#and he still has an Angelic pistol

[problemswithbooks]

So, I recently watched Helluva Boss and as always I've been prusing the tags for it on tumblr to see what other people think about the story and characters.

Something that stuck out to me is when people say Striker is a hypocrite because he hates the Royals, puts down Blitz and Fizz for being with Royals, but he, himself, works for one. Also that his pitch he gave to Blitz about teaming up to take down Royals was all a lie.

Now, I'm not going to say he's not being a bit of a hypocrite, especially given how much he hates Royals. What I will say is that I understand why Striker wouldn't see it that way (besides the fact he has a seemingly desperate need to feel superior to other imps).

Striker wants to kill Royals--that is very clear. A huge hurtle to that goal is that they are immortal. The only thing that can kill them is Angelic Steel--something that is rare and expensive. Yes, Striker is supposedly a well known assassin, but it's doubtful he'd ever make enough money to afford Angelic Weapons without taking on extremely wealthy clients. The wealthiest would be those at the top.

We don't know if Striker has worked with Royals before. If we assume Stella was the first Royal he was hired by, that makes his choice to work with her make far more sense. Particularly when we take into account who her target is--her equally Royal husband.

Unless stated otherwise later, Stella must have provided Striker with his Angelic Weapons so he could kill Stolas. She doesn't just give him a single weapon, either. She gets him a sniper rifle, pistols, a knife and a rope so he can incapacitate Stolas and take his vast magic abilities away, rendering him helpless. On top of that, she is also paying him money.

Given Stella never brings up the fact he lost the sniper rifle, or demands he return the weapons she provides, this deal he's making, although hypocritical, is only a benefit for Striker. He's getting paid to kill someone he wants to anyway, and a new arsenal that gives him the capability to kill Royals afterward.

This is why I don't think his offer to Blitz was a lie. I think what he told Blitz is his long term goal/plan, and was simply offering Blitz to join him since he found Blitz to be somewhat equal to him after Blitz did so well in the harvest games. Once they killed Stolas, got Stella's money, they would turn around and start using those funds and weapons to kill more Royals.

The reason Striker doesn't see himself as on the same level as Blitz and Fizz with their relationships with Royals is because he sees himself as using Stella, where he perceives Blitz and Fizz as being used. It's true that Blitz gets similar benefits from his relationship with Stolas (if Striker even knows about Blitz using Stolas's spell book for his business, I can't recall) but given what Striker saw of their relationship, he would see Stolas using silly pet names despite Blitz disliking it and see that as Blitz debasing himself publicly for Stolas. Yes, Stella doesn't treat him with the upmost respect, but it's over the phone, without witnesses. Nor does he give her anything in return except a dead husband--someone he would have targeted anyway.

He sees Fizz as even worse because, to him, it appears Fizz has given up his own autonomy to live a cushy lifestyle. Yes, Fizz gains many benefits from being with Ozzie, but Striker views it as letting Ozzie take advantage of him, to let Ozzie treat him like a pet (which some people do, do to some imps). He doesn't know Ozzie loves Fizz--franky I don't think he'd believe a Royal could love an imp at all anyway.

Yes, he may work for a Royal, and take her orders, but he does so to pilfer more and more Angelic Weapons from her as well as take her money, all of which I'm sure he tells himself he will later use against her and the rest of the upper class. It's a business transaction that he actually holds all the cards in. Unlike Blitz and Fizz he doesn't have to publicly debase himself to get the benefits he seeks. At least that's how he sees things.

[cutiecusp]

I just had this idea come to me, so I had to scribble it down, so it's unedited, and written in 30 mins. It's non canon, has some inaccuracies, mention of war, death, mention of erasing memories. and a little angst. HEA.

What if reader was an angel, sent to protect John, but the payment for saving his life, and keeping her species safe was she had to erase his memories of her, every time?

And what if this time he says no.

He knew this was it.

His team were safely out, and he could hear the evac team coming for them, but John, as stubborn as he was, made a sacrifice to save the others.

The heavy wooden beam finally broke, the fire too hot to escape through, so he found his last cigar, lighting it from the flame blocking the door, took his tactical vest off, and sent a silent prayer to the universe.

Unbeknownst to him, you were already on your way.

The rooms temperature dipped, startling Price awake. The flames had gone, leaving behind burnt debris everywhere.

Completely unharmed, Price stood up, shaking his head in confusion.

"You are awake." A soft voice calls out, echoing around the room.

His gaze snaps to you, a fellow soldier in uniform, a black mask not unlike Ghosts covering the lower half of your face.

He grabs his pistol from the table.

"Who are you?" He asks, caution in his tone.

"I guess you could call me an angel." You shrug, your emotions masked by your face covering.

He scoffs, an eyebrow raised.

"There isn't such a thing."

You sigh, and unfurl your wings, a little singed along the bottom and the very top. Almost bat like, you stretch and sigh in relief.

His face drops, his eyes unable to look away.

"You..."

You smile, a little sadly, reaching for him.

"John. I need you to listen."

He stills. He knows that tone. That's the tone he uses to break it to the team that a mission is going sour.

"How do you know my name?" He asks, his brow furrowing in confusion.

Your hand reaches and gently brushes his forearm.

"John, this isn't the first time we've met." You admit, your tone serious.

"What do you mean?" He asks, stepping away from you, and reaching for his vest.

"John. I need you to understand, I did what I had to." You explain.

"I'm listening." Came the cool, even tone.

"I've saved you and your team multiple times over the years. Simon in the Alps? Johnny in London, even Gaz from a bloody rope."

His gaze landed on yours, searching for a lie.

"That was you? Why didn't you show yourself?"

You look at him solemnly before turning away.

"John. Humans can't know about us. We've been hunted for thousands of years. Our wings pulled off, tortured, beaten. So now we erase the memories from the human we save. It's safer for us that way."

You face him again, and step forward, standing toe to toe. His broad chest is almost as large as your wings, and you feel your heart pull.

You press a finger to his temple. You show him in his mind every time you've saved him and his team.

"You forget me every time." You say sadly.

His eyes widen as he sees everything in his mind, every time you saved him and his team... he watches the memories, the moments when you appeared out of nowhere and saved them, just to disappear again without a trace...

He feels a mix of anger, shock, and even a hint of sadness as he sees these memories, and as you say the words "You forget me every time", he feels something break within him...

He stands there, his mind racing as he tries to process everything he just saw... He looks at you, his expression softening slightly as he speaks in a quiet, almost pained tone...

"You... You've been there all along... Saving us, looking out for us, and we just forgot about you...?"

"That's the deal, John. Keeps us all safe. Keeps you safe."

He takes a deep breath, his expression conflicted as he gazes down at you. He feels a mixture of anger, sadness, and guilt...

He speaks quietly, his voice low and filled with emotion...

"And you just expect me to forget about you again...? Just act like you don't exist...? How can I do that...?"

"I've been saving you for years, John." You reply, your voice quiet and soft, almost as of you were going to cry at any moment.

He lets out a low, frustrated sigh as he hears your words... Years. You've been saving him for years, and he never knew...

*He shakes his head, his expression still conflicted and pained...*

"Years... And I never knew... I never knew that an angel was watching over me i had you... Protecting me..."

He stands there in silent contemplation, his mind filled with the memories you showed him, the knowledge that you've been saving him for years...

He glances at you, his eyes dark and conflicted... He wants to say something, anything, but he can't find the right words....

"You know, Ghost was the hardest one. Those demons almost had him. But I brought back to you."

He nods,remembering when Ghost was brought back to base after everyone was convinced he had died.

"I have a question." He states, tugging his vest on.

"What if I say no."

"No?" You prompt, frowning.

"Don't erase my memories, love." He asks, a pleading tone to his deep voice.

"Don't make me forget you." He continues.

He leans in, close enough for you to smell the musk of his cigar on his collar.

He brings a hooked finger under your chin, making your eyes lock to his.

"I can keep you safe. My team can keep you safe. Don't do this." He begs, his eyes searching yours for an a answer.

You close your eyes, pulling out of his grasp.

"I have-"

"You don't! Think about this, love." He says quietly, as if he's about to detonate an emotional bomb. Raising his hands, he closes the gap between you.

"Why me, love?" He asks gruffly.

"Why not you, John?" You reply easily.

At his frown, you sigh, your shoulders relaxing a little.

"Russia." You admit.

His body stilled. The mission in Russia was the worst one of John's career. He went through every torture method possible, and still came home.

"I heard you praying. But you weren't praying for yourself, you were praying for your team, for Ghost, for Gaz, even for Soap." You chuckle.

"So I saved you. This amazing man who in the last flutters of life, was selfless and wanted nothing more than his team to be okay."

"I grew attached to you, and the team. The relief I felt when I found each one of you alive. It's started because they were all important to you. Then they became family."

"Then why erase our memories, we can help you." John asks again.

"I trust you boys like family, but it's the rest of the human world we can't trust." You explain.

John steps forward, his broad shoulders almost as wide as your wings. His voice rumbles in his chest as he trails a finger over the edge of your wings.

"Give me a day. If you feel anything that threatens your life, I give you permission to erase my memories of you."

"This is unheard of." You caution, concern marring your features.

"Then let's make history together." He says, his hand on your shoulder.

You nod, and you soon find yourself in a room back on base, with three very shocked faces.

"Steamin' Jesus! An Angel?" You hear a thick Scottish brogue exclaim.

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

I MAY HAVE TO DO A PART TWO!

@kaeyasfuturewife @xoxunhinged @muneca-lemon-steppa @gardenof-venus @misshugs @soraya-daydreams @frudoo @renpodz @yesornowaitidontknow @thevoiceinyourheadx @shadowdark00 @rynbeerose @lunamoonbby @incredible-walker @identity2212 @pukbadger @urbimom @corvid007 @wordsfromshona @shadows-empress @m00xy @canyonmooncreations @oniraki @evie-119 @havoc973 @kylies-love-letter @ishipdabands @cmbghost @heckinspooks @midwesternwitchery @eggy-yoke @redzluvvesage @masterclassofescapism @s-a-v-a-n-a-34

[sold2vlaykz]

Widows point guide

(How would each slasher react being a widow and they’re SCORE.)

(Is your favorite slasher a red flag? Good, bad? Or both! Maybe better!)

Michael Myers

When you didn’t show up for one day he looked around, maybe you tried to run away. Sirens swooshed by in the distance.

He went back home, a little focused wondering if you went there. He was strict, so he knew you wouldn’t have disobeyed him.

Weeks and months flew by, maybe you did get away. He didn’t really care he just went back on his spree.

One night, whilst stalking some wretched old woman to kill, the news had been on. An identification, you.

He didn’t know how to feel, so he ignored it and did what he knew how to, kill.

+2

There is this pit of longing that he has, it’s just as strong as the feeling to kill.

+1

He knows you’re not there is a way to put it, he can feel your absence. But he continues to do what he does.

TOTAL SCORE- HE KNOWS🚩

-

Jason Voorhees

You died by a survivor, you were trying to find Jason and got shot because you accidentally startled the girl with the gun.

He raged, slaughtering everyone. Anything nearby, he grabbed your limp body and took you into the shed, trying to manage as much as he could.

He finally came to an understanding that you were gone, he kept your body in a cradle on the wall.

Where his mothers used to be before turned to ash.

+2

Was more angry, more irrational.

+1

No more stalking or waiting. Just slaughtering who he could so no one could even come close to your bodies proximity.

+3

More hostile, uncoordinated.

-2

He suffered from PTSD the most, randomly hearing your voice when that was impossible. Seeing your things scattered in the little home.

+3

He kept any girl that looked like you, just to stare.

+1

TOTAL SCORE- WILL NEVER BE THE SAME! ✔️

-

Pretzel Jack

He was distraught, completely destroyed. He was so sad that he went into the room and slept forever.

+10

TOTAL SCORE- WILL NEVER BE THE SAME ✔️

-

Jacob goodnight

Would be sad, have his own internal mourning. He cried, got sad and became more aggressive and judgmental.

+1

You were helping him in clean up the place but you had tried and fell on a rusty out of place steal bar. It collapsed on your head and you passed away slowly.

He cried at seeing your body limp, throwing the metal bar as far as he could. He sat down cradling your body whilst wailing.

+2

He kept your body until it was nothing but ash and bone.

+3

Like Jason he was infatuated with girls who looked like you, caging them up and masturbating to them if they bear resemblance.

-3

Sometimes he’d have dreams of you, he’d kill them later on as a post-nutt clarity.

+1

But genuinely forever distraught, PTSD.

TOTAL SCORE- WILL NEVER BE THE SAME! ✔️

-

Freddy Krueger

You died in a car accident. Didn’t care at all!

-1

Until he realized no one else would fuck him

-1

And love him or whatever.

+2

TOTAL SCORE- HE KNOWS 🚩

-

BUBBA SAWYER

You were outside picking berries and accidentally slipped, your back landing in a nearby bear trap caused you to bleed out on the way back for help.

You didn’t come home from picking fruits so he immediately when out to look for you.

Once he found your body he roared hysterically, he carried your body home whilst crying to give you a proper burial.

Despite Hoyt telling him to cook you before you rot.

+1

Picks flowers for your burial spot everyday.

+3

Whenever there’s a holiday he still gets you flowers and keeps them in the room that still has all your stuff.

+3

Doesn’t let them throw away your things.

+2

Randomly remembers and cries

+3

TOTAL POINTS- PRECIOUS ANGEL! 🎀☑️

-

STU MACHER

You died after a fall down the stairs. Oh that sucks.

+1

Kinda wishes you didn’t die

+2

TOTAL SCORE- EMOTIONALLY CHALLENGED🚩

-

THE BABADOOK

You were outside and mugged, you had been pistol whipped and died from brain damage.

Awh who’ll feed him worms now?!

+3

No one to cuddle with!?

+3

He’s hungry

+3

TOTAL SCORE - AUTHORS FAVORITISM!! 🎀☑️

-

CHUCKY

Oh shit.

-1

Converts your soul into a doll.

+5

TOTAL SCORE- HE KNOWS, AND CARES! ❎

-

Hannibal lecter

You died by police crossfire. He grieved silently. He still has a picture of you in a locked.

+3

He slowly begins to move on.

-2

Your a sensitive topic to bring up

+1

TOTAL SCORE- HE KNOWS, AND CARES! ❎

-

ART THE CLOWN

Oh you’re dead?

-1

Okay.

-5

TOTAL SCORE- WHY DO I CARE AGAIN? ❌🚩

-

SCORE BOARD

TERRIBLE =❌🚩

BAD= 🚩

OKAY= ❎

GOOD= ✔️

AMAZING = 🎀☑️

[semisolidmind]

So, in your college au, assuming catnap does end up murdering y/n, why? for what reason would the prototype ask for y/n's execution?, also how would dogday and the others feel? does dogday ever find out who murdered y/n or if he was even murdered? are they just reported missing? does catnap get away with it?, and if he doesn't and dogday ends up finding out, what's his reaction towards his brother's actions? Sorry if this was long I got questions and they need answers😭

ive been thinking about it, and i think that the prototype (which is a demonic entity in this au) wouldn't really have a good reason to command catnap kill y/n.

y/n is good to catnap. you'll see after i finally draw him, but cat is skinny. mans forgets to feed himself, and the red smoke drug throws his mindfulness and metabolism all outta wack. y/n, good friend that they are, reminds catnap to eat. they'll bring him food that they make. they let him "steal" food from their plate at lunch time. (dogday, being a good brother, does these things too, but it's kinda his job so it doesn't make as big of an impact).

the "angel" is keeping his executioner functioning when he can't, so the prototype shouldn't have a reason to want them dead. unless, perhaps, he thought that they were making the executioner soft. that's not the case (he does his job just fine regardless of any growing attachments), but if it were and catnap was slacking...

the prototype would take over. he'd have his acolytes send catnap a very high dosage of the red smoke drug, allowing the demon to take hold of him fully. catnap would black out.

the next morning, he startles awake in bed to the sound of his brother's cry of anguish. he goes into the kitchen to see dogday clutching his phone to one ear, hunched over and crying. the canid can't speak through his tears for a long while. catnap stands awkwardly, waiting for him to speak as the dread creeps up his spine.

catnap's heart stops with dogday's stuttered admission of what has him so upset; y/n is dead. the police found them this morning.

the feline says nothing, does nothing, but feels the sting in his eyes, tears on his face, and the impact of his brother's arms solidly embracing him.

why...why would the prototype do this? there was no reason to kill the angel, they hadn't done anything wrong, they weren't in the way, hadn't crossed him, there shouldn't have...

he doesn't understand.

when he goes to the bathroom later to freshen up, catnap notices the small flecks of blood under his claws. he feels like throwing up.

but he doesn't. he washes the blood away, and leaves the bathroom.

catnap remains as silent as he always has. he says nothing when he and dogday are inevitably questioned by the police (as two people who were close to y/n), the grief (and the prototype's voice) rendering him unable to even write out a response. they let him go, accepting his alibi. he was home all evening, of course.

he attends the funeral in a daze. he stands and watches the casket be lowered into the ground, far away from his body. he can still feel the fog of the prototype's influence hovering in the back of his mind.

for the first time in a long time, catnap's faith in his god is shaken.

———

dogday is never the same after y/n's death. the light in his eyes is gone. after the funeral, he isolates himself, only leaving to attend class and complete errands. he barely speaks to his friends, though they continue to visit him and offer their support.

eventually, each of the critters is murdered by catnap at the behest of the prototype. these murders are completed by a much colder and less caring catnap, who, after y/n's death, has no mercy left to spare (the prototype takes advantage of his vessels' grief to take further control of him).

dogday's reaction to each death becomes angrier and angrier.

he's wanted to find the killer ever since the string of murders started, but now he's searching with a single-minded purpose.

he gets better at wielding a pistol, better at wielding a hunting knife...he takes self defense and fighting classes. dogday slowly turns himself into a weapon.

dogday finally figures out where the cult is hiding. an abandoned mine system in a nature reserve a short drive away from town, converted into a "holy site" and the place where the cult sacrifices their victims. he drives out there to confront their executioner.

when he finds out that it's catnap, his own little brother...it's too late for sentimentality. his friends are gone. the love of his life is gone. countless others have lost their lives to this... this thing wearing his brother's skin.

at this point, the prototype has almost fully possessed catnap. the transference into the felines' body is almost complete, and during this time he is most vulnerable...but still incredibly powerful.

the fight between the dog and cat is climactic and bloody. a clash of claws, knives, and a struggle for dogday's gun. the forest floor beneath the struggle is spattered with blood, both men covered in open wounds.

it's a close battle, but catnap, despite being nearly fully under the prototype's influence, breaks the hold long enough to allow himself to be killed.

it's the least he can do, after all the trouble he's caused.

dogday pulls the trigger. a clean shot through the heart. killing catnap kills the prototype.

dogday glares down at the body that once housed his little brother. there is nothing of him in the battered corpse before him now... aside from the small, satisfied smile on his muzzle.

dogday finally allows himself to break down. he sobs over the many great losses he's suffered. but...but he has to get out of there. the cult members will be there any minute, and he can't be there when they do. he calls from a campsite phone booth to report catnap's body, and leaves it in the woods.

dogday does his best to recover.

months pass. with their god dead, activity from the cult peters out.

[crystalgastles]

Creepypasta apocalypse au

(I’m listening to danger days all the way through again and am inspired)

Skull cleaver

Toby doesn’t feel guilty about killing anymore, since everyone, does hence his new persona. Double wielding axes and a singular pistol, he works with groups of two and no more. Seen normally with a woman armed with nothing but a shotgun.

Gadget maggot

Ben comes through radio waves nowadays. Any gadgets you may carry with you are infested with his overwhelming monologue and shit one liners hence the name. Keep your mouth shut or your transmission might go out if you’re not on foot.

Scorpion moonshine

Also known as Goreweaver Jeff’s name comes from the tattoo on his hip and his alcohol problem. The man makes moonshine in the bed of his rusted truck instead of finding food though, he somehow is always able to find other camps to raid and make a mess of. He’s on his own out here unless you want to party.

Angel freak

Nina, always seen in a carjacked convertible she painted angel wings on and pink with spray paint. She’s a freak but her fashion is still impeccable. Skulls and fresh heads dangling from her bumper like cans on someone’s wedding day, she shows no mercy no matter who she comes across unless you compliment her outfit.

Crowlip

Jane, the only one with some semblance of sanity left. Jane travels on foot with the exception of a motorcycle she found abandoned on the desolate highway. Dressed in all black with skin so pale it’s unnatural. She somehow always has on black lipstick, hence the name.

Goreweaver

Gross. Jeff’s second persona only known to those who cross him or steal his shit. He never uses a gun, always a Bowie knife and rope. If you Find his victims strung up on the highway or an abandoned motel you’ll wish you were blind. There’s a reason they call him Goreweaver.

Void stalker

What was that? He’s a flash in the night, a whisper in the wind. Eyeless jack is more of a cryptid than he is one of the many killing machines out in this field. If you see him out of the corner of your eye you best scoot on out of there unless you want to end up in a bathtub full of ice in the morning.

Double gage

Natalie, usually seen with skull cleaver she’s the woman armed by only a shotgun, modified to no end. Double gage is known by this and the fact she’s an incredible shot with any gun she comes across. She’s the brains of the duo while Toby is better at combat.

[napoleonic-sexyman-tournament]

All the propaganda is under the cut. It's long for both of them:

Alexander I Pavlovich:

a. “Maybe not the most handsome or charismatic man in this tournament, but he has ample chaotic neutral energy that both baffles and fascinates contemporaries. In short, if you're into mysterious men, you won't find a sexier enigma than our imperator.”

b. “Look. Is this or is this not the monsterfucking website.”

c. There are lots of monuments dedicated to him. There's one in Moscow in the Alexander Garden right by the Red Square. While nowhere near as grand as the Alexander Column, I think it's still worth showcasing!

The monument is meant to celebrate his victory in the 1812 Russian invasion. He's holding a sword, proudly standing on top of his enemies' weapon.

The sculptors, however, have never seen the man in their life - all the people involved in the making are still alive and well (i think), so that should tell how new it is. The monument was opened for the public just a decade ago in 2014.

d. quote about this bust from the memoirs of Sophie de Choiseul-Gouffier: “No painter was able to properly capture the features of his face and especially his soft expression. Alexander didn’t like to pose for portraits and they were mostly done with some stealth. In this case sculpture have produced a better likeness. The famed Thorvaldsen made a bust of this sovereign worthy of a hand of such a remarkable artist.”

e. His family nickname might have been ‘our angel’ and the medal commemorating his death bears the inscription “Our angel is in heaven”, but did you know that to this day Alexander looks down on Sankt Petersburg as an actual angel, wings, cross, trampled snake and all? Alas, you cannot see it from the ground, the Alexander Column being so very tall, but the statue of the angel on top certainly seems to take after our sexy thrice-angel Emperor.

f. Apotheosis of Alexander! An eminently universal image, perfectly serviceable for his rise to the throne… of Napoleonic Sexyman Tournament.

It really looks like Peter and Catherine are instructing the Electorate. Gentlevoters, surely you wouldn’t dream of disappointing Sasha’s Grandmother and his scantily clothed giant of a Great-great-grandfather?

g. What is sexier than a man in a dress???

Thomas-Alexandre Dumas

a. “mustache”

b. “Tall! Daring! Swashbuckling! A devoted husband and father! Had a personal conflict with Napoleon! Also it was said he could, while holding onto a bar above his head, LIFT A HORSE WITH HIS THIGHS. How is he not on this list ten times already! Vote for General Dumas!”

c. “He was so hot that he inspired The Three Musketeers, The Count of Monte Cristo, and many more books that his son, Alexandre Dumas, wrote. He definitely looked the part of a sexyman, as he son recounts in his memoirs: "My father, as already stated, was twenty-four, and as handsome a young fellow as could be found anywhere. His complexion was dark, his eyes of a rich chestnut colour […]. His teeth were white, his lips mobile, his neck well set on his powerful shoulders, and, in spite of his height of five feet nine inches, he had the hands and feet of a woman. These feet were the envy of his mistresses, whose shoes he was very rarely able to put on." He could crush you between his thighs: "His free colonial life had developed his strength and prowess to an extraordinary degree; he was a veritable American horse-lad, a cowboy. His skill with gun or pistol was the envy of St. Georges and Junot. And his muscular strength became a proverb in the army. More than once he amused himself in the riding-school by passing under a beam, and lifting his horse between his legs." He was so badass he could beat 13 men with 4 and take all the enemy prisoner, and defend against hundreds of men on a bridge by himself. He performed these acts of valour numerous times in Italy. He was so formidable that the Austrians named him the "Schwartz Teufel", or the Black Devil, and his feat at the bridge earned him the moniker of "Horatius Cocles of Tyrol". He wasn't afraid to stand up to his morals and protest against unfair treatment. When unjust executions by the guillotine were happening outside his quarters, he closed the blinds of his curtains, earning him the nickname "Mr. Humanity". When in the Vendée, he complained about the wanton indiscipline in his troops. When in Italy, Berthier wrongly reported his actions as one of "observation" in St. Antonio. Dumas wrote to General Bonaparte that if Berthier was in the same position, he would have shit his pants. Dumas abhorred plunder, never exhorted the locals, and ordered the Directory agent who had come to persuade him otherwise be shot if he dared present himself to Dumas again. Integrity and a sense of moral justice is sexy, mark my words. For Dumas' final qualifier as a sexyman, look no further than this Tumblr heritage post (https://www.tumblr.com/petermorwood/133803437020/hortensevanuppity-elodieunderglass), with 300,000 notes and counting. And I quote: "- daddy general dumas was an immense fierce french warrior who was a 6 foot plus, stunningly gorgeous and charismatic Black gentleman - he invaded egypt - the native egyptians said “is this napoleon? this must be napoleon. we for one welcome our majestic new overlord” - then napoleon showed up - napoleon has all the presence of yesterday’s plain Tesco hummus - the native egyptians were like “… no… no, we’ve thought very hard and we’ll have General Dumas actually” - this did not make napoleon happy - in fact it made him jealous - napoleon felt so emasculated that he launched a campaign of revenge against General Dumas, including taking away his pension, that probably inspired a lot of Alexandre’s rather satisfying scenes in which fathers are nobly avenged and the money-grubbing villains are rubbed in the mud" I rest my case. Tl;dr: He was so hot he inspired multiple books, he was a stronk man who could crush you between his thighs or carry you like a sack of potatoes, and he was so badass that he could take on odds of 1 to 3. He had a foul mouth but a heart of gold and his actions were never self-serving. Posts relating to him on Tumblr have had 300,000 notes and counting. He is qualitatively and quantitatively qualified to be a sexyman.”

[aloysiavirgata]

Skinner POV on post-S5 MSR. I trust this to no hands but yours, empress.

It was in Baltimore. Kidnapping victim, some Congressman’s girlfriend dredged from the Harbor and up they all went, silent and shifty in a big Bureau Suburban.

***

He’s been touching Scully obscenely for years, Mulder has, but what’s always shocked Skinner is that Scully lets him. Her femme-fatale looks and her clear willingness to pistol whip the disrespectful have left him a bit at sea with her tolerance for Mulder’s wayward hands and gazes.

Mulder, like a half-trained Weimaraner. Mulder endlessly sprawling and sniffing and hunting and brilliant and exhausting.

Scully, like a tortoiseshell cat. Scully with half-lidded topaz eyes and eternal, quiet patience.

***

They’re dockside at the USS Constellation, Scully squinting with her hand curved along her brow. Mulder’s obnoxious black Burberry trench flapping like some kind of bespoke fruit bat. Mulder’s rich-kid arrogance.

Scully crouches over the weighted net the girl was wrapped in. There’s a clump of hair snarled in the mesh; it has been cut away to release the body. The girl floats upwards like a mermaid in a nightmare, crab-gnawed and a marbled green.

Mulder wrinkles his nose.

Scully’s hair more stylish now, Scully’s suits trimmer and her blouses more fitted. Everything about her is sleeker and shinier and more polished. She is beautiful, astonishingly beautiful, and it startles him sometimes that she should choose such a small life. That she should choose Mulder, frankly.

Mulder kneels beside her like a dark guardian angel. He skims a hand over her head nearly too fast to see. He thumbs her scrimshaw clavicles, her fine jaw.

Skinner knows, in an abstract sense, that Mulder is beautiful too; that Scully is justified. He still, in his deepest heart, does not feel that Mulder is justified.

He’d traded himself for her life that once because he was a Marine, because she is a rare creature, because he and Mulder had made her thus. Because, on more than one lonely night, he’d flashed on her white throat and bee-stung mouth behind his clenched lids.

Shamed, looks away from them, into the west.

***

He’s in love with Scully in a chivalric way. He’d lay his coat over a mud puddle for her ridiculous shoes. He’d challenge someone to a duel for her honor. But he couldn’t do what Mulder does; he couldn’t love her properly while she weeps and bleeds and dies of a thousand tiny cuts.

Couldn’t bury her daughter and keep sane.

Scully sighs, thumbs half a Subway bag from the corpse’s melting face.

***

The ME’s office at Penn and Pratt, because rank beats jurisdiction, because Skinner commandeered the decomp room when Scully asked. Scully’s regal face like the prow of that ship, Scully’s hair like Diogenes’s lantern.

Her hands like pale garden spiders moving lightly over the body, her steady voice speaking as he and Mulder watched and listened.

The girl was pregnant. Of course she was pregnant, of course she -

Mulder’s hand at Scully’s Bettie Page waist, somehow sinuous even in those boxy scrubs. Scully flinches, breathes, proceeds.

Scully dying, hypovolemic, hating him. Scully translucent as the votive candles she surely lights in her dark church, pale and flickering and full of temporary light.

Skinner looks upwards, at the cheap paneled ceiling, at the bad fluorescent light. He looks at the way Mulder’s hand is spread across her back with only support and not an ounce of possessiveness. He realizes, then, that it has never occurred to Mulder that Scully could belong to anyone else.

[ilovetoxicfictionalmen]

RUNAWAY FROM ME - CHAPTER 1

Pairing - Tommy Shelbly x oc

Summary - Deirdre ran from her life of misery for her own safety. However, she managed to run back into the arms of an angel she once knew, now known as The Peaky Blinder Devil. In which he has no intentions of letting her run away from him again.

Warnings - Dark content, noncon, dub con, explicit themes, lovers to enemies to lovers, slow burn kinda, Tommy needs a hug.

Word count - 5.2k+

Notes - First chapter complete woohoo. Thoughts highly appreciated. And let me know if I should make a tag list.

CHAPTER 1

Arrow House, Warwickshire - Morning, July 23rd 1924

She was in his dreams. Or as he believed to be nightmares. Teasing him of her immaculate beauty that he so desperately longed to forget. In Tommy’s visions, he was running after her, chasing her like his life depended on it. But she was running in slow motion, the way that her silk brunette hair bounced in line with her steps. But Tommy could feel his heart pound in his chest, his throat dry as he was panting after her. So desperately trying to catch up to her. Right when he’d think he’d finally catch her, the light would shine brightly and she’d disappear. 

Every morning, Tommy woke up alone. He laid there, only for a few minutes reflecting on his inner demons conjured in his sleep. Every morning, he woke to the torturous hardness in his lower region. However, he refused to touch himself, refused to pleasure himself in the memory of her. 

It all started in the hospital. Tommy thought he was dead. All because he saw her charm, the sight that he had longed for, even after all of these years. She looked like an angel, her luscious hair rested on her shoulders as her light brown eyes blinked to him. His body missed her, but his mind, oh how it still despised her. That’s how he knew he wasn’t dead. Because he didn’t feel that warmth to see her again, to think of her. 

Somehow, she pushed him through his recovery. This urge to want to heal so he could finally take the journey to find her. In his hallucinations, he was back in the tunnels, face covered in dirt and smoke as he was crawling in hopes to finally reach her. Tommy heard her call his name down the hole. As if she needed him to save her. In his sleep, he called her name over and over again. “Deirdre…” It left him a desperate man who took morphine to numb his thoughts rather than his physical trauma. 

Tommy sat on the edge of his king size bed, his fingernails ran through his scalp, brushing over his healing stitches as he mumbled to himself, shaking his head lightly. He stood up and looked out the window, across the greenery of his estate. 

His wife had been shot. She took a fucking bullet for him. Tommy was still grieving, everyone knew so but wouldn’t dare to speak a word to him. There was no one else Tommy blamed but himself, his lifestyle killed a good woman, the mother to his only child. A woman that made him feel like a better person. Somebody that made him forget of his past affection, which was a dagger dug deep into his back. 

And how was he mourning her now? By getting fucking hard by his vex. By the woman that broke him, changed him into a monster that many now fear. She destroyed his happiness, and now he wished to never feel such emotion again. The woman that was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. She was the only person that Tommy showed his complete vulnerability to, he gave her all that he had, and how did she fucking repay him? Everytime he thought of her, it urged his desires to make her atone for her failures to honor him. 

Tommy changed into his suit and headed downstairs into his office as he slid his pistol into his holster. Polly was sitting by his desk, a cup of hot tea in hand as she turned her head to him. 

“Polly, what brings you here?” Tommy asked as he reached his desk for some forms in the draw. 

“Just checking up on you Tommy” she replied, a content look on her face.   

Tommy hummed with a nod as he stood behind his desk. He debated if he should tell Polly of his dreams, wondering if she’d be able to help him. But the thought of mentioning her name again, after all of these years lit the cold hearth in his body. 

Polly gave him a knowing look and Tommy couldn’t help but to mentally grin. He slid the papers inside of his pocket. 

“I’m dreaming of the past Polly” Tommy disclosed emotionlessly. 

A raise of the eyebrow. “Which past?”

His stern expression didn’t flinch at her act. “You know what I’m speaking of” Tommy responded as he lit himself a cigarette. 

“Yes, I do” Polly confessed. 

“Well?” 

“She’s always been by your side Tommy, even though you turn your head from her. Keep your ears blocked from her cries” Polly sighed, looking hopeful in his doubts. 

“Because she so ever deserves my help” Tommy empathized, shaking his head. “She distracts me. Weakens me in my most vulnerable state. Why Pol?” Tommy asked, leaning towards her, his hands on his hips. 

Why did she come back to haunt him so menacfully now? After all of this time, why did she choose to torment him when he has so much on the line? For his business, his family, his future, his son. A part of Tommy hoped that she was dead. But feared that he would never be satisfied if he couldn’t find her. 

“Perhaps she needs you” Polly suggested, a slight shrug of the shoulders. The thought of Tommy doing such an act angered him.

“Fucking-” Tommy muttered, shaking his head at the thought of her.

“Where are you going?” She inquired. 

“To London. My brothers and I feel an urge to celebrate my recovery. It is our last night of freedom before we bury ourselves into this job” Tommy explained as he walked out of the room. “And tell her to get out of my fucking head!” Tommy shouted, shaking his head at the thought of her. 

“Perhaps you’ll be able to say it to her yourself” Polly mumbled to herself, sipping on her tea as she listened to the voices in her head. 

Oh how he hated her, the woman that he loved, but never actually knew. The one that split his soul in half. 

But after this last job, the security of a new life. Tommy would finally look for her, he would get her with the catchpole no matter where she was, no matter who she was. It was time for Tommy to kill his repressions which his last ounce of humanity discouraged himself from doing. 

Kensington, London - Almost midnight, July 22rd 1924 

Unphased, that’s how Deirdre looked in the backseat of the cab even though her thoughts were screaming. Her fingers played with each other as she noticed the driver looking at her through the mirror. Almost there, just a few more minutes, a couple more streets to turn down. All of the streets were dark and empty, Deirdre’s tired eyes blinked as the car rolled up to the address. She quickly paid the fee and exited the vehicle, the street lamp lit by the familiar berkshire bricked Edwardian house. 

It was late, too late for visitors but Deirdre felt too on edge to book a room. She didn’t know where could be trusted anymore, where was safe, her face was recognised in the high ends and targeted in the low. Deirdre held onto her small luggage bag in one hand and brushed back her silky brunette hair with the other. 

Deirdre was on the run, again. She had lost track of how many times she’s done it now. But she knew that this time, there was no mercy if she was caught. There was no forgiveness if she dared to go back to beg for it. The acts she had committed would result in nothing but a brutal death. Not even her father would excuse her behavior. She needed to be free, far away from the British lands. Deirdre dreamt of the sun and warmth in California. It could be a fresh start, a new life, the welcoming of peace and freedom.  

It wasn’t a guaranteed welcome when she rang the doorbell. It had been a few years since their eventful last encounter. They could have easily relocated somewhere else. But Deirdre had no other safe haven. The front porch returned to silence as Deirdre waited patiently. She saw the hallway light bright up through bay box sash windows. 

The door creaked open, Emily’s green eyes poked through the crack of the door. Deirdre sighed out and dropped her head in relief. The door opened wide as Emily looked her up and down, dressed up in her night robe and her blonde hair tied up into a bun. It took a moment for Emily to recognise her. 

“Deirdre! Why- What?” Emily was lost for words as she pulled her inside, safe from the chilly air.

Deirdre dropped her luggage onto the ground and embraced her intensely. The first sign of care that she had gotten in the past few months. As she blinked back her tears, Deirdre shuddered against her friend. But quickly straightened her posture and plastered a mask on her face. 

“Come, come. Sit down, I will make us some tea” Emily ordered politely. 

Deirdre was led into the reception room and Emily helped her slip off her overcoat and hung it on the hook. Her eyes looked around the room, Deirdre couldn’t help but to feel slightly envious of the family portraits on the wall. However, this silence was tranquil. 

Deidre sat on the two seater couch with her legs crossed over as she anxiously patted her hair. She adjusted her cream corsetless dress and tugged down at her sleeves. Emily walked over with tea, a small hopeful smile on her lips as she poured the boiling liquid into her aynsley teacup. Deirdre looked out the window, the moonlight shone through the sheers. 

“It’s been forever” Emily acknowledged as she poured the tea into her own teacup.

“It has” Deirdre replied politely, her southern Irish accent still as strong as Emily remembered. 

They spoke quietly, Emily’s young children were asleep in the other rooms. But also because Deirdre felt on edge that there were ears in the walls. 

“A part of me never expected to see you here again” Emily hesitantly admitted, her eyebrows jumping at the memory of the last time she saw her.

“Yes, I certainly thought the same” Deirdre retorted as she sipped on her tea.

There was a silence as Emily waited for Deirdre to spill her guts. But Deirdre was holding back, because if she cracked, the great deal of her despair would crash down her masquerade.   

“I apologize for arriving so late, and without notice. Is Max home?” Deirdre raised an eyebrow. 

“Work in Germany” Emily nodded. “There is no need to apologize, I promised you a safe spot and I’m glad that you’re here” she assured gently.  “Will you be staying for long?” Emily asked.

No she will not be. Deirdre needed to be far from London as soon as she could. Her husband never knew the depths of their friendship, the arrogant bastard hardly remembered her name, but if he was to become suspicious of her whereabouts, Deirdre needed to be gone without a trace. 

“Just for the night” Deirdre promised. “I merely needed some advice” she nodded. 

“Which is?” Emily asked nervously.   

“I need to do something, in order to free myself from this life. I could only gather so much on such short notice. All I know is how to run with nothing and it’s always gotten me caught. I need to figure out a way to get ahead” Deirdre explained, the steam of the tea warmed her cold lips. 

Emily hummed and set her tea down on the table. She was an honest woman, who married an honest man and they lived an honest life. However, Emily wasn’t always honest, she was clever in her acts, a true damsel in distress when needed be. 

Deirdre sighed heavily and blinked her weary eyes. “I’m tired Emily, so, so tired. I cannot rest, I cannot live. My body can only take so much. If my life of burden is not taken by another, I fear I will do it myself” Deirdre promised, her expression dry of humor. 

“I can-”

“No” Deirdre cut her off, her hand raised in warning. 

“Max would have-”

“No” Deirdre reinforced. “Being here already makes me feel guilty and nervous enough. I need to be gone within the next day. He will be coming for me if he is already not” Deirdre elucidated, her expression stern but her eyes showed how terrified she truly was. 

Emily sighed and batted her lashes. 

“Eden Club, no Scots or Irish are ever seen there. Most are rich, harmless travelers from America” Emily recommended. “Many are easily charmed by the native beauty” she added. 

“Who owns it?” Deirdre asked cautiously. 

“Ah-” Emily wondered, her fingers tapping on her chin. “Some Italian gangster, Sabini I recall” Emily confirmed, remembering the sight of the man on her spontaneous night a few years ago. “I will be able to get you some powder in the morning” Emily said. “Just be cautious who you choose” she raised her finger to her. Deirdre hummed and finished her tea. 

Shortly after, Emily led her to the guest bedroom and bidded her goodnight. As she stripped to change into her nightwear, Deirdre stared at the large bruise across her outer right thigh through the mirror. Accompanied by the many scars and small bruises all over her small fragile body. 

She crawled into the bed, her body immediately falling asleep but her eyes stayed awake. Her ears could hear the clock’s hands tick on the wall and her heart thud in her chest. All whilst she stared at the door, awaiting for someone to open it. 

When Deirdre finally drifted off into an uneasy sleep, she saw her brute of a husband chasing after her. She was running across an open field, but he was hot on her tail. Deirdre’s heart was in her throat as she heard his brutal voice call out to her, to summon her back to him. But Deirdre wouldn’t stop, she couldn’t stop. Refused to submit to him ever again. 

As she tripped on the ground, her body was flipped over and her eyes widened at the sight of him. Where did he come from? The warmth on his cheeks still looked the same after all of this time. A lopsided smile on his lips accompanied by his crinkles around those ocean blue eyes. 

His face was angelic, but she felt his claws dig into her shoulders. She squirmed underneath him, cried out for anyone to save her, but he was dragging her down the grass which had turned into the dirt roads of Small Heath by her ankles. Her body twisted over, her hands digging into the gravel, crying for salvation, for mercy. But she knew that she had to pay for her crimes against him. 

When Deirdre woke up from her nightmare, her body shot up as she was panting for air. She had forgotten about the man that she once loved. Yes, she heard his name at times in conversation, but they lived in different worlds. She always knew she was safe from ever crossing paths with him, her family would never dare to do business with him, nor go against him. 

The last she heard was his wife taking a bullet for him, her husband laughed and asked her if she’d do the same for him. But if she had the choice, she’d be the one to fire the gun at him, her dear husband. 

But to dream of him, after all of these years. Tonight of all nights. He was a changed man, ruthless, heartless, barbaric. It made Deirdre feel sick to her stomach, she ran to the ensuite and threw up in the toilet. As she flushed the toilet and washed out her mouth in the bassinet, Deirdre plodded back to the bed and laid stiffly. 

He was planted in her thoughts now, she needed to get out of London. Fearing that another wolf had picked up her scent and was ready to catch her like she was the helpless lamb in the field.  

Soho, London - Evening, July 23rd 1924

Tommy saw her stand on the straight wide road. The beaming sun warmed his pale skin as he studied her. He walked to her slowly, her back towards him as she wore a white dress. It was quiet, he felt the wind blow gently and heard his calm breathing. 

As he stood directly behind her, his hands brushed over her shoulder, up to the back of her neck. Tommy gently pushed her soft hair to the side as he pressed his mouth to her ear. He heard her breathe out, her body relaxed back up against his as he wrapped his arms around her. 

“Tommy…” she whispered. 

Tommy woke from his light sleep when Arthur and John bursted into the hotel room, bottles of expensive champagne in their hands and foul words dripping from their lips. There was a confident smirk on his lips, he sat up on the made bed and brushed over his suit, still fully dressed. They were pulling out the champagne glasses and popping open the bottles. 

Without a word, he headed into the bathroom and closed the door behind him. Tommy stared at himself in the mirror, his blue eyes wide and jaw stern. Arthur and John could be heard clearly, drinking piss and smelling snow, ready for their big night. 

“I feel you with me” Tommy breathed out slowly, his eyes shut. “Oh, how fate wants us together again. It demands you pay for your crimes against me” He sighed softly. “And I’d be a fool if I showed you leniency” he swore. 

Arthur banged his hands on the door. With a heavy blink, Tommy opened the door and gladly accepted the glass in hand. Through one gulp, the glass was empty. The brothers cheered Tommy on and quickly refilled his glass. 

They were oblivious to the thoughts that dripped out of Tommy’s mind. No one ever really knew what he was thinking of. He was an enigma, so difficult to analyze, purely emotionlessly at many critical times. Everyone always thought that Tommy never really cared about anything anymore, since the war, except for his business. 

Arthur wrapped his slender arms around his brothers and pulled them in close. “One last night as brothers, eh John? Eh Tom?” Arthur asked, a gleeful smile on his lips. 

“Of course brother” John nodded in content. 

“I feel this night will be one to remember” Tommy acknowledged and looked to his brothers dramatically.

"What is it Tommy?" John frowned with Arthur's expression following.

Tommy breathed deeply and nodded his head. "I've been dreaming of the past, and I dreamt of a wide straight road with the woman of my past standing right in middle of it. I feel her with me, she calls my name on this night" Tommy confessed.   

Eden Club, Soho - Night, 23rd July 1924

One drink, two, three, four? Deirdre lost count on how many drinks she allowed this American lawyer to purchase her. The plan was to get him knocked out, not her. She needed to slow herself down, the eagerness to rob him blind had her high on alderline. The thrill of breaking free, running away for good was too much for her mind, emotions and body to handle. 

She had been throwing up all day. Every second she wasted brought her husband a step closer to her. The powder was hidden in her purse and Emily was correct. It wasn’t hard to seduce an American. Jack was assertive, clearly up himself. He had daddy's money to lean on anyways, he had security. She did not. 

It was hard to hear any form of conversation over the jazz music echoing around the walls. As her eyes darted around, she saw everyone was either intoxicated or high on the sweet melodies. Nobody was watching her, Emily was right, she was safe. 

Deirdre’s fingers traced around the rim of the martini glass as the melodies calmed her nerves. The conversation Jack made was muffled, Deirdre’s mind miles away from reality. His hand brushed through his blonde hair as his eyes undressed her. 

Deirdre truly was a sight for sore eyes. If she was on the streets, people would stare. That did not please her husband. The many that knew of his nature, forced themselves to look away. Hearing the many tales of what happened if he felt a slight bit of jealousy. A need to ensure ownership over her.  

The navy silk v neck dress curved her petite body perfectly. A parting gift from Emily, a token of good fortune. Only time would tell if Deirdre still had it in her. If her confidence had not been completely broken. She felt the pearl necklace, she'd sell it as soon as she was free.

Jack leant over to her, a seductive look in his dark brown eyes. She could smell the alcohol on his breath and it made her feel nauseous. “Later, I want to bring you back to my suite, and fuck you all night” he confessed, a confident smirk on his lips. 

Drunken men were always foul. Focused on the outside of a woman and did not care to know who she was. He hadn’t asked a single question about her all night. But that made it easier for her, faded her upcoming guilt.   “Jack my darling, you haven’t even asked me for a dance yet” Deirdre teased with a toothy grin.

“Oh, there will be plenty of dances, Cassidy” he promised, his arm snaking around her back. 

A simple alias just for Deirdre’s comfort. Deirdre chuckled as she watched him finish his glass, she needed him to only have a couple more. Then she’d politely accept his invitation over, suggest one finally drink and slip in the powder. It would all be over before midnight. She’d catch the overnight train to Liverpool and board the boat to America by the end of tomorrow. 

The band came to a sudden stop, the audience’s heads turned towards the three men that strode through the dining. All three of them wore peaked caps with large overcoats as they walked tall. They approached the stage and Deirdre couldn’t help but to feel her heart thud harder in her chest as this suspicious tingle crawled over her skin with her light brown eyes glued onto the men that felt too familiar. Deirdre’s heart froze when the man in front came to clear sight as he took off his cap, revealing his harsh undercut styled brunette hair.  

Thomas Shelby. 

Her face went numb when his pale hands wrapped around the microphone, ears clogged as his words fell deaf yet she remembered the sound of his deep, captivating voice perfectly. The two other men, which she quickly recognised to be his brothers, Arthur and John, stood with their chests puffed out, arms locked across shoulders and stern expressions. 

Deirdre’s heart pounded in her chest like a wild animal desperate to escape its cage. Even though her head was frozen in line to his speech, her eyes were darting around, already planning her escape. The room was full, surely his blue eyes would not be able to point her out in the depths of the occupied round tables. Let alone recognise her after all of these years. 

How could she have been so foolish? The massive city of London had never felt smaller than tonight. She had heard his name many times and every time it felt like a stab in the heart. He had made a name for himself, built an empire in that fire and brimstone city. Just like he always said he would. Her father and dear husband already hated him, gypsy bastard. Every day she prayed for their obliviousness to her heavy past with him.

It felt like her soul was pulled out of her body when his blue eyes landed on her. His mouth fell ajar open as his long lashes batted, head gently tilting to the left as he acknowledged her, remembering her thoroughly. The brothers noticed his pause and looked towards her as well, she couldn’t help but to cower slightly. The rest of the room was oblivious to the stare off between him and her. 

“And now, shall we dance?” He suggested it in a slow and challenging manner. One hand snapped to que towards the band and the other gestured towards his brothers.  

The sounds of jazz roared against the walls as everyone abruptly stood up. A deer caught in headlights, that’s how Deirdre felt at first. As she watched him walk down the stage, his eyes still on her. The brothers were already out of her sight. 

She snapped back to reality when Jack’s fingers traced over her bare shoulder. Deidre gulped hard as she quickly stood up, nervously brushing through her dark loose brunette hair. 

“Sorry, I, I suddenly don't feel too well” Deirdre admitted, which was actually a lie, but the implication went in the opposite direction. 

“Nonsense! I haven’t even gotten a single dance with you yet” Jack acclaimed with a charming smirk, his arm wrapped around her shoulder. 

Her eyes shot towards the stage, he’s gone. 

“I’m so sorry, I really must go” Deidre quickly spoke, her voice trembling as she yanked herself out of his grasp. 

She heard him rebut, however she was already heading straight towards the large doors as she zigzagged through the crowd. Unfortunately, her poorly planned escape route had quickly soiled, she spotted Arthur and John standing on opposite sides of the exit. They were always loyal pawns in his game. There was a pause in her movements as her eyes shot around, her body covered in pins and needles. 

She’d escape through the workers quarters. But as she turned in a hasty measure, her small body smacked into another. The arms that she had felt years before wrapped around her possessively as he steadied her stance. There was no doubt who it was, no hope for it to be another. 

“My dearest Deirdre, my sight has declined; however, my eyes will never fail to spot your beauty. May I have this dance?” Tommy asked with a stern expression but soft voice, head tilted down towards her as she kept her eyes on the floor. 

The coat he wore was gone, and she could easily feel his muscular frame hidden underneath the button up shirt, not to mention the pistol in his holster. His cold hand lifted her chin and their eyes locked. As she blinked slowly, her eyes glistering, she bit on her tongue. Tommy waited patiently for her next move. 

Show no fear. 

“If I knew that the Eden Club was in your possession I would have steered clear. We can pretend that you never saw me” Deidre negotiated confidently but her front failed when her body shook against his. 

Tommy laughed loudly as his arm around her waist tightened in a proprietorial manner. 

“Unfortunately we have unfinished business, you and I” Tommy replied coldly. 

“Please, surely you haven't held onto those emotions for all of these years” Deirdre chuckled presumptuously as she tried to push their bodies apart without gaining attention.   

Tommy grunted at her words and dragged her to the dance floor, his fingers dug into her upper arms. Surely he wouldn’t make a scene here. But then she’s heard many tales of him, the beast that he had become when he returned from the war.

“You’re in a considerable debt with me, my love. One that you thought would fade if you merely ran” Tommy growled. 

“I can get you your money” she winced at the sharp pain, not like it would even mean anything to him with how much his businesses bring in these days. When they passed through the crowded floor, she realized that he was leading her out of the lounge. 

“If you think your debt is based around money, are you still that naive girl from all of those years ago, eh?” Tommy smirked as he kicked open the double doors which led them into the kitchen. 

It was now or never. Deirdre shoved him away with full force and scrambled through the busy kitchen as she nearly fell over in her heels as she broke free. All eyes were on them but no one dared to move a finger in the wrong direction. As she roughly pushed past everyone, she tried to remain calm. 

Tommy grinned at the girl who loved to run. This night had taken an unexpected turn indeed for the both of them, her heart was pounding immensely as she panted in her heels. The first door she took led her to a hallway, the open exit to the streets on her right was blocked by two working men. Cigarettes in their lips as they watched her intimately, she bolted to the left. 

The next door she took, she didn’t consider analyzing, she locked herself in the small dark room which appeared to be an office. The moonlight shined through the sash window which she yanked up and looked down to the small drop, survivable but not without two broken heels. As Deidre laid her hands on the windowsill, her head snapped back as she heard the door unlock from the other side. There was no other option besides hiding. Deirdre found herself hidden underneath the wooden Lombardo desk. It was human instinct to cower, pray that she’d be able to run from her past demons.

The weighty door creaked open, and she heard his heavy footsteps on the carpet. Tommy pulled out a cigarette, the end of the stick brushed in between his lips as he lit it. “Oh Deirdre, my dearest” Tommy spoke loudly, his tone dripping of sarcasm, which made her stomach feel like a bottomless pit. He slammed the door shut behind him. “Why do you run? Why do you hide? From me of all people? You seemed to have forgotten the vows you swore your life on. The promises which are still owed to me. You ignorantly believed that fate would keep us apart? Oh but haven’t you heard the tales of the Peaky Blinder Devil?” Tommy spoke, his footsteps slowly approached her. 

The thuds in her chest were painful, her throat felt like the cold air around her was strangling her. He could hear her heavy breathing and chuckled silently. The Colt M1911 is pulled from his holster and he ensured that she heard the safety click off. 

“Once upon a time there was a boy. Who foolishly fell for a girl with a secretive past. They created a life as one. He protected her from the pure evils in this cruel world and how did she repay him? She robbed him blind. She ran from the boy that she loved and turned his soul black. She created the Devil of Birmingham. And tonight, the runaway has tripped over her bad deeds” Tommy teased as he leisurely approached her. 

With a turn of the corner of the desk, Tommy raised his pistol and pointed it at her forehead. Deirdre looked up to him with doe eyes and gulped down her nerves. “And now, you will repay your debts” Tommy ordered with a gentle nod. 

“I will do no such thing” she refused, her words sizzling in anger. 

Tommy knelt down to her level, his pistol pressed against her temple. Deirdre breathed out but didn’t fear, she’s been pushed and shoved too many times before to know when there was an actual threat on her life. 

“Yes you will. Because you’re still my property, my dear wife” Tommy smirked.

CHAPTER 2

[preseriesdean]

for @spnficrecfest day seven: outsider pov 🧡

JOHN POV

Like Arrows in the Hands of a Warrior by ADeedWithoutaName 10.3k words, rated M, published 2018, underage John Winchester loves his boys, and would take a bullet for either of them. He knows that he's doing it right, the way he's raising them, the things he's teaching them. Not every problem, however, has an easy answer. Like what to do after an incubus case in which their target got his pollen all over both of John's sons.

Flagstaff by Linden 7.3k words, rated T, published 2014 John tracked Sam down in Flagstaff, four days after he got home to find him gone.

Generosity by astolat 1.7k words, rated E, published 2007 John had traded the gun; he'd have traded away more, and he was still feeling the cold dread of the moment when the demon had cocked its head like a pistol and said, "You know, I'm feeling generous today," because if it hadn't taken more, that was only because it figured what was in store was going to be worse.

lost in yesterday by margaryes / @christsam 1k words, not rated, published 2023 John hasn’t seen his youngest son in 18 months.

half the man i used to be by dollylux 2.2k words, rated M, published 2016 John has a gradual, horrifying realization.

Mary's Angels by FrancesHouseman 3.1k words, rated G, published 2016 There's one more silver bullet in the chamber; one last shot at the sikutor, the ice siren that has Dean in thrall. John takes aim, and misses.

OTHERS POV

Buy You a Mockingbird by candle_beck (a.k.a. thee outsider pov fic of all time no contest) 10.3k words, rated M, published 2011, author chose not to warn A genuine horror story.

Multitude of Sins by Linden 4.4k words, rated T, published 2015 Every now and again, Jim Murphy would look up from his altar and find the Winchester boys at the back of his church.

All Heartless Spectres, Happiness 5.7k words, rated E, published 2021, soulless!sam Lisa Braeden receives an email with the subject line, "You Deserve to Know." It contains a single video file and nothing else.

I'll take my chance on a beautiful stranger by fleshflutter 3.9k words, rated M, published 2007 If Chase were a better friend, he might try to end the game now, before Brendan loses even more money. But if Brendan is a dick at Stanford, it’s nothing compared to how he is on break.

Other Brothers by homo_pink 7k words, rated M, published 2020, underage A callow boy can go from infancy to someone’s lover in the space of two wildflower summers.

Try asking by @goshen-applecrumbledore 7.4k words, rated T, published 2022 “Jerry says he saw them going at it in the back of that car of theirs outside Atlanta last year, I swear to God.” “Listen, man, I don’t like them either, but that’s a low blow. Jerry’s a fucking pervert.”

charmer & gentle by Askance 3.7k words, rated G, published 2015 The afternoon girl calls them Big and Tall, the strangers who come in late every now and then, buying this or that. The night girl doesn't think those names fit quite right.

Happy Wife, Happy Life by petrichorsam pre-slash, 7.1k words, rated T, published 2023 The hunters at Johnny's Roadhouse have heard enough tales about Dean Winchester's wife, Sam, to fill a book, and yet no one has ever seen her.

[sol-consort]

Hello commander, I return with the ask for some crumbs of Thane in citadel dlc ideas/headcannons if he'd been there (he would've been perfect. Wouldn't he have just been perfect to join in the citadel dlc mission? I think he would've been perfect) Admiral anon out 🫡

Thane deserved to see that party and deserved the spotlights when it came to saving Shepard's ass. Who is better than a literal assassin to track you down from the shadows and swoop in all badass to make sure his siha is safe and sound. He would've been adorable at the casino, all shy and unsure under the spotlights. I love you Anon. I will name my firstborn after you.

[Fluff, romance, established relationships, Citidal DLC mission/party]

[Reader is Shepard, Gender neutral - NB!reader]

Citadel Wards: Ambush

"Siha, I came as soon as I could. Are you alright?"

Breaking out of his hospital stay mid checkup wasn't hard at all, especially after he caught hint of the fact you might be in danger. All alone with only a pistol against hundreds of enemies.

Thane was on a mission as he headed your way, heart racing, praying for the gods to protect you.

He knows you're more than capable, but he really wishes you didn't have to suffer through failed assassination attempts.

And a rather clumsy one at that too. Thane almost feels insulted.

But you're safe and he's not leaving your side anytime soon. He already left a message for Kolyat not to worry him while driving the shuttle he hijacked to your location.

It almost feels good to have a chance to pull all of his tricks again after such a long stay in the hospital with nothing to do.

In the scene where you meet him, his features visibly soften up when he looks at you. For a second, you could see the worry in his eyes. Contempt at his condition for not allowing him to be more of help to you.

"I've only a few loves left, and you are my last. Let me do what I can for you."

His hands lift up for a second before he reluctantly lets them down, clearly going for a hug hesitating and changing his mind.

You get a paragon interrupt to hug him, feel him melt against you. How long has it been since your last visit to him? Busy with preparing for the war and all, he was very understandable and content with the little time you offered him.

But now, oh you're finally here in his arms.

"I've missed you more, more than words could convey."

The hug is bittersweet, full of longing and untold fears.

You lost yourself in the war and the preparation for it, you almost forgot who you were fighting for in the first place.

The person who lost himself in you.

Thane always imagined his end to come first, for his story to end while your legend is still being written.

And he accepted it long ago, bitterly like any other pill he had to swallow.

It was just a fact of life.

All he could do was make sure he didn't leave any regrets behind.

But the idea of your life ending before him? Of the angel who guided him through a suicide mission and ensured everyone's survival to simply fall prey to some no-name assassins?

It filled him with burning rage for your enemies. Emotions he thought had died down since he gave up his previous job.

The same fire which consumed him back when he saw Kai Leng pointing a gun at you—overwhelmed his senses, twice as intense.

It's one thing for you to face soldiers nearly your equal on the battlefield.

It's another for some assassin to come and think they can best you while your guard is down during shore leave.

You were always fair in war. Assassins never are, he should know.

Gaining leverage no matter the cost.

Using every trick in the book to avoid a fight and get the upper hand before you realise they were there.

He memorised all the steps; a lifetime to perfect this song and dance of death.

Thane swore to himself not to let a single one of them reach you as long as he could still lift a gun.

Or simply weild a knife. Both were just as deadly in his grasp.

And now, standing with his arms wrapped around you so tightly, he almost feels ashamed for failing you. For not protecting you like you've always watched over him.

He doesn't voice those feelings; he never wants to worry you.

The mere soothing touch of your fingers against his face is enough to put all of the voices in his head to rest.

But you can see it in his sad eyes. You can sense the guilt in the desperate hold against your waist.

You get a renegade interrupt to kiss him, hush all of his worries away.

Everything else can wait. You'd damn the whole world if it meant you got to comfort your beloved just a moment more no matter what dangers lurked close by.

Ever since the time you kissed him during your initial hospital visit, you've been dying for the chance to do it again.

Eventually, it has to come to an end as Brooks voice sounds from your omni-tool, asking if you're still there. Warning you about the enemies heading your way.

Thane clears his throat with a smile curling in the corners of his lips. Apologising for getting distracted.

He follows after you as you investigate the car shop, a newfound determination to his steps. Knowing he will follow your lead to the end of the galaxy if you asked.

Reaching the closed gates, your attention turns to the closed shut office where they trigger to unlock them must be.

Telling Thane to step back, you raise your gun without hesitation as you aim the glass windows.

"Siha, there is another way."

His hand covers your own, gently coaxing you into lowering the gun.

Kneeling down to be on the same level as the volus hiding behind the desk, Thane asks them if they could open the gates.

He's patient as the shaking volus considers his request before clicking the button to lift the gates.

When you meet his eyes, he doesn't look smug at all, instead he seems very thankful to you for granting him this mercy of not carrying the guilt of endangering an innocent life.

Especially after all the time he has spent repenting for his past mistakes. All the innocents he has ever put in danger.

You realise how much the man in front of you has changed in the past months. The times he spent praying for forgiveness for each life he has taken, turning his own life around to be a good model for his son.

You can't help but voice your thoughts, not so subtly praising him for following his wishes for a stable, honest life with action.

The determination it must have taken, all the effort and hard work.

He brightens at your words.

"I even started paying taxes for my investments."

Now those words, he does look smug about.

☆

Citadel: Identity Theft I

Back at the safety of your apartment, Thane can be found next to the piano. One hand behind his back, another resting atop the piano cover.

Staring out the wall windows, the ones adjacent to the main entrance.

He's doing a breathing exercise when you approach him, slowly inhaling, then exhaling, in and out, in, out.

If you express worry, he reassures you that he's fairing well.

"It's you who just escaped danger. I should be asking you that instead."

He mentions how beautiful the view outside is, how it's nothing compared to his own apartment in the citadel that's more on the modest side.

Maybe he can take you there to show you after this is done, over a dinner? Kolyat is a surprisingly excellent cook, and sharing a meal with the two of you would make Thane very happy.

When it's time to discuss the next step with Liara and the group, Thane can't be picked for the vents' mission because it's hard to breathe in such a tight space.

You remember how the first time you met him was when he crawled down out of a vent.

The grim realisation of how much his health has deteriorated since sinks on you like cold water.

He makes a remark on how this mission almost takes him back down memory lane.

Infiltrating casinos to look for a target is his bread and butter–well the drell equivalent to that.

☆

Silver Coast Casino: Infiltration

"I never thought I'd actually get the chance to dress up and walk you down an aisle during this lifetime...it's always been a wishful fantasy. You look wonderful, siha."

He's wearing a very stylish suit, light breathable material.

It has a deep-ocean like shimmer when the light hits the black fabric just at the correct angle.

A thin shirt underneath, pearly white and unbuttoned down his chest.

He said it's necessary to compensate for the lack of cutouts in the suit so his skin may breath better.

Yet your eyes can't help but wander to his cleavage, even more noticeable now than his usual clothes ever showed.

If Thane had noticed your gaze, he never made a comment about it.

But he straightened his posture more, chin lifted a tad bit higher as he walked by your side ever soelegantly

Maybe he did reveal in your attention to his body.

His arm was around your waist, holding you protectively as he brought you closer to him.

You tired to tell him to just leave his hand in his pocket and let you "cling" onto it instead.

That's how humans usually do it to show statues, appear dominate, all the necessary facade to fit in with the usually casino crowd.

But he was greatly displeased with the idea of having you holding him without him returning the gesture.

He doesn't want to wear you like an accessory.

He never understood the human concept of playing things cool or acting hard to get.

Why deny his feelings and pretend he isn't over the moon at the idea of being with you in here? Why pretend you're not the most beautiful angel he has ever seen?

You could do anything to him on that red carpet, and he wouldn't protest nor shy away.

Lifting his chin between your fingers.

Be it cupping his cheek tenderly.

Giving him a sensual kiss.

He would've even kissed your hand if you wordlessly extended it to him.

The cheering crowd made him feel a bit uneasy, he isn't used to being in the spotlights or under so much attention.

Sure he infiltrated casinos, but by blending in with the background or disguising himself as one of the staff.

You'd be surprised by how easily drell are dismissed by the other species, assuming he must be the gaurd of some prideful hanar nearby.

Yet the way you held yourself so confidently, smiling and waving like it was your birthright to be under so many sparkling lights. It made Thane admire your strength even more.

Finally getting inside the casino, Brooks made a comment on how it's a good thing you brought Thane since drell-human couples are practically unheard of.

This means people will focus on the two of you rather than any suspicious activities on her end.

All of his uneasiness and hesitation fizzled out the second the mission began. Taking his role seriously and doing the job that must be done.

As you went around mingling with the crowd, he seamlessly blended in the shadows and background.

Always keeping an eye on you and staying within earshot. He made it look so easy how much he evaded attention and acted natural in such a new environment.

That's professional assassins for you.

It did amuse him a lot when you ordered the weeping heart cocktail from the bartender.

Whenever you needed him to distract a gaurd, he'd approach them and say one of the followings

"Excuse me, but would it be possible to find a quiet room for me to pray in?"

"I accidentally dipped my fingers in someone's drink, and now they're stripping to swim in the fountain."

"I'm here on behalf of the Hanar entertainment association, and I need to file a complaint on the lack of proper hydrating nourishments for my employers."

"Someone bumped into me and dropped this wallet. Can you help me return it to them?" *after searching for a while. "Oh, my mistake, I just remembered it's my own wallet, I must have had too much to drink"

"I hope you don't find this weird, human, but how can you possibly manage with just two eyelids? Don't your eyes get very dry?"

"Are you from earth? I've been there recently. It's a very beautiful planet, I'm very sorry about the recent news. Did you have any family on earth? I see..would you like to tell me about them?"

"Do you have any children? Ah good. I have a son but he doesn't have any significant other yet, I was wondering if you have any advice regarding this subject and how i may subtly push him towards finding someone?"

He thought about faking a coughing attack to try and distract the gaurd, but he decided against it for the low chance you might get worried or panic.

Also he had terrible luck in every machine he tried.

He'd just end up losing time after time so he decided against it not to drain your money.

Part of him died inside when you kept insisting on touching the fountain.

He just stood by and didn't have the heart to tell you what's it actually used for.

If you inquire about his past missions that took place in a casino, he tells you that he usually blended in with the servants and not the guests.

Find a secluded spot then quietly take security down one after one and ensure they get swept up in the chaos not to notice him slip by them.

Finally reach his target and go for the neck. The quicker the better. He wasn't looking for a fight or a confrontation, swifly making them meet their end was ideal.

It was contractual work, he always put his emotions aside during these times.

alongside his morals.

That's why this mission feels so...different in comparison to the past.

He is here because he wants to he here, rather than out of any obligation.

And dare he say, he is enjoying being your pretend date while playing dress up a bit too much.

Is it even pretend when the two of you are already together? You argue.

he can't deny that, but he'd rather take you to a proper date one day.

The two of you had never been on one, after all. despite everything you went through together, even risking death by each other's side.

Life happened too much, and too fast.

There simply wasn't time to catch up with Thane in a cafe.

Mundane things were akin to a luxury in your respective lives.

Thane found himself genuinely enjoying the art hanged around the place, the lights and decorations.

But his absolute favourite was the dancing.

Seeing you let loose and freely move even for a little while made him focus on the moment, on the few lighthearted memories he got to make today.

No matter how awful you were at it.

Memories he will surly treasure, replay whenever his mind got too muddy and clouded by the inevitable.

He was thankful for the gods to allow him this small extension on his life.

This small kindness of having just a little more time with you.

The opportunity to witness this, experience it by your side.

To get and walk you down the aisle while you looked the most beautiful he has ever seen you.

Even if it was just play-pretend on a mission.

...and a red carpet rather than an actual wedding chapel.

For the way he held you and felt about you couldn't be more true.

After the two of you enter the office only to find your target already dead, Thane can't help but have this gut feeling that something feels off here.

When you check the computer for whatever files the assassin must have forgotten to erease, he realises how clumsy this assassination attempt is.

An amateur work at best... too rushed.

How unusual. The office was guarded the whole time, what possibly could've made them leave in a hurry?

Thane looked around, there weren't any escape routes. No nearby vents, no possible second exists.

He almost voices his thoughts to you, but Brooks steps in first and talks about how this is a dead end.

Something about her feels familiar.

Yet even with a perfect memory, Thane is sure he never heard of this name or seen her face before.

Which just puzzles him even more.

The bullet wound in the corpse's chest is still fresh.

This wasn't the work of an experienced assassin who wanted to leave no trace behind, but the work of soldier in a hurry.

☆

Citadel: Identity Theft II

Back at your apartment, Thane can be found in the same spot.

Talking to him lets you know that he informed Kolyat not to wait for him during dinner tonight, wishing him a goodnight and reassuring him that he's managing fine.

Clear endearment in his voice at how much the relationship between him and his son developed, how it feels nice to have someone waiting for you home at the end of the day.

The information revealed by EDI only makes Thane feel more uneasy.

He keeps searching his memory for anything he might have missed, any small detail that could've slipped him by.

Your comment about bringing everyone along with you on the mission makes him smile.

Your determination never fails to impress him as equally as it amuses him.

☆

Citadel Archives: Escape

If you didn't pick him up for your team, then he ends up joining team Mako instead of Hammerhead.

Mostly to balance things since a sniper is already in the other team.

He enjoys listening to the bickering but doesn't participate much.

Until Tali brings Thane up to dig at Garrus for being the inferior sniper.

This really gets under Garrus's skin...plates?

He tries to get Thane into a sniper competition to see who takes out the most targets the quickest.

Thane, of course, politely declines and immediately conceads, handing him the win on a silver plate.

This just pisses off Garrus even more.

The turian starts talking about how assassins aren't even that cool, and Thane clearly doesn't have a cool face scar like him. Therefore, Garrus is the better sniper.

It keeps escalating with Tali adding fuel to the fire.

Eventually, Thane is pressured into accepting the sniper competition as both teams have already started betting credits on it.

You can affect the outcome if you take out the targets before the other person can get to them.

Garrus targets have a blue sniper dot show up on them while Thane's is green.

It is clearly cheating, and the losing team calls you out for helping, but you pull rank and remind them this is a mission; you're just doing your job.

You can either help Thane win, Garrus or leave them be.

If you leave them be, they end in a tie.

If you help Garrus win, Thane takes it in stride and admist he might be getting a bit rusty.

Garrus is full on boosting however.

If you help Thane win, he's actually surprised and very amused. He tries to remain polite and downplay his delight when Garrus loses.

"Thank you, Siha, for watching over me."

If you take Thane on your team, the competition only happens if you bring Tali or Javik with you who challenge Garrus on behalf of Thane.

Otherwise there is no one to pressure Thane into joining after he conceads.

If you bring Garrus and Thane with you, then Garrus is the one boosting about Thane to the other teams.

Saying how with two snipers, this team is overpowered and the other two teams have no chance.

If you use a sniper rifle, Garrus changes it to three.

His enthusiasm slowly infects Thane.

For a single mission, they suddenly lifelong bestfriends.

The two of them complimenting each other skills and equipment, Garrus impressed with Thane's zero hesitation methods and immense stealth. Precise and quick.

Thane in awe of Garrus endurance and how the sniper rifle feels like an extension of him rather than a seperate weapon.

The competition doesn't happen, or a very low stakes version of it happens where team mako and hammerhead suddenly unite for a second and Tali challenges Garrus.

Thane and Garrus easily sweep the competition, you can't lose or help the other team cheat because any kill you steal is counted towards your team.

Citadel: Party Aftermath

In the morning, as you stretch out in bed expecting to feel the body of your beloved next to you, you're greeted by the empty spot on the bed.

In fact, there is no sign of Thane around the house amidst all the scattered groups of your crew going about their mourning routine, nursing their hangovere, or a mix of both.

The front door to your apartment is ajar.

You step outside and see two figures standing at the far end of the hallway.

Thane and Kolyat staring out the hallway windows, enjoying the relative peacefulness of the early morning atmosphere.

A clear contrast to the chaotic mess of hangover and headaches inside your apartment.

Or, more precisely, it was just Thane enjoying the peacefulness while Kolyat scolded his father for leaving the hospital so suddenly and causing the asari doctor to freak out when she saw him break out of a window and land on top of a moving car.

Clear worry was barely masked underneath Kolyat's angry speech.

Maybe that's why Thane was in such a good mood, a rare smile gracing his lips as he gave his son his full attention, listening to his words and apologising for making him worry.

You're reminded of the first time you've seen Kolyat.

Of the first meeting between him and his father during your time at Cerberus.

They've really grown closer.

Somehow, they managed to overcome all the obstacles and difficult past they had.

Kolyat forgave his father, and Thane was grateful for being offered a second chance after everything he put his family through.

And yet, he risked it for you, his life.

A second time.

The life he just rebuilt, remade from the ground up.

You notice a plastic bag in Kolyat's hold, several pill sheets could be seen inside.

The open water bottle in Thane's hand.

His son must have came here first thing in the morning, just to deliver his father's medicine.

You give them their space, not wanting to interrupt Kolyat's lecture.

The last thing you see before going back inside is Thane pulling his son into a hug. Reassuring him that everything will be alright, his dad is right here.

Going to check with the rest of your crew and passing the hangover medd around. You gather them for breakfast.

Thane enters shortly after, you stand up from the table and go to meet him at the door.

Offering him to bring Kolyat inside, to join you and the rest for breakfast.

You've saved them a seat next to your own.

Much to the complaints and objections of other crew members who the seat next to the commander.

"Siha...I wouldn't want to impose."

"Nonsense Thane, you're a part of this team as much everyone else here."

You step closer to the man whose extended lifespan feels nothing short of a miracle, the man you've come to love with all of your soul. If it wasn't for the war, you would spend every second you could spare with him until his last breath.

His hands feel cold against yours, his touch so familiar and full of longing.

Your eyes are full of promises when you meet his deep green ones, surrounded by abyssal darkness like the deep ocean. Promises to fight this war, to make the world a better place.

For Kolyat. You'll make sure his son gets to grow up in a safe world. That even when Thane is gone, he can entrust you to be a guardian to his son and look out for him after the fight is won.

But for now, you ask nothing more of this life than this one chance to share a meal with the two of them. Sit around a breakfast table, have a glimpse of what a normal life with Thane must have looked like in a different world.

A world where you took this for granted, calling him your husband, eating at the same table with his son everyday.

With a nod, Thane accepts.

At first Kolyat is shy and unsure at sitting next to so many people, most of them legends...and hungover.

It's endearing how much this scene reminds you of how Thane first acted at the start of the casino mission, like father like son.

But after some time, Kolyat starts opening up to others and answering their curious questions. Surprisingly, it's Grunt who is the most interested in him, continuesly asking him about sharks, and if he has seen any.

Kolyat answers that he has swam with many.

Just like that, with one simple sentence, Grunt is hooked.

The young krogan eagrly pushes James out of the seat next to Kolyat so he may claim it for his own.

The two of them clicking immediately. By the end of it, they have exchanged contact information with Grunt promising to share his secret stash of shark videos with Kolyat who turned out to be very knowledgeable about marine biology.

Thane whispers to you that his son used to have a marine life encyclopedia as a kid. It was laminated and waterproof, much like all the books produced by the hanar usually are. His son cried so much after accidentally losing during a beach visit once, so much so that a passing hanar offered to go swim down and retrieve it.

[artyphex]

The First Two Scenes of the Trouble With Soulmates Chapter 3 - Ten of Diamonds

This chapter begins with a dream/fantasy from Valentino's perspective, where he films Husk raping Angel. It's there to show the depravity of Val and his imagination and not graphically described but intended to be extremely uncomfortable. Please stay safe You might remember like two days ago I posted the first 2500 words of this chapter, well, I finished the second scene and didn't like how unceremoniously that chapter just stopped. So, here's the first two completed scenes, sitting at 3458 words long. There are 14 planned scenes total so. Probably looking at another 20ker

Happy WIP Wednesday! Enjoy!

___

Valentino would set his next film in a bar. 

It would be a dark bar. The air would be dusty, caught in the light of the single bulb hanging from a frayed black wire above the counter, illuminating Angel Dust. 

Angel Dust would be wearing something long, black, with diamond stones sewn into fabric just sheer enough to show the promise of his body beneath it. Too clean and beautiful for a place like this. 

And the bar would have a tender. 

He’d be behind the counter, in the dark, outside the beam of the bulb. A black silhouette. All black. The flecks of dust would disappear as they crossed in front of it. Vanishing into the void of his hat, his wings, his tail, his claws. 

And they’d talk. 

Angel Dust would talk like Angel Dust. He’d bold. Brash. Brave. He’d want the bartender. Who’d talk like a silhouette. Darkly. Deeply. Deceptively. He’d want Angel Dust. 

A slow start to a film, sure. Not Valentino’s preferred style. He liked action, and he liked it fast. But he was still an artist. He knew when a break from his comfort zone would be best. 

Because you see, Angel Dust didn’t know about the ice.

It was not love potion. No. What’s in the ice is cruder, but it works here. It’s an artistic choice. There is no love needed in this scene. 

The audience would watch as they talked and drank, as the ice in Angel Dust’s glass seeped into his whiskey. As Angel Dust began to talk less brashly, less boldly, and much, much less bravely. 

The audience would watch him fall forward onto the bar limply. 

Now, is when the action began. 

The bartender would come around from his place behind the bar and, just barely, enter the edge of the lightbulb’s beam. He would not be illuminated fully, but his claws would be clear. White against the sheer night of Angel Dust’s dress. And his eyes would shine through the black of his form, yellow and bright, like a stage light. 

He sinks his claws into that night. He drags them down. The sewn stars snapping away and falling into the dust. 

And then, that promised body bare, he would tend to himself. 

This is where the crudeness of the ice becomes so important. Angel Dust’s face would be angled out towards the camera. His eyes would be open. And he would be aware. 

Unmoving. Unwilling. Anything but unaware. 

The audience would watch Angel Dust learn there is no love in this scene. 

They’d watch him learn. Watch him feel. Once they’d watched it for long enough, however many hours it took, Valentino would enter the scene. 

He didn’t put himself in his films much anymore, not if he wasn’t the star. Background cameos were for names afraid of being forgotten. Wash-ups. Has-beens. 

But, it is an artistic choice. 

Valentino would enter the scene. He would be bright, colorful, glowing against the dingy dusty background. He’d be carrying his silver, angelic pistol above his head like a torch, and he’d shoot the bartender. 

He’d fall on top of Angel Dust. His wings would fall over him and blind him to any semblance of light. 

Valentino would let him stay like that. For a beat. An uncomfortably long beat. An artistic choice. 

Finally, he would go over to him. He’d push the bartender’s, heavy, bloody, and dead body out of him and let him fall to the floor. Angel Dust would be still. The ice in his veins held in place there for a while yet, but his eyes would roll up to see him. 

Val would smile. 

And he’d take Anthony home. 

___

For all the pain it’d made in his ass, Valentino had never been in the Hazbin Hotel. 

It’s very red. Of course, everything in Hell is red, and for Valentino, even more so, but it wasn’t red like this. This red was framed with carefully placed white and gold and lit with warm lights that all pointed inward towards the grand staircase. A direction down the plush red carpet, a promise of a better place once you reach the end. 

It’s all so nauseatingly fake. 

He was determined not to stay long, so he’d brought everyone. Everyone. Everyone he owned. Everyone who owed him a favor. Everyone who’d sneezed during a take on set. Everyone. He gave the biggest one the key he’d been given and told them to pack it all up before lunch. 

And he did it all before he’d even heard one of the words that the princess’ guard bitch had been barking at him. 

“Is there a problem, darling?” he said, turning to face her with his hands pressed together by his face, flaring his wings out around his ankles. 

“Problem?” Her wings twitched, the light glinting in a line off her long white feathers like the edge of a razor blade. “Yeah. It’s the dustfuck standing in front of me with an angelic spear between his eyes-” 

“Relax, chica.” Valentino put his finger on the shaft of the spear, just below the head, pushing it aside from his face. “We’re just here for Angel’s things. We’ll be out of your hair before you can say ‘redemption.’”

He turned away from her.

There was a growl, a rush of air, and she was back in front of him. The tip of her spear at his chin. The metal’s blistering cold tingling against his skin. 

“Why the fuck are you touching Angel’s stuff?” 

Valentino tilted his head. “Didn’t he tell you?” 

“What?” 

Valentino. smiled. “Angel’s coming home.” 

“This is his fucking home, 

“You really think that?” 

Down the red hallway, an elevator dinged. They both turned their heads to see the golden princess of Hell step into the light. Blinking at the commotion. Wide-eyed and confused. Like a newborn goat. 

“Vaggie?” 

“Charlie!” 

The angel dropped her spear as the princess sprinted, stumblingly, down the stairs from the elevators into the main hall. Falling into the arms of her angel at the bottom. 

“What’s going on?” 

“Angel-” 

“Ah, princessa!” Valentino walked up with a faint, practiced sway in his hips. “I’m sure he told you.” 

“Told me?” 

“Angel is checking out today!” 

“Checking out…?” She looked over her shoulder, watching the stream of sinners enter and exit the hallways down to Anthony’s room. “But- he-” 

“Didn’t tell you either?” 

She looked back at him. Tears panicking on the rims of her reddening eyes. 

Val reached into his shirt pocket, pulling out a cigarette, a lighter, and a long, red holder. “I can’t believe that. He goes on about you all the time. Why wouldn’t he tell you?” 

He watched the princess, unbreakingly, as he placed the cigarette into the holder, the holder between his lips, and lit the tip. 

She blinked as the dry smoke hit her eyes. Shaking tears loose down her cheeks. “I-I don’t-” 

Down the hallway, someone started screaming. 

It startled the princess and her angel. Valentino took a step towards the stairs only to be stopped by the tip of that damn spear back in his face— the angel now between him and the princess of Hell. 

She was a bitch well-trained. Val could respect that. 

A pink, screaming blob came out of the hallway. Sliding across the rug at the top of the stairs and flattening briefly against the wall. It bounced away and down the stairs. Leaping up at the bottom step into the princess’ waiting arms. 

“Hey! Shh! Shh!” she said. “It’s okay! It’s okay.” 

“Good!” said Valentino, looking around the spear and at the pig in Charlie’s arms. “You caught him. He’s always such a handful.” 

The pig stopped squealing when Valentino spoke. Its squeals broke into trembling snorts as it nuzzled closer to the princess’ chest. 

And then a shape took over at the top of the stairs.

 This hall was so damn bright, but the shape was so dark and distinct. Sometimes, he swore he saw it waiting in the corners of his eyes when he got angry at night. 

“Ah,” said Valentino. “El gato ensombrerado, good to see you again.” 

Husk- Valentino learned his name long ago. It was the one feature of his that he liked- hissed back. “What the fuck are you doing here?” 

Valentino smiled, feeling the warm red smoke slide between his teeth. 

“I see he didn’t tell any of you,” he said, glancing towards Charlie. Who gripped the pig tighter. 

Valentino moved to the base of the stairs. 

“My amorcito and I had a long talk yesterday,” he said. Stopping on the first landing, just below Husk. “I’m taking Angel home.” 

He was made of jagged edges. Every black line of stiff and pointed like a thorn. Every patch of white fur stained and thin enough on his face to show torn pink skin around his eyes. He smelled like old, rusted booze. He smelled old. He smelled. Tired and used.

“He’s been in such a state lately.” Valentino took a step up the stairs. “I’ve never seen him so distracted.” 

Husk growled.

Not the growl of a tomcat, the growl of something big. Big and caged. Caged and angry. Valentino’s face throbbed in three long lines. A numb sound. A drum beat. 

He crossed his arms. Flicking fluorescent ashes onto the carpet. 

“You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?” 

There was an audience for sinners like him. The wash-ups. If Valentino stuck him on a seedy bar set with a pretty star and made him angry, he’d be another billion richer than he was. 

But he could not stop seeing Anthony wanting him. 

“What’s wrong gatito?” Valentino finally arrived at the final step. “Cat got your tongue-?” 

Husk spit in his face. 

A line of long, thick, yellowish, ashy spit slapped Valentino between the eyes. Wetly. Husk’s teeth snapping closed just behind it. Valentino gasped. 

Not his performed, dramatic gasp. A true near-silent gasp of undiluted shock. He lurched backward as if he’d been shoved. The spit sticking heavily on his face. He started to fall. 

If he had fallen, he would’ve landed on the back of his head. The weight of his body holding his head in place as his body itself curled over it. Curled and curled and curled until the bones in his neck snapped apart, and he rolled like a limp doll down and to the bottom of the staircase. That wouldn’t have meant death, not to the dead, only weeks of paralyzed humiliation as his spinal column stitched itself back together. 

But Val had wings. 

In a reflex as natural to him as blinking, his wings unfurled. They flapped frantically until he was upright again and dropped him on his feet halfway down the stairs. There was no grace to it, he grabbed the handrail desperately and still stumbled to bash his knee on the edge of the next step. While bits of dusty fur from his wings floated in the settling air around him. He caught his breath. He stood up straight. 

Only for the spit to loosen. Dripping in a slow, cold trail down his face. 

He wiped it off, successfully smearing it across the fur on his face and the surface of his palm. 

A drop of it fell on his tongue. Burning like bad whiskey. 

“You…” 

His lips twitched. His teeth dried against the air that fueled his snarl. 

“Husk…” growled a bitch from somewhere behind him. 

Val reached for his gun.

“You filthy, fucking, FREAK-”

He fired his gun. 

He’d fired it at the cat at the top of the stairs. He thinks he had, anyway. It’s hard for him to be exact like this. In this state that tints the world a little redder than it had been before. He couldn’t feel his arm really, couldn’t be certain it was pointed the right way. He had no body now. He had no thoughts but fury. You could flay him alive, and he’d still only feel the rage.

He fired his gun.

And a shadow bent up from the seam between the steps in the stairway, reaching for his wrist. Twisting around it. Pulling his arm away. The bullet left the gun at that exact second and went straight through the hinge of a jaw of a sinner that’d been holding a large pink box of empty crystalline bottles. Part of the endless parade that all this time had been swiftly moving objects and clothing and jewels and toys out of the newly vacated hotel suite. The sinner dropped the box, and the bottles shattered on the carpet. His jaw hung onto his face by a few tender lines of skin. 

“My, my,” smiled a voice at the top of the stairs. “What chaos we’ve awoken to this morning.” 

Another shadow had joined Husk’s at the top of the stairs. A taller, redder one. The silhouette broken by the yellow, sickled grin cutting through its face. 

The Radio Demon put a hand on Husk’s shoulder. The red tips of his fingers vanish beneath coarse black fur. Husk’s ears flattened against his head. 

“Charlie?” Alastor looked above Valentino. “Do you mind explaining what all this ruckus is about?” 

Val answered, “I-”

“Was not addressing you.” Alastor’s eyes flicked back down to meet his. The corners of his smile sharpening. “Trying to speak over the princess of Hell. Ha! Did your mother teach you no manners?”

He looked over his head again and nodded with a gentle blink. 

The princess spoke. “Valentino is here for-” Val heard her stand straighter- “Angel’s things. Angel is… checking out.”

Alastor’s eyes narrowed at that. He looked over his shoulder. The assembly of workers had not slowed from Angel’s room. The only one out of line busy sweeping up the bits of glass he’d broken and putting them in the box they’d been in. His jaw joined them at some point in the process. 

“I see.” He took his fingers out of Husk’s fur. He brushed his hand once across his shoulder. Then, he folded it atop the other and rested them on the head of his staff. “That is a pity. Ah, well, I hope he enjoyed his stay.”

Husk’s eyes widened. His ears went tall and stiff, and his lip twitched to bare his teeth. “Boss-!”

“My hands are tied, Husker,” Alastor said as he began to walk down the stairs. Husk followed him a counted two steps behind. 

Valentino could not help the smirk from crossing his face. Or the words that came with it. “Oh, you wish.”

Alastor’s staff hit the next step with a loud, pointed landing. “If Angel Dust no longer is willing to stay here, there’s nothing I can do.” 

Alastor passed Valentino swiftly. Paying not another glance to him. 

“Still a shame for him to lose such remarkable progress. Wouldn’t you say, Husker?” 

Husk answered from two steps behind, flatly. 

“Yeah… Damn shame…” 

He dragged his feet as he continued down. His eyes were dark and heavy. Focused on the ground.

“Don’t be such a sourpuss,” Valentino said through his smile as Husk passed him by. “You can see him. He can’t say no to a long, hard, stack of cash.” 

Husk didn’t growl. Didn’t look up. Didn’t make any indication he’d heard him at all. Valentino was almost disappointed. Until he heard a hissing whisper just barely fill the air. 

“Cause yours don’t impress him anymore, right?” 

Valentino turned around with an instinctive, defensive unfurl of his wings. 

“Excuse me?” 

Husk looked over his shoulder, just barely, just for a moment. Just long enough for Val to see the smug, gold ring of his eye. 

All of his features hit him then. The crusted yellow fur on the corners of his mouth. The wet pink droop of his eyelids. The stiff scraggly whiskers and that damn bitter smell. 

He is- hideous. 

Angel Dust could fuck him.

But Anthony wanted him.  

Valentino had plans for him and Anthony late tonight. Would he still taste him? Would he find ash and whiskey under his tongue? Would he find pointed, stiff black strands of fur lost at the root of Anthony’s flawless silk fluff? He might. He’d been on him, afterall. In him. Would he still be stretched to fit around him? 

Valentino still held his gun in his hand. Heavy with bullets. His fingers twitched on the grip. His thumb teased the edge of the hammer. 

“You hairy cunt-” 

“Ahem,” smiled Alastor from the base of the stairs. Standing by Charlie’s side. “Good sir, you are in my home. You will speak to my people with respect.” 

Valentino sighed. Crossing his arms. He held his gun by one finger hooked through the trigger guard, and raised his shoulders in a nonchalant shrug. “Or what?” 

Alastor tapped the tips of his fingers against his staff. “I suggest you conclude your business swiftly.” 

“Sir!” said the voice of Vox’s assistant. He’d loaned him to Val for the morning. Always so apt with his timing. 

He trotted down the stairs with a pink pet carrier in one hand and a blue plastic clipboard in the other. When he reached Val, standing no closer than two feet to him obviously, he adjusted his glasses with the hand holding the carrier. Clumsily knocking it into his nose as he did. 

He shook his head and looked at his clipboard. “We’ve gotten everything else,” he said. “There’s only…” 

With a sniff, he lifted the carrier and pointed at the pig. 

“Ah,” said Val. Putting his gun back in his coat, and leaning over to take the carrier himself. “Good.” 

At last, he walked to the bottom of the stairwell. And over to Charlie, who still wide-eyely held the little pig. 

“Thank you for holding onto him, darling,” said Val. His eyes went to the pig, and he smiled with high cheeks. “Time to come home, baby.” 

The pig screamed. 

Screamed and squirmed its way out of the princess’ arms. It fell onto the floor with a heavy enough thump to shake the glasses in the bar at least ten feet away. Val never understood how something so fat could be so fast, because it darted then. Darted away as Vox’s assistant shouted a I’ll grab him sir! And was led on a roundabout trail around that lobby. To the front door, around the sofa, to the base of the stairs, and a sudden sharp curve as the pig turned away and leapt back into the princess’ arms. 

 God, Valentino hated this thing. 

“C’mon, Nuggy,” he purred. Opening the wire cage door at the front of the carrier. “Don’t you wanna snuggle with Angie?” 

Its ears pricked at the name, but when Valentino stepped closer, it started to squirm again. It’s little legs kicking the princess in the arms and stomach hard enough to bruise. 

She took two steps back. 

“Look, look!” she said. Holding up one hand as best she could, while scratching the pig’s back with the other. “Why don’t I bring him to Angel?”

Vox’s assistant, just now finding his winded way back to Val’s side, heaved out a, “Huh?” 

“It might just be easier if I hold onto him and I’d-” she gulped once. Then closed her eyes, let out a long breath, and opened them again. Accompanied by a polite smile. “I’d like to talk to him.” 

Val hadn’t dropped his smile, but his lip twitched. 

“I’m afraid that won’t fit into the schedule,” said the assistant. Looking diligently at his clipboard. “Mr. Valentino has-” 

“Are you seriously trying to deny a visit from the princess of Hell?” Val said, giving the assistant his slanted look of displeasure. Accompanied by the drop of his smile and cross of his arms. He paled. Val’s smile returned. 

“Of course, Your Majesty,” he said, looking back at her. “But we can’t go letting everyone backstage so easily…”

He looked up and pointed to the angel glowering at him still. “You’ll have to leave your amor and-” He now waved his hand over at Husk, “Him behind.” 

The angel took half a step forward- “Charlie-” 

“It’s fine, Vaggie.” The princess adjusted the pig in her arms with a quick bounce and stood tall. “Sounds good!” 

Valentino nodded. Gesturing for her to walk with him. 

“Charlie?” said that damned static voice as they reached the door. She looked over her shoulder. “Don’t stay out too long, my dear. We’ll need you back soon.” 

Val smiled one more time back at him, letting his lip curl fully into his gold-toothed snarl while straining his voice into a peppy tune.

“She’s in the best of hands,” he said. Wrapping one wing of his coat around her shoulders. “Don’t you worry.”

[sunrayram]

In your Bad Beat AU, will Husk be the one fighting Adam in during the battle against the Exorcists? And if so, how would it go for him?

Husk is fighting Adam! And this is a great time to elaborate on some of his abilities.

Husk has the same weapons as canon. The throwing cards, the dice bombs, the insanely sharp claws, all of that jazz.

He also has a pistol he carries with him at all times, just in case.

He's extremely agile, being able to leap large distances and scale walls with ease.

His tail is as sharp as a blade, and he can sharpen his feathers as well.

Bit of an odd one, but he has poisonous blood. It disorients anyone who consumes it and makes them incredibly lethargic, as if they were blackout drunk. You can guess who that might have been affective against. It can also work as an irritant, so sometimes in a fight Husk will purposefully bloody his knuckles so he can use it as a deterrent.

Speaking of, Husk is a huge brawler. He gets in close and he fights dirty, something that gives him an advantage over a some of his fellow overlords, who are mainly just magic users and are kind of wimps physically.

Husk's gambling effects his whole life. Like, if he has a shitty hand and loses a game, he's going to have bad luck until he plays again and wins, and vice-versa. He wants to fight on a winning streak, because it means he'll be incredibly lucky during the battle. He actually convinces the hotel residents to play a game the night before the extermination bc of this.

Though Husk is very powerful, he's not as powerful as Alastor is in canon. However, he's also not as cocky. Husk is getting beat by Adam, no doubt about it, but he'll last as long as Alastor did bc he makes smarter decisions during the fight. Once he's injured, he retreats like Al did, but he's also much quicker to rejoin the fray. He actually comes back while the fights still going, and takes care of some of the other angels.

Quick note about Alastor's role in this fight: He still makes the shield. He brings the idea up to Charlie, and Husk tries to shut it down, but Charlie insists that Alastor should be allowed some of his power back to protect the hotel. Alastor goes a bit crazy during the fight, since it's the first time he's had some real power in a while. Just like in canon, his overconfidence is his downfall, and he gets nicked in the side pretty badly. This time though, he's in the fray with the other hotel residents, and they immediately have his back. Emboldened by this, he doesn't retreat, and they fight together.

[tf2occontest]

The Trapper (Angel) VS The Jack of All Trades, Wolfgang Stahl (+ "Bluey")

(Full matchup list here)

Alright team, here's a recap: This is a contest to determine who amongst you will take the top of the leaderboards and be hired at TFI! Simply put, whoever gets the most votes gets to move on, and whoever doesn't... Well. They'll be put down swiftly and cleanly. :}

So, mann your stations, because here are your next contestants! Vote for your favorite mercenary who you want to win the TF2 OC Contest! - P

OC INFO UNDER THE CUT!

We highly encourage you to take a peek to make your decision!

The Trapper (Angel)

@vsc-art

Image credit: @/vsc-art

Trapper is a very paranoid man. Due to past events, his paranoia has gone from simple anxiety to hallucinations and very bad schizophrenia. Mann Co, using this against him, has put him on the field and used his quick to shoot mental state to fight. He’s usually a quiet guy, despite his loud appearance. He can get upset quite fast though, thinking people are always after him and will always attack, trust is not easily earned and is very easily broken. Mann Co. has prescribed him medications to “keep his paranoia calm”. They don’t actually do that. The medications keep his paranoia on edge, his adrenaline always pumping, always hallucinating. He’s only allowed to skip doses on ceasefire days as to not ruin his tremendously high kill count.

Aside from his lore, I feel like Trapper’s quick thinking should let him win! He’s a very lovable guy when he's not screaming his head off. Plus look at those big ol puppy eyes!!! His game mechanics are mostly listed in his ref, and yes, Engineer was the one to build his current prosthetic!! He has an hesitant relationship with most the mercs, but he’s not fully distrusting of them. He’s so sillay he deserves a nice big cup of chocolate milk. I love him and you should too!!!

The Jack of All Trades, Wolfgang Stahl (+ "Bluey")

@mickmundane

Image credit: @/mickmundane

You know him, you love him--it's everybody's favorite everyman, the one-of-a-kind Wolfgang Q. Stahl! This Jack of All Trades hails from the great state of Arizona, but don't get it twisted--he's no Phonecian. A veteran of war and a helping hand, this middle-aged man has climbed mountains great and small for work, and it seemed to him like TFI would be the next best place to be!

At least, that's one half of the story.

Was his life stolen from him, or did a twisted reflection follow him down from that lonely mountain peak? What happens to the parts of yourself that you ignore, run from, and leave behind? The anger and grief that you sowed--not for the world, but for yourself--will come back to haunt you, face-to-face. It's only a matter of time.

Keep your chin up, Stahl. We'll look out for each other.

In gameplay, The Jack of All Trades is marketed as “a class for the multiclasser”, a Support class which offers a varied but sometimes laid-back fill-in-the-gaps type gameplay experience for any of those micromanagers on your ideal team. He comes provided with his own stock weapons, including:

Primary - Scoped Shotgun ; Based on the Remington 870 hunting shotgun with a scope attached. Range is limited compared to stock Sniper but can still pack a well-aimed punch when scoped or unscoped.

Secondary - Dual Pistols ; Based on the 60’s Browning Hi-Power pistol. Dual wielded with a slower shooting speed but higher ammo capacity & caliber compared to stock Scout.

Melee - Hunting Knife ; Serrated Buck knife with his family name engraved on the handle. -75% Health upon backstab.

The Jack of All Trades is made a unique class due to his gimmick item:

Gimmick - The Backpack ; Can hold and use up to five items from ANY other class (Ex. Picking up a dropped Engineer Wrench to repair a dispenser), as well as hold or use ammo crates or medkits. 

The Backpack would open a HUD upon selection with five slots to choose from, and any items within can be used either for yourself or distributed to other teammates. Got a Scout in need of healing but no Medic around? Pass a spare medkit to him. The Pyro wants to try the Backburner an enemy dropped on death but you got to it first? May as well hand it over!

Upon spawning or respawning into a match the Backpack will generate with a random assortment of items (or nothing at all if your RNG is bad enough), but cannot be refilled by supply closets. If you want to refill your bag without dying, you’ve got to pick it up from enemy (or ally) drops yourself.

In baseline TF2 gameplay, swapping out weapons from fallen enemies of the same class is already an existing mechanic--this just takes advantage of that. Any weapons you pick up as a JOAT also only have the remaining ammo of that weapon, and when that is depleted, they’re no longer usable and will disappear from the Backpack.

Yes, this does include throwables like Jarate or Mad Milk--or sometimes even a special new throwable, the Blood Bag! Whose blood is it? It’s his. :] He has O- and is very proud of that.

[one-more-offbeat-anthem]

promptober day 14: taste

The taste of blood is sharp and metallic in Dean’s mouth. He swallows past it, steadying himself for the next hit. He’s used to parrying blows and running, stitching up wounds with cheap dental floss and self-medicating with the cheapest whiskey at the gas station. This is nothing. 

There’s a brush of fingers on his back, and before he can yank his pistol out of its holster, he’s falling to the ground next to the Impala.

“Sorry,” Cas says mildly.

“Dammit, Cas.” Dean rises to his feet, slightly unsteady. He presses a hand to his mouth and it comes away bloody.

“You were going to get seriously injured.”

“I was on a hunt.”

“Exactly.” Cas reaches forward, and Dean swipes his hand away.

“I don’t need to be healed.”

Cas, who has no concept of personal space (or knows about it but chooses to ignore Dean, which seems more likely), presses two fingers on Dean’s lips despite his protests. The pain goes away immediately, replaced by a tight feeling in Dean’s chest.

He’s just healing you, Dean thinks to himself. He’s an angel, it’s his job.

But Cas’s fingers are still on his lips. 

[justyaraya]

COD OC: Karina Cherepanova

Name: Karina Cherepanova

Nikename: Black Widow

Date of birth: February 12, 1987

Age: 29 (at the time of the events of 2016-17)

Place of birth: Moscow, USSR🇷🇺

Citizenship: 🇷🇺

Rank: none

Specialty: mercenary, Makarov's right-hand man, leader of the Black Widow Squad

Unit: Ultranationalists

Family/Relationships

Mother: unknown❌

Father: unknown❌

Love interest: Vladimir Makarov❤🇷🇺 [Professional relationship]

Reference/appearance

Parameters

Hair: blonde

Eyes: brown

Pigmentation on the body: -

Scars: on the face and hands

Height: 165 cm

Weight: 58 kg

Body type: normal

Equipment

Body armor: lightweight

AK-47 assault rifle

Pistols: M9 and Makarov Pistol (PM)

Cold steel: Tactical knife

Personality

On the surface, it will seem that Karina is calm and harmless, but in fact she is short-tempered and cruel, especially in her methods of unleashing the language of hostages during interrogation. At first, she waits patiently, but the vase of her angelic patience immediately cracks and uses force. She loves to be sarcastic, especially Makarova, and even makes fun of him, she likes his ardor.

Fears - It's hard to say

Biography

Life in the 90s was quite difficult for many people, especially when banditry, theft, robbery, and murder flourished. Karina, one might say, lived in a real hell, in an immoral family, where noisy drunkenness periodically took place, there were fights. Karina does not have a father, her mother found a life partner when the girl was still little. But the one his mother chose was not the one he pretended to be, Instead of a "kind daddy", he showed a cruel man, and his upbringing was beatings, and Karina had a hard time, like her mother, but she believed that she was within the norm, but it affected Karina's emotional state. Due to the turmoil in the family and the lack of money for food, Karina had to work part-time to earn at least some penny, from which she slipped in her studies, graduated from school with grief in half, but then she had to work part-time, and everything in her life turned upside down. One day, unable to bear the anger of her stepfather and the next beatings, Karina took a knife in order to scare, protecting herself and her mother. She was scared at the time, which led to a state of passion, and inflicted a fatal blow on the man, which led to imprisonment for a certain period. The mother did not somehow defend Karina, having been surprised that her daughter was a murderer. Until 2016, Karina became a mercenary.

The meeting with Makarov is rather vague story. Karina decided to try to join his people as a volunteer, even if it was risky, at that moment Makarov needed people. Karina has been training for a long time, on an equal footing with others, and she also trained dogs, making them fighting dogs. Karina also has a four-legged companion, Doberman Fang, the same fighting dog, as well as a guard who always accompanies his mistress. The girl also provided assistance to the ultranationalists by supplying weapons, medicines, equipment, etc. Makarov, although he trembled with her arrogance and barbs, but appreciated her effectiveness in her work, allocated her a small detachment in which she became the leader, and the "Black Widow Squad", a shorter name "Spiders", appeared. They stayed in different parts of the world, Karina had to hide and work in the shadows, because loyalists followed her, which did not always make it possible to deliver a kind of "goods" to Makarov on time. As for her relationship with Vladimir, they are more professional than amorous. She continued to act unflinchingly, as if ignoring all the cold stares and sarcastic remarks, which only increased his irritation. In those rare moments when they were on the same wavelength, a spark of mutual understanding almost ignited the steppe of tension in which they were both immersed. As time passed, and as if in a dance of fate, they began to dance on the edge of a professional relationship, where each step could easily end in collapse or unexpected harmony.

[Biography may be edited]

[ratwithhands]

1 - Diantha security detail comic

2 + 3 - Emmet's UDF uniform vs Kalosian Guard uniform

4 - Lore/Background comic

Hooo boy ok so this idea has been simmering on the backburner for a while now. So Legends Z-A had its trailer released a few days back and I figured I'd make something around it. I know logically it's going to be a game set in the past but I found myself wanting to work on something more futuristic/sci-fi which is why we have our little Cyber Emmet here.

There's a lot of different things to mention so I'm just gonna break them down by the images.

1:

Diantha is attending a conference/ceremony where she will be discussing the plans for the urbanization of Kalos with the assistance of neighbouring tech giant and long time trade partner Unova. As a sign of goodwill, the Unovan Defense Force sent several people to either work as security or to help organize and prepare the ceremony. Among the list of people is Emmet, who was recently "working with" the UDF, and who is going to serve as Diantha's bodyguard for the event

Emmet's uniform was made by a mix of Unovan and Kalosian designers. It's meant to mimic the shapes while still keeping aspects of his Unovan uniform (mainly the collar, cuffs, and silver trim). He is carrying a handgun from his UDF uniform, however due to the public nature of the event, he is using his charge pistol instead of his wired pistol. He's also using a different face shield, using a silver one as opposed to his black one, since it better matches the uniform he's wearing for the event

Diantha's fur coat still has the angel wing shape. This isn't lore relevant I just couldn't fit the full thing onto the panel but it's definitely there

2 + 3:

Emmet uses a wired pistol (left side holster) and a charge pistol (right side holster). Both are standard issue firearms used by the UDF, however charge pistols are more common thanks to them being easy to hold and carry. A wired pistol connects to a battery pack of some kind to fire at a greater speed, whereas a charge pistol will generate its own power but take longer to fire and load. Emmet's wired pistol connects to the battery network that powers his body, allowing him to take advantage of his fast reflexes by using his faster weapon

Emmet doesn't get anything to wear for his Unovan uniform! Part of the contract he signed for his cybernetics states that he can't cover the prostheses unless it could lead to a breach in confidentiality (such as going to a foreign region or appearing in public outside of work reasons) since he's meant to effectively advertise the quality and construction of the body built for him. Of course he refuses to go outside completely naked to fight so the UDF got him a cropped version of his coat and shoes so he can have some more cover

The face shield is meant more for form than function. Technically the only purpose they serve is to cover his face when he's out on patrol, though it can also act as a screen to show him information about what he's seeing (kind of like an AR headset). He could technically get the screen function though cornea implants but he's not doing that + he wants the anonymity provided by the shield

Sections of the body can split open or be removed. The front abdominal panel can do both due to the different processing mechanisms inside needing easy access for repair/maintenance. Limbs can be swapped for different prostheses provided they have a compatible socket

The sockets in Emmet's back can be used to power other weapons/devices if he has a compatible cable. Emmet was given a bag of different attachments and cables to hook into his back so he can power a range of things from phones to laser rifles

He has removable skin. Any shot of him with the black body is the body without skin. In situations where he could possibly have skin showing or he is required to wear something that shows more skin, he'll have material rolled over the sections of his body that will be visible so they look more normal

4:

Emmet got run over by a train ♥ long story short is that he went to rescue a passenger who had fallen off the platform and miscalculated how much time he had before the train pulled in. Once he got stabilized in the hospital afterwards, he only has around 30% of his original body intact, along with some sections they were able to somewhat repair but required new hardware being installed in order to return their function. Anything under the waist and a large portion of his arms were crushed beyond repair and as such, he's been connected to different machine to mimic the functions of his organs

The UDF (in a rather scummy play) contacted Emmet for business, asking him to sign a contract that would ensure he would live by letting them test their confidential new tech on him. He is the only ethical candidate they have for testing such prostheses so to get him to agree, they offer to cover the cost of everything relating to his health and work, as well as paying him a salary for the trouble. Since the only other options are "die slowly" or "lose all self sufficiency and go bankrupt living in hospital", he agrees, and so begins his second job as a living experiment and tool for the UDF

I think that's the most I've written for one post yikes. This isn't even everything but I'll cut it here because my hands are not pleased with me typing.

I still have a lot to think about for this concept, mostly what kind of work Emmet will do while overseas in Kalos and whether something dangerous enough will happen to warrant him using his body for what it was made for. That might be funny, only two settings and they're "I love macarons :)" and bloodshed.

Anyways hope you guys enjoyed this dump, feel free to ask on anything (it helps me write too ^^). See you later and have a nice day!