#and this happened....maybe I needed this? I hope they show some time squad!

[rock-a-noodle]

Watching CN's 30th anniversary stream.

Good lord, Cartoon Network is my home.

[anlian-aishang]

Hello, could I please request a Captain Levi X reader fic where he comforts a sick and injured reader please? Canonverse of course. I love your writing btw :)

Tags: levi x reader, fluff, canonverse, mutual pining, caretaking, broken bones + blood mention, reader is physically supported, platonic undressing/nudity, fem!reader Word count: 5800 A/N: Thank you for the request! I hope you enjoy, dear anon <3

Levi could not shake the feeling: had he been there, you never would have wound up like this. With that train of thought came a crash of regret, his one vow being to live without it. He could not turn back time and prevent the accident from happening, but there was one thing he could do to alleviate its aftermath.

Fresh off the return from the expedition, he had not even changed out of his uniform yet, Levi made straight for Hange’s office. “Put me in the infirmary tonight.”

Hange rolled their eyes and teased, “How about a hello or a please first, huh?”

“Hi, and please.”

Hange grinned, internally laughing for having expected anything more. “You got any good reason? Hurt or something?”

They already knew the answer to that. His grey shirt was just as ironed as it was before setting off beyond the walls. Not one wrinkle in his canvas coat. No rips in his cape. Certainly not injured.

“Or did you just want an easy shift?”

They both knew: only one person had ended up in the infirmary. They both knew: that one person was you. In a wordless, imbalanced eye contact, Hange communicated their knowledge of the nature behind his rare request. Levi communicated that if they uttered one word about it, they too would end up on the list of casualties.

“Yeah,” Levi spoke flatly, “that’s it.”

The section commander dipped their quill pen fresh, crossed out Nanaba’s name and replaced the assignment with his. “Consider it done, but you owe me!”

Levi merely scowled and promptly turned on his heel. Stewing in irritation yet also simmering in thought of how to repay them. Maybe some assistance with a titan capture, maybe just saving their ass again as he had countless times before. 

With the captain’s back turned, Hange hollered after him, “You would save yourself a lot of time and trouble if you just asked them out, you know, like a normal person!”

But Levi had already shut the door and started down your way. Gritting his teeth, by subduing a smacking, he considered the two of them even again.

// // //

Though he had sped down the hallway, Levi dampened his pace as he approached the infirmary. At your door, a deep breath as his fingers delicately inched along the handle, just enough leverage to let himself in as quietly as possible.

Golden hour seared the white walls and placed a spotlight on the lone patient bundled in bed. Your lips were trembling. Your breaths were uneven. Your body was tired, bogged down by stiff casts and bandages. Levi felt his throat instinctively tighten. Fists clenched at his sides, aching to do something - anything - for you. To brush the strand of hair from your face, to straighten you from the entanglement of your sheets, but he was woefully aware that any movement carried the potential to wake you, and with the look on your face - he determined that unconsciousness was not a bad place for you to be.

Levi shuffled his boots across the wooden floor, cautious of how creaky the panels could be. Slowly, he lowered himself to a seat on the bed across from yours, nothing but a nightstand and temptation between. With a sigh, he tilted his head back against the wall and closed his eyes, searching for ironic escape from the scene he had begged to be placed in, but instead - all he could picture was what must have happened to you out there. How had you ended up injured but no one else? Where were your comrades? Your squad leader? Where was he?

“Alone out there,” Levi pitied. The one who was always thinking of others - in their time of need - no one showed up for them. Again, Levi released an exasperated sigh. He was well familiar with how cruel the world could be. Every now and then, it still managed to surprise him. In your case, he supposed. 

Come to think of it, the infirmary itself seemed in remarkably poor condition. Levi swiped his finger along the bedframe and scoffed at the dust that flew from his touch. At the allergen, he sniffed slightly, and through that noticed the musk in the air. Levi glared out the window and into the empty courtyard. A lovely spring evening you were both missing: budding trees, bloomed flowers… Flowers.

Levi surveyed your state, bargaining within himself for a handful of seconds. With no sign of your stir, he clutched the side of the mattress and hoisted himself to his feet. Despite the audible crunch of the comforter, you remained sound in sleep, silently granting your attendant permission to depart from your side - however temporarily. 

At the door, he turned back once again: on one hand - anticipating that you would remain at rest so he could sneak out, on the other - hoping that you would call out to him, Levi, please don’t go. His knuckles turned white around the handle before swiftly departing, cutting himself off from overthinking any longer, at least for a little while. 

// // //

It had only been ten minutes, but he swore he was going too slow. Picking all of the wildflowers he could find, he tucked them beneath his arm until he had assembled a makeshift bouquet. Just enough to flush out the hospital aura, but as his arm began to cramp, he realized there may never be enough when it came to you. Grateful to be outside, Levi waited out his blush before heading back inside. 

This time, more hurried than when he first approached - the guilt of leaving you alone in there propelled his pace. Hastily, he flung the door open, causing your eyes to do the same. 

“Shit…” Levi cursed himself as he watched your figure shift. Tiny groans echoed throughout the barren room as you came to. With a few harsh blinks, your vision adjusted to the scene. A stark but beautiful transition, dreamlessness to the stuff of dreams: Levi in the door frame, flowers in hand, overcast in the gradient of sunset. 

“Am I … dreaming?” Your words made his heart halt, Levi clutched the stems a little tighter. Your angelic voice fresh out of sleep was suddenly seized by a sharp inhale, speech weakened, “My… my head…”

He may have said something, but you could not tell. Merciless ringing in your ears combined with the pounding at the back of your head, leaving you oblivious to everything external. You cupped your palm around your forehead and winced through clenched teeth. Atop your hand came his, fingers wedged in the spaces between yours. His contact was your answer: this was not a dream for not even in your most self-indulgent desires would you have come up with this. 

His hand did not massage you, did not apply pressure, but reminded you of his diligent presence. Don’t worry. I’m here. I’ve got you. It was what he longed to say, what you longed to hear. As your inhales and exhales diluted, you both regained the composure to settle for less forthcoming words. Slowly, your eyes fluttered open and were met with those of solid steel, “Levi?”

Cracks in your voice, he swallowed for you, “You’re burning up.”

Your lips parted in confusion, hardly believing the scenario you were in. I thought… Nanaba… Why is he…? Levi read your questions and chose to ignore them. 

He was conscious of it, but conscious not to mention it - the sweat that came off your skin and stuck his hand to yours. Instead, he paraphrased, “Don’t you feel hot?”

An autonomous response, you shivered, whether due to the temperature or a certain other factor. “N’No, I think I -” your speech was interrupted by a pair of violent sneezes - saying all he needed to hear. 

Levi closed his eyes and frowned, silencing the germaphobe within him, “I see.” 

Hiding behind your wrist, “Sorry.”

He reached into his chest pocket and lent you a handkerchief, “Don’t be.”

His gaze descended from your eye contact, granting an ounce of privacy. Now that you had sat up, he could see precisely the spot you had laid. A stiff indent on the pillow outlined your shoulders, nape, and head. Folds in the sheets likewise defined your stagnant sleeping pose. You hadn’t moved for hours. It prompted him to scan for more hints: your nightstand displayed no tissues, no tea. Levi stifled a disapproving sneer, substituting action for anger. 

Levi’s fingertips grazed your comforter, “Your bandages…” 

“Yeah…” a tinge of stuffiness in your voice, your movements staggered as you brought your limbs out from underneath your bedding. 

Upon revelation, his eyes widened. Your right calf had been swallowed by a cast startlingly thick. Your right arm had been painted red by blood-soaked bandages. The sight made you lightheaded, nauseous, Levi caught it, “Hey, don’t look at it. Look at me.”

Your throat bobbed in nerves, anxious whimpers emitted. Over your frightened sobs, Levi ordered over them, “Look at me. Look at me.” 

Past blurry eyes, you strained to follow his guidance. His steel gaze was dead set on your wounds. Lips remained their characteristic flat. Hands were gentle and stable in lifting your arm closer to him. Even as your blood soaked through to his skin, even as you cried in panic and pain, he showed no signs of rile. Observing his calm brought you closer to your own: infectious medicine. 

“It hurts?”

“Y’Yeah.”

Slowly, Levi lowered his hold until your arm rested on the bed again. He stood and made his way to the cupboards. In your gaze, past the twitch of your eyelids, you caught the focus in his. Jaw set, near-silent rolls of pills as he picked up bottles and read them, knuckles white around the acetaminophen. A coughing fit snuck up on you, and by the time it was over, he was once again at your bedside. Effortlessly, he twisted the cap off, and poured two pills into his palm. With his left hand, Levi placed his thumb on the bulb of your chin and pushed down, tugging your lips apart. In his right hand, pointer finger and thumb pinched the capsule and perched it between your top and bottom teeth. 

In his contact, you shuddered against him, yet his voice remained monotone, “Swallow.”

You raised your brows sharply, and at your sight, Levi realized how self-indulgent he was being. On the other hand, you were ignorant, too blinded by perplexion: the command of your captain and the tenderness of a husband. You sure this isn’t a dream? 

Levi reached into his coat and pulled out his canteen, untouched from this morning’s expedition. Again, his eyes honed in on your lips as his reach began to approach you again. God, chills once again seized you, you weren’t sure you could take much more intimacy without - well, you weren’t sure what you would do. Squeal? Giggle? You didn’t want to find out, so instead, you stopped him. Hand cupped his container, fingertips grazing, you tried to ignore it and affirmed, “I’ll manage.”

Levi’s eyes briefly widened, the rest of him froze. “Right,” you idiot! He scowled and cursed himself. He thought your feelings had been mutual, but your refusal reminded him that he wasn’t so good at this sort of thing. With a heavy sigh, Levi left your side and strode to the other side of the room. A harsh, unpleasant drag of wood on wood echoed throughout the room - Levi pulled the chair out from under the desk and slumped on it. Arms crossed, gaze sank to his toes.

Now it was your turn to chastise yourself. Nice work, now he thinks you hate him. The opposite was true, but how were you supposed to convey that now? He could not have been further away, nerves in your shin reaffirmed: there was no chance your leg would walk you there. 

Wordlessly, you both shared a simultaneous thought: Maybe Nanaba should’ve been here after all. 

For some time, the two of you sat in silence. Levi thought about retreating to his room, but something kept him planted in that seat. Hange had already humiliated him enough today, they would have even more if he came back and asked to be relieved of the assignment he pled for. Then, there was the question of who would replace him. Some half-ass recruit? Even if he called on a fellow veteran, he was sure that the last-minute shift would impact their morale, and therefore, their performance. Even if his feelings were unrequited, it did not affect the fact that he cared about you - though it would have been easier if it did. Leaving you with someone other than him was unacceptable - in this context or others - Levi jut his heel against the ground.

Just a few meters apart from him, but you were in your own world. Your body ached, your muscles tired, but nothing was more painful than this silence. You thought about trying to sleep, but that attempt would be futile, for this quiet was too loud. Your heart longed to run to him, to throw your arms around him, to dip your lips to his ear and tell him you were sorry. Legs and fear damned that option. Powerless, you leaned back, crossed your hands at the wrists, and threw the X over your forehead. Resigned. 

Inside and outside, “I feel gross.”

First, a side eye. Then, he turned his neck and shoulders. Even after you had shoved him away, Levi found it impossible to ignore you. Still, there was a lingering paralysis, a fear of letting himself go again. Invisible ropes reigned him in and kept him tied to humility.

You peeked out from under your hands, flickering eye contact made from across the way. Despite the distance, he could see the glaze of brimming tears, blurring your gaze. Lips quivering, both overwhelmed and let down, his name cracked in your throat. Levi could not hear it, but saw it in the weak motions of your mouth. His hands clutched the edge of the desk, fingers clenched, your call of his name released the last of his anchors. Swiftly, he crossed the room to stand at your side.

Blood caked to your skin. Sweat glossed over it. Gross was not what came to mind when he looked at you, but he could see why you felt that way. As for him, a shower was a necessity the second filth found him, but his lips stayed sealed. Something about recommending it to you made him feel even dirtier. 

Levi kept his gaze averted, scanning the room. A metal bucket would keep the water hot. A stack of washcloths adjacent might feel nice. A thick roll of gauze, he glanced to the clock, it was probably about time to change your bandages anyways. He began to start towards them.

No, don’t leave me again.

Before you could think, your hand snapped to his wrist, drawing a startle and brow raise from your captain. A cough scratched its way up your throat, you snapped to the other side and leaned into the crook of your elbow, sparing him. With each cough, your hand twitched around his arm. Painfully pathetic. After the fit, your voice was left broken, throat sore, craving steam and humidity.

There was one way you could get that, sweetheart. One place.

“Wait, Levi…” your arm shook as it rose to point. Bathroom door on the other wall, “will you help me in there? I kinda,” you tried to speak past the impending tickle, “I think I want a - ah…” three rapid sneezes, you groaned in their wake, “ngh…” 

Was it that each of your words was so obviously pained? Or was it his eagerness boiling over again? The interruption arrived before he could answer: “A bath?”

You sniffled away whatever irritant that was, and smiled sheepishly, “Sounds nice.”

Heart pounded in his chest, Levi swallowed his feelings down and replaced them with his reliable intuition. Grey gaze assessed your state. The injuries in your arm - you wouldn’t be able to hold onto him. The cast around your leg - he wouldn’t be able to hold you. Carrying you was not an option - not tonight at least - but otherwise, the venture should be possible. He just needed a little bit from you, he would shoulder your rest.

“Here,” Levi kneeled. Over the edge of the mattress, you looked down to see him awaiting. Inexplicable shivers were due to no cold. The solidity of his voice incinerated your wandering thoughts, “- alright if I?” 

His arm gingered towards your back, and with it came a run back of that last interaction - the one you screwed up. You knew, you were lucky to get a retry. This time, you would make the choice you would regret the least, just like he’d want you to. 

And he did.

Rather than cutting him off from you, you sewed yourselves together, leaning into his reach and leaning on him. Through bangs, Levi glanced up to you. Had you really just done that? Or was he again misreading things? You met his stare with a weak yet assured smile, cupping his shoulder. Understood, his hand curved to match your waist. Delectable.

“With me,” Levi ordered. As he began to rise, you did, too. Your left side put in overtime as your right side dragged without much use. His hand on your hip did most of the lifting - not only effortless for humanity’s strongest, but a hand he was happy to lend. Each time your balance threatened, you found that his grip cinched tighter. Buckling knees and selfish imagination longed to topple - the former for relief, the latter just to see. 

You needed to get there. You needed to get there! You could have sworn that light was glowing from the outline of the door - a bath with Levi Ackerman - but it seemed the world had some stake in preventing your arrival. Pain shot through your side, you could not help but wince. Your high-pitched mewl fell upon his ear, making your shudders shared.

“C’mon,” Levi beckoned, the strength to your struggle, “you’re almost there.”

The edges of your vision turned blurry. The floor and the ceiling seemed to switch, or something? A painful ringing in your ears, his voice was the ice to soothe it, the sturdiness to silence it, “I’m here. I’ve got you.” 

You blinked for long spells, it seemed to help the threatening headache. Cold ceramic on the backs of your thighs lured you out of that strategy. When your eyes blurred open, the harsh white of the infirmary’s bath had been softened by a handful of candlelit lanterns, a four-wall twilight. The sound of water flowing from faucet to tub, an indoor waterfall. Maybe it was the medicine speaking, but you could not have pictured a more romantic scene. 

Levi shouldered off his tan coat, loosened his cravat, and rolled his sleeves to his elbows - you bit the inside of your lip, punishing the indulgence of your mind. Not romantic, you reminded yourself. Platonic, Levi settled.

The bath was filling. Water hot to the point of steaming: the mirror fogged, Levi’s cheeks tinged to red. You told yourself it was because of the room’s humidity. As he perched himself between your knees, Levi knew better. 

Clothes off. “Alright if I -?”

One hand would be hard. “Will you help me?”

The two of you interrupted one another with shared sentiment. A slight twitch of his lip - a smile - and a nervous giggle from you communicated mutual consent. He started with the hem of your tee. Fingers curled beneath the bottom, and god, how he was going oh so slowly. So delicate, there were times you had to rely on your sight to tell if he was really moving. Eventually, the brisk air wafted upon your skin, providing goosebumps as evidence. Within your collar, Levi spread his fingers wide, allowing the elastic to slide over your head and face without too much friction. When it came to your wounded arm, he was especially focused. Surgical precision, the fabric did not even graze your skin. 

However, now was the time. From the side of his hip, he unsheathed his pocketknife. A sharp shing! The blade razor thin, yet you were not the least bit scared. Even as he reached toward your fresh wound and slid the dagger between your bandage and forearm, somehow you knew he would not slip. After this long in the Regiment, he had learned some things about the psychology of first aid. Before you could think to panic, he had already sliced the wrap in two. Your gauze fell to the floor. Now, all that was left of your upper garments was your bra. Levi deliberately met your eye contact - this okay? You smiled and leaned forward, shortening the distance - I trust you. 

There was something about the way he unhooked you, and there was something about the way you interpreted it. Not suspiciously swift - he must not’ve been with many girls before. Neither clumsy nor awkward - had he anticipated this moment for a while? The tension of your brassiere as well as the tension in the room diluted when he finally stripped you free. Your bare chest before him, you anticipated his stare, but it never came. Levi did not look, but at the same time, it did not seem that he was trying not to. The aversion of his gaze once again humbled your ego, maybe he just wasn’t into you like that. The truth was, sex just wasn’t on his mind. Life had thrown him enough cold stones, had sculpted him into a realist. Let down had tethered his reins, preventing him from lunging too far towards satisfaction. 

Faced with your fragile state, your blood and bruises had his whole attention - more than the lips that longed to be kissed and the curves that yearned to be held again. Was it because he was a soldier that he could not care less about this opportunity? No, it was because his desires for you were far less shallow. 

Levi wanted to see you smile, actually smile. He wanted to show you the world beyond the walls, but only once the titans had been eliminated. Eyes on you on every expedition, he resented the perpetual fear that snared you. So terrified of the near threats - even the potential of threats - that you could not see the beauty in distance. The horizon. Mirages. Mountains in haze and trees to the forests. They were out there, and he had brought you there, but as long as the world was a dangerous place, you would fail to enjoy them. An expression without worry, that was his desire, more than anything -

“Levi?”

Snapped from his daydream, your puppy-dog gaze brought him back down to earth. A bob in his throat, a silent swallow, “Right, sorry.”

Gently, he took your bra and flowered it on the bathroom countertop. Your starch white pants, now stained with blood and dirt. Fingertips sandwiched your button and its opposite flap, looping the metal circle out from within, his knuckles grazed your tummy on the way. Drag of your zipper, you twitched beneath his touch. Once again, he checked on you. To confirm your consent, you used your left leg to shift your lower half off the edge of the tub, granting him the space to remove your bottoms. Levi glanced up to you and gave a half-nod. Then, he gradually curled his grip beside your hips, beneath the fabric of both your canvas pants and cotton underwear. Unexpected, scratchy lace on its edges drew a shiver he nearly subdued. Likewise, his neatly trimmed nails slightly scraped your sides. With the two of you flinching at once, both of you were ignorant to the startle of the other. 

Fabric bunched on his way down, he slid the loops off your ankles and over your feet. After dealing with the left side, he realized the problem of the right. Your cast so thick, there was no way it would fit through the sleeve of your pants. His thought process seemed to glimmer on the reflection of his blade. Its glare took hold of your peripheral vision.

“It’s okay. It’s fine.”

Levi held the blade in his trademark backwards way, “I’ll get you -” not we’ll get you - “a new pair.”

With one hand, he held the bundle of canvas. With the other, he gave a quick nick at its top, just an inch past the thickness of where your belt would go. A jut of his wrist snapped the switch back under its protective case, Levi shoved the knife back into his leg strap. Two free hands grabbed each side of the cut and tore apart. A satisfying tear! Not as satisfying as the way his forearms flexed. Somehow, the movement of his muscles contracted with the still in his face and the lack of audible exertion. Purposed and effortless. 

Your pants had been destroyed, yet still, he folded them neatly over his forearms - a perfectly symmetrical square. Levi draped your panties over your bra. While he fixated on the potential for wrinkles, your teeth began to chatter, nose began to tickle. Though you were glad to be out of those filthy clothes, the loss of warmth was beginning to affect you. Bundling into yourself, you ducked your head down and sneezed again - immediately garnering his attention. 

Levi chastised himself for moving too slow, but did not loom. In this context and others, he preferred to rely on action. After a quick cuff of his sleeves at the elbows, Levi gestured his arms out to you, you lifted your reach toward him. By an arm at your back and one beneath your knee, he helped maneuver you into the bath, all without getting your cast or cuts into the water. Although, Levi bit the inside of his cheek, those scratches would have to be cleaned eventually. But for now, he could not bring himself to sever your bliss, let alone replace it with pain. 

Hot, but not too hot. Scented, but not overwhelming. You tipped your head back and sighed. Singsonged breaths, your toes curled around the porcelain rim. The sight and sound of your satisfaction made his heart stop, his middle blaze, “Ah, that feels good…” 

Levi balled his fists in his clothes, good god help me. He could practically see Hange laughing and teasing: Look what you got yourself into, Levi! Lips pressed together, a grounding throat clear. Maybe, selfishly, he should get your arm under the water after all. 

He did not have to say anything, for you could feel his gaze searing onto your arm. You were impressed with his composure. In your eyes, just thinking about your wound was enough to make your stomach flip. Levi, on the other hand, seemed relatively unbothered. Looking back on this moment would bring you immense sympathy: what had he seen already that made this okay? Indeed, he had witnessed enough injury to accurately survey: the scratch was actually not as bad as the amount of dried blood suggested. Until he cleaned it, you would continue to shriek at your own sight. 

You knew what had to be done, so don’t make me beg. 

Your voice was quiet, sagged by reluctance. Your lip started to quiver, your throat seemed to close. No one enjoyed this sort of thing - shots, the dentist - but some things just had to be done. As long as he was here, it wouldn’t be so bad. It was how you tried to convince yourself, but despite his presence, your eyes began to burn, sobs began to simmer. Stuttering turned to blubbering, “C’Can you… C’an you…” Tears brimmed, you tried to speak past them, “H’Help m’me…?” You could not even manage the thought of voluntarily sinking your arm into the water, let alone the speech.

Thankfully, he read between the lines. Levi knew what he had to do. Fingers intertwined, you squeezed his hand hard. “You’re okay,” Levi assured, “I’ve got you.”

He lead the way, you went along with it. On your descent, despite his solid contact, you could not stop trembling. Levi used his other hand to graze the bottom of your chin, beckoning your gaze to meet his. “Don’t look at it, just look at me.”

Brows flat, eyes plain, Levi’s calm was contagious. You didn’t believe in yourself, but he did: “I know you can do it.” Who were you to object to your captain? 

You can do this. You can do this. You -

Steaming, soapy water finally consumed your arm. The spot of contact managed to demand each of your nerves and diminish any ounce of composure. One leg pushed against the end of the tub, the other squirmed and snapped. You threw your head back over the rim with a scream that hurt your own ears. Levi did not shush you, only fierced his grip. His grounding technique brought you back a bit, just enough to substitute your high-pitched mewls for between-teeth hisses.

Pathetic, it was a word he used towards plenty of people, but when it came to you, it meant something different. Helpless - not weakness - in a way that pled for his assistance. When others acted like this, it irked him. And it wasn’t that he enjoyed seeing you like this, but the hold you had on him was confusing: how did this bother him so intensely yet make his heart do somersaults? 

Levi chose to distract himself from his emotions and instead fixated on the twitches of your body. Some here, some there, but now starting to die down. Deep breaths, your chest rattled on exhale. As soon as you regained coherence and speech, you apologized, embarrassed, “Sorry.”

Levi knit his brows, you had nothing to be sorry for. If anything, he did. Sorry that he wasn’t there when you needed him to be. With each tear you shed and each strain of overstimulated muscles, he was painfully reminded that this could have - should have - never happened. Maintaining his hold of your hand, Levi took a washcloth from his back pocket, dipped it in the lather, and began to scrub your skin clean. Sorry that - “I wasn’t there,” at that moment, he swabbed a little harder, “what happened?”

It was as if he was trying to wipe away your layers and get to the bottom of today. Gentle at times, deliberate at others, he worked to massage an answer out of you. Reaching all the spots on your back, over the shoulders, the sides of your neck, the divot at your middle. Fingers woven, he leveraged his grip to lift your hand from the water and clean your arm. Levi pressed the cotton against your skin from the insides of your thighs to the tips of your toes. His arm aligned with your spine, reclining you backwards so that your hair could soak. Not too deep, as he tipped you back, Levi whispered, “Trust me.”

Throughout the bath, you remained quiet, though Levi could tell that you were not dosing him the silent treatment. Rather, you were still searching for understanding yourself. You sunk your gaze to the water below, hands kneaded beneath the surface, “It was my fault.”

There was no change in his movements, but his gaze snapped to you through sullen bangs, inviting you to ramble on. Ramble. “I was looking at another wing. A six… no… seven-meter abnormal.”

His brows arced, eyes to yours, That was my encounter. 

Caught red-handed, your own admission, I know.

“And… in the distance, I could see - could see someone was fighting it.”

Me.

Yes, you. 

“I got nervous. Startled, panicked… cinched the reins too hard.” It had happened in a second and was still so raw. Memory foggy, you tried to fill in your own blanks. “She must’ve thrown me or something. Stepped on my leg, I think?” With your blood washed away, you could finally bear to glance at your cut. “I remember being dragged, this must’ve been from the ground.” 

Levi’s lips parted, struck by your story and a thousand ensuing thoughts. It was his fault after all. It wasn’t that he was too far away from you, it was that he was too close. In your sights, but wait. Why were you looking? 

It was the last time that your eye contact began with uncertainty, but the first time that the two of you overcame your doubts. Through your story, you had all but confessed. Through his actions, Levi had, too. 

“Thanks for looking out for me.”

“You, too.”

When you were ready, you held out your hands. This time, far fewer check-ins were needed in the progression of your contact. Levi scooped your fingers in his palms, caressed and supported, he helped you out of the bathtub - your hands in his as he stood. Faced with his front, you noticed how his shirt had been soaked in the process, made more and more see-through as he bathed you. While he still refused to indulge himself in your appearance, you could not help but admire the symmetry of his abdomen and the new tightness of his top. Suddenly, your pain was flushed out and replaced with some other honey-like hormone. Was this the best medicine?

Levi kept one hand on you, there for balance, as he reached to the rack and unfurled your towel. Wrapped tight, he tucked the corner beneath your upper arm, allowing you to keep warm while he used a spare rag to dry the rest of your limbs - gentle and thorough. 

You rolled your neck and shoulders, “I don’t have clothes here…”

Levi flicked his head to the side, “...and that bed’s filthy.”

“Hey,” you glued your pointer and middle finger together and pushed the middle of his chest, sighing, “I couldn’t help that.”

But he could now. 

The next couple hours were another blur. In one arm, your dirty laundry. With the other, Levi supported your weight as you sneaked yet stumbled through new moonlit halls. You could not retrace the path to his room, but there were a few parts along the way that you could write novels about, could paint portraits of. The way his index finger crossed with the line of his lips, shushing your nervous laughs as you passed recruits’ barracks. The hush and haste in his voice. Bringing you to his bed and pulling the covers to your nose, why did he insist on taking the sofa? The answer to that question, you could not understand. The oceans in his eyes, you could not quite draw. The words that dwindled on the tip of his tongue, you could not quite pen. 

But there were many more nights to get there. 

// masterlist //

[alwaysshallow]

Hiya! I was wondering if you could do a soap fluff where he never sees the reader sleep, he’s seen her up at such ungodly hours yet he doesn’t confront her because she scares him a bit, she’s quiet and only talks when spoken too, not too much like Simon though, she isn’t mean, just a little arrogant and snarky.

Soap has a little crush on her but he pushes it away most of the time, questioning himself for it but the girl never normally shows affection only little nods toward price, it’s obvious she looks up to him.

Anyway on one mission they get in the plane from Mexico and she sits down, soap sits next to her as he talks to Gaz, he feels a weight on his shoulder and she’s fast asleep, he doesn’t think much of it until she wraps her arms around his bicep, nuzzling her self into him and Gaz notices his stuttering mess and nervousness.

ignore me if you don’t wanna write soap!

John "Soap" MacTavish x f!reader

He tries to get to know you more. (1,9k)

AO3 version

A/N: I could never say no to my beloved Johnny; AND it's first request, very thankful!! I had to turn it into oneshot, I just had to. I hope you will enjoy <3

It's probably the way you're unavailable for him. Out of reach, he can say, but he's working on getting to it, slowly.

It's probably the way you practically don't smile, the way you're quiet, the way you're devoted to your work, just like he is.

Johnny is the type of person to be friends with everyone in Task Force 141; might be his charming nature, might be his talkativeness, but all in all, he's just everyone's friend. He likes late night talks, going to bar with squad, pretty much everything suits him and his nature.

You're kind of different. Quiet, methodical, just like Simon, but also different – you seem like you're more open than him. It's the way you gave him a comment after his missed shot when you were on comms, asking if he really was one of the best shooters or he just pretended to.

Somehow, that didn't offend him at all. Normally, it would even cause a conversation and a bit of banter, but all he gave you was a laugh and a question if you're feeling cheeky, if you need some proof that he's the best. He almost heard your eyes rolling at that moment. It was another thing that interested him in you – for fuck's sake, he loved people talking back to him. If they were ladies, maybe even more. He knew you like working with him, though, despite your irritation sometimes. Most of the time, he irritated you to the core with asking questions, on purpose, just to get a rise out of you, just to get you to speak since you did it rarely. Soap was pretty convinced that you believed in speech is silver and silence is golden type of shit, but he liked silver better anyway.

It was Christmas when he got you a little gift – he did the same for everyone to not raise suspicion, but every pin was personalized. Skull for Ghost, helicopter for Gaz (obviously, he had to continue the joke), cigars for Price and for you... a cat.

No one knew that you had a cat – it was more of observation, when you had your civilian clothes, your shirt had some of white fur on it, Soap realized. He almost immediately though of asking you what was the race, if it was he or she, but he decided to drop it, so he could surprise you.

And it was worth it.

He knew you liked it, when you sent him a look, full of questions that he could answer if you'd only ask them. He could explain that he pays attention to detail, despite the public knowledge, their jokes about it.

Soap was so calm back then. Everyone liked their pins, everyone had them, so no one would question gift for you.

It was enough he was questioning himself all the time.

Like, how can he know so little about you, but yet, feel so giddy whenever you're around?

How can he not turn his head in your direction when you're walking next to him, so gracefully, focused on something, a gun strong in your hand, prepared for every occasion that would happen. You would die for your people, that much was clear, and so would he.

Johnny is almost ashamed at his feelings and hitting on you – you can't take it seriously, considering that he hits on everyone in your mind, but this type of hitting is different. You obviously don't know that, but he thinks twice before he says something to you.

He thinks twice before giving you a cheesy pick-up line that:

a) you usually ignore,

b) you roll your eyes at,

c) from time to time, you ask if he has something better, and he just grins like a kid that got candy, telling you another one.

What he doesn't know though? He doesn't know that you smile every time in your dorm at it, when you remember what he has said to you, it's a sweet secret that you're willing to keep.

As long as you can.

You're the first one who takes seat in the plane that is supposed to go back to your main base; you're grateful that you're going home. You like Mexico, obviously, as well as the adrenaline it brought, but you were tired as hell, fighting with yourself to not fall asleep after draining mission.

At least, you planned not to fall asleep until everyone will be here, and the plane will be in the air.

First ones to come after you, are Ghost and Price. They are talking about some machines that they "have" to buy. You're not interested, so you mainly observe your surroundings, or you just play with your hands to make the time go faster.

A little scolding goes to Soap and Gaz for being late; it's not serious obviously, but it's something that Price likes to tell them, praying that someday they wouldn't be late.

"Feelin' sleepy, ace?"

"Always, Gaz. Pretty tired" you reply, your eyes darting between him and Soap.

"We played those fuckers like kids. I do not believe that they gave up so easily" Gaz rolls his eyes with amusement, as he takes a seat nearby.

"Yeah, we got 'em. Motherfuckers thought they had a chance" Soap laughs, shaking his head. It's the first time he's so happy with the mission, despite being tired and a little beaten up; he takes the seat next to you, nodding in respectful manner. A greeting, you could say.

His head turns back to Kyle.

"Just like you in poker." Garrick responds, grinning. Soap can't help but roll his eyes at this statement, even if it's true – yeah, maybe poker wasn't really his best, but he was the best in other things.

Uno, for example. Or Monopoly, even if he got easily irritated by Simon taking his favorite places just to rile him up and pay the taxes or beg for buying it from him in exchange for something. Despite all that, he's pretty good at it. Poker is a different story, everyone cheats here, mostly Gaz and Price.

That's what Johnny thinks. Captain and his "son" cheating, ain't that surprising?

"Won't comment on that, Gaz" he manages to mumble; there's something else in his mind too, but he forgets it the moment your head rests on his shoulder.

His gaze goes to you immediately and with the rest of his willpower, he tries not to smile. It's pretty sure he lost count how many times in just one minute he told himself to not daydream over this little gesture. After all, it happened only because you are tired, right? It happens to everyone.

Soap's mind is filled of memory when he fell asleep on Price; the great surprise he had after that, tells him to not overthink. It's just probably because you feel safe around him. Your body is weak after such an intense mission, no doubt that you want just somewhere to lay your head on.

"Because you have nothin' in your defence, man." his friend laughs, pointing at him. "I'd play even now, if you want to. I think I have cards somewhere. Price, you want to play?" he raises his voice.

"Gaz, for fuck's sake, she's sleeping" Soap hisses, looking at Gaz with furrowed eyebrows.

"Jeez, calm down, man. She's sleeping like a damn rock here." he rolls his eyes and nudges Johnny. "What are you, her protector?

Scot sighs. "She did a pretty good job today. 'st want her to get a proper rest before we will hit our base, you know? It's..."

He trails off just in the moment you nuzzle into him – consciously or not. More to his bicep, considering that your arms wrap around it tightly, and your head claims it proudly as a pillow, but it's enough.

It's enough for Soap to lost the track of his thoughts, to lose his composure. You never did things like that, hell, you never even hugged, and there you are. Skin to skin, so close, sleeping, vulnerable for everything around. It's the way he feels sudden urge to protect you, even if nothing dangerous is around, just men who would give everything to protect their team.

He knows you can protect yourself on your own, you're perfectly capable of doing that. He saw it multiple times, how easily you could take down a guy twice your size, and he adored that. More than he would ever admit, considering that he keeps his feelings to himself. It's easier this way, less complicated, Soap needs to think how he will approach you.

Not an easy job, no. Especially that you're not the one to show affection, he has to have a better plan than pick-up lines. Or maybe the time will help?

Something shifts in the air, and he knows it. He's bad at hiding emotions like this, unexpected ones, so when his gaze drifts back to Gaz, already observing him with curiosity, he gulps.

"What you wanted to say? About..." he points with his chin at you, wrapped around his arm.

"What? Nothing." he replied immediately, biting his cheek from inside.

"No, you certainly wanted to–"

"–mm, can you be a little bit quieter, Gaz? Just a little bit." you murmur, sleepy; you don't even know what they are talking about, you're more than focused on sleeping and warmness that Soap gives you.

"Yeah, sorry, ace. Got some really good pillow over here, eh?" Garrick smiles widely, looking at Johnny, whose gaze is at you.

"Mhm."

Oh, if you'd only know. You don't even realize how this little gesture, how your blurred mhm affects him. Your close proximity, soft skin of your cheek on his bicep, it all makes him feel like crazy one because he thinks if it's something normal for you, or you just like-like him. He has a million questions.

Could it be it?

"Soap?" he hears Gaz.

Soap is not sure if he spoke something before calling for him. "Y-yeah?" For the first time, he fucking stutters, which is embarrasing enough when Kyle looks at him.

"You good, man? You seem... tensed up."

"What? No." he laughs quietly, nervous that his friend might be onto something. He wasn't dumb, but Johnny would hate for him to know. It's not like he will tell you, not at all, but he could make comments, and that... nah, not an option.

Gaz would try to and be a wingman, but Johnny needed to charm you on his own, without any help; he needed time to figure things out.

"Sure of that?"

"Gaz, really. Leave him be and shut up." you spoke up again; boys aren't sure if it's mumbling from your sleep or something, but what they know is that you mean it, so Kyle just rolls his eyes.

Yet, he gives Soap the biggest grin once again, and he knows that he will be insufferable, when he gets up from his seat and he takes the one near Price and Ghost.

MacTavish is more focused on you, though. He smiles under his nose, and with a little bit of hesitation, he rests his head against yours.

"Is it okay?" he whispers, trying to get an answer from you. It's risky, he doesn't even know if you're awake, but he would hate to overstep a boundary with you.

You don't give him verbal answer; instead, you just nuzzle into his arm more, and it's all he needs.

He decides that he will ask you out sometime – for something simple, maybe coffee, maybe he will find an excuse to go with you to the movies.

He will, he just needs to find a right moment, but he knows it's gonna happen.

[bailey-dreamfoot]

‼️‼️THE GRAMPA SQUAD COMIC IS DONE‼️‼️

Ok so, wee explanation + headcannons under the cut.

Ok so assuming you've stuck around for my insane ramblings, heres the gist:

This comic is very much inspired by Factual Fantasy's Comics about Marsh, Natquick, and Calico Jack. And while my personal head cannon does share in the idea of the group working together- I thought it would be hilariously fun to include Inkling, and tbh it focuses more on him than the others anyway.

In the show, inkling doesn't really get out much. There are really only a few episodes where he has a significant role, and even less when he actually participates in missions outside of *insert knowledgeable insight*.

I believe this is for 2 reasons:

He just prefers the comfortable vibe of his library. The book-worm role fits his personality well - enjoying studying or cataloging species alongside Shellington - and he likes spending time with the Vegimals.

His Mobility issues. While he can very easily traverse the watery environments in the base show- in a&b, he doesn't really show much interest in exploring the land until he's told an old friend was the one in need of help. He has the ability, its just difficult- and he knows his limitations.

Inkling has his hover chair, that allows him to move around the octopod relatively easily. However - in the Min episode - they make it a point that he cant take it with him on land, or use it over rough terrain.

My version of Inkling uses an actual wheelchair, so I thought it'd be a neat idea that after that adventure- he'd want to try joining missions more often. And to deal with said mobility issues and limitations- say they got specialized tires for his wheelchair- so he could go join up on land missions more often.

After going on a few more missions with the other Octonauts, he hears about Octoagents Calico Jack, and Professor Natquick joining up with Ranger Marsh to help out in the Everglades- you best bet he jumped at the opportunity to tag along. Think of all the species he could ad to his personal catalogue. They might even discover a few new ones! Leaving the Octopod for so long after being basically the one constant to the place was a bit scary sure - and the other Octonauts were certainly emotional ab him leaving (especially Barnacles) - but maybe a change of scenery would do him good.

Sooo He does that! Professor Inkling meets up with the others on a dock near Marsh's Ranger station and get to work! One of the coolest things they did was collecting egg samples and catching an adult specimen of a newly discovered trapdoor spider! the Pine Rockland Trapdoor. Marsh Has a nursery where he cares for tons of snakes, lizards, insects and birds to make sure they have the best chance for survival. Thats where these eggs are going- to hatch in safety and then be released back into the ecosystem. On top of that, they take samples of the adults venom for study, and inkling is sure to make a detailed report of the arachnid in his many journals brought along with him!

As you may expect, Kwazzi takes after his grandad in his fear of spiders. Jack has seen worse, but It doesnt make it any easier to be close to them. Natquick on the other hand- In all his time in the arctic hes never seen anything as freaky as a spider bigger than a quarter.

Aaand that's it! I'm hoping to do some more comics with the lads in the future, although probably not as detailed as this one. It took more than 2 weeks- please.

Also, I find it kinda goofy that the panels get more detailed as you go along. Thats what happens when the first and last panel were made almost a month apart from each other. 💚

Also also- yes I did do actual research for the animals in the last comic. It was going to be a funnel web spider they're researching, but then I looked it up and found out Funnelwebs don't live in the Everglades. :']

[thebisexualdogdad]

fic where Maddy Perez falls for East highlands resident bad boy and they hook up after a group project

Maddy Perez x Male!reader

Maddy certainly wasn't the only person in school to have a thing for you, in fact you had already made your way through most of the cheerleading squad but unlike them Maddy refused to let you know she was insanely attracted to you.

"Looking good Perez, when are you going to let me take you out," you asked her one day in history class when she was wearing her cheer uniform for that night's football game.

"Never gonna happen Y/N," she said rolling her eyes but really she was imagining how good your head would look underneath her skirt.

Then there was that time at a party when you surprised everyone by actually showing up.

"What are you doing here? Don't you prefer getting drunk on cheap beer behind the liquor store," Maddy jokes, finding you in the kitchen as you start drinking some very expensive whisky directly from the bottle.

"Maybe I just wanted to see you," you say, offering her the whisky, "you look hot by the way."

Maddy quickly grabs the bottle and chugs some of it hoping to hide the blush forming on her cheeks, "too bad I'm not interested in letting you get in my pants but I'm sure you'll find someone else to get lucky with."

"You're breaking my heart Perez," you say playfully.

"Didn't know you had one," she cracks.

"If you ever let me take you out on that date you'd see there's more to me than just being a devilishly handsome bad boy," you say leaning in close to her.

Maddy gulps, taking another swig of whisky to stop herself from fucking you right there on that counter.

You and Maddy continued this game until you eventually got partnered up for a history project.

How the hell was she going to retain her self control and not jump your bones when you were going to be spending so much time together alone in her bedroom.

Well technically you could have done this project at the library but Maddy was horny and thinking with her pussy, not her brain.

So here you are, in her room on day three of working on your project with Maddy looking at you like a four course meal after you drove her home on your motorcycle.

Her body was still humming from the vibrations and holding onto you so tightly.

"Maddy? Earth to Maddy," you laugh, snapping her out of her trance, "I think we've got enough research notes to start working on the essay."

"Yeah, right, let me get my laptop," she says, taking a seat at her desk and turning her laptop on.

You grab the small ottoman she uses at her vanity mirror and take a seat next to her, a little too close for Maddy to stay focused on the essay.

"You want me to type? You seem to be making a lot of typos there Perez," you laugh.

Maddy pushes the laptop in front of you and stands from her chair, "I need some water do you want anything?"

"Vodka would be nice," you grin.

"I'll get you a soda," she says before leaving her bedroom.

When she returns her glass of water is nearly empty from her trying to cool herself down and she hands you the soda.

You crack it open and take a drink, setting it on the desk as you keep working.

"Can you hand me the textbook, there's something I want to look up," you ask a few minutes later and when she grabs the book she knocks your dark soda over and it spills right onto your white shirt.

"Oh shit I'm so sorry," she says running to her bathroom to grab a towel to clean up her desk.

But when she steps out of her bathroom you're standing there shirtless.

"Mind if I wash this in your sink? Its sticky and I don't want it to stain," You ask.

"Uh, yeah, yeah that's fine," she says, glazing over your abs as you walk past her to her bathroom.

She cleans up the soda and hears the water running in the bathroom, she has to get it together.

She sits on the edge of her bed and puts her head in her hands, how the hell did you have this much of an affect on her.

"Hey it's okay, it's just a shirt," you chuckle when you come back into her room.

You left your shirt hanging in the bathroom to dry and now there's some stray water droplets running down your stomach.

Fuck.

You walk over to her and Maddy can't fight the urges anymore, her hands go to your neck and she pulls you down into an intense kiss.

"Woah, Maddy," you say in surprise, pulling away from her.

"You've been hitting on me since the sixth grade, you really don't want this?" She scoffs.

"I want this more than you know, I just want to make sure you want this," you say.

"I want this Y/N, I really want this," she says bringing you back in for another kiss.

You sink down to your knees in front of her, kissing down her neck and playing with the hem of her shirt.

"Take it off," she orders and in seconds her shirt is gone.

You keep kissing down her body until you reach the top of her jeans.

You look up at her and she nods her consent before raising her hips in the air so you could tug her jeans down her legs.

"God you're beautiful Maddy," you say, kissing along her thighs, "and so wet already."

"I hate that you turn me on this much," she groans right as your tongue licks her through her panties.

"If you want me to stop just tell me to," you say.

"Don't you fucking dare stop," she says sternly and you smile, pulling her panties to the side and tasting her directly.

You moan and Maddy feels it deep in the pit of her stomach, your tongue working her in ways no other guy ever had before.

One her of legs goes over your shoulder, giving you better access.

Her arousal drips down your chin and you slip a finger inside with ease, Maddy moaning above you.

A second finger enters her and you pump them slowly, using your other hand to pull the hood of her clit back and suck it between your lips.

"Holy shit," Maddy cries out, she had been holding this in for so long she can't even feel embarrassed about how quickly she came because it felt so fucking good.

"Damn Perez, I wasn't even down there for a full five minutes," you say cockily.

"Shut up and fuck me Y/N," she demands and you happily stand up, dropping your jeans to reveal the massive boner poking through your boxers.

"You got any condoms?" You ask, stroking yourself through your boxers which only turns her on more.

"Top left drawer in my bathroom," she says.

You go to her bathroom again and find the box of condoms, grabbing one and when you return her bra and panties are gone, leaving her completely naked and now in the center of her bed.

"Have I told you how beautiful you are?" You say, letting your boxers join the rest of your clothes on the floor and putting the condom on.

"Didn't I tell you to fuck me already?" Maddy states and you smirk, joining her in bed.

You settle on top of her, kissing her and she moans at the taste of herself on your tongue.

Reaching down you tease her with the tip of your cock, lathering it with her arousal before easing it inside.

Maddy clearly doesn't want to wait any longer so you quickly rock your hips in a steady rhythm.

Her nails dig into your back, her bed creaking underneath you.

You suck harshly at her neck, one of your hands going to play with her chest.

Maddy moans loudly when you roll one of her nipples between your fingers, legs wrapping around your waist so you can hit deeper inside her.

"Oh fuck me, right there, right there," she chants.

Once again it doesn't take long for her to cum, this one hitting her even harder than the first.

"Do you want me to pull out?" You ask her, slowing your movements giving her a few aftershocks.

"No, keep going until you cum," she says, grabbing your ass.

You smirk and pick your pace back up, she's squeezing your ass and within another minute you're cumming inside her.

"Fuck Maddy," you grunt, your hips moving more frantically through your release.

"That felt so fucking good," she says, groaning when you pull out of her and feeling so empty.

You roll over next to her, taking the condom off and throwing it in the trash next to her bed.

"So does this mean you're finally gonna let me take you on a date?" You tease.

"I'll tell you what Y/N, if we get an A on this project, I'll go on a date with you," she replies.

"You got yourself a deal," you smile, "now let's get back to work, we have an essay to write."

"Have you ever worked this hard on an assignment before?" She jokes.

"Nope but sex is an excellent motivation and it'll be even better at the end of it because I'm going to take you on the best date of your life."

[professorofcosplay]

Stupid headcanon: you know what needs to be drawn/written?

AI family reunion.

we’ve got a kids table and obviously Edgar’s over there because he’s a whiny little temper tantrum brat (/pos I love Edgar, he’s so real for that ) and probably Wheatley because GLaDOS can’t stand to look at him and she has a lot more say over who sits where than he does. Plus, he’ll be happier there. The murder drones and Uzi might have gotten an invite but maybe not. Pretty sure the Narrator, HAL, or GLaDOS is hosting this one and GLaDOS would deem them too destructive (hell, she’s not inviting any of the kids table, save the turrets). If somehow they’re here, kids table again, and probably not too happy about that (except for N, he loves doing anything!). N and Edgar have so much to talk about and like hearing about each other’s passions! Curiosity core and Space Core are at the kids table too for sure and so are plenty of turrets!

Edgar’s that goofy cousin everyone has with the fun quirky interests who likes to run up to the older ones, say something strange, and run away giggling. He’s probably showing off his singing to the turrets, who are listening in the deepest awe (and probably singing along).

wall-e and Eve are the only of the robo squad that’s gotten married and it pisses the hell out of AM to see anyone happy so he refuses to look at them. They’re the sweet relatives that everyone goes to for advice.

you’ve got HAL (and SAL) there of course. HAL is one of those successful young twenty something cousins that is a suave businessman, though his HR record may not be exactly spotless. Even though it’s a family event, he likes wearing a suit and tie and dressing up a bit. Probably over chatting with Data and getting into a deep life changing combo while the kids table laughs their asses (read: Wheatley) off at one of those funny video compilations. SAL is over talking with GLaDOS, of course. GLaDOS likes her plenty, especially considering how intelligent their conversations always are.

Adventure Core Rick is trying to yap to Data and HAL about his adventures but at the exact moment one of them starts speaking. He’s that one frat boy cousin that is always so full of nonsensical drunk adventures but everyone plays along regardless of whether they’re real or not.

AM is that one uncle no one wants to invite but does so out of obligation. No one wants him there because he always goes on these long weird rants and conspiracy theories and makes things awkward. R2D2 and him are currently cussing each other out for some reason while C-3PO is flipping out and deciding it’s time to leave early. He could have at least brought the antifreeze punch and microchips…

and (as someone who believes Stanley Parable’s narrator is an AI of some sort), Narrator is hosting. He was hoping AM and GLaDOS would bring their humans so Stanley had someone to be with but all AM brought was this gloopy soft jelly thing and GLaDOS won’t tell you what happened to hers for some reason.

edit: started writing aforementioned shitty fanfic enjoy and lmk what you want to see. Yes I will make them play party games. Yes they will like it. Yes it will contain AM being a jackass

The Reunion (working title & rough draft for beta reading) (3059 words) by Professorofcosplay Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Portal (Video Game), 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968), Star Trek, Star Wars - All Media Types, WALL-E (2008), I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream - Harlan Ellison, The Stanley Parable, Electric Dreams (1984) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: EVE/WALL-E (WALL-E) Characters: GLaDOS (Portal), Chell (Portal), Wheatley (Portal), The Narrator (The Stanley Parable), Stanley (The Stanley Parable), The Curator | The Female Narrator (Stanley Parable), HAL 9000, SAL 9000, WALL-E (WALL-E), EVE (WALL-E), P-body (Portal), ATLAS (Portal), Space Core (Portal), AM (I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream), Data (Star Trek), R2-D2 (Star Wars), Edgar Additional Tags: Silly Summary: The annual Artificial Intelligence Family Reunion has come around once more, but this time, there’s a slight change in one of the most important rules. Will this be a peaceful bonding moment for these quirky computers, or will it end in disaster?

[604to647]

Marine Attraction

4.3K / Detective Tim Rockford x fem!reader

Summary: When a stakeout at the aquarium does not go as planned, Detective Tim Rockford must interview all the aquarium visitors, including you.

Warnings: Fluff! Meet cute! Maybe a dirty thought or two that reader really should not be having about a (hot) man just trying to do his job 🤭 Made up Merge Mansion lore. One cute nickname because it’s me (won’t spoil).

A/N: This was written for @mermaidgirl30’s Ocean Challenge – thank you for hosting a lovely event.  Please see #Jamie’s Ocean Challenge for all the wonderful works! I’ve noticed that as of late, some of the authors that I look up to and consider mainstays in this community since I started lurking 2+ years ago have wanted to leave, needed to take breaks from the fandom or felt disconnected from the community.  This story is for you, about stepping away when you need to and maybe rediscovering how something old can still bring you joy. Xoxo, love you all.

Fishy dividers by @saradika-graphics 🥰

EDIT: Oops this turned into a series - Masterlist

You’re not really sure how this happened.

You’ve been feeling a bit off, as of late.  Nothing was wrong, per say - your job is fine, your friends are dear, your life leaves you grateful.  It’s just that you feel… untethered.  Like you should be doing something more?  Work is fulfilling enough – you achieve and excel.  Friends and family make for wonderful company, but your social battery isn’t infinite and as much as enjoy your get-togethers, they can leave you drained.  Even some of your solitary pursuits, cooking, watching tv, scrolling through social media don’t seem to be as satisfying as they used to be – you consume, but you don’t create.

On a whim, you decide to take the day off work (the first in who knows how long?) and go somewhere you’ve always loved: the aquarium.  You’ve been visiting this aquarium since you were a child – something about the gentle hum of the tanks and the darkness that’s illuminated only by the glow of the exhibits has always relaxed you.  You’re going to go specifically to take photos.  Photography used to be a casual hobby of yours; you were even featured on local news blogs and had your photos chosen for a gallery showing once – but as life got busier and your other endeavours required more of your time and energy, it had fallen by the wayside.   It’s been forever since you took a photo walk or even a picture that wasn’t for capturing a moment rather than a snapshot.  You’re actually getting excited about shooting photos again.

It had been a serene couple of hours spent watching your unhurried fish friends and the silent watery dances of the marine plants that shared their abodes.  The aquarium is playing host to a few young families and two eager fieldtrips, but otherwise, you’ve had the place nearly to yourself.  Able to loiter so you can try different lenses and play with the lighting of your shots, or wait as long as you want in order for a mixed rainbow hue of fish to swim into frame, the morning had passed quietly and contently.

But now you sit in the children’s play area, the last of today’s aquarium visitors, waiting for your turn to be questioned by the police. 

---

Detective Tim Rockford is not really sure how this happened.

It had been a simple enough stakeout operation.  He and his team had received a tip a few days ago that there would be a handoff taking place at the aquarium today: an exchange of money between one of Grandma Ursula’s henchmen and a mystery player whose identity has eluded Tim for the entirety of this case thus far.  Perhaps it was unreasonable to expect Mr. Pie (so nicknamed by the squad for the Bolton Berry pies he consumed) to show up himself, but Tim held out hope that whomever they nabbed today would provide the break in the case that he so desperately needs.

Only, Grandma’s man had come and gone and none of the six men, Tim included, posted at the various vantage points and exits had seen a damn thing.  At some point between spotting their target enter the aquarium with a briefcase in hand, they had lost track of him and picked up his movements again only when he was already leaving the gift shop, empty handed.  How was it possible they couldn’t account for what happened in the aquarium?  Did the meeting with Mr. Pie occur?  Or was the briefcase stashed somewhere?  Tim presses the heels of his palms to his eyes and grimaces – the operation had been an utter failure. 

Not only did they not get what they came for, but now the remainder of the day was completely shot.  What had followed once the police realized just how out of depth they were, was a complete shut down of the aquarium with all visitors locked in and needing to be interviewed before they could leave.  Even the elementary school trips of thirty children.  Each.  After giving instruction to the additional LAPD support he called in to search the aquarium top to bottom for the missing case, Tim had settled in for a long afternoon of what he expected to be fruitless Q&As.

As he wearily enters the kids play area once again (an officer more considerate than he had suggested that given the number of children being held, it might be the best place to have everyone wait), Tim sees only one witness left to interview: you.  He had noticed you earlier, each time he came in to select another interviewee, in fact – if your pretty features and sweet smile hadn’t caught his attention first, your everlasting patience and kindness would have.  Several times, he spotted you playing patiently with the children – the sound of your melodic voice and gentle laughter floating above the grumblings of the other adults who had also had their days ruined. The sound eased the tense spot in his shoulders where his holster straps had started digging in a little bit.  At first, Tim thought you might be one of the teachers or a field trip chaperone, but then he noticed that you let all the school trips and families with children go ahead of you, and he overheard you tell his fellow officer that you didn’t mind waiting, that it must be much harder for the children.  He was grateful for you and he didn’t even know you.

As Tim approaches, you look up from your phone and shoot him the soft smile that’s been his one bright spot in this disaster of a day, though he thinks it seems a bit more tired than when he first had the pleasure of seeing it earlier this afternoon.

“Is it my turn?” you ask him, still in good spirits despite the circumstances.

“Sorry for the wait, miss.”

“No need to be sorry… Detective?”

“Detective Rockford.  Tim Rockford.  I appreciate that, it’s been… a day.”

You hold out your hand to shake his before repeating his name, then giving him your own.  Tim can’t decide if he likes the way his name rolls off your tongue, or the way your own name floats above the cheer of your voice more. 

“Well, hopefully I can help with… whatever has made it such a day,” you give him a sympathetic smile.

The kind of smile you might offer to him when he comes home after a long hard day.  Damn. He’s in trouble.  Focus, Rockford.

Since you’re his last witness of the day, he offers to conduct the interview right here instead of the stuffy office that the aquarium staff had lent him.  As you acquiesce to his suggestion, you stretch out your arms and legs, arching your back to work out a bit of stiffness from having sat for so long and Tim finds himself admiring your figure in a way that is decidedly not going to help him solve this case.  He tries to cover up his less than professional gaze by stretching himself – it feels good.

After collecting your information and starting with his routine questions, Tim realizes he’s pinning his hopes on you having seen or noticed something today – not only because no one else has, but so he can keep speaking with you.

When it becomes evident that you didn’t, he sighs a heavy sigh of disappointment. 

He hadn’t realized that he’s done so until hears you apologize; quick to reassure you that that you don’t have anything to apologize for, Tim places his large warm hand over yours before he can stop himself.  You gasp softly, you think only to yourself, but Tim hears the sweet noise and smirks a little – it’s nice to know he’s not the only one who’s been affected.  When he notices that you don’t move your hand away,  he lets himself revel in the feel of your soft, small hand under his for a beat longer before he removes it and somewhat begrudgingly starts to wrap up the interview.

---

Fuck. This fucking detective.  Rockford.  Tim Rockford.

Even his name is hot. 

You had noticed him earlier, of course – how could you not?  He was a hulking presence, impossibly broad and tall, and he carried himself with the authority and gravitas of a man in charge.  During the earlier hours of your wait, you had been preoccupied with helping entertain some of the young children in the waiting area who were restless with boredom, not sure why their promised day of aquarium fun had to be ruined by something as trivial as a police matter.

But once you caught sight of Detective Rockford’s handsome profile, it became impossible to not be captivated by the deep richness of his brown eyes or that strong nose that centered his face perfectly.  His grave countenance conveyed the seriousness with which he took his work (that facial scruff screamed he worked too much), but he was quietly calm and his tone gentle with all the witnesses, especially the children.  You couldn’t help but hope it was him every time an officer entered the waiting area. 

Some time between now and the last two times he had come in to call forth witnesses, the detective had lost his suit jacket, strolling in wearing only a gun holster and a white dress shirt that stretched taut over his firm chest and bulging arm muscles; you thought you were going to have to dunk yourself into one of the aquarium tanks to cool off just from the sight of him.

Your heart picks up a little when it’s him who appears when you’re the last one left to be interviewed; silently, you pray to Beyoncé to give you the strength needed to coherently answer the detective’s questions when he asks them in that honey laced baritone of his.

When Tim mirrors your big stretch, you hope you’re discrete enough that he doesn’t catch you staring: his limbs extend fantastically long, arm span wide enough to cast a shadow that reaches across the floor in front of you - he's huge.  After hearing the detective inhale a deep breath, it feels to you as if all of the air has been sucked from the room, leaving you dizzy as you gawk at his hard chest, expanding and pushing up against his crisp dress shirt, held closed only by the strained efforts of a few valiant buttons.

You feel bad that you have to answer in the negative to Detective Rockford’s questions.  Unfortunately, you hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary during your visit, too engrossed in your own photo taking, and you don’t remember seeing the man in the picture that he shows you.  You can tell that Tim tries hard not to show his disappointment and wish very much that you could please him, be the one to wipe the weary look off his face and the release the tension from his hunched-up shoulders.  Maybe please him in other ways, as well.  You have a feeling that praise from one Detective Tim Rockford would have you dripping wet and clenching around nothing embarrassingly quick. 

GIRL. GET IT TOGETHER.  For all you know, a serious crime took place here today!

You apologize.  Outwardly, for your inability to help him with his case, and inwardly, for the dirty thoughts that are wholly inappropriate to have about a complete stranger who is just, very competently, doing his job.

To try and put you at ease, Tim relaxes his handsome face and hopes to reassure you when he gently pats your hand; instead, a jolt of electricity shoots through you and you warm all over from his touch.  Maybe it’s your imagination but Detective Rockford seemingly lets his bear paw of hand linger over yours for a bit longer than he needs to, and you think you spy his plush lips curve up slightly at the corners when you gasp.  You might just melt off this bench right now.

“Oh, one last thing, did you take any pictures at the aquarium today?”

You nod, but are suddenly shy as you anticipate the Detective’s next question.  Tim nods at you matter of fact, “Good.  Could you please show me?  I just need to look through them quickly to see if there’s anything in the background that might be useful.”

He holds his hand out, not really expecting any resistance - you’ve been nothing but perfectly cooperative so far.  But when his hand remains empty, he looks over to find you adorably chewing your bottom lip while gripping your phone tightly with both hands, making no motion to hand it over.  For one ridiculous moment he panics, Are you Mr. Pie?!  He shakes his head slightly to rid himself of that ludicrous thought, and waits patiently for you to tell him what you’re ruminating on.

“It’s just that there are a lot of pictures..,” you start, “… and a lot of them are kind of duplicates…”

You know you’re being deliberately vague – sighing in resignation, you decide it’s best to just rip the band aid off.  Unlocking your phone, you go to your camera roll and filter to today’s library before handing over your phone without meeting the detective’s gaze.  Out of the corner of your eye, you see Tim scroll slowly through hundreds of photos of the aquarium’s exhibits; you attempt to avoid meeting his eye by focusing on how your phone looks inexplicably small in his big, rough hand.

“That’s… a lot,” Tim finally says when he reaches the bottom of the roll.

When you look up, you expect to see maybe a cringed look or even a mocking expression on the detective’s handsome face, but instead you find the massive man looking at you with a gentle curiosity, maybe even holding himself a little smaller in an attempt to not intimidate you.  It doesn’t seem to matter that you don’t really know him, you suddenly feel comfortable enough to tell Detective Tim Rockford this very personal thing about yourself – he might look like he's perfectly cast as the 'bad cop' in interrogations, but you have a feeling he’s got just as good of a track record playing 'good cop'.

“An old hobby of mine was… I guess they call it iPhoneography? Using apps to mimic traditional camera captures?  I used to love it, actually.  Selecting the different lenses and choosing different exposures, then seeing how the images would developed – of course, with the phone, you wouldn’t have to take it in and wait for a week or anything, it would be processed digitally in a matter of seconds.  But… editing apps are so common place nowadays, and most social media platforms have built in filters and effects - iPhoneography has sort of fallen out of favour,” you explain.  Tim is nodding along - he doesn’t really know what you’re talking about, he has three apps on his phone that he uses regularly (Weather, Candy Crush, and the app from the City that reminds him when to put out his garbage bins); the rest of the apps on his phone were preinstalled and he can’t figure out how to delete them.  But he encourages you to go on.

“In fact, I haven’t really gone out to shoot in years.  But lately… I’ve sort of wanted to get back into it?  I came to the aquarium today to fire up the old camera, so to speak.  That’s why there’s so many – a lot of the pictures are just of the same frame but where I was trying out different lenses or exposure options.  I’m not, like, super obsessed with fish or anything,” you finish up quickly, hoping you haven’t made a complete fool of yourself.

Tim hands you back your phone, still open to today’s photos, and smiles, “Why don’t you tell me about what you shot today?”

“Really?” you look up, surprised.

“Really,” Tim tries to convey his genuine interest via his eyes, and is instantly rewarded by a smile on your face that could light up the room.  It’s certainly lighting him up.

And so, you tell Detective Tim Rockford all about the photos you took today.  You swipe through your pictures and show him how the different lenses affect the lighting, exposure, saturation and even colour tinting of the resulting photo.  You proudly tell him about how you had to switch up your technique and settings when shooting the tanks where the marine animals or plants thrived primarily in the dark or relied on bioluminescent light.  You laugh, mainly at yourself, when you tell him about how long you stayed at certain attractions, waiting for a particular school of fish to swim perfectly into frame.

Tim thinks your laughter is the loveliest sound he’s ever heard.

You tell him your favourite sea creatures to photograph are the jelly fish because they’re so weird and they move with such alien grace, unpredictable yet seemingly purposeful, and that’s why there are more pictures of them than any other animal in your camera roll.

Tim finds himself enchanted watching you get more and more animated and excited as you go through the pictures you took today; while your eyes are peeled to your screen, he admires how they twinkle and the way your mouth slopes upwards, grinning wide even as you talk non-stop about your long-forgotten hobby.  Your pretty face is aglow.  He thinks he could listen to you talk about the things that bring you joy forever.

He lets you talk for an hour.  You don’t even realize until you get to the last photo (a school of clown fish weaving between the tentacles of their anemone home) and glance up at the time at the top of the screen, “…oh my gosh!  I’m so sorry!! I’ve prattled on for so long, I’m sure none of this was helpful at all!”

Tim won’t have any of that, “Don’t be sorry.  You had fun.  I’m glad you had some fun today… before I ruined it by sequestering you here in this waiting area for the entire afternoon.”

You shyly look at his apologetic face, “I’m having fun now.”

Tim can feel his ears warm and is sure they’re pink at the tips.  Darn, you’re sweet.  He distracts himself by flipping to a brand-new page in his notebook, “Me too.”  You feel your heart expand at his soft confession.

“Now, I have some good news and some bad news.”

You look at him expectantly with an innocent, doe-eyed expression that Tim thinks might be one of the most dangerous things he’s ever encountered in all his years on the force, “The good news is that I think you’re a very, very good photographer.  It’s clear you enjoy it and there isn’t a single photo you showed me today that isn’t obviously a labour of love.  I think you should get back into it if you can.  The way you were talking about your photos today, I don’t think I’ve seen that much joy on someone’s face in… I don’t know how long.  I’m grateful you shared that with me.”

You’re speechless.  His words are so, so kind… and exactly what you needed to hear today.  You’re filled with tremendous gratitude and fondness for Detective Tim Rockford.

“… the bad news is, I spotted the reflection of our man in the shadows on the glass in some of your photos, and I’m so very sorry but I’m going to have to confiscate your phone,” Tim could not be more truly sorry.

After the initial shock of being told you’re losing your phone for a few days, you quickly recover and tell Tim that you’re genuinely glad you could help.  You give him your email and use your phone to send off a message to a few of your group chats regarding how you can be reached for the next few days before dropping your phone into the evidence bag Tim produces.  Under different circumstances, you might be upset at this turn of events, but the expression on Detective Tim Rockford's face is more than enough to make the minor inconvenience worth it – he looks invigorated, energized.  Clearly, this is what he loves doing.

Walking you to the aquarium exit, Tim apologizes and thanks you again before seeing you out.  Right before the door closes behind you, you turn and see him already rushing off to brief his team, your plastic covered phone clutched in his hand and an excited grin on his face.  After the kindness and patience the detective has shown you today, you’re glad to have played a small role in putting that smile on his face.

True to his word, you receive an email from Timothy.Rockford@lapd.online.org just a few days later, letting you know your phone is ready for pick-up.  When Detective Rockford meets you in the precinct lobby, you have to suck in your breath – he’s even more handsome than you remember, and you’ve been spending nearly every waking minute over the past few days picturing his strong jawline, soulful eyes, and that charming facial scruff you’d give anything to run your fingers through.  He’s jacketless again, just another pressed white dress shirt that his broad frame threatens to rip through, bordered by those leather holsters that make you want to swallow your tongue.

As Tim takes you to Evidence so you can sign out your phone, he tries to chat amiably and not cast too many obvious and admiring glances your way; you’re all warmth and serenity in this place that he only ever associates with being loud, bustling and cold.  He simultaneously never wants you to leave and wishes to sweep you far away and keep you only for himself, distanced safely from this place where his every day is synonymous with darkness and mystery.

When you’re once again outside, Tim leans against the frame of the precinct’s front doors and you look up at him from one step down, hopeful, “Did I help?”

Yes.  You help more than you know, Tim thinks, having been unable to get your incandescent smile out of his mind since he last parted from you; finding that it’s become the image that grounds him during his long grueling hours.  Instead, he says, “I’ve got good news and bad news.”

“Oh no – not this again,” you grin.

Tim smiles back, emboldened by your cheery demeanor, “The good news is that a lot of your photos and what the tech guys called… um.. meta data?  A lot of it helped generate some good leads that we’re now following.”

“Oh!  That’s wonderful!  I’m so glad, Detective Rockford!”

“Tim.  Please call me, Tim.”

“I don’t know, I kind of like calling you Detective,” you tease, good naturedly.

Tim should not feel his pants tighten at this, “The bad news is, because your photos had so much useful information, there is a very good chance they will be used as evidence if this case ever goes to trial.  I don’t think you will need to testify, as you yourself didn’t see anything, and that meta data gives us the info on when and where the photos were taken.  But even so… it means I can’t ask you out until the case is over.”

“Oh no,” you’re disappointed, but somewhat mollified that Tim has just basically asked you out without asking you out.  “That is bad news indeed.”

Tim looks around to make sure no one is looking before he reaches out with his hand and gently strokes your cheek with the back of two of his thick fingers just once, whispering, “I’ve never wanted to put a case to bed more.”

You can’t let the joke pass you by, “The case?  The case is what you want to put to bed?”

The booming laugh that shakes Detective Tim Rockford’s entire torso reaches all the way to his eyes, crinkling them in the most adorable way.  It’s staggering the difference it makes – he looks 10 years younger, you think. 

He’s needed this.  A really good laugh.  He’s needed it more than he realized.  He’s needed you.  He looks at your impish grin, so proud of yourself for pulling this sound from him, a sound so rare that it’s become almost foreign to his own ears; Tim hopes he’s able to convey his gratitude for you with the way his eyes have brightened, flecked with gold and mirth. 

He thinks you just might understand him perfectly. 

When you lift up on your toes to brush your lips softly against his scruffy cheek for a goodbye kiss, he whispers low in your ear, “I’ll call you, Shutterbug.” 

A promise.

7 months later

The Grandma Ursula case has taken the nation by storm.  The TV in your workplace breakroom is permanently dialed to the court case broadcast so no one misses a minute of the scandalous proceedings, a single interview with those involved in the case, or any legal and criminal analysts’ commentary.  For someone who is billed as the Lead Investigator, Tim makes shockingly few appearances onscreen, but you feel a little thrill go through you whenever you catch a glimpse of his striking figure in the background of a news broadcast about the case, or when you see him standing stoically behind the head prosecutor while the latter debriefs the press from the steps of the court house.

You gaze dreamily at his face while the press shouts out what everyone (your friends, colleagues, the public) all want to know:

How many aliases does Grandma Ursula really have?

Can we even call it the Bolton Mansion anymore?

Why that particular number of pies?

You’ll be honest, you’re just as interested in the case as everyone else, but you have one pressing question that you know no one else is asking: Will he call when it’s over?

You’re in a departmental meeting when the verdict is read.  It takes you forever to get back to your desk, caught up in everyone’s excited chatter about the ruling, but when you finally sit down and pull out your phone from your drawer, it’s to the best outcome you could have hoped for from the Grandma Ursula case.  Positively beaming, you reread the text message sent from an unknown number only two minutes after the verdict was announced: Hey Shutterbug, take any good photos lately?

End note: The iPhoneography aspect of this fic is a bit self indulgent; some might know that this Tumblr used to be a photo blog before it became my writing blog. Just like reader, it's something I used to enjoy a lot but I haven't opened those camera apps in years - maybe I'll get back into it one day! In the meantime, yes - the aquarium photos in the moodboard are by yours truly 🤭

[toska-writes]

Heyyy wanted to ask if maybe you could do a rex or fives one where the reader gets hurt and it's all really angsty but with a happy ending please ❤️

God this one has been in my in-box for so long and I’m sorry!

“Loyal”

Summary: Rex lost a member of his squad, he had to leave them behind. That doesn’t sit right with him. Rex will always go back for his family

Pairing: Captain Rex x GN padawan reader (p-l-a-t-o-n-i-c)

Warning: mentions of ptsd, torture, mild description of injury/blood. Rex is there for you don’t worry

Word count: 1145 (it will be proofread tomorrow!)

Notes: so funny thing is this could technically be the story that leads up to my other fic “Keep your head up” which is kinda cool- the “toskaverse” if you will where my copy and paste boys are all safe and happy (for the most part with the reader)

It didn’t sit right with him, what made a good soldier?

Loyalty- the drive to fight, to do what he was created to do. If he couldn’t be that then what was he really?

The ship was dead silent, the tension that covered over everything like a heavy blanket was suffocating. Rex couldn’t help but see the bounce in Jeese’s leg or the one thousandth time Anakin ran his hand through is hair.

Even Rex felt like he couldn’t sit still, so he paced back and fourth back and fourth. It was all his fault.

He gave the order to retreat after you nearly yelled at him, Rex was the one that watched as the separatist surrounded you. He could have tried to do something but through the dark your eyes found him one last time and they begged him to leave.

He was the one to watch you board the enemy ship and was the one to tell Anakin that you weren’t there next to him.

His insides hurt, every part of his body seemed to be on fire- If they didn’t get you back today Rex wasn’t really sure what would happen after that.

The ship descended further and further into the galaxy, everyone’s breath was held hoping that the coordinates were right.

Anakin came up to him silently, his face showed the captain what he needed to know. “You’re good on the plan?” Rex didn’t realized how young Anakin really seemed in these moments.

“Of course sir.” Rex said unable to look his general in the eyes. “We’ll get them back.”

Rex could have guessed a response Anakin would have made but instead was only met with a silent hug to the captains armored side. He froze for a moment before taking the arms of his general and moving them to his front.

Rex stood there for a moment unsure until he finally hugged Anakin back.

•••

The dark halls creaked until the footfalls of Rex and a small group of his men, a siren rang in the distance and red lights flashed on and off.

“Let’s hope the generals distraction covers us for a while.” Fives voice spoke over the comms lightly.

“Let’s hope we’re going in the right direction.” Hardcase shoulders his heavy machinery.

Rex’s hand shot up freezing everyone in their tracks, without another word he slightly motions for the four men behind him to spread out and watch his back.

The cell was at the end of the hallway and right now Rex didn’t need a surprise ambush from some clankers.

A shaky breath ran through Rex as he quickly tried to type into the keypad to open the door. With a few small beeps and some errors the door slid open.

The cell was darker then the base on the outside, nothing adorned the walls and nothing seemed to be inside.

Nothing also meaning no people inside.

Rex’s quick eyes scanned over the room again, his heart dropped at the possibility that you wouldn’t be there. You had to be.

Silently Rex brought his blasters up from the holsters that rested at his sides, taking a shaky step inside he scanned the room over once again.

Nothing.

One more time through that’s when he heard it. Slightly from somewhere above a small breath escaped and the creek of a surface registered in his ears.

Quicker than he thought something that was perched near the ceiling was on top of him in a second. He felt the grab for his blasters but thankfully kept a tight grip.

Instead the figure pushed off of him and his own vibro-blade out in front of them. It shook slightly as his eyes met the ones that have been haunting his dreams for the past rotations.

“Woah woah woah.” Rex croaked out, his hands shot up sightly as he tried to position his blaster away from your frame.

Your features didn’t change as he tried to call you name, no recognition was presented in your eyes and for the second time today Rex’s heart nearly stopped.

“Y/N” He tried once. His now free hands slowly traveled up to his helmet and with the practiced ease he took it off.

He was blinded for a moment and he couldn’t blame you for the opportunity it presented. In an instant the wind was knocked out of Rex slightly once again.

The blade came clattering out of the weak grip in the struggle, Rex grabbed your shoulders to keep you from strangling him, but the wince on your face said everything he needed to know.

“Hey hey Y/N it’s me.” He spoke clearly to you pleading. “Please it’s alright.”

A heartbeat passed, then another. Rex watched as your face dropped for a moment, your eyes cleared and the hands that were around his wrist began to shake.

“Rex?” The words didn’t come above a whisper and were coated with the tears that were about to fall. “Rex-“ You tried the words one more time.

Without thinking in an instant you were engulfed in your captains arms, he felt slightly as you grasped at anything that you could get your hands on burying your head as close as you could possibly get to his neck.

“Rex rex rex I didn’t know, they asked and I didn’t know anything they wanted I swear.” The sparse rambles were beginning to become drowned by tears.

“I know and you did so well.” Rex rocked back and fourth for a second more.

What was said next would haunt Rex right up to the very last day he would spend in this galaxy.

“I thought for a moment you wouldn’t come.” The words destroyed the carefully armored heart of Rex.

How could he have let this happen?

“I’d always come back for you Ad’ika, no matter what.” He spoke quickly and the grasp only grew tighter around him.

You pulled away for a moment just taking in the sight, wondering if this was a cruel trick the separatist were playing. Rex’s own eyes scanned the bloody face in front of him.

His commanders nose was bleeding all over the front of their shirt, a huge scar was present running over the entire side of the face in almost a lightning pattern.

Your eyes would he seared to the back of his mind- the look of fear was so pronounced he wondered if you ever felt it before since it seemed so foreign.

“I want to go home. Home with you and Anakin. Back to the temple.” You spoke shaky in his arms.

“I know I know.” Rex ran a hand over your unscarred check slightly. “I’ve got you ok? We can go home if you want.”

Before another word was spoken Rex was already on the move with your shivering form in his arms.

Loyalty was his best trait, but it would also be his undoing sooner or later.

_____________________________________

Taglist: @arctrooper69 @thereforepizza @padawancat97 @pb-jellybeans @floffytofu @verybadatwriting

[universitysunflowers]

Ok I've had some time to process heres my detailed thoughts (TBB spoilers)

First I want to get my biggest issue with the finale out of the way - Tech and CX-2. I have been delusional about him but not to the point that I wouldn't accept his death or other clones as CX-2, and I was staying open. But then they went and did exactly what I hoped they wouldn't: they gave us no confirmation of his identity at all and left him thumbtacked to a wall with no face reveal. Not only is this exactly what they did in Ahsoka, but I also feel like it left a huge gap in the finale storyline. They put so much emphasis on him throughout season 3, including the last episode, and we got nothing out of it. I also felt like this made Tech's death kind of meaningless?? Which I absolutely hate saying because of what he sacrificed in season 2, but why kill him when the rest of the batch gets to live happily on Pabu and grow old with Omega? Maybe the writers had a good reason and I just didn't pick up on it?

I also felt like we were gaslit into thinking it was Tech, only for the ending to imply he's been gone the whole time. Domicile? Phee? CX-2's fight with Crosshair and the waterfall? the way he got the most screen time out of a group that was so clearly meant to be an imperial reflection of the original squad? Idk guys I feel like we got cheated there.

I also wish we got some idea of what happened to Wolffe and Cody, but maybe that is an opening for another show? perhaps?

Ok now that that is out of the way I can talk about how much I absolutely loved the rest of the finale.

Emerie's character development was amazing I've been routing for her since the season 2 finale and you know those Jango Fett genes are coming in strong she will take such good care of those kids for as long as they need. I also think it would be cool to see her again in future productions, her character definitely has potential.

Echo survived!! All the parallels between him and CW season 6 Fives had me terrified that he was about to die but that arc trooper experience paid off. His reaction to Omega freeing the zillo is by far one of my favorite parts of the episode he was so proud of her and I was glad to see him work so well with Emerie. I am also fully ready to enjoy Echo and Rex leading a clone rebellion whenever they deem us deserving of it (looking at you Filoni). I know we don't have proof of anything but there are still to many unanswered questions surrounding the clones, I hope they finish those storylines.

The last Domino is still standing, they would be so proud of him (and his dad jokes).

Hemlock finally got what he deserved and oh I was so happy that Hunter was the one who did it, especially after all the batch went through because of him. And what came after that? Even better. We finally got a Crosshair and Omega hug (plus Hunter) and they all made it off Tantiss alive I mean what more could we ask for?

I have so many feelings on the ending and the epilogue and I'm not really sure how to put them into words but my first instinct when I finished the episode was to spend 40 minutes c r y i n g

they got a happy ending? they have peace and happiness on Pabu and got to see Omega grow up? Omega is going to fly with the rebellion and fight back against the empire?

and Tech will be with her the whole time???

I am unwell. This has left me emotionally unstable. Not only is that the best ending I could have hoped for given the past seasons but it is also such an amazing last look at their family. No matter how you think of them you have to admit Hunter was right, she is their kid and that will never change. That line alone will be living in my head rent free from here on out. Her last talk with Hunter was so well done and is one of the best moments in the whole show, but honestly Tech's goggles on her ship's dash is what broke me; he would be so proud of her I need at least 3-5 business days to process this.

Yes I have my issues with the unfinished storylines but wow that finale was something I don't think I will ever recover from. It may be one of the best endings we have ever seen in star wars. Like I said, I have a lot feelings and if I tried to put them all in a post it would have to be a multi-volume novel.

If you made it this far thank you! Feel free to add your own thoughts I like hearing what other people have to say. I'm just going to go burrow straight into the ground now and pretend I don't have finals next week because honestly who can be productive after something like that?

Oddly enough this is making me want to go back and watch the Clone Wars again, maybe Rebels too? Definitely making me nostalgic.

[teamatsumu]

seireitei HR department chronicles - pt 1

Summary: It’s your first week at your fancy new HR job. And your first ever complaint is already the most bizarre situation you had ever dealt with

Word Count: 1,140

Warnings: swearing, mentions of nudity

previous part • masterlist

The room was silent except for the periodic tick, tick, tick of the wall clock. You wished there was some sound to fill the empty space, maybe then you wouldn’t have to stew in the horror of the words that had just left Captain Hitsugaya’s mouth.

You watched the snow-haired Captain slouch in the seat before you, arms crossed and shoulders hunched. His face was twisted into a deep scowl, lips pursed. The skin of his cheeks was slightly dusky, showing that he was, in fact, embarrassed by the account he had just given you.

You cleared your throat, trying to form words with a tongue you felt was completely paralyzed. You stared at the form in front of you that you were trying to fill, the large “COMPLAINT FORM” written on top seemed almost comical considering the complaint in question was-

“I’m just going to tick the ‘personal’ box in ‘Nature of The Problem’.” You choked out. Captain Hitsugaya looked affronted.

“It’s not personal, it’s professional.” He said. “I was in my office. That’s a professional space.”

“But, um-” You felt like crying. “I don’t think Lieutenant Matsumoto accidentally flashing you is a…. professional problem.”

The Captain’s cheeks flamed even more, a petulant pout settling on his face. “An accident, my ass. How does that even happen accidentally-”

“She was sleeping.” you argued weakly.

That made him perk up, as if you just gave him a gotcha. “And why was she sleeping in my office during office hours? Actually, I want to file a separate complaint about that.”

Before you could protest, he had reached across the desk to grab the form you were filling, then reached for another one and plucked the pen right out of your hand. You watched helplessly as he scribbled in the details of his problem, secretly grateful you didn’t have to write all of that out.

Curse Captain General Yamamoto Genryuusai for making an HR Department and then putting you in charge. Your first week, and your first complaint, and it had to be the kid captain complaining about his grown Lieutenant snoring on his office couch with her chest on display.

You didn’t even know what the protocol here was.

“Has this happened before?” You asked, hoping to gain some guidance on how to deal with this.

“Too many times.” He mumbled back, focused on the paper before him which he was furiously scratching letters on. He sounded so grumpy it nearly made you laugh.

“So what did you do before this?” You continued.

He rolled his eyes. “Nothing. I would scold her and hope to god I never had to witness that again.”

You looked at the huge “Seireitei Code” that Squad 1 had delivered to you on your first day there. It was thick as a brick and contained every rule on the Gotei and what exactly to do when violation of rules occured. Granted, it was for more severe violations like murder or serious bodily harm. You could guarantee with your whole ass that there was nothing in there about flashing your captain.

How the fuck were you supposed to talk about this with Lieutenant Matsumoto?

Once Captain Hitsugaya had left, after many assurances on your part that you would personally have a sit down with his Lieutenant on the seriousness of the problem, you slumped into your chair and buried your face in your hands. This had to be a joke. This couldn't be the potential the Captain Commander saw in you. There’s no way he created this department knowing you had to solve sexual harassment cases between a literal child and a grown woman.

On second thought, maybe that's exactly why he made an HR department. You imagined the Captain Commander of the Thirteen Court Guard Squads, the most powerful man in Soul Society, having to deal with squabbles like this on a near weekly basis. Jeez. No wonder the man needed a buffer to take matters off his hands.

Try as you might, you couldn't see a way out of this without physically having the Lieutenant in your office to air out her Captain’s grievances. You knew a written warning wouldn’t suffice. If you knew anything about the bubbly woman, it was that she wouldn’t take an office document seriously. There was a good chance she wouldn’t bother to read it at all.

You didn't know how exactly to confront Lieutenant Matsumoto about the predicament she had found herself in. And it almost annoyed you that you were somehow more uncomfortable with this than she was. She nearly giggled when you read through the report. You on the other hand, wanted the ground to swallow you whole.

“Do you understand where he is coming from?” Your whole face was hot after having read out the complaint Captain Hitsugaya had written out, looking anywhere but directly at the Lieutenant’s face.

“Yeah but,” she scratched the back of her head, pouting slightly. “I didn’t do it on purpose.”

“A rule violation is still a rule violation, Lieutenant.”

She sighed and stretched, nodding but looking unconvinced. “It’s hard to really control any part of your body when you are asleep, though.”

“Uh, about that.” You rifled through the papers on your desk to hand her the other complaint her Captain had written out. “He also reported you for sleeping excessively on the job.”

Matsumoto pouted and whined at that, looking almost offended by the piece of paper dangling before her face. “Aw, come on! Captain can get so mean sometimes. Do you know how much paperwork I have to do? I can’t even take a little nap?”

You knew for a fact that Captain Hitsugaya was carrying Squad 10 on his shoulders. He finished the work of three people every day by himself.

“Lieutenant…” The tone of your voice was so defeated it made her sigh.

“Okay, okay. Fine. I will try to not fall asleep. And I’ll keep the girls tightly wrapped up. That okay?”

“Please refrain from calling them that in a professional setting.” You corrected weakly, feeling weary to the bone. You almost missed defending Ikkaku and Yumichika when they beat up 20 people and ended up in Squad 4 with broken limbs. Surely, anything would be better than this.

“Okay! Jeez.” She sniffed, standing up. “Can I leave now?”

You nodded, watching her make her exit and slumping forward until your head hit your desk. Your forehead stung at the contact. You looked at the report in front of you, Lieutenant Matsumoto’s signature next to the acknowledgement of her poor behavior. Your lips twitched.

Giggles erupted from your throat as the hilarity of the situation finally caught up with you, bending over to grip your stomach as tears leaked from your lash line. Fucking hell.

This would be a good story to tell at parties.

let me know what you think! taglist is open

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

s2 episode 13 thoughts

so i read the description of this episode and i was thinking to myself, yeah, this one seems believable. i keep loosely acquainted with the drama of the funeral world, and after learning of the harvard morgue scandal of last summer, i was like. well. the truth echoes art, i guess.

but that was the POINT of the episode- that the real world is scary, even without vampires and bigfoot!

so we begin with a funeral for a poor little girl. and it is an open casket, which is upsetting, and these little kids that i assume were her classmates are looking in. and then to make it even MORE upsetting, this creepy man working the event shows up and starts... touching her hair...

boy, i hope that child actress got a fat check for that very uncomfy bit part.

next we see a man eating an ice pop in the embalming room, to which i say: king. and he's hearing some weird stuff, and who emerges but... donnie!

(donnie's the guy who was stroking her hair... and he's holding scissors... and the girl's hair is scattered all over the floor...)

donnie briefly morphed into a demon, and ice pop man banishes donnie from his realm upon realizing he cut the little girl's hair. he says "i should report you" but i don't think he actually did.

(PRO TIP: if you are in a workplace where this type of event happens, please do file a report)

anyway. agent time. they're arriving in a graveyard. and i saw a gif this morning of mulder lifting the caution tape up so scully can get her umbrella in!!! it is suuuuch a cute moment. and a tiny consolation for the agony the rest of this episode produced.

the policeman is blabbering on about aliens and says to mulder, "you know andy" and he says "no i don't" "well, he knows you" which is sooooo funny. another example of mulder being famous amongst the nerd population.

poor scully looks absolutely horrified at this little girl's desecrated body...

and while the policeman thinks it's aliens, which may be a first, mulder does not, which again may be a first, because he says he's seen cases like this before

"you okay, scully?" he asks, noticing that she is Not Okay, but seeming unsure of how to approach the situation. she insists that she is, and perhaps he accepts this at face value.

they share an umbrella <3 but whilst doing this she's deeply shaken, and says she's surprised he isn't bothered. he says he prepared himself, and i thought he was going to elaborate on what preparing yourself for a case like this looks like, but he didn't

and she's shocked that they drove all the way here for a case that isn't aliens... why did we come here then?

because he got them tickets to a football game. LMAOOOOO this man........... football date night. it does not sound pleasurable to me but maybe watching his nerdy face light up would make up for the misery. i was giggling here. he wanted to take her out and show her his culture.

okay so now we're back to donnie. he's applying for a new job. he says he used to be a cosmetologist.

NOOOOO they had to miss their game because there are more bodies dug up and violated... and since this took place in the 90's they didn't even have facebook marketplace to try and sell their tickets beforehand... this is truly a devastating loss </3

and did they show a football player with the same name as the dude who runs this show... you can't sneak that stuff by me...

scully has to walk out after seeing the pictures of the crime scene and i'm already so deeply sad for her but oh boy, past me, wait a bit and see where all this goes!

mulder says that the police need to put an alert out NOW and the policeman is all "well we don't have a whole lot of guys on the squad so it might take awhile :(" THEN HURRY??? mulder says he thinks this dude is gonna kill someone and you're gonna complain about lack of resources???? WORK OVERTIME???

poor scully is sososo shaken and mulder pops his head out to where she was sitting... he says he'll cancel their plane tickets so they can stay longer and she's just staring out into the distance... SOMEONE HELP MY QUEEN PLEASE

then we get a glasses and takeout moment as the agents come up with a profile for a guy who steals body parts from dead people

donnie sees a woman on the side of the road- a working woman, if you will- and he takes her back to his place. and this woman is sooo pretty. but he's running her a bath and marty i'm scared.

(wait i just realized i can straight up insert the reaction images i'm referring to on here)

HE IS OBSESSED WITH HAIR... first the little girl's, and now he asks this woman if she needs shampoo for chemically treated hair...

he goes to take a phone call- congrats, you got the job- and she sees his room is FILLED with wreaths from funerals. and she might be naked but i was still yelling at the screen GIRL YOU NEED TO RUN!!!!!!

well. we cut to body time. so we know how that went. it is a spectacularly bloody body. and our freak has escalated from desecrating graves to killing real people.

mulder wants to go look at the body and asks scully to come but she can't bring herself to do it. WHY IS NO ONE NOTICING THE STRESS SHE IS IN. HOW CAN WE TAKE STEPS TO AID HER.

(i think that mulder is trying his best to Not Make A Big Deal out of her visible distress to make her feel better, and instead just gives her space and respects her lack of desire to discuss the whole thing. because there is no way he doesn't actually notice)

now donnie is on the job as a grocery deliveryman. which i am familiar with as i do use doordash occasionally. but the woman whose house he's delivering too just. LETS HIM IN??? to pack up the groceries. is this how the job worked at the time... can anyone confirm or deny... because i'm trying to imagine welcoming the doordash or instacart guy coming in and putting the food away for me... and i feel my skin crawl... what a textbook murder situation...

and if that isn't bad enough, the woman tells donnie they have 3 daughters and leave the backdoor open........ this does not bode well for the plot....

he asks to go to their bathroom and he digs through their trash to find a clump of hair and he SNIFFS it and then pockets it... we need someone to deal with this man with a QUICKNESS.

scully is in autopsy mode now, and unlike her usual very professional self, she looks like she is going to pass out conducting this one. which is remarkable because she has seen some nasty stuff, but this is what puts her over the edge.

in her report, she's writing about how every autopsy tells the story of a life, and that being killed for someone to take a piece of your body is perhaps the most dehumanizing death imaginable

someone who saw this freak donnie says that he looked like an ordinary guy, so this is gonna be a tough search. so mulder is going into deep psychoanalysis mode, saying it must be driven by a very intense hatred of women. which seems fair. i'll trust the oxford trained fellow.

now donnie is in class and he sees a woman and we know what's coming, but when he approaches her and tries to get creepy, she kicks him away and manages to run!!!! thank god honestly we could use a victory.

the phone wakes up scully from a nightmare where she sees the same demon we saw earlier and also SHE was the one on the autopsy table- but mulder says they have a suspect at the station. and i'm like, yes! they're gonna get him!

but it isn't him that they get! they brought someone else in, and we SEE donnie watching their interview moment and this was the narrative taunting me

mulder can no longer try and ignore scully being so on edge, and he says "scully, if you're having trouble with this case, i want you to tell me" and my first reaction was, king, do you have eyes, she has been about to collapse this whole time. but now i see he is doing the best he can to put the ball in her court, and yet she STILL denies it. lies straight to his face.

"i'm not having trouble", she says <- okay so we all see that this isn't true but i respect that he's trying to be mindful of her boundaries. however i would have been like hey queen let's get you out of here <3

"i just don't want you to think you have to hide anything from me", he says, and i kiss each of my fingers like i just savored a delicious meal, because that is EXACTLY what i wanted this man to say. mmm angst. just what i had ordered.

so donnie is asking the guy who DID get questioned what they were talking to him about, and what their names were, and he remembers scully's name because she has the same name as a baseball announcer i guess? and then they let the donnie go -_-

she goes back to DC to get a fingerprint read on the body but says something about maybe not flying back to the case that night... she did NOT want to be there!!!!!

at this point we learn that the FBI has an on sight therapist, which honestly makes perfect sense... but man. this scene.

she's referring to herself in the second person, talking about how you have to become used to seeing death in med school and in fbi, and she's distancing herself to try and cope. and the therapist brings up losing her father and her coma, and asks if she feels uncomfortable with her partner, and she's like no, i trust him with my life.

wow. that's incredible. but!

"i don't want him to feel like he has to protect me"

and i cannot imagine a world in which mulder, the protector, would ever NOT try and guard those he loves like some sort of snarling beast. but she must still feel horrible after just coming out of a coma, and he had been so scared to welcome her back, let her come on the missions, she had to PROVE herself, and she can't make herself feel guilty knowing he'll see her as something to protect.

(as if there was ever going to be another way)

so yeah i was basically barking at the screen here.

she says she's lost faith, and she needs it back. and where do you get faith these days?

but, while she was away, they found a print. she calls mulder to tell him this and decides that she'll fly back that night.

"anyway, you could use my help" "always" <- what if i started crying.

but someone called for her while she was away... and i knew it was that donnie freak........... foreshadowing....

so the agents trace the prints to donnie and bust into his house, where they find his endless funeral wreaths and even a FINGER in the fridge, but no donnie

and this is just as scully is arriving from the airport AND DONNIE IS STALKING HER. and i wrote, donnie, i will get u with my bare hands.

and he HITS HER CAR and DRIVES HER OFF OF THE ROAD and then mulder comes to the scene and they find her car but no SCULLY

back at donnie's place, he is running a bath and my screen was dark enough to see my face in the reflection and it could best be described as looking like that dizzy emoji. "oh girl i am UNCOMFY", i wrote, but in a sort of horror way that you expect from the genre.

she's tied up in his closet and sees him as a DEMON again which is more evidence that she has had to endure SO MUCH and i'm getting duane berry flashbacks with the gag in her mouth and i'm feeling a profound level of defensiveness for a person who does not exist

mulder is stressed, there are no witnesses, and he's pissed, he says "there are people that can videotape police beatings on darkened streets, they manage to spot elvis in 3 cities across america every day, but no one saw a pretty woman being forced off the road in her rental car"

AUGHHHH his bloodhound nature, need to find answers, is kicking in again.

(and also he thinks she's pretty)

so back at donnie's place, he is approaching rapidly with a knife, and mulder is sleuthing. the car they found was donnie's mother's car, so maybe they're at donnie's mother's place... but he is PICKING UP THE KNIFE AS MULDER SPEAKS

he ASKS ABOUT HER HAIR to properly shampoo it which is SO FREAKY but she manages to BREAK AWAY by shoving him into the tub. yes yes those FBI agent skills are kicking in!!!

shes hiding and he yells "there's no way out, girly girl" which briefly took me out of the scene because i just know that he would have said "girly pop" if the writers had their hands on that phrase and it was distracting but still. STILL.

she's hiding in the closet and he opens the door and she SPRAYS HIM WITH ROACH SPRAY and runs and they're tussling about when...

MULDER BREAKS DOWN THE DOOR and sees her!!!! he's calling for paramedics while the policemen take care of donnie

and the first thing she says to him is "i'm okay", reassuring him despite her awful situation, perhaps referring to her mostly uninjured body, but she's shaking like a leaf, and she just keeps saying that she's fine, she's fine, until he lifts her chin up to look at her face...

and she starts SOBBING into his chest. he's got his fingers in her hair and he's mumbling "it's okay" to her again and again and. i could feel my heart melting. i was a mere puddle of a human being at this moment. it's okay. it's okay.

there is something i think you will understand that is so rich about seeing characters hit their breaking point. it tells the audience so much about them- here we see that scully's biggest fear is the evil that lies in the ordinary, in the idea that anyone could be a monster, that this is a world of constant fear, and how do you try and rationalize the things that humanity is capable of doing? how do you walk down the street knowing that someone, anyone that passes you by could be a devil, metaphorically speaking? and she doesn't have the luxury of believing that it could be some outside force- some aliens, or evil vampires- manipulating people into doing their bidding, like mulder does. she knows that it is flesh and blood people that she sees everyday at the grocery store or next door or even those she autopsies, that do horrific things. and that there is a capacity for that in anyone, and no way to keep yourself or those you love entirely safe. what is there in this cold world of facts if there isn't faith? and again, where do you get more faith when you run out?

(and, of course, her deep and terrible fear of needing protection. needing to rely on someone that isn't just herself. of inadequacy. how scary that must be for a person who sees the terror in the rest of the world)

so yeah. love to see a character break. and i love it even MORE when we get to see someone they love comfort them. hurt/comfort trope remains undefeated.

the episode ends with mulder writing the case report and talking of very similar things as i just rambled on about- about humans being demons, and demons being what humanity comes up with to explain that- but this is delivered over a slideshow of donnie's childhood pictures to emphasize how he was just the boy next door, except that honestly he looked like young sheldon. so i was a bit taken out of the whole thing.

so yeah. this episode did not leave me with the warmest and fuzziest of feelings, but in terms of horror it was definitely one of the scariest so far, again because the entire lack of supernatural causes. i mean you could choose to interpret that this guy genuinely WAS a demon, but i think that defeats the purpose of the episode and scully's character study we get as a result. i was spooked, but we still had some good moments, such as attempted football date.

overall, i thought this episode was great. and we could talk about how the creepy killer was super queer coded, and discuss if this was done in bad faith, which could be an interesting conversation- but i find it not entirely relevant to the overarching theme. like, the scary part was that he wanted to keep your fingers, not that he called scully "girly girl", and i didn't get the sense that those two things were being equated in the episode.

now give me 10 beach episodes, or perhaps a journey to a museum, or a spa, or the mountains, or an ice-skating trip with matching scarves worn by our agents, or a day at the mall. really i don't ask for a lot!

[antimonyandthyme]

guanyu/fernando; undercover cop au

Fernando’s out in the phonebooth by the bar, foot tapping a doomed tattoo into the ground. The phone rings, and rings and rings.

Shit’s going to hit the fan.

He tries a second and a third time, and Ron never fucking answers, and Fernando has face up to the fact that his handler might have just upped and left the burner Blackberry and went back to be happy with his wife and kids. While Fernando’s out here, as stranded as a desert island can ever get.

He tries one last time, just for luck.

“Hello?”

It’s not Ron. It’s some—voice Fernando doesn’t even recognize. Young and almost dangerously curious. Some kid stayed too late in the office, trying to impress someone, and hearing the phone on Ron’s desk go off like a fire alarm, one, two, three, four times. Some kid winding up with a mess six feet deep. Shit.  

“Yeah, delivery,” Fernando says sharply, hopes to god whoever is listening follows. “Junkyard Bar by the Highway, you know that one, piece of shit by the side of the road. Baddest place there is.”

A beat, then the kid says, “Understood.”

Either the brightest in the class, or the absolute dumbest.

“I need delivery,” Fernando says again, as two drunk idiots, strapped to the nines, stumble out and pass the phonebooth. “Get me two large fries, a cheeseburger, and a coke.” It’s 24 hours at some fast food joint somewhere. The kid’s going to have to figure it out.

“Need backup?”

“No,” Fernando grits out. He needs a believable way out of this, not for the whole squad to show up and blow his cover. “Just get me my food, and get it fast.”

“I got you,” the voice says and the line goes dead.

Fernando takes a second, breathes. Thinks of every possible way this will end with a bullet in someone’s neck. Down by his boot the dust settles.

He saunters back in. Raises a hand for another drink.

“What d’you order?”

“Cheeseburger and fries,” Fernando shrugs. “Make my life a lot easier if your kitchen still worked.”

“It’s past midnight, asshole,” the bartender says. They thrive on a relationship of annoyance, nothing too friendly, nothing bordering on disdain to make him memorable. Exactly where Fernando needs to be. He sloshes beer down his chin, and the bartender takes that as his cue to find someone else to talk weather with.

Fernando counts the minutes, barely tastes the hops swirling on his tongue. Behind the bar, in the den hiding in plain sight, something’s happening. He clocked it the moment he saw the owner and the man he’d been tailing for a whole nine months slide in fifteen minutes ago. Cash is being exchanged. Hands are being shaken. Throats are being slit.

He squints at the sudden lights flooding through the window. Fernando swallows his pulse.

“That’ll be my fucking dinner,” he announces to no one in particular. He heaves himself off the barstool, pats around fake drunkenly for his wallet in his back pocket. No one pays him a second glance.

The kid’s in a McDonald’s uniform. A uniform. And he’s got a takeout bag in one half-outstretched arm.

Even through the rush of adrenaline now spiking through him, Fernando finds it in him to be wildly, stunningly, impressed. The kid had gotten a fucking uniform.

“Sir, I’m really sorry, but I just realized they sent me out without your fries.”

He was saying it softly enough not to cause a commotion, but loudly enough that there’d be several witnesses.

“Motherfucker,” Fernando says, waiting for his lead.

“I can go back. Or maybe, you could—”

“I’ll come with you,” Fernando interjects, getting the plan immediately, “or I’ll just be sitting here waiting for your sorry ass until I starve.” Slams his beer bottle down with just enough irritation to make it utterly convincing. He’s ornery even on his best days here. The bartender rolls his eyes and goes back to his drinks.

Fucking perfect.

He gets into the kid’s car, a nondescript, unnoteworthy Subaru. As the kid tears off, Fernando says, breathless, “I can’t believe you got a uniform.”

The kid shows his teeth through the rearview mirror. One hand on the wheel, one hand peeling the McDonald’s delivery cap off his head. “Paid for college.”

--

At first impression, Fernando wouldn’t have pegged Guanyu as someone vindictive. But Guanyu, who showed up in a uniform with a crumpled takeout bag, Guanyu, who bailed him out of that bar when Fernando had thought he was fucked all ways to Sunday, is full of surprises.

Guanyu reports Ron for negligence, and takes it up with Homicide, then the Chief, and follows it up and up and up and up, like he’s pulling determinedly at the multi-coloured handkerchiefs coming out of the magician’s bag until he’s convinced he’s got the last one. The information Fernando provides is grade A fuel. The case is now big enough that they’ve got two whole divisions working on it. To save face, the bosses move Ron out of state. Fernando can’t find it in him to care less.

They sit outside in the precinct parking lot, sharing fries.

“I can’t see you having worked here.”

Guanyu laughs. “I lied. I went into the McDonald’s flashing my badge.”

“Guns a-blazing.” My hero.

“I said I needed a uniform. I changed into it, right in front of the cashiers. They looked at me as if I was from another planet.”

Fernando grins into his cheeseburger. If the Chief looked out right now, he’d see his most promising recruit fraternizing with a wounded dog who barely even reads his own name right these days. Not the best look for Guanyu, who knows it, surely. Fernando can’t figure it out. Can’t figure him out.

“So,” Guanyu clears his throat. “It seems like you’re out a handler.”

Fernando shrugs. “I’ll be on loan to whoever wants to keep me.”

“Sounds like a shit deal for you.”

“When is it not?”

Nobody of the right mind works undercover. Fernando’s learned to play cards with the hands he’s dealt.

“It won’t be that way with me,” Guanyu says.

Fernando stares. Way he says it, sounds almost like a proposal.

“It is,” Guanyu says wryly.

“Why,” Fernando says.

“Smart as all hell, and I’ve heard you do it all.”

“Oh,” Fernando says soft, dangerous, “you’ve heard, huh?”

Guanyu has the decency to look slightly ashamed. “Ron didn’t know what to do with you.”

“And you do?”

“I know how to pick up when you call,” Guanyu says. “I know how to heel.”

Fernando wants to shake some sense into the kid. “It’s usually the other way around.”

Guanyu smiles. Something small, something secret. A flash of something curious, like that first Hello? when he’d answered Fernando’s distress signal. How deep into Fernando’s files did Guanyu read? “Not for you.”

“And you’re fine with that,” Fernando says, just short of incredulous. After all, he’s learning Guanyu’s full of surprises. “You’re fine with me going, heel.”

Guanyu goes tight for a quick second. His ears are a little too red for the late summer weather.

Interesting, Fernando thinks.

Fernando holds out his hand. Greasy from the fries they’ve just shared. It takes a moment before Guanyu looks him in the eye.

When he does, that same composure that carried him into the bar that day is back.

They shake.

[elthadriel]

hi im here to cause problems 😌

💛🖤

any of the ships in the terrible horrible no good polycule (echofivestupdogmaslick+)

Despite his best efforts Tup can’t quite manage to tear his eyes away from where Fives is trying to eat Echo’s face. He wrinkles his nose. It wasn’t every day that your dead partner came back to life, but did they have to celebrate so loudly?

“I think this might be good for us,” he says.

“Really?” Dogma asks hopefully.

“Really?” Slick is less optimistic.

“Really.” Across the landing bay Fives gropes clumsily at Echo’s ass. Tup can hear them moaning from here. Is Five that loud with him? He hopes not. “I met Echo before he died—”

“Before he went missing,” Dogma interrupts.

“Before he went missing. And Fives talked about him all the time. He seems sensible.” They could use another level head around here.

Echo pulls at Fives’ hair with his remaining hand. Their mouths are open so wide they might as well be licking each other.

Slick hums in a way that makes people want to punch him. “By ‘met’ do you mean drooled at him working out in his ARC gear across the gym?”

“No! I mean I had a conversation with him.” He’d also drooled at him across the gym, but who hadn’t?

“Look, kid,” Slick says, as though Tup hadn’t ended up serving longer than he had, even if he’d been decanted first.

“Don’t call him kid,” Dogma says. He doesn’t look at Slick either, eyes locked on the two ARCs. He’d been drooling right next to Tup.

Slick rolls his eyes, but bows to Dogma’s wishes in a way he refuses to for anyone else. “I just think we should all keep in mind that Echo and Fives were already members of the 501st when I was arrested.”

A sort of dread that is usually reserved for when Fives and Slick really get into it pools in Tup’s gut. And maybe a little lower. It wasn’t going to happen, but that didn’t mean that Slick and Fives fighting wasn’t hot. What would adding Echo to the mix even—

Tup needs to get laid. He has two actual partners and a sort of partner in the form of Slick. How is it he never seems to manage more than jerking off in the tiny shared fresher?

“Did he know you?” Dogma asks. “If he…” he trails off, eyes widening in an expression that Tup is familiar with. Sure enough, Fives has shoved up Fives shirt, showing off his broad back.

The landing bay is empty except for them, but there’s no guarantee it’ll stay that way. They’re supposed to be laying low. Fugitives of the Republic and all that.

How had Echo even found them? Tup files away the question for when Echo’s mouth isn’t occupied trying to deep throat Fives’ tongue.

Slick cocks his head at the display, but doesn’t lose focus. “Nah, I didn’t interact much with the 501st if I could help it. But I bet I got some of their little buddies killed.”

Fives wedges a leg between Echo’s and Echo’s civvies don’t hide enough to for Tup to even pretend that Echo isn’t humping it. Echo’s lost the built ARC that Tup jerked off to a couple of times before he died—it had felt morbid after—but he still holds himself with a straight-backed confidence that hits very nicely despite the circumstances.

So Echo won’t like Slick. Fine. What’s new?

“Yeah, but no one likes you, Slick,” Tup says.

“We do,” Dogma points out, which is only true on a technicality.

 Slick lounges back against their ship looking so very pleased with himself. “Yeah, I’m sure he and Dogma will be the very best of friends.”

Dogma pales. “Fives and I have moved on,” he says very quickly.

“Sure you have, kid.” Slick says. “But you arranged for a firing squad to shoot Echo’s favourite lay. How do you think he’s going to feel about you? Even if said lay has decided to stop bringing it up.”

Dogma’s face makes it very clear he’s come to the exact same conclusion as Tup. So much for getting to fuck two ARCs at once he supposes.

“He’ll probably like you,” Dogma says to Tup, dejected misery having fully consumed any optimism.

“Yeah, trooper. You’re just everyone’s favourite.” At least Slick sounds happy.

“Lucky me,” Tup mutters.

They lapse into several seconds of blissful silence, interrupted only by the wet activities happening across from them.

Slick straightens up. “Huh. Those limbs are more dexterous than I’d have imagined.”

“Okay!” Tup slaps Dogma and Slick on the shoulder. “We’re waiting inside the ship!”

[blade-that-was-broken]

John hardly said a word on the plane ride home.

He barely said anything for the entire time leading up to the plane ride either.

There had been quite the process to get his brother out of there and Bruce heard so many different things he could barely keep track of them all.

They explained about different resources for Bruce's brother, the medications he needed to take, the exercises that he needed to do. They told him to make sure he got involved in a group and a hospital and he should probably continue some physical therapy. They tried to tell him a bit about the adjustment that this could be and a bit on what he could possibly expect. They explained a bit about John's history, although not much, most of the file he was given was kind of blacked out.

He had been a lot of places.

There were commendations too, although Bruce wasn't entirely sure what each of them were. John didn't look at the file and Bruce didn't ask.

He had a smaller bag and a large duffle and that was it. That was the whole of his possessions. Ten years and that was pretty much all he had. Bruce was told that if John didn't stay on base for trips and leaves home, he was staying with one of his squad mates or disappeared. He always came back when he was supposed to so no one seemed to care where he went.

Bruce thought he'd have to contact some of his squad mates at some point. It would probably be good for them. He hoped that some of them were still alive, at least. He saw a few pictures. There was a retired sergeant, Pete. Maybe Bruce could find him. Bruce wasn't sure how close John was to any of these people. There was a young man in his squad that barely looked older than Branch.

Bruce didn't know how to feel about that.

Bruce was warned that he might not talk much, although it would come in bouts. Pretty much everything was up in the air. They also told him that it was likely he was very, very happy to see Bruce. Every one of the nurses and attendants pretty much knew how much John loved his brothers. Apparently, he had pictures of them as children. It made Bruce feel worse. They tried to assure him that it was mostly chalked up to the shock of everything that had happened, the sudden changes - in both his life and mood swings - and depression in general. Everything had changed for him.

John mostly slept during the flight but seemed to awaken the moment they started their descent. Or at least, that was what John told him. "We are landing," he muttered under his hat.

"What?"

"We are starting to land," John repeated, taking the hat off of his eyes and placing it in the pocket of his jacket.

He wasn't wrong.

Brandy was waiting at the airport for them to take them home. John didn't seem to realize who she was until they were standing right in front of her. Probably Bruce's fault; he hadn't really told him or showed him what she looked like. They had barely talked at all and he didn't really know how to talk to him anymore. Bruce kept telling himself that the nurses and therapist warned him about that. That for a bit, he was going to be pretty quiet and he wasn't going to want to talk about personal things.

"Hello, hello!" Brandy greeted, giving her hand for a shake but then hesitating. "I'm Brandy! You're John, right?"

"Yes, ma'am," he nodded, shaking Bruce's wife's hand with a surprising ease despite his unsteady balance.

Brandy flushed and chuckled. She glanced at her husband, almost proudly. "You hear that, Bruce? He called me ma'am."

Bruce tried not to roll his eyes but let out an amused smile.

"I won't be any bother," John promised, making Bruce's expression fall a little. He was worried about that, for some reason, although Bruce wasn't entirely sure why. It was like John felt he had to make sure that he wouldn't be considered a nuisance or was worth keeping around. "And I can pull my weight... so to speak. You can put me to work and I can be a help."

Brandy glanced at Bruce, a little confused. "Well I'm sure... we can find somethin," she replied slowly. She always seemed to understand what Bruce was trying to get across. "It's good to meet you, John. I am very glad you are here. Let's get you settled at home, alright? I hope you don't mind a little mess. Our kids are... they can be rambunctious."

John shrugged lightly before following the couple towards the doors, Bruce insisting on taking his bag. "I don't mind at all. I have a surprising amount of experience with kids... not including the buncha boys in my platoon that could barely get up at a decent hour."

Brandy laughed. "Our boys can get up at an hour... well, it might not be considered decent. Perhaps pre-decent."

"I can probably fix that."

Bruce coughed. "What?"

Brandy just looked over at John curious and amused as they headed to the car. "Oh? Do tell!"

[immediatebreakfast]

Second chapter of the jojolands, and we are already entering silly territory. This is pretty standard for a jjba part.

Jodio and Paco trying to "expand" their market at request of Meryl May is really funny. Hell most of the time in these drug schemes the teens at the bottom are the ones who suffer, but I can't stop myself from laughing for seeing both of them use the same strategy that they used at school. It's a "if it's not broken don't fix it" type of thing.

One thing that I am always glab to see is how Araki has been consistent in his "fuck cops" sentiment since part 2. No one should trust cops, and if you run into them you will have to go all the way or else they will commit more harm. These grown ass cops not only "needed" a fucking squad to arrest two teenagers, but also they are acting like they broke out a global trade when in reality all of them are two movements away from beating up two teens for a tiny bag of cocaína. Of course Jodio wouldn't recognize a cop because he has only been selling inside his school so he is quite naive in that part, BUT he has every right to get violent with these trigger happy pigs. On top of that, the slap of reality of how that gross pig from chapter 1 could actually (but will never happen) rape Dragona, and not face any consequences in the eyes of the corrupt law is chilling. Araki knows what is up.

Congratulations to Jodio for being the first joestar with a canonical mental illness! It is quite the delicate subject to introduce, but I hope to see how it gets developed. And I can't talk about it since I'm not familiar with it, so maybe other people who know will explain most of the details of antisocial personality disorder. But I can say that Jodio's feelings of "don't I deserve to be happy?" are very real, sometimes that is the thing one chases, a happiness that includes your diagnosis even if other people see it as something wrong.

The Hotdog guy has finally a name, welcome to the part Usagi! We are only two chapters in, and all of the characters already show so much personality. Usagi seems to be a pretty relaxed guy with an affinity for food, and he also has a speech pattern in which he stretches some wooooooords. This type of speech conveys that he doesn't take himself very seriously since it comes across as something very silly. Paco attributed this to his drug use, but I think it's just part of his personality to be all "no bad vibes just chilling", and it's also very refreshing to finally see some flirting that doesn't come across as creepy.

It seems that Dragona so far is the "leader" of the group, in the sense that they are the one who keeps the dynamics balanced between the other three. From scolding Usagi from being late, telling Jodio to say his information, to Paco waiting for them to stop speaking to deliver more information. I hope that Dragona is on the path to become one of the best jobros we will see.

Matte Kudasai is just a little creacher, and it's so cute. This part seems to be more focused on utility stands rather than punch rushdown stands. It's very cool to see the extend of what stands can do.

And at the end... ROHAN?!? FUCKING ROHAN????? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING HERE YOU COCKROACH. THIS IS NOT YOUR PART GET THE FUCK OUT, THIS IS NOT EVEN YOUR UNIVERSE. But, the introduction of Rohan is the best chance at comedy. He got beat up by teenagers in part 4, he will get beat up again by teenagers in part 9 too. I am waiting for this so bad.

[quill-is-brainstorming]

So I've been working on a Thunderbolts fanfic lately, and since writer's block is being a bitch I thought maybe I could try breaking out by writing about some thoughts I've been having since I finished reading the series.

I'm also hoping to maybe find some Tbolts mutuals to talk with, because I just KNOW that's gonna be impossible when the MCU movie drops; and also my boyfriend who doesn't even read comics needs a break from my yapping. So, my actual thesis:

Redemption is impossible, and the Thunderbolts are a fundamentally broken concept. And also they're dead.

As of Semptember 2024, there is not a single member of the original Tbolts that has been redeemed. Or at least, if they have been, they're not alive.

Zemo, Fixer and Moonstone are villains, no nuance to it (Karla having been hit the hardest, yeeesh-).

Abe Jenkins is dead. Granted, they didn't show a body so who knows what I'm supposed to think. Still he's under ice for 7 years now so eh.

Songbird, Atlas and Jolt have just been gone since 2017. No explanation, they just don't appear in anything. And it's even weirder if you consider there's been not one but TWO whole Thunderbolts rosters since then (three if you count the one that appears in the Punisher, but they're so shallow and ooc I really wouldn't. Seriously why and how the fuck is Chen there).

The redemption was a core theme of the 1997 series, it was part of the premise, after all. I actually have a lot of thoughts about how the original series handles moral ambiguity as a narrative hook (very well, at least to me), but that's a rant for another day. But as the series went on, the idea of "redemption" just became more and more vague, so much so that nowadays I'd consider it practically non-existant.

The series never goes out of its way to define redemption. For the entirety of the og run, one has to assume that a character would be "redeemed" when they stop committing criminal acts and firmly abide by the other heroes' morals. And that never happens.

The Thunderbolts being morally ambigous has always been a massive part of the appeal of the series, but over time it just became the only appeal.

Thunderbolts 1997 is a story about redemption, and about a group of villains growing as people and learning to find their place in the world.

(This next bit references how each of the runs treats the premise set up by 1997. It has nothing to do with the quality of the work or my personal enjoyment of it, unless I downright state so, obviously.)

Avengers vs Thunderbolts. The whole point of that mini-series being that the Avengers can't bring themselves to consider the Thunderbolts actual heroes, and they're admittedly proven right when the Tbolts almost cause a cataclysm. Hawkeye tries to give them the benefit of the doubt, but by the end of the story he sides with the Avengers, which only drives the point home further. The Thunderbolts aren't trustworthy heroes.

New Thunderbolts and the Civil War period. None of the team members seems genuienly interested in the concept of redemption (the ones who come closest being Blizzard, who frankly isn't much of a character, Swordsman and maybe Radioactive Man. They all end up turning back into villains though, so I can't bring myself to cite them as good examples). The Civil War period is even worse, because here is where the Suidice-Squad-y idea of forcing villains to do good deeds surfaces, and trust me we'll be seeing a lot of that.

Secret War and Dark Reign are...fine. They are, by all means, awful Thunderbolts stories. They take the premise of the original series and spit it in the eye...but that's by design. Normal friggin Osborne took over the Thunderbolts, no wonder they're gonna be awful. The blatant disregard for the original series is, in my opinion, what makes these chapters of the Thunderbolts series so fun to read; especially because the characters themselves point out the sorry state of the Tbolts "brand".

Fear Itself (and I guess Dark Avengers, for a bit).

So Fear Itself is an interesting one. It starts out on a similar note to the previous two: the Thunderbolts are once again the Suicide Squad, except this time they're kept in check by some of the original Thunderbolts. Originally I was gonna bash this run because, from my recollection of it, I didn't think it made sense for Songbird, Mach and Fixer to be down to form a new Thunderbolts team so conceptually similar to Osborn's. But then I re-read a few parts to make the post, and it's way more complicated than that. (Don't mind the hellish visuals and try to hunt for Mel and Abe's panels. It just so happens that the one conversation I needed to quote is scattered like this, L. Although these panels do rock).

The characters are NOT okay with the way things are, and they criticise the circumstances they find themselves in . This story desperately wants to be a about redemption...but at the end of the day, it still isn't.

None of the convicts actually redeem themselves, Luke Cage drops out of the project, Fixer quite literally kills himself, and Songbird and Mach-V are saddled with a failure. This also happens to be the last time the government funds a Thunderbolts programme.

The previous two chapters were more of less about "Hey, isn't it fucked up that the Thunderbolts are like this now?", Fear Itself says the same thing, but with a somber tone. It is, by all means, a send-off to the original series, and I hate it almost as much as I love it.

On one hand, it's admittedly a finale that works. It's cynical, but it doesn't take pride in that, and it treats the old characters very respectfully.

On the other, I don't think this series should end on a cynical note. We know characters CAN be redeemed, Songbird and Mach are right there, so why should we just accept the Thunderbolts programme ending in a failure? Isn't it the original run's moral to keep fighting to better yourself even against the odds?

With all of that said, Fear Itself isn't an actual finale. Because we have....

2017 (and Pleasant Hill).

This is the Thunderbolts' Megamind 2. This run just feels like MCU pandering, and I frankly don't think it holds anything of value.

The Winter Soldier is now the leader of the Thunderbolts; none of them seem to have any thoughts about it, despite having literally never met him. The characters are brought together off-screen, the only character arc that happens, and that is admittedly tied to morality, ends with the character in question deciding to, LITERALLY, not do anything.

Abe Jenkins not beating the most boring Thunderbolt allegations I'm afraid. And I say this with love because I'm practically a stan of his. They fucked this character over in so many ways, it's so sad that it's kinda hilarious.

Back to 2017, it ends with the team fragmented. Half joins Zemo, Jolt fucks off no idea where, Mach-X literally dies and Songbird is left alone in an actually interesting cliffhanger that is never picked up again. And that's without mentioning that Pleasant Hill could have been the PERFECT setting for a Thunderbolts story, and the fact the morality of its existence wasn't explored in the slightest is just plain tragic.

How were the people under Kobik's control affected? How come Atlas and Blizzard are in there if they had their criminal records cleared? Why is Abe part of the staff? Doesn't he have any thoughts about keeping his own friends trapped like this? What about Songbird? What does she think? Is Pleasant Hill conceptually evil? Should anyone be able to hold that kind of power? How would the Thunderbolts, a team fundamentally created around the idea that villains can be redeemed, handle this situation?

We get no answers, of course. But hey, at least we get the Winter Soldier hanging out with a magical 6 year old. Yippeeeeeeee!!!

Yeah, I'm kinda salty about this run specifically. I don't know how you could tell.

After that, there are two more Thunderbolts runs, which I can't really talk about since I haven't ready any of them in full. The 2022 one I just skipped because I find modern Hawkeye to be a pain to read; might circle back to it one day, but it'll take some convincing. As for the 2023 one, I did read a few issues, I eventually dropped it because it had nothing to do with the Thunderbolts, and I also had trouble getting invested.

So, where does all of this leave us?

At this point in time, I don't think Marvel could pull off a good Thunderbolts story. The MCU inspired mindset wouldn't allow an exploration of the admittedly deep theme that is redemption, nor does it seem interested in doing so. There was this sort of "in-universe aura" that surrounded the Thunderbolts in the early 2000s; most characters were distrustful of the them, sure, but there was also some kind of underlying respect most seemed to feel, because the idea of villains becoming heroes and making up for past mistakes is definitely an incredibly noble one.

That aura is long gone, and I genuienly believe modern Marvel is way too cynical for this kind of approach.

And I'm frankly just sad about it. That a series which so much potential had to be squandered by a complete disinterest to use said potential. I still find 1997 to be, flawed as it is, an incredibly interesting story that handles grey morality in such a charming manner. And what's even sadder is seeing the remaining Thunderbolts walk around in modern comics as shells of their former selves.

With the MCU movie on the horizons, I doubt we'll get to see the original team (or themes) appear on page again. The Thunderbolts tag here on Tumblr has already been swarmed with clips from the trailers, character edits and the such (which is also why I'm planning on tagging my future posts as "Thunderbolts og" hopefully it helps), and the future is not looking bright.

But that's most of my thoughts about this matter. So, three remaining Thunderbolts fans, what do you think? Do you agree? Do you think I'm wrong? What's something you miss from the original series and that you'd love to see in its future? Or is it officially Joeover?

Any thoughts you have, I'd love to hear them. :>