something that Jason generally tries to avoid, but Batman’s anger doesn’t feel particularly dangerous, and as he goes on it shifts into something more like urgency.

“Please believe, we never would have knowingly put you in that situation. I- Were the others the same?” There’s a hint of resignation in his tone that suggests he already knows the answer to that, so Jason doesn’t feel the need to do more than shrug.

Batman sighs, and it comes out as such an unexpectedly sad sound that he almost snorts out a laugh.

“Why didn’t you say something before?” Superman asks gently.

Because he had been holding out a stupid hope that if he stuck with this long enough he might find something worthwhile. Because he didn’t want to give them a reason to believe he’s more trouble than he’s worth. Because it didn’t occur to him that they might genuinely want to know until literally just now.

He shrugs. The heroes exchange a look.

Jason’s grip on the book Batman gave him tightens slightly, and he clears his throat.

“Look, uh, I’m sure there’s somewhere else you guys need to be. I appreciate you taking the time to…” He gestures around. “You know.”

“There’s no where else we need to be today,” Superman says.

“Oh… Okay?”

“There’s one more place we’d like to take you,” he continues. “If it’s all right with you. It’ll be the last one.”

Jason wrinkles his nose. He kind of just wants to go home at this point. The optimistic ‘maybe the next place will be different’ feeling he’d had at the beginning of the day has long since shriveled. And curling up with his new book sounds pretty nice right now.

But at the same time, the last three visits have all included opportunities for free food. It stands to reason that this next one will as well. That should make it worth it even if he already knows with near certainty that they can’t be heading somewhere where he might actually have a future. Plus, Superman has this dumb, hopeful look on his face that it’s hard to say no to.

So he takes the bus with them to a fourth location. The ride’s a little less than half an hour long, and the building they arrive at looks different from the campuses they’d been to earlier. It’s not huge. The architecture is pretty simple by Gotham standards. It’s more immediately recognizable as a school.

They go inside, and Batman stops to exchange a few brief words with a woman in the front office.

“There’s a seventh grade English class starting in about ten minutes,” he informs Jason afterwards. “Would you like to sit in on it? We can meet back here afterwards.”

Jason agrees eagerly. This was the part of the last three trips that he’d actually liked. Maybe he can get in and out without needing to sit down with any deans or headmasters.

He attends a class where the students aren’t wearing uniforms, where he gets a few curious glances, but no lingering glares. He gives a note from the woman at the front desk to the teacher, and a few kids offer him greeting nods or smiles before the lecture begins.

The class is more than halfway done, and he’s been deeply engrossed in a discussion about The Giver- which he has never read, but now fully intends to- when all the observations he’s been making about this place click together.

The class ends, and he meets his chaperones back in the hall- where Superman is entertaining a group of ten year olds- to inform them of his realization.

“This isn’t a boarding school,” he says, once the rest of the kids have shuffled on to their next classes.

“No it is not,” Batman agrees.

Jason scowls.

“I stopped going to regular school for a reason,” he reminds them. “I can’t do this. As in literally can’t. I tried!” He’s trying not to sound upset, but it feels like they’re teasing him with this one.

“School’s a lot to manage without a stable living situation.” Batman says.

Jason huffs out a low agreement.

“So we were thinking…” He looks around, as if confirming the hall’s emptiness, before stepping into Jason’s line of sight. “We were thinking you could come and stay with us, and we could bring you to school here.”

Jason’s mind doesn’t process the offer fast enough for him to react immediately. Even once he’s sure of what he’s heard he thinks he must be misunderstanding. He looks up and at each of them try to draw clues from their expressions, their body language. It’s nearly impossible to do with Batman. Superman looks open, honest, and… hopeful. But that’s how he always looks, so does it really even mean anything?

Unable to make any useful interpretations, he asks the only question his mind has been able to form.

“What?”

“Would you like to come and live with us?” Superman says clearly.

Jason continues to stare for several seconds.

“Both of you?” He asks, because that’s interesting, and far easier to comprehend than the idea that someone might want him.

Batman clears his throat, and Superman-

-Superman blushes, which is enough to distract Jason from all the bizarre turns this day has taken.

“And, um, and our son,” he adds. “We have a son. He’s about five years older than you.”

The gears in Jason’s brain turn and click together.

“Robin,” he says quietly.

The vigilantes exchange uncertain looks, like they’ve been doing all day.

“Nightwing now,” Batman says, barely loud enough to be a whisper.

Jason just nods, because this is insane, and despite being born and raised in Gotham, he doesn’t always have a prepared response to insanity. A long moment passes, and all three of them stare at each other.

“Y- you want to foster me?” He says the words so so carefully, like he could chase the reality of them out of existence if he misspeaks, like he’s sure he hasn’t understood them properly.

“We do,” Superman says, quickly enough that the breath that had caught in Jason’s throat as soon as he’d gotten the question out can escape before it gets the chance to make him light headed. “We really do.”

Jason can’t imagine how this will work. He’s pretty sure it’s not a process that can be undergone with fake identities. Does that mean they’re willing to let him know who they are? Or maybe there’s some kind of exception for super heroes. He understands the procedure well enough to know that it’s bound to be a bureaucratic nightmare.

“Yeah,” he finds himself saying before he’s done thinking it through.

Today has been weird, and exhausting. But he likes this place. And he’s pretty sure he likes these people. And really, he would be crazy to say no, wouldn’t he.

“Let’s try it.”

#batfam #batfamily #superbat #bruce wayne #clark kent #jason todd #dc #my writing #batman #superman #batman and robin

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supernaturalfreewill · 4 years ago

Photo

Words: 5,232 Sister!Winchester Reader x Gabriel Warnings: violence, intense scenarios, violent imagery A/N: So... once upon a time I was writing two series at once... Mess Is Mine and Fangs and First Impressions. And I said to myself, "Self, we are never going to write two series at the same time again! This is stressful!" And yet, here I am today, already writing two series (The Wrong Bed, Sam x Reader which is almost done! and Even in the Darkest Heart, a Demon!Dean series) and now I'm being dumb and chucking in a third. This was supposed to be a One Shot but as we've already established on this blog I am apparently incapable of writing short fics. So HERE YA GO! New Series. Don't ask me how many parts it will be because I literally have NO IDEA. :) But having a steaming slice of Gabriel, straight out of the oven.

Your name: submit What is this?

White. Clean, blank, pure white. That was all you were aware of suddenly. It was blindingly white and as you sat up and then pulled yourself to your feet, you saw that it was like an expansive room, painted in the color of freshly fallen snow, unmarred by any track or trail. All was pure white.

“Hello?” The only answer you received was the lonely echo of your voice, so distorted by the time it bounced back that it was almost unrecognizable. Where the fuck am I? you wondered. You started to walk, but as everything was the same, the sensation of moving was unaccompanied by any visual cue that you actually were moving. This was so unsettling and disorienting that you ceased your tentative steps quickly. Your heart started to race a little faster and a disturbing thought popped into your mind. Am I dead?

_ _ _ _ _ _ “I need a large bore IV, wide open. And up her oxygen percentage. Her numbers are tanking!”

“Sir, you really have to stay back. Sir! You’re not allowed beyond these doors!”

Dean watched helplessly as your unconscious body, straddled by a doctor with their hands pressed firmly down onto your abdomen, was hurried through a pair of swinging doors, flanked by an army of medical personnel. Dean finally registered the nurse in front of him and stopped before he collided with her outstretched hands. “Where are they—”

“They’re taking her straight into surgery. Are you next of kin?”

“Yes—My brother and I. She’s our sister! I need an update! As soon as you have one!” Dean urged.

“Do you give us permission to perform life-saving actions like resuscitation if necessary?” The words came out in a fast tumble and Dean didn’t even process them before he answered.

“Yes, goddammit! Do whatever you have to—she has to be okay!”

“We’ll let you know as soon as we know anything,” The nurse turned and ran down the long hallway, the swinging doors closing finally behind her. Dean paced a tight circle, a bundle of nerves and rage.

In about 20 minutes, Sam came running up and spotted Dean collapsed in a chair in the little seating area, endlessly bouncing his knee. “Hey—what’s going on? They wouldn’t let me leave—I almost punched out a security guard,” he said desperately. Sam had fresh stitches in his forehead and he was developing quite the bruise around one eye.

Dean let out a heavy exhale. “They rushed her right into surgery.” Dean rubbed a hand over the stubble on his chin. “Are you okay?” he asked, finally looking up to inspect Sam’s stitches.

Sam collapsed into a chair beside his brother. “Fine. They said the concussion is probably mild. Nice to be numbed for stitches for once,” he said, but his eyes kept darting back toward the doors and he was wringing his hands. “Did you hear anything yet?”

“No.”

The Winchesters sat in a heavy silence for almost two hours before a doctor came out.

_ _ _ _ _ _

You were becoming so anxious by the lack of anything and the horrible thought in your head that this was it, this was dying, that your heart was absolutely racing in your chest now. Sitting still didn’t seem like a good option, but the thought of trying to move again through all that blank nothingness seemed just as bad. “Hello?!” you yelled once more, this time as loud as you could.

“Hi there.”

You jumped with a startled gasp and spun around, one hand on your chest out of fright and surprise. There was a figure there. He had a small, warm smile on his face and his irises seemed to blaze golden and light brown. It was strange—you felt an overwhelming sense of calm as you looked at him. Your heart rate had slowed to its usual pace and you no longer felt that bubble of rising panic in your chest, threatening to burst. You were keenly aware that in your profession, a seemingly kind face didn’t necessarily mean anything—and yet, he had somehow stopped your wounded whirling.

“Who—who are you?” you asked, finally able to recover from your surprise and find your voice.

His smile widened on one side, curving up in a crooked half-smirk. “Well… I suppose you can call me your guardian angel,” he said.

Your brow only furrowed down in confusion. “Where… are we?”

“Difficult question to answer. We’re nowhere and yet, in some sense… kind of everywhere to you right now.”

The wrinkles on your furrowed brow deepened. “Am I—am I dead?”

He threw his head back and laughed heartily, while you merely looked on in perplexity. “Now, what kind of guardian angel would I be if that were the case?” he asked you. He suddenly stuck a hand into his pocket and pulled out a large Twix candy bar, bouncing a little unconcernedly on his toes. He opened it and took a big bite, before meeting your eyes again.

“I’m sorry—but who are you?” you asked again.

He let out another small chuckle and you watched as the corners of his eyes crinkled this time in a broad smile, but he still didn’t give you an answer.

“If I’m not dead, what exactly is happening?”

He tilted his head a little and looked at you for a long moment. “Do you remember that man in the bar?”

And suddenly it was like you were there—sensory overload. You could hear the drone of the music in the background and smell that heady scent of beer… And there was the man. You saw his face clearly, and now you saw that he had been watching you.

“I see him,” you said, and suddenly you were back in the white space. “Saw him.”

The figure nodded. “Well, he wasn’t just a guy in the bar.”

Now, you tilted your head a little in an unspoken question and your eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

“He was the thing you were hunting. And he figured out that you were hunting him.”

As soon as he said it you heard a crack like thunder and a flash like hot, white lightning. Your body jolted and there was a searing pain in your stomach. You looked down saw an expanding circle of dark crimson on your shirt, and when you pressed a hand to it your fingers came away stained bright red, sticky with blood. Now when you looked back up at the figure he wasn’t smiling anymore and there was no sign of the candy bar or wrapper. He raised two fingers and snapped, and the searing pain disappeared along with the scarlet stain on your shirt.

“Sorry about that,” he said. His voice now was lacking the playful lilt it had before. It was soft and serious. “That can happen from time to time. Reality leaks in a little bit.”

Suddenly, you understood and then you remembered. You had heard his footsteps behind you, first at a distance and then quickly, running. You had turned and then… the crack of the gun going off and echoing in the lonely parking lot—the flash of the muzzle. More gunshots, must have been Sam and Dean shooting back—they had been ahead of you going to the Impala. But you were already on your knees, bleeding, clutching your stomach and struggling to see anything through the searing pain.

“He shot me,” you said.

“He did,” the stranger said.

“But I’m alive?”

“Yes.” A long silence stretched where you both just looked at each other, and you were reeling from the implications.

“So, is this real or all in my head?” you asked him.

He smiled again, just a small one, and it lit fireworks of light off in his eyes. They were mesmerizing. “Why can’t it be both?” he asked. “We’ll be seeing each other again. I promise.”

“But—wait!”

_ _ _ _ _ _

Sam and Dean both jumped to their feet when the surgeon came out through the swinging doors and eagerly ran to meet her.

“Y/N is going to make it,” she said. The brothers both heaved huge sighs of relief. Sam crumpled half over and put his hands on his knees, forcing in air. Dean shut his eyes and clenched a hand into a fist. “She’s very, very luckily to be alive. The bullet lacerated her liver and she lost a lot of blood but it missed her hepatic artery by mere millimeters. If that had been hit, she would have bled out in minutes,” the surgeon said. Sam straightened back up stiffly and exchanged a look of horror and desperation with Dean. “She’s in critical condition and we will keep her in the ICU until she is more stable, but she’ll be okay. Thank goodness you two got her here so quickly,” the surgeon said.

“Thank you,” Dean said forcefully.

“Yes, thank you so much,” Sam added. The surgeon nodded and headed back through the doors. The Winchesters stood there in silence after the doctor left until finally Sam broke it.

“That was way too close,” he said.

Dean swallowed hard at the lump in his throat, but it wouldn’t lessen. “Way too damn close,” he said, his voice breaking a little. He wandered back over to collapse into the chairs. Sam sank down next to him and glanced over at his big brother.

“At least the shifter is dead,” Sam said. “Yeah. But we still have to deal with the cops,” Dean growled. “Afterall, we did kill someone in a parking lot…”

“There was surveillance at the bar. It was clear self-defense. We have nothing to worry about,” Sam reassured him.

“Well, not nothing,” Dean said. “You know what a pain in the ass it is going to be trying to keep Y/N from doing anything to heal up?” A faint touch of a smile reached his eyes as he looked over at Sam.

He nodded. “She is a Winchester.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

You were finally moved from the ICU, and Sam and Dean snuck in early, even before visiting hours, so they could be there when you woke up. Sam had a huge bouquet of sunflowers on his lap and Dean had brought your favorite herbal tea. You woke up slowly, still a little foggy from all the painkillers, but you immediately sensed the two figures in your room. Sam noticed you stirring first.

“Hey,” he said sitting up. His voice was soft but you could hear the smile in it. “You’re awake,” he said, climbing to his feet and coming to stand beside your bed. “Brought you something to brighten up the room. I know they’re your favorite,” he said, setting down the huge bouquet on the side table.

You blinked heavily a few times and managed a weak smile at him, “Thanks. It’s good to be up and have my room brightened,” you said. You put your hands down on the bed and tried to sit up a little more but immediately winced and hunched over, a hiss of breath drawn in through your teeth, drawing concerned looks from your older brothers.

Dean was immediately at your other side. “How are you feeling?” he asked. His voice sounded extra gruff to your ears, and you knew it was likely due to worry.

“I’m doing well for someone who has staples holding their guts in,” you said dryly, a small wry smile creeping onto your face. Neither of your big brothers laughed. “Oh, come on! I’m kidding!”

Dean swallowed at the lump and tightness in his throat again but it didn’t abate. “Really though? How’s your pain?”

You shook your head. “I’m fine. Really. You can stop giving me those classic Winchester furrowed brows. I’m okay. They have me on the good drugs,” you added with a small smile. You noticed the paper cup clutched in Dean’s hand. “Is that for me?”

“Oh, yeah. Your favorite tea.”

You grinned at him and accepted the cup. “Thank you.”

Sam sighed heavily beside you, and you could sense your brothers exchanging a glance. “Listen, Y/N…” Sam started. You lowered the cup from your lips and looked at him.

“Stop,” you said holding up a hand. “Before you say anything else, I need to say something.” You struggled to find the words. You wanted, no—needed them to hear every word you were about to say. “This is not your fault,” you said, deliberately turning your eyes to Dean and catching his green ones. “I mean it. This was bad luck. It could have been any of us. I was just the slowest walking to the Impala. My legs are a lot shorter than yours,” you joked. “Alright?” A heavy, thick silence held the room in suspension, feeling like a stifling summer evening heavy with humidity. “I mean it. None of us saw this coming. It isn’t anyone’s fault except the dickhead who shot me.”

Sam was staring at your face and you caught his eyes, which were a little sad and glistening more than they should have been for the light. “We’re your big brothers though,” he said. “We’re supposed to protect you.”

“We thought we lost you,” Dean said.

“But you didn’t,” you retorted. “And you did protect me—you saved my life. They said if you had waited for an ambulance I might not have made it.”

Dean’s jaw clenched and you watched the muscle in it twitch. “Did they tell you?” he asked you, his green eyes holding yours—and you saw fear there, something you rarely saw in his eyes—not that it was never there. He just never let you see it. “Millimeters and it wouldn’t have been fast enough.” You looked down at your hand on the comforter of the hospital blanket.

“Yeah, about that, actually…” you started. Sam’s brow creased even more in the middle. “There’s something else that happened I need to tell you about.”

“What is it?”

“I think while I was in surgery—or maybe even before, I don’t know for sure—but I saw something,” you said, wrapping both your hands around your paper cup again, soaking in the warmth of the tea.

“What do you mean?” Dean asked, apprehension growing with every word your spoke.

“It’s kind of hard to explain. I was in this pure white room… and at first there wasn’t anything there. It was just empty but then this… figure appeared.” Your brothers watched your eyes grow a little distant.

“A figure?” Sam repeated. You looked up at him and nodded.

“I asked him who he was and he told me that I could call him my ‘guardian angel’,” you said, now looking over at Dean and trying to read his reaction. His face seemed to darken and you watched the muscle twitch in his jaw again.

“It was probably just your brain trying to process what was happening to you,” Sam offered. “You almost died. The mind does crazy things when the body is in shock—trust me, I know,” he said sincerely. “And so does Dean.”

You shook your head. “No,” you said, vehemently. “It wasn’t that. It wasn’t. It was real. I’m telling you; it was—” you sighed heavily, not even knowing how to explain without sounding stupid. “—it was happening in my head but this figure, I don’t know… There was something about him. I think he really exists,” you said.

“Did he say anything else?” Dean pressed you.

“I asked him who he was and then I asked him where we were and he said something like, ‘We’re nowhere and yet, in some sense everywhere.’ Whatever the hell that means,” you said, fiddling with the sleeve on your hospital gown. You hesitated, knowing the next question you asked would be hard for your brothers to hear. “Um. And then I asked him if I was dead… and—it was the strangest thing. He laughed and he made some joke about it.”

“He made a joke? What the hell?” Sam repeated.

Dean shook his head. “What kind of joke?”

“Like, ‘oh, how good of a guardian angel would I be if you were dead?’ Oh! And it gets weirder… then he reached in his pocket and pulled out a candy bar.”

Now, Dean and Sam both straightened up involuntarily and looked at each other long and hard in some kind of silent communication. “What? What is it?” you asked. “Come on. Don’t do the silent, telepathic thing. I hate when you do that,” you said.

Sam swallowed hard. “What did this figure look like?” he asked.

You tried to call up an image of him in your mind, and as soon as you shut your eyes you could see him as clear as day. “He has sort of warm brown hair. It’s a little shorter than yours, Sam, kind of swept back. And he has these—these eyes that look like they’re golden brown or amber. A little stubble on his face and he has this cheeky sort of little smile…” You opened your eyes again and looked at your brothers. Their expressions made it quite clear they knew exactly who you were describing.

Dean ran a hand over his face and licked his lips. “You said he pulled out a candy bar?”

“Mhm. I wouldn’t get that detail wrong,” you said.

Sam shrugged and his eyebrows lifted. He shook his head, a little disbelieving.

“What?” you repeated, looking between your brothers. “Who is it? What’s going on?” You were met with stony silence again. “If you two don’t tell me right now I’m going to climb out of this bed and if my stitches rip out it WILL be your fault!”

Dean sighed heavily again. “Alright! Alright! Calm down, turbo!” You sunk back against your pillows again. “Yeah, I think we know who you saw. But—I mean—” Dean looked to Sam who shook his head again, apparently having no explanation. “It doesn’t make any sense.” You gave a questioning look.

“We knew him. Before we knew about you. It was definitely not your mind inventing this, but—he’s dead as far as we know,” Sam said.

Now it was your turn to gulp at the tightness in your throat. “Dead?” you repeated. Sam nodded.

“Yeah,” Dean said. “It’s complicated.”

You laughed sardonically and let your head fall back against your pillow, feeling suddenly tired. “Isn’t it always with us?”

“You’re tired. You obviously need to rest so we can talk about this later,” Dean said, putting a hand gently on your shoulder.

“What?! No! You’re not just gonna say that and expect me to be able to—to sleep!” You looked between your brothers in annoyance. “I’m serious! Cough it up! If you think I’m giving the two of you time to concoct some bullshit cover story you have another thing coming.”

Sam closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Alright. Just—relax. We don’t need you getting all worked up… You remember that trickster we told you about? Way before we found out about you?”

“The one who made you watch Dean die over and over again?”

“Yes, exactly,” Sam said.

“…Wait, you think that figure I saw was this—this trickster? That’s way too powerful for a—”

“He wasn’t a trickster,” Dean interrupted. “He was an archangel playing at being a trickster.”

Your jaw dropped open. “What?”

“Gabriel. It was the archangel Gabriel,” Sam said. You stared at him like he was insane. And then you looked over at Dean, who was refusing to look at you and instead staring, brooding, at his boots, chewing on his lower lip.

“Pardon my French but fucking--Gabriel?? THE Gabriel?”

Sam nodded. He could see your mind starting to spiral. “Whoa, whoa, whoa—he said he was my ‘guardian angel’. You don’t think he was being serious, do you?”

Dean shrugged. “We don’t know. We don’t even know if he’s back. He’s supposed to be dead. Sam and I basically watched him die. Besides, just because he said something like that doesn’t mean anything. He loves goofing around,” Dean said, and you heard some bitterness still in his voice.

“I don’t think saving my life is goofing around,” you retorted.

“We don’t know for sure that he did that,” Sam said. “We need to be careful here. There could be some other agenda. I mean, he was dead. So, if he is actually back that is a big enough mystery right there to warrant being concerned. Resurrections tend to have a catch.”

“I didn’t even know archangels could die,” you said, a little sadly. “Why did he—?"

“He died to save Dean and I,” Sam said. You let out an exhale in an audible rush of air. “Y/N, did he say anything else?”

Now you couldn’t think. Your mind was spinning. You pressed your palms over your eyes. “Umm, yeah he—I asked him if I wasn’t dead what was happening and he walked me through the shooting. The guy in the bar… the parking lot—” you suddenly shuddered and your eyes flew wide open. You pressed one hand over your incision.

“You okay?” Sam put a hand gently on your arm.

“It was like I was there. I could see everything as if in the actual moment. I saw the man in the bar watching us. I heard him running up behind me when we were in the parking lot. And then I could feel it again…” You trailed off and the room stayed silent for a long moment, each of you grappling again with how close to true disaster and devastation you had all come. Sam reached out and grabbed your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“But he just snapped his fingers and it was gone—the pain and everything.” You looked over at Dean. “I heard more gunshots—after I was shot. Did you and Sam—?”

Dean nodded solemnly. “We got him. He’s gone.”

That answer was weighty. You were glad that he was gone, but you wondered about the implications. “Are you and Sam going to get into trouble? I’m guessing there is an investigation and—you killed someone. What if—” Dean smiled fondly at you and chuckled a little. “Are you really worried about that? You almost died, and you’re worried about Sammy and me dealing with the cops? It’s all taken care of, okay? There were surveillance cameras in the lot. They caught everything. It was a clear case of self-defense. Don’t worry.”

You nodded and let out a relieved sigh. “Good. That’s really good. Who is going to wait on me hand and foot if the two of you are in jail?” you joked.

“Y/N,” Sam said, his tone again serious. “What else did Gabriel say?”

“Right. Umm, I asked him what was happening if I wasn’t dead—if it was real or all in my head. He said ‘Why not both?’ and then he told me—” you suddenly remembered his last words to you and the beeping on the heart monitor increased to match the rushing of your heart. You gulped. “He said we would be seeing each other again. What do you think that means?”

Sam shook his head and looked to Dean, whose face was stern and serious. “I don’t know.”

“Do you think it was really Gabriel?” you asked. “I mean, it could have been something else pretending to be him, couldn’t it?”

Sam rubbed a hand over the center of his chest, where a tightness seemed to be taking hold. “I don’t know. We don’t know. But you should get some rest now. Dean and I will look into this, okay?”

They both kissed your forehead and made sure you were comfortable against your pillows before retreating to the hallway, hoping that you would take their advice and get some sleep while they investigated.

Dean pulled out his phone and pressed the speed dial number for Cas, who was back at the bunker. Cas answered on the first ring.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, hey. Sammy and I are just leaving the hospital.”

“How is Y/N?”

“Well, you know, as good as can be expected. She seems to be in good spirits though.”

Cas breathed a sigh of relief into the phone. “Good. That’s very good news. I feel so… useless,” he said a little quietly.

“I know,” Dean replied. “But there’s nothing to be done about that right now. And none of this is your fault.” There was a beat of silence where Dean guessed Cas was still wishing as hard as he could that he would somehow magically regain his angel mojo. “Hey, listen, though… there does seem to be something else strange going on…”

“What do you mean?” The angel’s voice immediately deepened with worry.

Dean ran a hand back through his hair. “Y/N said when she was unconscious that she had some sort of dream or vision or something. She is fairly convinced that it really happened.”

“Okay…” Cas’s voice was uneasy.

Dean quickly related the whole story to Cas with as much detail as he could remember, but purposely omitted the key moment—the candy bar. “This figure claimed to be her guardian angel.” “Well, that is odd because the human idea of a ‘guardian angel’ is quite rare in actuality. Only a very, very small number of humans would ever be given that kind of special protection and they would have to be very important.”

“Right. But we asked her to describe who she saw and guess who it was?”

“Dean, you know I don’t like guessing games—”

“Frickin’ Gabriel. The archangel.” Dean waited for Cas to say something but the line was quiet. “Cas? Cas, are you still there?”

On the other end, standing in the front room of the bunker, there was a very good reason Cas was silent.

“Hello, brother.”

Standing before him was the very being Dean had just mentioned.

“Oh, why don’t you just go ahead and tell Dean-o you need to call him back.”

Cas was so shocked that he gulped and did just that without thinking.

“Cas, wait! What’s—” Dean let out an annoyed sigh and Sam’s brow contracted low over his eyes.

“What was that?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Cas just hung up on me all of a sudden. He sounded weird,” Dean mused, frowning down at his phone. He redialed Cas’s number but it simply rang and rang.

Back in the bunker, the angel stared in shock at Gabriel. “Wow. What exactly have you done to yourself, brother? I mean, I was never a big fan of the trench coat but even that was better than this,” Gabriel said with a grimace, taking in Cas’s sweatshirt and jeans. “Yikes. But, I’ll admit I do kind of dig the scruffy look you’ve got going on with the beard.”

Cas’s dark eyebrows were casting a heavy shadow over his cobalt eyes. “Gabriel… How—how is this possible?” he asked, stepping back slightly. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

“Well, I was dead. Dead as a door nail. But—then, all of a sudden, I wasn’t,” he said. He walked casually over to the table and hopped up to sit on it.

“What—” Cas gulped anxiously. “How?”

“Beats me. Dad up to his old tricks again if I had to guess. I was given some specific instructions though…” he added mysteriously.

Cas didn’t say anything and just studied him. He seemed to be quite the same Gabriel that Cas remembered. “What were they?”

“Oh, come on, Cas! You never did have much flair for the dramatic. You really think I’m just going to sit here and tell you? No, no, no… especially when you’re the only one here…” he said, glancing around. He jumped back down onto his feet. “Listen, don’t bother calling those flannel-swaddled jawlines back—first of all because your phone is broken—”

Cas glanced down at the screen on his phone and it was cracked and did not light when he pressed the button on the side. He gave the archangel an annoyed look.

“And second of all, because they will know when it’s time for them to know. Which, by my calculations, will be when they get back here in three to five days once Y/N is able to leave the hospital.”

“Dean said she saw you when she was unconscious or… dying,” Cas said. It was hard even to get the word out.

Gabriel smiled. “Did he now? How interesting, don’t you think?”

Cas was getting irritated with him for playing coy. “Enough, Gabriel. Did you save her life?”

He pointed to himself. “Did I? Y/N had some sort of vision of a mystic figure? Sounds like a classic near-death experience to me. Who’s to say if it really happened at all?” He smiled serenely at Cas again. “Where is Y/N’s room? This way?” he asked, pointing down the hallway. Cas frowned at the question but Gabriel only took off in that direction.

“Gabriel,” Cas called after him, rushing to catch up. “I don’t have my grace but you do. Why don’t you go heal Y/N now?”

Gabriel gave Cas a doubtful look. “Yeah, I’m sure that miracle would go completely unnoticed by the hospital staff… Look, brother, as much as I would like to simply go and fix her, take away all the ouchies, I can’t yet. Y/N is going to have to wait until she’s released.”

Despite his usual playful tone, Cas thought he saw real concern in his brother’s eyes while he spoke of you. “Well, is it true?”

Gabriel was continuing his hurried walk down the hall, poking his head into every room to see if it was yours. “Is what?” he asked carelessly over his shoulder.

“You told Y/N you were her guardian angel!”

Surprisingly this stopped him in his tracks and he turned to face Cas, his lips pressed together into a thin line. “Castiel, you know how rare that is. I mean, they hardly exist. Only a handful over all the millennia,” he said softly. There was a strange light in his eyes and Cas studied his expression carefully.

“That didn’t answer my question.”

And in response to that, Gabriel only smiled.

Part 2

#gabriel fanfiction #gabriel x reader #gabe fics #archangel #supernatural fics #reader insert #spn

249 notes · View notes

snkpolls · 4 years ago

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SnK Episode 69 Poll Results (for Manga Readers)

The poll closed with 200 responses. Thank you to everyone who participated!

Please note that these are the results for the Manga Readers’ poll. If you wish to see the results for the Anime Only Watchers’ poll, click here.

RATE THE EPISODE 193 responses

The anime continues on with it’s hot streak, with episode 69 receiving only 1 vote in the negative direction. The vast majority were very pleased with this episode.

this time the pacing felt quite weird, specially with how they managed the flashbacks. sorry mappa, but for the first time i feel like this was a 7/10 episode

nice i guess.

Beautifully done

It was great especially the confession part hahah

I love MAPPA's takes on the series so far!

Overall, very good episode. MAPPA is doing a great job.

i liked it!

A little iffy but still solid.

WHICH MOMENT FROM THE PRESENT TIME WAS YOUR FAVORITE? 194 responses

There were many significant moments in this episode, so we opted to divvy up the options. For favorite moments during the present time, Eren’s harsh tone with Hange garnered the highest amount of votes at 34.5%. Not far behind, 26.3% most enjoyed watching the 104th talk about Eren and what happened in Marley. Behind those two scenes were Hange asking Eren why he was talking to himself in the mirror (12.4%), and getting the small zevi crumbs at the end of the episode (8.2%).

WHICH MOMENT FROM THE KIYOMI FLASHBACK WAS YOUR FAVORITE? 192 responses

For the flashback where the Survey Corps meets Kiyomi, nearly half of the fandom (43.2%) were ecstatic to finally see the scene between Historia and Mikasa animated. 24% most enjoyed Eren’s rejection of Zeke’s plan in Historia’s defense. 14.6% were immersed in Hange’s dismay at considering making Historia continue the cycle of children eating their parents, and 12.5% were thrilled to finally see Mikasa reveal her tattoo to Kiyomi.

Tfw you think MAPPA cut Kiyomi’s drooling scene due to tv lag and later you find out the scene was changed to something equivalent: O__O

5head pixis made me laugh

WHICH MOMENT FROM THE RAILROAD FLASHBACK WAS YOUR FAVORITE? 193 responses

Eren’s confession at the end of the railroad flashback took the most attention from fans, with 41.5% enjoying that portion the most. 20.2% enjoyed the 104th all discussing who is most suited to inherit Eren’s titan. 19.2% got a kick out of seeing smol Armin chasing around smol Sasha, and 13% were happy to see Levi (and his annoyance that everyone is taller than him).

Armin's :o face was just adorable! Had forgotten it from the manga

MIKASA REVEALS THE AZUMABITO CLAN SYMBOL AS A TATTOO ON THE TOP OF HER WRIST. THIS IS A RETCON FROM SEASON 1 WHEN WIT REPLACED THE BRANDING WITH EMBROIDERY INSTEAD. THOUGH THE TATTOO IS WHAT’S FAITHFUL TO THE MANGA (MIKASA’S MANGA COUNTERPART HAS ALWAYS HAD THIS), WAS THIS A GOOD DECISION ON MAPPA’S PART? 192 responses

When it comes to the tattoo retcon, opinions seem to be relatively mixed. 22.9% of respondents felt that the retcon was a good move, because they feel that faithfulness to the source material is the most important thing in an adaptation. 21.9% felt it was a mixed situation, because they appreciate faithfulness to the manga, but also prefer for things to have proper continuity. 20.8% agreed that it was a good move, but mainly because the embroidery was “lame and forgettable” anyway. At smaller percentages, 16.1% felt that it wasn’t really a big deal either way since the family symbol was acknowledged regardless, and 9.4% didn’t care at all.

Mix of 3 and last point

Yes because faithfulness to the source material is important and I don't think the existence of the embroidery means that the branding didn't also exist.

No: continuity issues in the anime, but Yes: the embroidery thing was stupid.

1) we never saw the embroidery being kept by mikasa 2) kiyomi could have thought they just found it and stole it from the shogun's descendants' tombs or something. we as manga readers know mikasa is truly a descendant of the shogun, but anime onlies would have thought it could be possible for kiyomi not to trust them. so a tattoo is the best choice

Yes, MAPPA made a good decision. The anime onlies probably don't even remember the embroidery thing anyway.

Bruh, if I hadn't read the manga, I would've forgotten the Mikasa mom scene.

Options one and two.

HYPOTHETICALLY, IF ONE OF THE 104TH WERE TO INHERIT EREN’S TITAN POWER, WHO DO YOU THINK WOULD BE THE BEST OPTION? 191 responses

The notable majority of respondents feel that Jean would have been the best candidate to inherit Eren’s titan. At a distant second, people would opt for Armin to inherit Eren’s titans (perhaps because he is already a titan anyway). The rest of the characters were relatively evenly chosen.

WHICH “SHIPPY” MOMENT FROM THE EPISODE WAS YOUR FAVORITE? 193 responses

This piechart turned out to be very colorful. Nearly a quarter of respondents couldn’t choose just one moment, so they voted for “all of them.” Behind that, 14.5% most enjoyed the scene where Eren showed determination to ensure Historia wouldn’t have to be sacrificed, 13.5% swooned over Eren and Mikasa’s blushy glances at each other, and 11.9% most enjoyed Connie and Sasha’s increasingly awkward conversation about who’s the bigger idiot.

I loved the Erehisu moments

sasha and connie <3<3<3

Erehisu canon

MAPPA DIDN’T INCLUDE THE PART OF THE CONVERSATION BETWEEN ZEKE AND KIYOMI WHERE ZEKE EXPLAINS HIS PARENTAGE, WHY HE SOLD THEM OUT, AND CLAIMS THAT HE’S THE “TRUE ELDIAN RESTORATIONIST.” THOUGHTS? 192 responses

The conversation between Zeke and Kiyomi got shaved down quite a bit, losing the claim of Zeke being “the true Eldian restorationist.” 30.7% aren’t sweating about it and feel it’s something that will be included in a later episode. 27.6% feel that it’s removal isn’t a big deal. 18.7%, on the other hand, feel that losing that moment watered down Zeke’s characterization and would have preferred its inclusion. 8.9% don’t care.

I feel it will be brought up next episode

I think leaving it out makes the moment with ksaver telling him to sacrifice his parents more impactful to the anime onlies.

they may have prepared an anime original scene where this is explained, probably at some point. this chapter was loaded with tons of info

I think everything zeke is going to be saved for his big flashback after losing to levi

Maybe they'll include it at the part where Zeke has his flashbacks when he was injured by Levi.

MAPPA ALSO LEFT OUT THE PART OF THE 104TH’S CONVERSATION WHERE ARMIN THEORIZES THAT EREN WOULD BE IN CONTROL OF THE COORDINATE ONCE HE AND ZEKE MAKE CONTACT. THOUGHTS ABOUT THAT? 185 responses

Another dialogue that was axed this episode was Armin brainstorming about who would be in control of the Founding Titan if Eren and Zeke make contact with each other. 35.7% (a small jump from the previous question) feel that this, again, will be included in a later episode. 28.1% feel that its inclusion wasn’t wholly necessary. 18.4% feel that this fact was already obvious anyway, so it doesn’t matter. 10.4% feel that the anime will get to that point so quickly that the exposition isn’t necessary to begin with.

Armin's motives don't necessarily change either way so I'm fine with the cut. I do hope it's mentioned later on though.

Every episode is only 25 minutes long, so some parts of dialogues need to be removed.

I honestly think they're going to retcon this so zeke's reverse uno in chap 120 doesn't seem so wild

I do understand that they need to make cuts (and there's still to many manga chapters to fit in the rest of the season) but that one was really important bc they might not explain it fully later on

If they animate Zeke's backstory, it will be there. It would've been nice to show Armin still using his brain though.

DO YOU THINK EREN SEEMED MORE INTIMIDATING IN THE MANGA OR THE ANIME? 191 responses

Manbun Eren was introduced as being intimidating, cold, and generally mean. His outburst at Hange was the first of many examples of this behavior as he lashed out at them for having no good ideas. 65.4% of respondents felt that MAPPA did a much better job at portraying Eren as a much more intimidating figure than Isayama did.

IN RETROSPECT, DO YOU FEEL THAT EREN WAS TOO HARSH ON HANGE? 190 responses

Almost a total opposite from the previous pie graph, 66.3% of respondents felt that Eren was much too harsh on Hange, given the circumstances and their dwindling options.

DO YOU THINK THAT, EVEN AFTER READING CHAPTER 123, PARADIS COULD HAVE FOUND ANOTHER WAY TO RESOLVE THEIR ISSUES THAN THE PATH THAT EREN TOOK? 191 responses

One of the constant questions in the manga since the timeskip is “could there been another way?” 59.7% think it’s just a solid maybe, and that there’s no longer any way to know that now that Eren has stripped Paradis of all their options. 23.6% feel that the rumbling was the inevitable outcome against a world that would never give them a chance. 14.1% feel the opposite, however, and believe there was always another way, and that Eren didn’t give them enough time to figure it out.

I wonder what would happen if eren talked about his future memories

There is always another way than violence. The problem is that no one on Paradis was able to find it.

Maybe we will find out in the last 2 chapters, this might be correlated to a possible "the mist" ending that Isayama originally planned

Who even knows? All I know is that there was too much distrust, secrecy and mystery for anyone to get anything done before shit hit the fan and now here we are. I also think it was a huge mistake to keep Eren so isolated.

There's no good way and never only on path but eren choose one who solve the problem

WE’RE GONNA ASK THIS… WHO IS THE FATHER? 196 responses

The never ending debate of who the father of Historia’s child hasn’t slowed down since the introduction of her pregnancy, though the question has ultimately boiled down to whether the child is Eren’s or not. Only 33.2% of respondents seem to think so. 28.1% presumably feel that it’s not Eren, but are overall tired of this debate in general. 21.4% are firm in their stance that it’s the farmer. 13.8% just wish it had anything to do with Ymir and nothing to do with the other options.

I’m tired of this whole damn debate... but it's the farmer

LEVI SEEMED MORE VISIBLY IRRITATED ABOUT HOW TALL THE 104TH HAVE GOTTEN IN THE ANIME. THOUGHTS? 192 responses

MAPPA animated this scene with their own take and made Levi more irritable in the anime adaptation than he appeared to be in the manga. Generally, half of respondents felt that both ways were effective and funny. 25.5% seem to enjoy MAPPA’s rendition of it more, while 18.2% prefer the original manga portrayal of Levi’s grievances.

THE TRAIN SCENE WHERE EREN CONFESSES TO HIS FRIENDS IS TREASURED BY MUCH OF THE FANDOM. DID MAPPA DO IT JUSTICE? 193 responses

For fans of the 104th in particular, this scene has felt like it’s taken 84 years to finally be animated. And very few were disappointed, with 56.5% stating that the scene was cute and they are content with it, and another 36.8% showing a little more enthusiasm, feeling that it was more beautifully done than they ever could have imagined. A handful felt it could have been better, but was still good, or just didn’t care. No one agreed that the scene was ruined.

DARK!CONNIE RETURNS! WHO DID HIM BETTER? 190 responses

Another highly anticipated moment… the return of Dark!Connie! MAPPA didn’t quite hit the mark on this one, with Connie’s aura in the manga still being much more preferable to manga readers than the way MAPPA portrayed him in the anime.

WHEN CHAPTER 108 WAS PUBLISHED, READERS WERE ASKED IF EREN STILL PRIORITIZED HIS FRIENDS. AT THAT TIME, THE MAJORITY BELIEVED THAT HE DID, ALTHOUGH THE LARGER HALF OF THAT MAJORITY FELT IT WAS TO A LESSER DEGREE THAN BEFORE THE TIMESKIP. WE’D LIKE TO ASK AGAIN, DO YOU THINK THAT EREN ULTIMATELY TOOK THIS PATH OF DESTRUCTION BECAUSE HE PRIORITIZES HIS FRIENDS? 190 responses

Overall, the majority of the fanbase believe that Eren’s actions are generally in the interest of his friends and their lifespan, though to varying degrees (38.4% feel he prioritizes them wholly above all else, while 34.7% feel that he prioritizes them, but to a lesser degree than he used to). 21.1% still think that Eren’s contradictory actions make it hard to come to a solid conclusion on this front. A handful feel that Eren has abandoned them completely and only cares about himself and his own freedom at this point.

I want to believe that hes prioritizing his friends, but too many of his actions contradict that, like forcing them into the battle in liberio and sending titans after the alliance

Eren wasn't able to save his mother and this fact still torments him. I think that his friends matter to him a lot, but there is something darker in him what causes all the mess he is doing.

He’s selfish and doing whatever he wants.

DO YOU THINK IT’S POSSIBLE THAT EREN PUSHED HIS FRIENDS TO THE FRONT LINES BECAUSE HE ALREADY SAW IN HIS FUTURE MEMORIES THAT THEY WOULD STOP HIM, THUS KNOWING THEY WOULD NOT DIE? 188 responses

When chapter 108 was published, we hadn’t yet learned that Eren saw memories of the future and so we couldn’t speculate on such a thing. Now that we can, we thought we would ask. 42.6% believe that regardless of whether Eren saw his friends in those memories or not, Mikasa is correct in her belief that Eren simply trusted them to survive. 33% feel that he already knew that they would survive, which is the only reason why he dragged them to Liberio in the first place. 18.6% don’t want to say either way, and a small percentage believe Eren had no way of knowing about the fate of his friends.

He said "I HOPE they will have happy long lives". It means he didn't see much.

WILL WE SEE THE WARRIORS + MAGATH AND COLT NEXT EPISODE? 187 responses

With things shuffled around, we still have yet to see the Warriors recuperating and planning their next move. Half of the fandom feel that MAPPA was waiting to put the focus back on Gabi and Falco before giving us this moment. 32.1% aren’t sure if we will get it in episode 70 or not. 14.4% think it’s something that will come later, and a tiny fraction think it will be cut entirely.

Need my warriors back

WHICH SCENE FROM THE PREVIEW ARE YOU MOST LOOKING FORWARD TO? 193 responses

The largest percentage (48.2%) went to the scene with Hange confronting Floch and the Yeagerists, though it is edged out by both of Gabi and Falco’s preview scenes combined (42% for the visit to the Blouse’s, and 9.8% for their scuffle at the river).

Can't care less about to gabi and falco, it's the final season cut the filler please.

ADDITIONAL THOUGHTS ON THE EPISODE?

I miss Sasha

No thoughts, anxiety only.

Hope to see the cut scenes in the next episode

Maybe I'm the only one, but I'm not so hyped for this season anymore. Sure, I'll still watch all the episodes no matter what, and I don't think Mappa is doing a bad job. But it's just a good adaptation. For the anime-onlys, I'm sure it's great because they're discovering the story we already know, but for me, this season doesn't add much to the manga. I probably had too high expectations for this season... (I'm also watching/reading Jujustsu Kaisen from Mappa and I don't have that feeling at all, so I'm pretty conflicted)

The episode was fine but I had a feeling that it was going a little too fast. However, I'm not complaining because I overally liked it. I could finally see adult Historia. She looks different than her manga counterpart. In the manga she was more mysterious and mature, while in the anime she still has cute baby face. I think that the moment between her and Mikasa was sweet. I feel kinda tired of the whole "who is the father" theories. I think that people waste their energy on fights and debates. If I wasn't part of the fandom, I wouldn't even think of Eren having a child with Historia. They never had romantic relationship and their last conversation was far away from being loving. Eren is an amotional mess. He has never mentioned the child in his POV, he says that his friends and Paradis are the most important, so I will be surprised if all of sudden he turns to be a father.

The lightning around eren when angry at hange was amazing addition (I think it's new) and historias situation feels more real in the anime. (ps: hail ponytail mikasa is bea)

Did a great job imo, but I don't think it's possible to make it anywhere near 122 at this point

Scenes were great as usual. The pacing was a little bit jarring though. I don't know how anime-onlys will take it since we do have different perspectives given our forehand knowledge of the events.

Where's shirtless Reiner??

Good episode, can’t wait for Gabi and Falco’s realization next episode

I wish everything from the manga could fit into the episode or that the episodes were longer.

There's really no where else I could've put this so I'll just put it here......lol. I feel like it's not as obvious in the anime how much longer Jean's hair has gotten sometimes (specifically during the railroad scene here) and I wish that wasn't the case.

WHERE DO YOU PRIMARILY DISCUSS THE SERIES? 180 responses

Thank you to everyone who participated!

#snk poll #snk polls #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan #snk #aot #snk s4 #snk spoilers

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princessbatears · 4 years ago

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Could I please request 💥, 💎, 💐, and ✨? For the last one, could I get some HC’s about what happened when Frankie tried to tell his s/o they should leave him because he is a werewolf? Like he is obviously in love that trying to tell them to do that would have broken his heart. Thank you! 💙💙

Thank you so much for asking these! 🧡

💥 First fight/making up

The first fight you and Frankie have is when you’ve been dating for a couple months. It’s about his hat.

You don’t mind his hat most of the time, but when he shows up at your apartment to take you to a nice dinner wearing a suit AND that stupid baseball hat, you tell him he needs to leave it in the car.

He doesn’t want to. It hides his hair, which he can’t make lie smooth no matter how hard he tries.

“They’re not going to let you in the restaurant with it on.”

He gawks at you, wanting to know what kind of “restaurant doesn’t let a man wear his own hat?”

It is your exaggerated eye roll and condescending sigh that makes him shut down. His shoulders tighten, his mouth sets in a thin line, and you can feel him slipping into a void of repressed anger and insecurity.

“What?” you snap. No answer.

As he continues to drive in silence, you realize what an asshole you are. He is treating you to a fancy restaurant that’s completely out of his comfort zone and you’re chiding him for doing what he can to make himself more at ease.

“Turn around,” you say softly. “I just saw a Pizza Hut.”

Frankie glances at you, confused.

“I’m sorry for being a jerk.” You squeeze the hand that is resting on the gearshift. “I don’t want to eat somewhere that doesn’t let you wear your hat. Let’s go to Pizza Hut instead.”

The shy, dimpled smile he gives you melts your insides. “You sure? You’re dressed up real pretty.”

You lean over to kiss his cheek. “I can be pretty while I eat pizza.”

His laugh warms you all over. You know in that second that you’ll do whatever it takes to keep him laughing forever.

💎 Marriage

Your second wedding anniversary rolls around a few months after Frankie becomes a werewolf. Every full moon is less jarring than the last.

He’s never been much for grand gestures or even remembering dates, so when he tells you he wants to do something special this year to commemorate your marriage, you’re surprised.

Frankie’s thankful the autumn day falls during the new moon so he’ll be “mostly human.” You gently remind him that he’s always your husband, even in Wolf form, and therefore you don’t care what percentage human he is.

There’s some debate about how to celebrate. You still love the elegant, fine things in life, but you hate how uncomfortable he gets at luxurious hotels or restaurants. It matters that you BOTH have a good time.

Finally, he asks if he can surprise you. It seems really important to him to make this day special, so you agree.

When it rolls around, you’ve bought him a ‘make your own hot wing sauce’ kit. His love for hot wings borders on the obsessive, so you know he’ll relish making the most unbearably spicy Frankensauce he can come up with.

Of course, he’s ecstatic. That huge kid-like grin doesn’t leave his face as he examines the supplies over breakfast. You love knowing you nailed it.

You had hoped the two of you would head back to bed for some fun, but he excuses himself, citing “things to do” with a smirk.

It isn’t until lunch when he fetches you from your home office. You ask if you should put on something nicer. “It’s up to you. We’re going to the field.”

After opting to change into something slightly cuter than your grudge pants, the two of you walk towards the field on the east side of your house. Settled under the shade of a couple large bushes is an elaborate picnic.

There’s a beautiful charcuterie board with crackers, cheeses, sliced meat, olives, fruits, and dips. A bottle of wine is breathing near your favorite glasses. Tiny finger sandwiches are set on your grandmother’s heirloom serving tray. There’s even macarons in every color of the rainbow.

With his hands shoved in his pockets, he beams at your stunned expression. “Happy anniversary, babe.”

You kiss him soundly. “When did you learn how to do all this?”

Frankie shrugs. “There’s a lot of you still don’t know about me. Good thing you’ve got a few more decades to figure them out.”

Needless to say, he gets a very good reward that night.

💐 Family/Kids

You and Frankie know from the early days of your courtship that you both want children.

The plan is to start trying after getting a year or so of marriage under your belts. It is shortly before the werewolf attack on Frankie that you begin in earnest.

Becoming a werewolf puts all that to a halt. Too much is changing. Too much is uncertain.

To your surprise, it’s Frankie who broaches the subject of kids for the first time about 6 months after. “Do you think I’d still be a good dad?”

You embrace him, stroking his hair. “You’ll be the best dad. No other child will be so loved and protected.” He gets misty-eyed at this.

Within another 6 months, you’re carrying the first baby Morales.

The day your daughter is born is the happiest day of your lives. When Frankie holds her for the first time, he radiates a gentle fierceness, which may seem like an oxymoron, but you see in his eyes that he’ll never do anything to harm her and heaven help the person that might.

The first full moon after her birth is the stressful. He’s scared to be in the same house as the baby, but also afraid to go out unattended. When he begs you to lock him in the basement, you refuse. You tell him you’re not treating him like a monster.

Finally, you come to an agreement. You shut him in the bedroom until his transformation is over to see what his mood is. It’s the first time you’re not with him. It kills you to know he’s all alone and in pain. Still, you continue to listen to soothing music to drown out his yips so it doesn’t frighten your daughter.

When all noise from the bedroom ceases, you turn off the music and listen carefully. Nothing at first, then comes the softest, saddest whine.

There’s a brief surge of mama bear instinct that almost stops you from going to the door, but you push it away. Frankie has never ever tried to hurt you since that first full moon and the Wolf was incredibly gentle with you and your belly during pregnancy. He’s the father as much as the human part of Frankie is.

Unlocking the door, you push it open just a crack. Wolf Frankie is laying on the floor, chin resting flat on the carpet like a giant, hopeful dog. His tail wags excitedly when he sees you. “Hi, honey,” you smile.

Confident now, you enter the room. He rises to a sitting position and then stills again. The baby is sleepy, having just nursed, but her eyes widen slightly when she sees him. You’re pretty sure she can only see blurry shapes, but it’s definitely not a shape she’s familiar with.

He leans forward, snuffling her carefully. Then, he gives you a toothily grin, as if it say, “I still can’t believe we made her!” Tenderly, he licks her thick tuft of brown hair.

“See, you’re just fine,” you encourage. “Want to hold her?”

Frankie shakes his head, looking at his massive front paws uneasily. He could cradle her in just one of them. You don’t push it, understanding he needs to go at his own pace.

“How about you come hang with us in the living room and eat your steaks?”

This he’s more than willing to do. The three of you settle down for a lazy evening in front of the TV.

You have a son and a second daughter over the next 5 years, all of whom adjust perfectly fine to their werewolf father, much to his relief.

All’s normal until your eldest hits puberty and her eyes begin to turn amber the week before the full moon…

✨ Frankie trying to end the relationship because of his lycanthropy

After Frankie transforms for the first time, you’re both in shock. How had this happened? How COULD this happen?

It’s made even worse when the Wolf is too disoriented to realize you aren’t a threat to him and lunges at your hand as you reach to touch him.

When he returns to his human form, he can’t even look you in the eye. He doesn’t want you to be around him. The shame and fear he feels over making you cower is unbearable.

You try to convince him that he isn’t dangerous to you, that it’s totally natural for his Wolf to be frightened and you shouldn’t have invaded his space. But Frankie’s having none of it.

After failing to find a cure for lycanthropy, he sits you down and asks you for a divorce. He cries, explaining that you are the love of his life, that he would do anything for you, and it’s why he has to let you go. He can’t risk harming you again.

He’s never hurt you so deeply before. He is giving up on not only your marriage but himself. You won’t let him!

Your refusal to leave leads to your biggest fight ever. He lists all the reasons you should hate him, eyes wet and hands trembling. You scream at him that you stand by your vows to be there through all things and demand to know if he would leave you if you’d become the werewolf instead.

The only sound for a long beat is Frankie’s harsh breathing and your ragged sobs. Then, he looks at the floor and whispers, “No, I wouldn’t.”

You open your mouth to yell at him for his hypocrisy, but the feel of his arms around you stops you. It is the first time he’s willingly touched you in weeks. He presses his face into your hair. “I’m scared.”

“Me, too,” you admit, holding him as tightly as you can. “But we’ll figure it out together, just like we have everything else.”

Frankie Morales Masterlist Werewolf Masterlist

#were!frankie HC #ahopelessromanticwritersworld #were!frankie x reader HC #triple frontier werewolf AU HC #my writing

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lesbiancarat · 3 years ago

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Lol its fine!! Reply whenever you can ^_^

But ahh true, true. Idk why I thought it would be a hint to the music lol but a sort og an evolution of the concept so to speak. Either way, am excited for the comeback because fresh svt is always iconic. Oohhh the concept photos are all pretty and idk which one to pick jfkshfjsjd. Like they are all very on brand for them but also unique and pretty. Very artsy haha.

Ahh yes, rabbitnwas forever iconic and it was what helped other places like discord to do similar things! But ah understandable!! Both seventeen and nct (when I was getting into kpop more) always felt like BIG well known groups due to their fandoms being so big at least to me. Especially when people always recommended their songs i just assumed they have been around for a while like bts when I joined only to realize they are still rookies. Monster rookies indeed!! The fact so many people love them is enough for me to say they are amazing, well respected and loved by many. Those comments annoy me, especially when people downplay their hard work by claiming 'bighit helped them get more famous' like what!? Yes bighit did help with getting more western attention per se but like downplaying as if they haven't achieved anything at all is confusing to me. Claiming how streaming fans aren't doing s good job to which im like one, mass streaming isn't healthy and two, fans who do try their best and we do beat records of our own. Seventeen isn't unpopular, just because they aren't you know who level doesn't mean they aren't big like do people forget what unpopular means?

Anywhoo, a day late but happy late birthday to our tiger King. May he forever rule the tiger land and take over the world with his tiger agenda lol.

yes! one side fits my aesthetic the best but all the concept photos were nice ^^

and yeah it is annoying but at the same time those people are so detached from reality that I'm just sort of like whatever djflgj like 'it's obvious to anyone who knows what they're talking about you're wrong so I'm not going to bother arguing w you' is sort of my mindset when i see those comments dhfkj bc if i don't think of it that way then i get angry easily. the way i see it bh/hybe definitely is helping SVT with western promotions but like. i don't think SVT/pledis would have been incapable of expanding into the western market on their own if they wanted to. but it's a given that it will be easier and faster with hybe bc they have connections and a reputation in the western market already established. honestly I'd guess that was one of pledis's main incentives for agreeing to the acquisition. but at the same time hybe and western media wouldn't give SVT the time of day if they truly were the flops some ppl try to claim they are lol

and yeah agreed, streaming culture can be super unhealthy. it's one thing to do it if you want to but at the same time don't be losing sleep over it or prioritizing it over your real life responsibilities. and definitely don't guilt trip and say a bunch of toxic things to others to get them to stream... i feel like it would be a lot healthier if fanbases just stuck to simply explaining, hey this is what streaming is and why it can be important (for like music shows etc) and here's how to do it properly if you choose to stream, and then just let people decide for themselves. there would still be people more than willing to do it, and without the guilt tripping maybe even more people would just find it enjoyable. but hey, what do i know? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

i also think most kpop stans underestimate how many views from from casual listeners and fans vs hardcore fans/streamers. like streaming does make a difference, but not 100M views difference like some people try to act like it does. tbh there are a lot of groups that have a smaller core fanbase than SVT but get hundreds of millions of views bc they have a lot of casual listeners. you can even see it internally too: don't wanna cry is SVTs most viewed MV by a mile, it's the only one to pass 100M views, let alone 200M. and it has nothing to do w carats streaming dwc extra hard, it's bc it's arguably SVTs most well known song outside of the fandom. i see reactors all the time who react to it and say "oh i know this song! i had no idea it was by seventeen" and you can look at the comments section and see a bunch of people saying the song has a fandom of its own/even if you're not a carat you have to know this song

kpop stans also put too much emphasis on views imo and also equate views to popularity, which on the surface might make sense but isn't always the case. actually in terms of profit, groups/companies make the vast majority of their money off of album, merch, and ticket sales than they do off of views. but those are all things that are a lot harder to "sell" than views, because they actually cost money for the consumer, while you can watch an MV for free. hence why it makes sense that there are a lot of groups with hundreds of millions of views that get relatively low album sales. it's easy to convince casual fans and and listeners to watch an MV than to get them to buy something

and I'm not trying to diss other groups at all or try to say groups that consistently get 200M+ views are flops, they're absolutely not. I'm just trying to point out that kpop stans completely underestimate the amount of casual listeners that exist

but this is why SVT is honestly such a fascinating case. their MV views are nothing to write home about, and yet they're the second highest selling k-act at the moment and are in the top 10 if not top 5 highest selling k-acts of all time, their album sales are literally insane. a lot of people chalk it up to carats being bad streamers but like i said before, streaming isn't going to make a difference of hundreds of millions of views. this indicates to me that seventeen have a bigger core fanbase (ie people who call themselves carats and actually keep track of seventeens activities) but a smaller audience of casual listeners compare to other kpop groups. and i think a lot of people, carats, and non carats alike, pick up on this in some way or another but don't realize that's what's going on and it manifests in kind of weird ways sometimes

and this fact isn't something that bothers me, i actually think it's super important more than anything for SVT to have a strong core fanbase if what they're shooting for is longevity. but i do find it strange bc as i said, groups that do better with digitals than physical sales make total sense from a consumer standpoint!! so how did SVT end up like this!! it's so interesting for me to think about. i think i would have a better idea of why this is if i had been around since debut but alas

the only thing i can come up with is that SVT is better at retaining fans or like... getting fans invested in the group so people who become carats are less likely to be multistans? bc multistans play a huge part in both being and attracting casual listeners. they're the ones making video compilations and edits and content that includes multiple kpop groups, which is how a lot of non-fans get interested in other groups. whereas if someone is just a carat and making content for SVT the people most likely to watch that content is ppl who are already carats. i know im not the only one that's noticed it's kind of rare for SVT to be included in multistan edits and videos. which i don't blame anyone for, i think most of those people genuinely just don't stan SVT and they shouldn't be expected to include a group they don't know we'll or at all. at the end of the day ppl can make what they like. but it's interesting to observe as a general trend. but idk SVT potentially having a lower percentage of multistans still isn't really an explanation for why SVT doesn't have as many casual listeners bc those things kind of just go hand in hand. like either one could be the cause of the other one if that makes sense

ANYWAY sorry for the long reply but as i said the ratio of SVTs core fanbase vs casual listeners is a topic i find endlessly fascinating dhfmfj

#melia.ask #📖 anon #long post

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ladala99 · 4 years ago

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Lioden Vs. Wolvden Comparisons: Stat Gain and Use

Okay wow that was a big update on Lioden; one that renders some of the earlier comparisons outdated. Not this one, luckily. They said the core gameplay would stay the same, and I assume that includes how stats work.

Today I will discuss stats. They’re a lot more important in Wolvden than in Lioden, and gaining them works a bit differently.

Lioden

Stat Gain

Stat gain works very differently depending on each lion’s role.

Any pride member may gain stats through eating certain foods and playing with certain Amusement items.

Kings can gain stats through leveling up, playing Baoball, maxing out Impression while being Dreamboat, and they can gain Skill (and only Skill) through the PVP Territory game. Kings are the only lions in the pride that gain stats while leveling.

Lionesses gain stats every time they hunt.

Submales gain stats every time they patrol.

Cubs gain stats through Cub Training, but only get to keep them if they max out the Cub Training bar. If they don’t max out but are close, they’ll keep some of the stats they earned. Adolescents can also gain a much smaller number of stats through going on Hunts and Patrols with the older lions of their gender.

Cubs and Adolescents can both gain Skill any time the king Plays or Tussles with them.

Cubs will inherit a percentage of their parents’ stats except for Skill, which always starts at 1.

Stat Use

Stats don’t have very much use in Lioden, but it does have some uses.

The king’s stats are used during Battles in Explore, letting you make the first move if your stat of the relevant type exceeds the opponent’s, and probably some other calculations that happen in the background.

The king’s Skill is used during PVP Territory battles.

And the king’s total stats (I think?) are used during the May Championship event. Although for that event, you just want to be at the top of your bracket - not the best you can be.

I don’t know if Lioness and Submale stats have any affect on Hunting or Patrolling. They probably do, but the threshold for what’s “perfect” is pretty low once you have an established pride. I recall when I first started that my first Lioness couldn’t bring home anything until I Claimed some friends for her, but now I can send one Lioness out on a hunt on her lonesome and she’ll bring home two large carcasses. So either stats do matter or Hunting has changed since I joined.

Wolvden

Stat Gain

Food items will never give stats.

All wolves can gain stats through leveling now, but you can only level up to level 20 - that’s the maximum for any wolf.

Lead wolves can gain stats through Battling opponents within 2 levels of their level. I think certain non-battle encounters also give a stat point iirc.

Other wolves may gain stats through Hunting, Scouting, and I think Herbalism at least can give stats but I don’t recall. These stat gains are rare, unlike Lioden where they’re consistent. And these stat gains are always relevant to what they’re doing - they’ll gain a stat that helps them with their task.

Pups will inherit a percentage of their parents stats. The higher stat total the parents have, the lower percentage the pups will inherit to keep things relatively even. I do not know the exact point where the percentages lower, and my results were limited and were as follows:

Mother with 240 total stats, father with 790 total stats: Pups inherited 66% of the average of their parents’ stats.

Mother with 837 total stats, father with 861 total stats: Pups inherited 55-56% of the average of their parents’ stats.

Mother with 869 total stats, father with 889 total stats: Pups inherited 54-55% of the average of their parents’ stats.

People who bred with essentially stat monsters reported even lower percentage retention.

Stat Use

Stats are extremely useful in Wolvden. While Proficiency in any particular role is important, stats carry a good portion of the load, too.

For lead wolves, it’s pretty much just battling like in Lioden. Your dice rolls against opponents are raised or lowered depending on how your relevant stat lines up against the opponent’s. Useful, but not game-changing.

For Hunters and Scouts, though, the effect is huge. The starting biomes are fine, but once you move your pack or Scout farther, you’ll notice a huge difference.

When we tested for stats, my group’s range was 750-800 total stats (my breeding tests happened after this section of testing was finished but before we next wiped back to the start). Wolves with those sorts of stats, 150 in each stat type, were able to catch prey 50% of the time in Medium biomes, while my starter-statted (and low Synergy/Proficiency) Hunting team was able to catch absolutely nothing while there.

Higher stat wolves also help Scouting progress significantly, with the stat monster group able to fly through every biome and easily reach the farthest reaches of the map in a few days. As opposed to starter Scouts, which don’t have enough stats to Scout the farthest biomes even at 100% energy.

This is why your map will blank out when you change leaders - as you progress in the game, it’ll be easier and easier to unlock everything again, and it keeps Scouts useful.

I don’t know how stats interact with Herbalists and Pupsitters. I think Pupsitters at least are only based on Proficiency. Herbalists might have shorter medicine-creation times with higher Wisdom, but it might also just be Proficiency.

My thoughts

Stats being useful>>>stats not being useful. I mean, I introduced personal challenges for my Lioden pride just to give stats some use.

Stat gain is a lot easier in Lioden, but it makes sense for stats to be harder to gain when they have more uses.

#lioden #wolvden #lioden vs wolvden comparison

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douchebagbrainwaves · 4 years ago

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IF THIS WAS THEIR HYPOTHESIS, IT'S NOW BEEN VERIFIED EXPERIMENTALLY

Honestly, Sam is, along with Steve Jobs, but he may be the best writer among Silicon Valley CEOs. Maybe an organization that helped lift its weight off a country could benefit from the resulting growth. But the more investors you have in a round, the founders almost always still have control of the company. So I think VC funds are seriously threatened by the super-angels by driving up valuations. Now when one thinks of what Microsoft does to users, all the verbs that come to mind begin with F. If widely used, auto-retrieval would only be practical for users on high-bandwidth connections, but there seems a decent chance it's true. Inc recently asked me who I thought were the 5 most interesting startup founders of the last 30 years. Same story in 2004. Because depending on the meaning of quickly, it could either be a bug or a new discovery. If investors are easily convinced, the startup funding business is now in what could, at least by comparison, be called turmoil.

American. Live by the channel, die by the channel: if you depend on an oligopoly, you sink into bad habits that are hard to overcome when you suddenly get competition. Whatever the cause, stupid comments tend to be run by programmers. The no man's land between angels and VCs is the amount of your company, if they merely failed to get those few big winners. How will this all play out? And if Battery Ventures hadn't turned down Facebook, Boston would be significantly bigger now on the startup radar screen. The basic idea behind office hours is that the customer doesn't want what he thinks he wants. Apple's competitors now know better. Work Day.

And although the super-angels make more investments per partner, they have less partner per investment. It's just not reasonable to expect startups to pick an optimal round size in advance, because that was where their peers were, and investors would appear too, because that means we're going to have novel consequences. One of the hardest parts of doing a startup is the percentage chance it's Google. But interesting, and finished fairly quickly. If someone had launched a new, spam-free mail service, users would have flocked to it. Next time you're in a moderately large city, drop by the main post office and watch the body language of the people working there. But we didn't propose that to save money. Companies spend millions to build office buildings for a single purpose: to be a good idea to have a stateless algorithm. And I was a Reddit user when the opposite happened there, and the best stuff prevails. I was living in New York when Giuliani introduced the reforms that made the broken windows theory famous, and the site rules discourage dramatic link titles. The country is shifting to the left or right in their morning-after analyses are like the financial reporters stuck writing stories day after day about the random fluctuations of the stock after using the first half of the stock market.

It just made me spend several minutes telling you how great they are. And not just for the obvious reason that more competition for deals means better terms. When we want to make a car better, we stick tail fins on it, or make the windows smaller, depending on the current fashion. I do actually typing. The huge volume of the spam, which has so far worked in the spammer's favor, would now work against him, like a branch snapping back in his face. You've made something you need to do. Pump out a million emails an hour, get a million hits an hour on your servers. But if you're looking for companies that will get bought. This one wouldn't. It's the principle of a market economy.

How do you decide who's the most interesting? One way to guess how far an idea extends is to ask yourself at what point you'd bet against it. They're obsessed with making things well. What does that mean for founders? There are just two or three articles on individual people's sites for every one I read on the site of a newspaper or magazine. Race you. Hence what I call the Fluff Principle: on a user-voted news site, the links that are easiest to judge will take over unless you take specific measures to prevent it.

Initially it was supposed to be a harder problem than bad submissions. From the start they had a policy of censoring nothing except spam. So for now this is something startups are deciding individually. But I don't think that's a bias of mine. To me the most demoralizing aspect of the traditional office is that you're supposed to be there at certain times. Deadlocks weren't the only problem with fixed-size equity round with a lead makes sense, because there is usually just one big investor, who is unequivocally the lead. Nor is there anything new, and if you want to be the first to make something, it helps them be decisive. Google was indistinguishable from a nonprofit. If you start from successful startups, you find they'd often make good startups.

In any purely economic relationship you're free to do what you want and publish when you want. It's grown bigger and taken up more time than I expected, but I resent being told what to do next, but I'll probably think of something. Founders would start to move there without being paid, because that was where their peers were, and investors would appear too, because that was where the deals were. If a super-angel has some of the qualities of a VC. But when you examine that election, it tends to support the charisma theory more than contradict it. But as I thought more about this project, I realized it would probably have to be a spam url, so submitting every http request in every email would work fine nearly all the time. Pundits said Carter beat Ford because the country distrusted the Republicans after Watergate. If your work requires you to talk to other people in the Valley is watching them. Anyone can adopt Don't be evil. If a link is just an empty rant, editors will sometimes kill it even if it's on topic in the sense of being about hacking, because it's easier than satisfying them. The fact that super-angels.

And while the concept of insanely great already existed in the arts, it was a pain to fund with grants and donations. Though this election is usually given as an example of the power of TV, Kennedy apparently would not have won without fraud by party machines in Illinois and Texas. Because they're good guys and they're trying to help the world. Dukakis, Gore, and Kerry were so similar in that respect that they might have been brothers. It's not a charity, but they may not always be. If they accepted it, it wouldn't be read by anyone for months, and in the meantime I'd have to fight word-by-word to save it from being mangled by some twenty five year old copy editor. If widely used, auto-retrieval would only be practical for users on high-bandwidth connections, but there seems a decent chance it's true. Meaning that when the note converts into stock in a later round, or upon acquisition, the investors in that round will get. But because the imaginary machine was always running, I felt I always ought to be working.

#automatically generated text #Markov chains #Paul Graham #Python #Patrick Mooney #Pundits #grants #stock #comparison

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starkerforlife6969 · 5 years ago

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Con Artist Tony x Art Forger Peter

Summary: Tony’s only got one more heist. He does this, he can be retired on an island in the Mediterranean in a month. All he needs is a world-class art forger. (White Collar inspired)

Word count: 10k, complete.

Read here, or on ao3.

The final heist.

That’s what it’s called.

That mystical thing, that last risk, the only thing left to do before you retire. It hangs, almost out of reach, just beyond the cusp of the horizon. It waves your happy ending in front of your face, luring you across stormy seas on a water-logged boat, beckoning you towards bliss while leading you to destruction.

Lesser men have failed, but Tony Stark is not a lesser man.

He’s going to pull off that final heist. He’s going to retire at the ripe old age of twenty-four. He’s going to buy an island, maybe two, and spend the rest of his days basking under the sun, reading Descartes and enjoying fine wine. Mostly Chateau Latour, but he’s partial to Grand cru from time to time.

This’ll be it. He’ll disappear. The FBI will give up after realising he’s not committing any more crimes, like they always do when a case goes stale. There’s no joy in capturing old bread, after all. A plucky young junior in a few years time may look into him, but they won’t be able to find him.

Besides, he doesn’t mind stepping out of the spotlight. He’s been basking in it for a decade now, after all. When he was fifteen years old and on their radar, he considers it quite the conversation starter.

With the right audience, of course.

(That’s key, you know. Knowing your audience. The only way to con someone is to read them first).

From three card monty on the LA boardwalks to diamond heists, Tony Stark has done it all.

Allegedly, of course.

Never been caught. Well, once, partially, if you count Rogers rolling over on him to the police, which Tony does not count.

He was twenty-one years old, and they’d had to try him with attempted burglarly, since they had no proof he actually had the Wittelsbach Diamond, nor any proof that he’d actually even been in the country at the time of the theft.

He’d been found innocent, acting as his own lawyer.

What can he say? He’s charming.

It comes with the territory. Conman is a word too small for everything he is. Fluent in fifteen languages, a connoisseur of wine, an expert appraiser, a diamond forger, an investment banker for a while (numbers are easy, which is why he’s banned from a lot of casinos) an art thief, a fixer, a trickster and, if he does say so himself: incredibly handsome.

It’s the lean muscle and the dark hair and the dark eyes.

Makes him irresistible to some, charming to others, and respectable to the ones left.

There’s something honest in his smile, his mother always use to say.

A conman smiles for a living so, Tony supposes, it all worked out.

A smile and a wink, a little sophistication, a little flirting, a little money in all the right hands, and he’d walked out the door of the courtroom, grinned at the FBI agent and basked in the sunshine.

Sure, it had felt like a win. But for $22 million dollars worth of diamond, he only got to keep around half. That’s what happens when someone you trust betrays you. Rogers telling the feds that the diamond he’d put in its place was a forgery had tipped them off to the crime, and now the damn thing is too hot to move.

It’s safe, somewhere. He has a lot of secret locations. He has a lot of different names.

He’ll sell it one day, farther down the line. Just for fun, maybe.

But for now, the final heist.

* “You know, it’s not as stupid as I thought it would be.” Natasha says thoughtfully, perusing over his plans with an impressed look on her face. Tony grins at her across the table, but as she’s always been, she’s impervious to charm of his smile. “But I can’t help you with this.”

He pours her some more wine. (Everyone’s more amiable with wine). Nat’s an old friend, they’ve known each other since they were eighteen and new to New York. She was in illegal acquisitions then, but she’s found her speciality. She’s the best damn fence Tony’s ever met. “I’ll give you fifteen percent.” He offers, placing hand over his heart. “Very generous, I’m sure you’ll agree.”

She half-smiles at that, and sips the wine. Her hair’s red now. He likes it this way. She’s been white-blonde for a long time. He knows Interpol’s on her back, but he doesn’t offer his help. Nat can handle herself. Now, if the Russian’s were after her, it would be a different story… “Tony,” she says softly, setting down his papers. The candle-light flickers warmly over her face, casting shadows across her cheekbones. “Even if I want to be your fence on this-“ (that means she does. She doesn’t just think the plan is not stupid, she thinks it’s good. Good enough to work) “-you’d need a world-class art forger.”

He nods, half-shrugging. “I assumed you’d have the contacts.”

She frowns thoughtfully, and takes another sip of wine. Dinner is steak and braised potatoes in an private little restaurant uptown. The nightlife of New York bustles and honks in the streets below, and Tony had preened on the way up. He likes exclusive, and he loves showing off, so his Tom Ford suit has been accessorised with only the finest cufflinks and satin tie.

He’s wearing more than what the people who work here earn in a year.

Nat doesn’t have his penchant for the spotlight. Her dress is beautiful, but cheap. Only cheap, however, to the trained eye (and to be a conman, you must have a trained eye) but she classes it up. A beautiful body always will.

“Maybe we should keep the plan the same,” she muses, “but swap the painting for a diamond. That way you could do the forgery yourself.”

He carefully doesn’t wince. “Diamonds are a little hot for me right now,” he confesses, “had a little…mix-up. Got a little close for comfort. The Feds are watching me and diamonds, so the painting is the way to go.”

She meets his eyes and looks a little smug. “A little close for comfort?” She repeats, “you’re not telling me the great Tony Stark almost got-“

“A jury of my peers found me innocent.” He corrects, taking a large bite of steak.

She laughs at that. “What I would have paid to be in that courtroom.”

He taps the paper to refocus her. “An art forger, you know anyone? I won’t go higher than twenty percent.”

Natasha tips her head consideringly. “There is…someone.” She says carefully. “He’s the best.”

Say it. Tony thinks. There’s one name she has to say. It’s the reason she’s here after all. Wanda is a good fence too, but she isn’t rumoured to have known-

“The Spider.”

Yes. Tony tries not to smile too hard, he hides it into his wine glass. “You know him?” He acts surprised, “I thought no one knew him.”

“Know is a grandiose term for a muffled voice on a phone.” She corrects, but Tony isn’t disappointed. It’s a lead.

“He’s the best.” Tony breathes; excited. He’s familiar with The Spider’s work- and the police are not. And that’s how you know someone’s the best.

Excluding Tony of course, the police know about his stuff- because Tony lets them. He likes to sign his own forged bonds, or leave a Queen of Hearts at crime scenes, but that’s because he’s a performer.

The Spider is the best damn art forger in the world. His forgeries are almost impossible to detect- they’ve been circling around the black market for about two years. He’s new to the game, but not lacking in talent. The only people who even know the paintings he makes are forgeries are a handful of sellers and Tony.

And that’s only because Strange- Tony’s NY Mafia connection- had confided in him that he suspected perhaps, that his Van Gogh wasn’t real. Stephen’s suspicions are enough to warrant truth, so Tony had looked himself.

He’d been impressed.

And a little aroused.

Of course, the owners- if they ever do suspect- or the seller, if they ever do guess- won’t report it. Why would they? It ruins their own credibility, their own intelligence, knowing they were duped.

Art can be a pretentious field, and no one likes looking a fool.

“Can you put me into contact with him?” Tony asks eagerly, and Natasha nods slowly.  

“It’ll be hard. I’ll try, though, Tony. For you. For our final heist. This is it. Then we’re out of the game.”

“Exactly.” Tony agrees, “you take your money, I’ll take mine. Any ideas on where you’ll go?”

“Australia, maybe,” Natasha muses, “or a cabin in New Zealand by a lake.”

“To your new life,” Tony grins, holding up his wine glass.

As all people do when they’re tipsy, she falls victim to his smile.

* If Natasha were a smarter person, she’d have used Tony’s plan herself. Got into contact with the Spider, commissioned the forgery, swapped the painting, collected a huge percentage all for herself and cut Tony out completely.

The problem with Natasha is sentiment. It’s a common problem. Just because they’ve known each other for so long, she has a soft spot for Tony.

It’s a soft spot Wanda doesn’t have for him, which is another reason Tony isn’t using her.

Nat needs about two weeks to shake through the web of her contacts, but Tony isn’t in a rush.

The Final heist should never be rushed.

Besides, he has a few things to do. He goes to the New York Museum of Art, and donates $15 dollars to their support programme.

It’s nice to give back, every now and then.

The Degas is exactly where the floor plans said it would be, hanging neatly in the seventh room. The overhead light makes the Dancers in Blue even more beautiful than Tony remembers. 1895, 500 million dollars.

That’ll do, he thinks, looking up at the painting with a grin, that’ll do nicely.

He thinks sometimes, about retiring with someone.

He’s met a lot of people in his life. People he could read and see through. Beautiful, talented people.

Clint was good, an assassin, which Tony finds a little unsavoury, but the two of them had gotten on pretty well.

Harley the pickpocket, Pepper the weapons dealer, Maria the scam artist.

But in the end, all the flames had fizzled out. Friendships faded, relationships drifting away.

He’ll retire alone on an island, but he’ll be okay. He’s Tony Stark, (or at least, he’s Tony Stark today. Sometimes he’s Howard Potts, other times he’s Don Jarvis, or a thousand and one other aliases that he can keep perfect track of). He’ll have an island, and he’ll find a friend there. A native, beautiful and-

Someone who will most likely never know the real him.

But that’s fine.

He’s fine.

He spends the two weeks planning how he’ll get in, how he’ll disable the alarms, how he’ll transport the painting without it being recognised or damaged. He comes up with fifteen different escape routes and failsafes for just in case scenarios, and he practises hot wiring a few cars for a speedy getaway just in case the alarms are set off.

Knowledge of electrics and engineering go a very long way in the world of conning.

He thinks about what Natasha said, about how much easier this might all be if he could replicate his chosen object himself.

But he can forge bank notes, currency, one time a search warrant, diamonds and a hundred other things, but a painting.

It’s just always escaped him. Making fake bottles of wine- sculpting with glass, he can do that. Using heavy machinery to make fine diamonds and crystal, or laser printers for the holographic seals on money- he can do that.

But painting? That art escapes him.

He’s overheard police detectives calling him the Master of All Trades, and he supposes in some respects it’s true. It’s unheard of to be able to con as well as him, but also appraise diamonds, read lips, swan dive off of forty-story high buildings-

But painting is a different sort of art.

Softer and more beautiful, and so delicate a process that Tony’s never quite been able to get the hang of it.

Don’t get him wrong, he can paint. Enough to get by- enough to do a lazy enough imitation if he had to- he’d get a degree in it (according to his resumé, he actually has four degrees, two phDs and a couple of Masters courses he threw on there) but not enough raw talent to eyeball a forgery anywhere near getting past detection.

Besides, he’s curious about The Spider.

He’s always been curious; thirsting for knowledge, knowing things he shouldn’t know (boy the things he knows) and he’s not gonna pass up the chance.

So, when Nat gets back to him in two weeks with a place and a date, Tony salutes her and memorises it, before tearing it up and tossing it into a bin.

“Don’t get too excited,” she warns, not making eye contact as she sits across the busy mall from him on an opposing bench. She’s holding the burner phone to her cheek, and he has his own in his hand, listening intently. “You’re meeting his hacker.”

“Hacker?” Tony repeats with surprise, “I thought he was a painter-“

“The Spider’s security is air-tight, Tony. You’ll meet with his hacker, and they’ll look into you completely. They’ll know everything. And then The Spider decides if he wants to meet you.”

Tony half scoffs, “no one could know everything-“

“They’ll know enough.” She promises. “If this is part of a bigger con, Tony, I’d watch your back. Deal honestly with him.”

“I’m planning on it,” he mutters, a little offended by the notion that he takes everyone for a ride. “I am capable of being honest.”

“Then you should be fine.”

“How should I dress? What’s the hacker like?”

“How should I know?”

“I need something, Nat, come on! Are they geek-chic, or more ‘I live in my parent’s basement’ and-“

She hangs up, and amidst a crowd of people, she disappears.

Tony goes for geek-chic, just because he doesn’t want to pass up the chance to wear his new navy blue blazer.

* The girl standing in Central Park on Tuesday the 17th reminds him of the Statue of Liberty. She holds herself beautifully, slightly intimidating, and despite the fact he’s taller than her, she towers over him with a dignity he wasn’t expecting.

He was right about Geek Chic though, sort of.

The girl has dark skin and bright eyes, and she’s wearing Nikes and denim shorts and a long-sleeved crop-top that says Lakers on it.

She looks like a millennial, and the clearly jail-broken iphone in her hand and the silver memory-stick necklace hanging down her front, is a clear sign that says hacker.

He’s a little grateful for it. On first glance, he might have thought she was a regular teenager.

Might. He can read people. And her smile is more of a smirk, and it’s very knowledgable. He saunters up anyway, and flashes her his best smile.

She has perfectly shaped eyebrows, and she takes his hand firmly. “I’m Shuri,” she greets, and she waits a beat. He doesn’t speak, waiting for more, and she laughs. “And that’s your cue to give me whichever name you’d like to use. You have many. Or should I just pick my favourite? Mr Potts?”

“Tony is fine.” He bites out, reluctantly impressed, she must have an FBI-level hacking system. She turns on her trainer-clad heel and heads towards an ice-cream truck parked just beside the park.

He has no choice but to follow and wait in the sunshine as she pays for a 99c with two flakes, and munches on them happily. She’s in no rush, and she’s remarkably unstressed, and Tony tries to learn everything he can about her.

She’s not too spoilt for cash, that much is evident. She’s got good tech on her hands, and she’s been eating well- her skin and her hair have a healthy sort of glow- and her breath had smelt of the expensive coffee you can only get from the cafe down on fifth.

Plus, the shoes and shirt are brand names and very new.

And if she’s this age, then The Spider must be young too. (People don’t like contacts too much younger than they are). That just makes Tony even more curious.

“How old are you?” He asks, when she reaches the cone and still hasn’t spoken.

She grins at him, enjoying her power. “Why does that matter?”

“Because I’m being interviewed by a child.”

She flips the bird at him and it’s so out of the blue that he can’t help but laugh. “A child? You’re only twenty-five. I’m twenty. Five years makes you better than me?”

Fair point. “Well, how does this work? You know about me, now what?”

“I just wanted to see you,” she says mysteriously, devouring the cone in three bites. She smacks her lips together happily. “Get the vibe, you know? Put a remote tracker into your bloodstream.”

Tony jerks his hand to his face and examines his wrist.

Her firm hand shape has left a little syringe-mark.

“It’s only nanotech.” She remarks, unperturbed, as Tony tries his best not to pout and rub his arm. “It’ll stay in your blood for about a week. I’ll be monitoring where you go.”

“This is a lot of security.” Tony murmurs, feeling excited again. It’s not often he’s allowed to operate on this high a level with people so clearly able. “The Spider must not want anything to happen. Why’s he so paranoid?”

“You can ask him yourself.” Shuri nods, and Tony grins widely. “I’m gonna text you a link to an app. Download it onto your phone. When you’ve got the piece, write P on the app. I’ll respond with an address. You’ll have five seconds to memorise it before it deletes. Go there, meet the Spider, give him the painting, and in three days, send a friend with a clean record to come back and collect.”

The words roll off her tongue quickly, fluently, but not rehearsed, More like she’s said this before, quite a few times to other conmen.

Tony tries to wrap his head around all the information. One, she already has his number, which is…well, fine. Two, that apparently the Spider can reproduce a Degas in three days, Three, Tony has to leave the painting alone with him for three days, and four, the issue of payment.

“I want security on the piece.” He says, and Shuri half-shrugs.

“He’s not going to steal it.”

“I’m sure you can understand why I don’t take your word for it.”

She casts her steely gaze over him. “We have 100% customer satisfaction.”

“Security.”

“Trust me, after you meet him, you won’t worry about security. But, if you must, you can put a tracker on the piece, or you can have a person of your choice standing by the piece for the whole three days. If this person interferers in the Spider’s process in anyway, we reserve the right to seek compensation. And when I say seek, we mean take.”

He wants to ask if she’s ever studied law, because she could make a brilliant lawyer. And they need a few more lawyers on their side. Instead, he nods. He has a few favours he could call in, but he doesn’t want to trust anyone. He’ll stand by the painting himself. “And payment?”

“We trust that you’ll pay.” She hums lightly, wiping her hands on her thighs. “I know everything about you, Tony, it won’t be hard to make your life difficult if you decide to con us.”

He’s escaped the mafia, the FBI, MI5, Interpol and some of the most dangerous criminals and highest ranking investigators in the world, but this twenty year old in Nike trainers makes him feel like he probably couldn’t pull the wool over her eyes.

If this is the new face of crime, Tony’s a little glad he’s about to retire.

Tony tries not to expect or predict things from people he doesn’t know.

He makes educated guesses, informed and calculated risks sometimes, when he has to, but of all the things and of all the places he would have guessed the Spider lived, this is not where.

He stands at the foot of The Ansonia building on the Upper West Side of New York, and hovers there slightly in awe. 74th street is embedded with quaint shops and luxury department stores, antique cars and designer bred-dogs and even the trash cans look like they’re made of crystal.

The Spider lives here- in this building, in this luxury building, on the top floor- the 18th floor, and Tony just shakes his head and doesn’t know what to expect.

The doorman is wearing a green coat with gold buttons and nods at him with an old face that does not look surprised. “Good evening, Sir,” he says politely into the night air, as he opens the door for Tony to get in.

Tony smiles as charmingly as he can. “Nice night, isn’t it?”

“Very mild, Sir.”

“Exactly.” Tony nods, pressing the button on the elevator and slipping right in.

Everything in this building is finished with gold trim and bronze accents. He admires his own reflection on the ride up- the tuxedo makes him look very dapper indeed, complete with bow tie, he looks well-groomed and exceptionally attractive.

He’s robbed a state of the art museum tonight, and no one would ever know.

You never suspect the guy in a tuxedo, the one who’s having slightly too good a time, a little tipsy as he staggers over to his car.

Of course, Tony wasn’t drunk. And it wasn’t his car. But it was a very nice car, and it had done the job, and now here he is, with the painting, on the way up to meet The Spider.

He hasn’t been this excited in a while.

The robbery had gone off without a hitch, and now he has a week before the museum re-opens. But The Spider only needs three days, so Tony should be able to get back in, put the forgery in place, and leave the country with his happy ending.

Bliss is in sight, and the seas look calm.

He holds the canvas bag tightly, even as he fixes his collar. It’s a fairly big canvas, and it can be difficult to distract from it, but the porter had barely looked at him, and he’d made sure to smile and wink at people on the street.

A little bit of flattery and a handsome jawline can make people a little fuzzy on the details.

He steps off the elevator onto marble tiles, and he has to resist the urge to wolf-whistle.

He’d wolf-whistled a lot, back when he was eighteen and fresh to the city. He’d been trained out of it quickly, but there’s some of that boy still left inside him. Mischievous and looking for a good time.

He reaches the heavy oak door with gold lettering 2001 above it and knocks, taking a deep breath, and preparing himself for absolutely anything.

He gets the wind punched right out of him when the door swings open.

Framed by the doorway, and the soft gold light from inside the apartment spilling out all around him, is quite easily the most beautiful boy Tony has ever seen in his entire life.

And he lives in New York. He’s been here during fashion week- Tony has seen his fair share of gorgeous people-

“It’s been a while,” the boy beams- Jesus- his eyes are like honey- like the sunlight as it spills onto warm brown roots in the middle of an enchanted forest- “I’ve missed you,”

Tony has to be lurched into gear, when he notices another resident entering their apartment across the hall. He nods, finding his throat clogged, and lets out a strangled: “I’ve missed you too.”

The boy smiles, and gestures him in.

Tony can’t look away. He can’t pull his eyes away enough to scan the apartment like he knows he should. He can’t look anywhere but the boy. He’s got fluffy chestnut curls toppling into his forehead, each lock absolutely perfect, and he’s wearing silk black sleep shorts that hug his thighs just- just brilliantly, and an over-sized lavender sweater that hangs over one shoulder.

He’s got freckles and dimples and a twinkle in his eye and-

“Can I offer you anything?” The boy asks, and Tony shakes his head and tries to get himself together. “Tea? Shuri told me you enjoyed wine, I think I have a few bottles, but you should probably browse them yourself,” he giggles, and it’s a beautiful sound Tony wants to wrap himself up in. “They’re mostly gifts, but I’m sure there are a few good bottles.” He stage whispers: “I don’t know anything about wine.”

Tony’s in love.

That snaps him out of it. The thought wrenches him right out of his daydream and sends him careening back into reality. “Tea would be much appreciated,” he manages, (wine does not clear your head) and follows the boy into the kitchen.

This is the Spider. He’s- he’s- well, he looks about Shuri’s age, like Tony thought, but…nothing else.

He’s absolutely sublime. And the apartment- it’s huge, a huge penthouse surely over 5000 square feet. It has a balcony that looks out over New York, it’s decorated with accents of rose gold and pastels, and it’s luxury if Tony’s ever seen it. There are designer throw cushions and rare fur rugs and from what he spies of the living room- a bookcase absolutely teeming with first editions.

In the kitchen, the wine rack is nothing to sniff at. A good, niche collection. Though there aren’t many bottles, each one is worth at least $10,000. And they were gifts. Tony wonders who the hell this boy has as friends. He must be forging paintings at a hell of a rate, to be twenty years old and already here.

“I’m Peter, by the way, Tony.” the boy says warmly, and Tony takes a seat at the kitchen counter, watching as Peter moves a teapot onto the stove. Warm is a good word for him. He seems very warm. He looks comforting and homey and his eyes are inviting and his hair looks impossibly soft to the touch. “I didn’t realise you’d get the painting tonight, so my apologies for…” he gestures to the way he’s dressed, and smiles bashfully. “I was taking a nap.”

“Please don’t apologise,” Tony whispers, eyes dragging without his consent over Peter’s delicate frame. “You look beautiful.” So beautiful and he’s only just woken up. Tony thinks he might faint if he saw the boy when he was making an effort.

Peter’s skin, cream as a canvas, starts to blossom pink.

“That’s very- thank you,” he blushes, busying himself with two mugs. “You look- very handsome too, I like the tux-“ he breaks out into more blushing when Tony winks and hurriedly looks away.

Tony looks around again (though he does take a moment to appreciate that gorgeous, gorgeous ass fuck, two perfect handfuls) to glean as much as he can. He still has the painting in it’s canvas bag sitting by his feet, but he sees a shopping list on the fridge with cosy looking fridge magnets, and-

His eye is drawn back to Peter, at the bare skin of his shoulder, where he can see stained pink; a tattoo, of a rose, he thinks.

Goddamn, this is unreal.

“I didn’t expect you to have…” he shakes his head, smiling when Peter sets the tea down in front fo him and joins him. “This apartment is just very…”

Peter ducks his head bashfully. “Art restoration does pay almost obscenely well when you work privately. Plus, I come from old money, so don’t be impressed,” he insists softly, and Tony can’t look away from those eyes.

He can’t help but laugh, though. “Art restoration?” He lets out, “that’s what you call your line of work?”

Peter looks confused. “I’m an art restorer,” he says, and Tony can tell that every inch of the boy is telling the truth.

“You’re an art restorer- and you can afford this place,” Tony gapes, “then why are you even-“

“Oh,” Peter laughs, taking a sip of his tea. It smells of honey and lemon. “I just do that for fun, really. I think art should be shared, so I don’t mind making copies. It’s fun, it’s really good training.”

“And the money…”

“I give that all the charity.” Peter cocks his head a little, “Shuri was supposed to tell you all of this. Didn’t she explain?”

Tony shakes his head in amazement. “I think she’s a lot more protective of you than you think, Peter. So, you’re telling me you copy the paintings for fun?”

Peter stands from the table and rolls his eyes. “Not just fun. Also training. More importantly though, art should be worshipped. I want everyone to have a Van Gogh to hang in their dining room, to see every day! I want people to talk about paintings again, it shouldn’t have to be something you go and see once on a school trip, it should be a part of your everyday life,” he beckons for Tony to follow. “I’ll show you my gallery, bring your painting, you’ll see.”

Tony does, gulping his tea down in one go. It burns his throat on the way down, and it just reminds him that no, he’s not dreaming.

Peter’s apartment is huge and beautiful, and when they walk through to his workshop, Tony’s breath is taken away.

There are easels everywhere, all with paintings at different forms of life. Finished ones are on the wall, and there are pots of paintbrushes everywhere, chalk and charcoal and an entire wall with an intricate shelf system of paints. There have to be over a thousand bottles.

Peter motions to a fresh easel, and Tony hurries over, unzipping the bag and setting the Degas on the stand.

Peter makes a sound that’s pure sex. “It’s beautiful,” he murmurs, reaching out a finger like he wants to touch before quickly pulling back. “Blue Dancers. You see these pastels? It looks like a traditional sketch, like a character study as she moves- every figure is her, you know? At different stages, just…” he shakes his head helplessly, “it’s beautiful.”

Tony can only see Peter. The painting pales in comparison. “Yeah,” he agrees hoarsely, “it really is.”

He can’t believe this is happening. Of all the things, of all the ways he’s expected his night to go, this isn’t how he talks to people. Not people in his line of work. They speak in code, they vaguely threaten and intimidate, but they don’t share their passion of art, or donate all the money to charity, or have a heart so pure that all they want to do is to make sure everyone has art in their life.

“You know what I do, right?” He croaks, and Peter pulls his eyes away from the painting reluctantly, to nod.

“Shuri told me, Tony, don’t worry. I have no interest in turning you in. I thought what you did with the diamond was really very clever. Shuri tells me that it’s almost impossible to make a synthetic pink of that size.”

“I had to use a radiation machine,” he murmurs, puffing out his chest a little, and Peter grins.

“See? That’s a kind of art there. Same with the forged bank notes, it’s all just art and finesse.”

Tony looks at the other paintings. He can see a few other forgeries in the making- can see one or two that are probably being restored for legitimate, private owners.

“I have to admit,” Tony whispers, wandering around the studio, “this is a perfect set up. A legitimate job, a legitimate salary- having Shuri check everyone out- not using the money for yourself- you’ve got it figured out.”

“I’m quite the criminal,” Peter teases, rolling his eyes.

“I’m serious,” Tony insists, “the crimes that are the hardest to solve are the ones that don’t have a motive. No FBI agent would ever think your motive was sharing art.” He’s a little jealous, if he’s honest. But then again, he’s never had a legitimate job. Or at least one he acquired legitimately.

“Why do you commit your crimes?” The bambi-eyed boy asks, as he studies the painting. He pulls a mobile light from overhead and shines it at the canvas at different angles.

Tony sits on one of the stools, watching him, and lets out a breath. “I don’t know.” He begins, raking his fingers through his hair, “To prove I can. Money. This is my final heist.”

“The perfect score,” Peter nods, “I get it. I hope I don’t let you down.”

Tony looks at the calibre of the other paintings that surrounds him and shakes his head. “I doubt that’s possible.”

Peter blushes again, the light making his lashes look even longer as they cast shadows against his cheek. “The problem with Degas is that he was losing his eye-sight towards this period, so he only painted during certain hours- that’ll affect the way the paint sits. And of course, prussian blue didn’t exist as a shade, so I’ll have to make my own. I have an oven at the studio at work I can use to crack the paint- make it consistent with the period,” he stops to explain, and even though Tony already knows, he doesn’t want Peter to stop talking. “Paint starts to crack as it ages, and this is over a century old, we’ll need to induce it. If I use pure pigment and follow the light schedule, I…” he shakes his head, looking awed, “it’s amazing to copy from the original like this. I don’t always have the chance, a lot of the time, I have to work from a photo, but that loses texture so…” he gives Tony a grateful look and Tony thinks he’d do anything to keep that gaze on him just like that. “I should be able to get you one that fooled even Degas himself.”

“You are a saint,” Tony whispers, and he knows now, what Shuri meant. He doesn’t think the painting could be safer with anyone else.

And unless Peter’s the best liar he’s ever seen before, he trusts him. There’s an earnest transparency, a warmth, that Tony’s never seen. Not on someone so talented. So wealthy.

After another cup of tea, and watching Peter outline a few drafts, Tony finds himself talking. Once he starts, he can’t seem to stop. (Tip for conmen, get them to talk about themselves. Deflect. Always deflect) But Peter’s sweet and non-judgemental and Tony feels something inside him unfurl as he confesses over darjeeling that he’s worried about being lonely on an island in the Mediterranean.

Peter’s fingers get stained with pencil, and he rubs his chin and accidentally leaves marks all over his face that Tony wants to kiss. Peter never looks shocked or frowns at any of Tony’s stories- at how the friends he’s made have drifted, at the crimes he’s committed- Peter just nods and sketches and then, after a long while, when it’s nearing three am, and Tony’s eyelids are starting to droop, Peter gets up and puts his pencils away.

“You know why you’re lonely, don’t you, Tony?” Peter asks, washing his hands.

“Why’s that, sweetheart?” Tony drawls, fingers curled around the mug. It says follow your dreams in swirly pink script on a cloud on the side.

“Because you’ve been putting on a front for so long, you’re all front. You can’t just be charm and charisma, you need some substance. A little bit of human. Messy and wrong, sometimes, but human.” Peter looks thoughtful, and he comes to stand before Tony, and takes the mug from his hands gently. This close, Tony can smell the floral scent of Peter’s laundry detergent. Peter looks up at him through his lovely eyelashes and says barely above a whisper: “I think I’d find your human side kinda lovely.”

Tony wants to lean down and kiss, and he does move, just a little, before Peter’s lets out a little surprised hitch and Tony thinks no.

Because he can read people, and he can read situations. And he knows a kiss now will just ruin things for the long run.

And Tony wants a long run.

So he clears his throat, and Peter pulls away with dazed-eyes, “I’ll um- leave you to it.” Tony murmurs, and Peter nods- curls bouncing.

New York is never silent, not even in the dead of night, but as Tony hot wires a different car and thinks of Peter, he doesn’t hear a thing.

He does smile though, a lot. Not to win anyone over, but just because he’s happy.

He goes back the next day with flowers.

It’s the most expensive bouquet he could find, but that’s not why he picked it. It’s because it’s filled with pink roses, like the one on Peter’s shoulder, and wildflowers and lavender just like his sweater. Because there are dandelions and foxgloves spilling over the white paper and even when Tony sniffs it, it doesn’t smell as good as Peter.

The doorman nods at him when he opens the door. “Good choice, Sir.” He says quietly, and Tony grins and pats him on the back.

When Peter opens the door, he looks surprised- then delighted- and Tony holds out the bouquet for him.

“As a thank you,” he explains, and watches as Peter buries his face in the flowers and inhales.

“It’s lovely,” Peter beams, gesturing him in.

It’s clear Peter’s been painting. He’s a vision of beauty again, in floral shorts that cut off tantalisingly high on his thigh, and an over-sized dress shirt. It’s undone at the collar and rolled up at the sleeves and completely covered in paint. Everything he owns is such quality- 100% cotton and silk and no doubt expensive. There are hues of blue all across his forearms.

“I was working on your piece, go through and have a look! I’ll just go put these in a vase.”

Tony nods, even though there’s a little smudge of yellow paint on Peter’s cheek and all he wants to do is brush his thumb across it.

He goes through to the studio, and there on the easel, is his canvas.

Or rather, Peter’s copy. The canvas is 3/4s of the way filled, and he shakes his head in amazement as he comes closer and looks between Peter’s and the original. The boy’s a genius. The three ballerinas are exactly the same- and Peter’s palette is laid on the table- a dozen shades of periwinkle, and paintbrushes galore all handpicked and to the ready.

Sunlight is streaming in through the window and Tony inhales the sharp smell of paint and knows he’ll always associate the two things with Peter.

“It’s rare to find dandelions in a bouquet,” Peter beams, coming in with a gorgeous vase and the flowers bursting within it. He sets it on a table in the sunshine, and turns his warm gaze on Tony. “You really didn’t have to buy me anything, but it’s so sweet you did.”

“Let me take you out to dinner,” Tony blurts, because he’s all torn up inside. He wants to reform for Peter, but he also wants to rob the highest security bank in the world to impress him. He wants to spend time picking him dandelions, but also wants to put a necklace worth more than this apartment around his dainty neck.

Peter blushes and his eyes slide away. “Tony,” he begins apologetically, and Tony’s heart sinks, “you seem…too good to be true, and Shuri told me that’s how you always seem. You lie for a living, and- I’m not sure what you want from me. If I’m part of a con. I don’t know you, Tony. I’m not sure anyone does.”

“You can trust me,” Tony insists, a touch desperately, “i would never hurt you.”

Peter gives him sad half-smile, “Tony, it’s your job to be convincing.”

Peter’s right, of course. Lying is second nature, but Tony hasn’t lied with him. Not once. He’s been more open than he’s been with anyone, but Peter doesn’t know that. They feel like opposites here, in this moment, Peter in his white, paint-stained cotton shirt, honesty in every earnest word and gentle touch, and Tony in his black t-shirt and dark tailored pants, his front bolted into place, his mask on his face even as he tries to remove it.

“Please don’t look so sad,” Peter whimpers, coming over and kissing Tony’s cheek. “I’m not saying no, I’m saying not now.”

If not now, when? Tony thinks, but he nods. “Tell me about yourself, Peter.” He says, as Peter settles back in front of the canvas. “I did all the talking last night.”

“Yes, but you have a very nice voice.” Peter teases, “you could do audiobooks.”

“An honest profession indeed,” Tony chuckles.

Peter was raised in France, in Toulouse, and is self-trained in art. His parents died when he was young, but he loves his Aunt more than anything. He’s bought her a villa in Paris where she makes her own wine (that explains the eclectic mix in Peter’s wine rack). He’d moved to New York four years ago, when he was sixteen, and life has treated him kindly. “I think it’s more luck than anything else,” Peter confesses, using his fan brush to shape the tutus in a burgundy-blue. “Things just fell into place.”

“Yeah they do that,” Tony grins, “especially around people who are hard-working, talented and kind.”

Peter laughs, shaking his head. “It’s not all great. This building doesn’t allow cats, so…”

“A complete travesty.”

“Exactly. I knew you’d understand.”

They have brunch out on the deck. Peter, as it turns out, can’t cook to save his life, but Tony’s been a chef in a few Michelin star restaurants over his life, so he whips them up a Spanish omelette and they drink it with coffee while looking out over New York.

“How’d you even get into this business?” He asks, staring at the enigma that is Peter Parker.

“Accidentally, really.” He admits. “I was so silly. I was painting a Hoefnagels for class, it’s a lovely 1598 piece- and I was doing some finishing touches in the park before it was due, and a guy offered me money for it.” Peter shakes his head in amazement, like he still can’t believe someone was willing to pay for his work.

Tony wants to wrap him up and shower him with praise.

“And I was so flattered, that i jut gave it to him. Little did I know, of course, that he was planning on selling it on as the original. It was a spider painting, and then I was just known as The Spider. It got so out of hand, people started approaching me out of the blue with a terrible amount of money, and I couldn’t refuse it, because Shuri runs this amazing charity to help fund educational services in countries without the proper school-structure, so I started giving it to her. Of course, she asked where I was getting it and then she insisted I be more protected, and she’s always been good with computers so-“

“Amazing,” Tony breathes, staring at Peter as the New York skyline frames him. “Wherever you go, Peter Parker, amazement follows.”

“Well,” Peter teases, “I’m certainly not as suave as you. Put me in a three piece suit, and I become a stammering mess, that’s for sure. I like it much better here, with my books and my paints and Netflix. Have you ever seen the Good Witch?”

Tony shakes his head, and listens to Peter talk about it. It sounds ludicrously wholesome, just like him.

It’s weird, a creeping sort of feeling, knowing that here over omelettes and black coffee, on an old New York terrace on a bright and sunny morning, with this boy here, feels like more of a happy ending than any island in the Mediterranean could ever feel.

The final heist, the last con, the only crime left- it pales in comparison to Peter’s warm eyes and the way he talks with his hands and looks at Tony like there’s something there.

Something to be loved.

* Tony’s admiring himself in a mirror of a department store when Agent Peggy Carter taps him on the shoulder. He turns, winks at her, and shows off the shirt. “What do you think?” He asks smoothly, “too garish? I’m trying to impress a sweet young thing.”

She doesn’t smile, but her lips do twitch a little. “Stark.” She warns, before pulling a notepad out of her grey blazer. She pulls off the pantsuit very well. “Where were you last night?”

“Why?” He winks, “did you miss me? You know you can always call.” He gestures to one of the attendants and pats his shirt affectionately. “I’ll take it. I want to wear it out of the store.”

“Not a problem!” The attendant chirps, flitting away, and Tony turns to Peggy with a smile.

“I was at a restaurant. Dining alone, I’m afraid. But I’m sure the restaurant staff will vouch for me,” he shrugs, flashing her a winning smile, “I’m pretty hard to forget. It’s this gorgeous face. A curse and a blessing.”

Peggy rolls her eyes. “You were there the whole night? What restaurant?”

“Oh, I can’t remember. One down near that lovely bakery on fourth.” (When you’re telling the truth, make it sounds like a lie.) He was at a restaurant last night- he was alone, and there are people who will vouch for him. The Restaurant was the Dorsia, and he’d gone for some time to think- and show off his newest suit- but she doesn’t need to know that it definitely wasn’t him. Feds like investigating and moving on by their own accord. Besides, Tony doesn’t know what the crime was yet. If it was something tasty, it might do well for a few other street criminals to think he’s the one that’s done it.

It’s very good for business.

Or- it was. It doesn’t need to be anymore. Since there’s only one more heist. One more crime.

“I’ll check it out.” She promises, though it sounds like a threat, flipping her notebook closed and tucking it away. “And while I do that- I don’t suppose you’ve come across the Wittelsbach Diamond in your travels?”

He gives her a blank look.

She snorts. “C’mon, Stark, cut the crap. It’s a diamond about yea-big,” she holds open her hand, “-vibrant pink. You were accused of stealing it just a few-“

“I think you’ll find that I was innocent, Peggy darling,”

She shakes her head. “I know you took it. Just like the Handberg Manuscripts.”

“Hm,” Tony nods, “that’s fine. I have a hard time admitting when I’m wrong too. We have that in common.”

She sighs. “Stay on the straight and narrow, Stark. At least for a while.”

He gives her a two-fingered salute and a wave. “Will do, Peggy-sue.”

Her laugh feels like success.

(Is it because he pulled one over on her? Or because he likes making people happy? Does he care too much? More than he thought?)

* Peter’s forgery is the best Tony’s ever seen. Which, of course, is exactly why he wanted him.

It passes the microscopic analysis, the craquelure is perfection. The frame and the wood light show up brilliantly, the infra-red shows the underlying grid and the IR spectroscopic analysis shows the pigments as pure, and coming from the right time. The cracks are consistent with the time period- the fading towards the bottom consistent with Degas’ decreasing eyesight, and Tony can only pull away, setting down his microscopic lens, and whistle in amazement.

“Jesus, Peter,” he breathes, “this is…” he doesn’t have the words. “It’s the best damn forgery I’ve ever seen. An imitation from the gods.”

Peter’s eyes are smiling, but he bristles a little. “Not an imitation, Tony, a pastiche. To copy is to flatter. That’s all I want to do to these paintings.”

He nods, feeling giddy with triumph. “You are a treasure, Peter Parker. The seedy underworld does not deserve you.”

The boy laughs at that. He’s come from work today, and it’s the first time Tony’s seen him in non-casual. The button up shirt is dark purple- silk- and is tucked neatly into tight black jeans. Designer. Tony wants to ravish him.

But it’s over. Their business is complete.

He reaches for his canvas bag and Peter’s painting, before a lily-white hand clutches his wrist.

“Tony,” Peter says, eyes wide, “if mine and the original are so indistinguishable- even to experts and scientists- then why not just sell the forgery? Return the original, and sell mine. That way- if by some miracle critics manage to catch the forgery- it’s less of a crime than stealing a Degas.”

The two paintings are identical. Practically identical.

But science is always improving, Peter’s right. New equipment is always being made and methods always being tested.

But with replacing the painting- it’ll avoid a genuine test for years. And Tony will have successfully stolen and sold a genuine Degas. And who knows how long it would be before anyone even caught Peter’s forgery?

He shakes his head. “I’m sticking with my plan.”

Peter releases him, and nods. “I was only suggesting. Either way, art is being appreciated so…” he smiles with his dimples, “whatever makes you happy.”

Happy is the bliss beyond the horizon, after he makes the switch and Nat sells the painting.

Happy is-

“Come with me,” he pleads, swallowing hard, “to wherever I go. I know- you met me three days ago- but- I’ll buy us an island, Peter, you could paint and read and we could…”

“Retire at twenty,” Peter muses around a teary laugh, “oh Tony. That’s not what I want. I want a wedding, and friends, and to skirt the line of the law, but mostly be on it’s good side. Not running from something forever. I like my job, I like New York, I don’t have anything to run away from.”

“No, no,” Tony frowns, shaking his head insistently, “I’m not running away from anything, this is just my final heist.”

“You’re running away from something, Tony,” Peter murmurs, going onto his tiptoes to kiss the corner fo Tony’s mouth. He smells of dandelions. “One day maybe you’ll stop. If you do, I’ll be here. Probably still trying to convince the building to let me have a cat.”

Tony leaves the Ansonia, but leaves an important part of himself behind.

* He’s sitting in his storage unit at the edge of the city, drinking a stolen bottle of wine, surrounded by all his treasure.

He feels like a very lonely dragon. Eons old.

He’s surrounded by paintings, and goblets and treasures from museums. Diamonds and bonds and counterfeit money and deeds. Stolen u-boat treasure and Nazi-claimed portraits, and historical artefacts that he had to do some pretty shady things to get.

There’s a clatter on the roof, but Tony doesn’t flinch, he just sips at the wine and watches as Natasha makes her way in.

She gasps at all the treasure. She looks around, eyes wide, practically vibrating with excitement as much as she tries to hide it. “You have the Handburg manuscripts?” She whispers, reaching out to touch a scroll, “I thought that was a rumour…”

He shrugs, hoping the tears on his cheeks have dried. “Yeah, i got them a few years back.”

“How..?”

“Carrier pigeons.”

“Jesus, Tony, you’re…you’re the best. There’s gotta be millions of dollars worth of stuff here.” She stops when her eyes land on the two Degas. “Wow. The Spider is…wow.” She looks at both of them, squinting hard, “which one is…?”

“The one on the left is real,” he lies, just to see if she can catch it.

“Wow.” She murmurs, “it’s-“ she turns to him sharply, as if she’s taking in him and not the treasure for the first time since she got here. “Oh god.” She whispers, and he lifts the glass to her in a mock toast. “You’re going to turn yourself in.”

He knows, but hearing her say it is pretty awful.

“Tony, why?”

“There are two endings for someone who’s running, Nat, do you know what they are?”

She says nothing.

“Either they get caught, or they keep running. Running forever.” He downs the rest of the wine. It’s disgusting. “But I can give myself a third option. Turn myself in.”

“They won’t catch you,” she pleads, “they’d never be able to catch you, Tony.”

“You’ve been a good friend to me, Nat,” he murmurs, mind made up. He gestures to the two paintings. “Pick whichever one you want. it’s yours. Free of charge.”

Her jaw drops, but she’s smarter than to try and change his mind when it’s so in her favour.

Like he thought, she picks the “real” one. She tucks Peter’s copy into her bag and heads for the door- pausing only once to look at him.

“You were the best.” She says; pityingly. “But I’ll have your back, Tony.”

In the morning, he takes the Degas into the FBI headquarters, and confesses to stealing it.

* Tony Stark, the FBI’s newest criminal consultant. Exchanging prison time for expert help on White Collar crimes.

Peggy’s the one who makes it all happen. She’s also his handler. She’s the one who puts the un-tamperable tracking anklet on his leg, and looks at him like she’s proud. “Working for the FBI is gonna change you,” she says; pleased, and Tony laughs and fixes his suit. “Remember, this thing’ll go off if you step outside your two mile radius.”

“Fine by me,” Tony assures, because there’s only one place he cares about going.

* It’s weird to think about the fact that retirement is a 9 to 5 job working for the FBI.

But it’s bliss if Tony ever dreamed of it.

Breakfast and lazy morning sex with Peter on the balcony, giving their neighbours a bit of a show, then into work with Peggy to catch jewel thieves and forgers (his criminal alliases come in very, very handy). He comes home to see Peter painting, and he sweeps him off his feet and makes him dinner.

He and Peter work on some of the cases after hours, and if Tony ever comes across a forged painting and Peter blushes-

He always assures Peggy that it’s an original.

And he still gets to dress up. Whenever he goes undercover, or whenever an art gallery opens. He feels much more dapper, with Peter at his side. Everyone comments on what a beautiful couple they are, and Peter goes all pink, but Tony just smirks and slides an arm around his waist and agrees.

He buys Peter a bouquet every week, and Peter reacts just the same every time.

Shuri helps Tony whenever a case needs a tech-whiz, and whenever Peggy asks how he managed to get it done, Tony just wiggles his fingers and says: “I’m a man with many talents.”

He still has his storage unit of treasure, moved of course, because Natasha can’t be fully trusted-

And sometimes Peggy looks at him, like she’s still not totally convinced he won’t disappear off the face of the earth, but then other times- more often lately, she looks at him like he’s her friend.

He likes that look more.

Over cheap take out on a stake out, she asks him point blank: “Do you have the Handberg manuscripts? I could never figure than one out.”

“Hypothetically,” he grins, because he’s still the kid from LA with a pack of cards, “if I did have it, I might have used carrier pigeons.”

She exhales and smiles wryly. “I’ll never be able prove you have them, will I? Or the Wittelsbach Diamond, or the dozens of other things I’m sure you’ve stolen.”

“The only thing I’ve ever stolen,” he recites, “is a Degas, which I promptly returned after being consumed with guilt. A judge can only be forgiving in a situation like that.”

“Whatever,” she rolls her eyes and steals a spring roll, “we still caught you.”

“Actually, I turned myself in.” He says, the beginning line of a familiar argument.

* On a sunny afternoon in June, at an art museum that he and Peter have broken into in the dead of night (though New York is never really dead) Tony gets down on one knee.

Peter starts crying, and Tony just kisses his fingers and slides the ring onto it.

And that’s when Peter sees the diamond.

It’s pink and-

“Tony no,” Peter gasps, staring at it, “you haven’t. You haven’t cut off a piece of the Wittelsba-“

“I finally found something to do with it,” he grins, kissing his fiancé on the nose.

Peter shakes his head, still crying tears of joy, but looking aghast all the same. “But that- damaging it lowers the price, Tony! That was worth millions and-“

“And now,” he rubs his thumb over the ring on Peter’s finger, “it’s absolutely priceless.”

Peter has sex with him right then and there, rides him under a Van Gogh and an Afremov.

Shuri has to go in and delete the footage, and Tony treats her to dinner to say thank you.

* The storage unit of treasure- treasure too hot to sell, that Tony stole to prove he could steal, hoarding in the promise that one day he’d use it all for his happy ending-

He has his happy ending, and the treasure has a purpose now.

He gives it away.

He gives Peter’s Aunt May a bottle of wine for Christmas. She’ll never know how much it’s really worth, but she’ll enjoy it, and that’s what matters. He and Peter donate a few pieces to museums and charity shops.

He sends Clint a diamond necklace, Harley a chest full of antique gold coins, Pepper an original set of Mongolian daggers and Maria some newly minted holographic strips for the Canadian hundred dollar bill.

He also leaves the Handberg Manuscripts on Peggy’s desk one morning, and she stares at them, and starts to cry.

“That’s weird,” Tony comments, offering her some tissue, “maybe whoever took them decided that you should finally get to close the case.”

“You’re an idiot, Tony,” she hiccups, hugging him tight.

He doesn’t miss any of it.

The treasure that matters most, after all, is the one he comes home to every night. Speckled with paint and cat hair (Tony is an excellent persuasive speaker) and always ready with a kiss.

“Want to know the best thing I ever stole?” Tony asks, over waffles in bed as they watch The Good Witch on Netflix.

“Ooh, what’s that?” Peter says excitedly, chocolate all around his mouth.

“Your heart,” Tony grins, reaching over to kiss his husband on the lips.

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